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‘He’s dead,’ said Rachel.
‘It was last week.’ Rachel wiped her eyes with a large man’s handkerchief. She was so thin her jumper was slipping off her shoulders.
‘Was it here?’
‘No, he was in hospital. I couldn’t cope with it here any more. They were decent. He had all his friends there.’
Leah had only met Ian once. He was from Liverpool. He was down to earth, likeable and had friends everywhere. It seemed insane somebody so full of life should die like that.
‘He was unconscious. He kept slipping in and out … it went on for days … I’m glad it’s over.’
Leah knew Rachel wasn’t hard hearted. Ian had rotted away for months. Rachel blew her nose loudly; she was not delicate sometimes. She looked delicate, though. She was pale and her hair was fine and very dark, cut straight across. Now she was thin but her face was usually rounder. She had exceptional dark grey eyes. She could look quite ethereal.
‘I’ll make some coffee,’ she said. She filled the kettle, turned on the gas, got the cups. Each movement slow and deliberate as if she had to concentrate.
The kitchen was quiet but the rest of the house was not. The children were now running up and down the hall. The people were leaving and Rachel went to see them off. Upstairs somebody was banging radiator pipes. The noise reverberated right through the house.
Rachel came back. ‘Family,’ she said.
‘Rachel? Rachel?’ called a voice. ‘Where did you put the doodah?’
Down the stairs came Bee, Rachel’s mother, in bright green slacks, a gin and tonic in one hand, a cigarette in the other. ‘Do introduce me to your friend.’
‘It’s Leah. You’ve met before.’
‘How sweet of you to call.’
‘It seems like a most inconvenient moment,’ said Leah, acutely aware of her rampaging children who now burst into the kitchen making all sorts of unreasonable requests. She attempted order.
‘They’re adorable,’ said Bee, backing away. She put her glass by the sink and began opening cupboards. ‘What shall we have for lunch?’
‘Anything you like. You’re cooking it,’ said Rachel.
Leah made the children a drink. ‘We won’t stay long.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Rachel. Bee had found some courgettes and potatoes and was looking at them as if they were aliens.
‘What about baked potatoes?’ said Rachel.
‘Of course.’ Rachel never wore make-up but Bee wore orangy foundation and today her lips were crimson. Upstairs the banging was becoming deafening.
‘Daddy’s mending the radiators.’
‘I’ll see how it’s going,’ said Bee.
‘They’ve been here since Thursday. Mummy’s doing all the cooking. We usually have lunch around six.’ Leah had to smile, but Rachel wasn’t smiling. She had dark circles under her eyes. She shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s OK. They look after Oliver as well.’
Oliver, Ben and Tom were blowing bubbles into their mugs and giggling. Oliver was fair haired, he had a chubby face and a turned-up nose. Only in certain lights did he look like Rachel.
‘Ian died,’ he said suddenly to Ben, who looked blank: he had forgotten who Ian was. Rachel listened with her hand on her face.
‘Did he get shot?’ asked Ben.
‘He just got sick and died. Mummy was crying. Weren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Rachel, still watching them.
‘When next door’s cat died they buried it in the garden,’ said Ben, blowing bubbles. Leah could have kicked him. ‘It’s not the same,’ she said.
‘Why?’ said Tom who probably hadn’t the faintest idea what they were talking about.
‘There’s some chocolates in the front room,’ said Rachel. ‘You can have one each.’ The children disappeared instantly.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Leah.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Rachel.
‘How’s Oliver?’
‘He asks questions. He’s funny about going to sleep …’ She didn’t say any more. Ian was not Oliver’s father.
I remember sitting on Brandon Hill and you told me about this person you’d just met. You were hesitant. You liked him, but … you described him and what he wore, dreadful trainers, and his friends who got drunk all the time … and the stars above Brandon Hill were bright and clear. It was back in the spring …
Hugh came into the kitchen carrying a radiator. ‘That’s the one in the spare room done. This is from Oliver’s room. Got any enamel paint and I’ll fix the rust stains?’
‘In the cupboard,’ said Rachel. Hugh was smallish, like Rachel. He had gold-rimmed glasses which made him look like a bank manager.
‘This is Leah. She didn’t know Ian had died.’
‘Well … yes …’ He stopped for a moment by the cupboard. ‘I’d better find this paint, then. What’s for lunch?’
‘Ask Mum.’
Bee appeared. ‘Hugh’s made such a mess up there, I don’t know. Where’s your dustpan, darling?’
‘Under the sink.’ Rachel was looking more weary every minute.
‘Doesn’t seem to be there, darling.’
‘Can’t find this paint.’
Rachel sighed. She found the dustpan and the paint and followed her father upstairs.
‘It was very good of you to come,’ said Bee.
‘I hadn’t seen her for ages.’
‘He was a nice boy.’ And she raised her eyebrows meaningfully. ‘It’s very upsetting. We did have our hopes.’ She meant marriage. Rachel had often complained about this. Bee turned on the oven and fiddled with the timer. ‘Oh dear, I much prefer microwaves.’
Rachel and Leah sat together again in the kitchen. The rest of the house had become quiet.
‘You’re exhausted. When it’s all over perhaps you can have a holiday.’
