Now You See Me (15 page)

I stood up. ‘You can't work like that,' I said. ‘Let's tell Mr Dickens we can't do any more today.'

‘I'll be right.'

‘Why did you do it?' I said and his eyes met mine with a sort of pang.

‘Because they were naff.' A long moment hung there. He said, ‘Your birthday?' noticing Mr Dickens' card.

‘Last week.'

‘Should have said. Drink tonight? Buy you a pint.'

‘K.' I had to turn away so he couldn't see my idiot face. ‘Only I'll treat you – Mr Dickens gave me some birthday money. But … what if you're seen?'

‘Nah. Anyway, a man has to have his pint.'

We got back to work. I don't know how he could bear it. And my arm was hurting. Maybe a bit of plastic left in. They're splintery as hell, biros. But still the fog had gone and it had all come clear. I have not been happier, not for a long, long time. It was me that said that the LOVE and HATE were naff. Does that mean he burnt them off for me? He should not have done it, but still I have not been happier since I don't know when.

I just loved the way his beard looked so soft around his lips and the little prong of lines at the corners of his eyes when he smiled. Murder? It was hard to believe, seeing him out in the fresh air like that, gardening. I loved the way he breathed when he was lifting something heavy. There was pale sun so I think my red highlights would have been showing and I was glad I'd had them done. Nice eyes, nice hair, that's two things anyway. Oh, and the cheek-bones.

Then a female person came round the back.

‘That was quick,' she said.

Her hair was silver in the sun, long and straight, pushed back from a high white forehead. ‘I'm Sarah,' she said, ‘Mr Dickens' great-niece.' The blue sky cracked quietly like an egg.

Nineteen

We all stood staring at each other for a moment that went on far too long.

‘Hi,' I said eventually. Doggo darted me a panicked look. He didn't even have his shades on.

‘You must be Lamb,' she said. She turned her eyes on him. ‘And Doggo. Hi. He's told me all about
you.'
Doggo and I froze, but she seemed oblivious. She came closer and I saw that her skin was like cream. Her lips were very pink and her teeth square and white when she smiled. She smiled at Doggo.

‘I said to Uncle he should get a gardener but I never thought he would. Not so fast anyway. Look what you've done already …' She shook her head at the chopped-up garden like it was some kind of miracle.

She was wearing jeans and a white sweater that was tight over her big tits. When she went up the steps and straight into the house without knocking, her thighs were like pork chops. I would never wear tight jeans if I had those hips and thighs. But Doggo kept on watching even after the door had shut.

‘Shit,' I said.

‘Yeah.'

‘What shall we do?'

He shrugged. ‘Just get on with it.' He went into the cellar and came out wearing the shades. I thought it was a bit late for that, but didn't like to say.

Doggo had planned a rock garden to make use of the rocks we kept finding in the long grass, rocks with a trail of glitter through them, I don't know what kind. It was hard work lugging them about with a cronky wheelbarrow and Doggo changed his mind twice about where the rock garden should be. I was getting fed up. What did it matter where it was? Not like it would ever get finished anyway, the garden. I wanted to say that to Doggo.
Remember, you are on the run
. The rock garden ended up in a dingy corner under the shadow of a tree. I couldn't see what he could see. He could see what wasn't there yet, flowers and stuff, all I could see was a heap of mucky rocks.

‘What will grow in the shade?' I said.

He shrugged. ‘Them little white things.' I gave up. Every time there was a noise from the house he flinched. He'd got the hunched and dodgy look back again. I wanted to hold him. I was his protection. I got a blooming feeling in my belly thinking that. Only it would be good to know exactly what he'd done.

‘Are you worried,' I asked, ‘about her?'

He stopped and pushed his hair out of his eyes. His glove left a smear of earth across his forehead. He was acting like his mind was somewhere else but I didn't want it somewhere else I wanted it right there with me.

‘Where do you fancy tonight then?' I said. ‘Duke's Head?'

‘It's crap on a Saturday,' he said.

Sarah came out again. Her forehead was furrowed like someone had pulled a fork through the cream. ‘I'm worried about Uncle,' she said. ‘He's not himself at all.'

‘I thought that,' I said.

‘Anyway shall I bring you out some tea?' Her brilliant smile swept over the two of us like some kind of searchlight. She brought out a tray with