‘I was on holiday. Then the hospital rang and I had to come back. I was fucking angry about it …’
Leah laughed. Rachel was always fucking angry about something. They used to see more of each other, but recently with her working and not getting on with Al …
Rachel gazed beyond the flowers. She had a habit of drifting into a private space and in these moments there was little point in talking to her. Leah waited. Rachel picked a petal off a white chrysanthemum.
‘How do you get on with his friends?’ asked Leah.
Rachel considered this. ‘At first I thought they were right wasters. It’s so competitive. They brag about who gets the most wrecked. But when he was ill … they came to see him. The more sick he became he didn’t want to see them. I suppose it reminded him of what he used to be. He wanted to see me. He thought I could save him. He thought if I loved him more I would save him …’ She stopped and Leah thought she was going to cry, but she didn’t, she slipped back to her private world as if she would find answers and comfort there. ‘He had no belief. He thought death was the end. He was so fucking scared … he didn’t want to talk about death. He wanted to get better. His friends are the same. They’re so thrown but they don’t want to talk about it.’ She smiled. ‘They wrote poems to read at his funeral.’
‘Poems?’ And Leah remembered. ‘Do you know Declan and Bailey? They live on the other side of the Wells Road.’
‘They’re Ian’s friends.’
‘I didn’t know you knew them.’ And they both laughed.
‘Declan’s a terrible drunk but I like him, but I don’t know Bailey all that well.’
‘Oh I do,’ said Leah, feeling all excited now.
‘Oh do you?’ said Rachel with all her old sarcasm.
‘I was round there the other week. I had such a weird time. Declan said his friend was dying and later Bailey told me about the poems.’
‘The funeral was yesterday.’ Rachel was not laughing now. Leah understood all she had said about competitive wrecking.
‘Bailey teaches basketball at the Project. That’s how I know him. What do you think of him?’
Rachel frowned. She was very critical of men. ‘He’s scattered. He’s all over the place.’
‘There’s a lot of him,’ said Leah, thinking.
Rachel was becoming more dreamy. It was time to go. They went to find the boys. As they opened the sitting-room door three guilty faces stared at them.
‘They’ve eaten the lot!’
‘Ben and Tom made me,’ wailed Oliver, and Leah quite believed that.
‘A whole box of chocolates! Boys, you’ll be sick.’
Rachel could do without this. Leah got their coats. On the doorstep she hugged Rachel, who seemed to be fading away. Upstairs Bee and Hugh were arguing.
At the top of the street she caught up with the boys. ‘You are very, very naughty, you ate all her chocolates.’ But going round my head is, Ian is dead, Declan and Bailey, and Rachel knows them. She wiped the boys’ faces with a spat-on handkerchief. They grimaced and wriggled.
‘Oliver didn’t have a torch,’ said Tom.
‘Does it matter?’ She wished they weren’t with her.
‘Is it lunch soon?’ said Ben.
‘How can you be hungry? How can you?’ They were on the Wells Road being knocked about by the wind.
‘Are we going home?’
‘No we’re not. We’re going to see Bailey.’
Bailey and Declan lived in Steep Street. It was aptly named. The end of it fell off the edge of Totterdown into a flight of steps. The wind blew up it like a gale.
‘Can we run?’
‘Yes, run. Go on, run.’ And she ran too. It seemed she would jump off the end of the street and fly right across Bristol, the wind underneath her. They skidded to a halt in front of the door. The boys knocked loudly, all giggly from running, and she was light-headed too. Bailey opened the door. The first thing she noticed were his odd clothes. A pink and black spotty shirt and baggy turquoise trousers. Then his face, pale and unshaven and evidently not pleased to see them. But Leah was too excited to stop now.
‘It’s remarkable. I know Ian. I know Rachel. I’ve just been round there. I didn’t know he had died. I didn’t know he was Declan’s friend. I had this dream I had to see her, so I did and we’ve just been running. Isn’t it windy, can we come in?’
‘Well, if yer must.’ He had a sarf London accent.
Bailey’s and Declan’s house was tiny. Even smaller than Leah’s. The front room was all blue. The walls, the sofa and the curtains. There were art books, large plants and an even larger television. A Cézanne print hung over the fireplace. It was pretty tasteful really. On a low table were three ashtrays stuffed full of fag-ends. The children immediately started fiddling with everything. Bailey spread himself on the sofa. He was six foot four. When he sat on a sofa he took up all of it.
‘How are you then?’
He didn’t answer. He lit a cigarette. Leah sat on the other sofa.
‘Are there any toys?’ asked Ben, half at Leah and half at Bailey.
‘Nope,’ said Bailey.
‘Why?’ said Tom, knocking something off the mantelpiece. Luckily it didn’t break.
Bailey blew out smoke noisily.
‘Can they watch the telly?’ said Leah, desperately.
He handed Ben the remote control, which was a bad move since they now started flicking through the channels and arguing. Leah felt her insides gurgle. Ian’s dead. Rachel’s in grey. The wind’s racing up Steep Street and Bailey’s big bare foot is dangling over the arm of the sofa.
‘Where’s Declan?’
‘Asleep.’ Another whoosh of smoke.
‘Boys. Declan’s still asleep. You must be quiet!’
‘Who’s Declan?’ said Ben.
‘He lives here. He’s Ian’s friend.’
‘Who’s Ian?’ said Tom.
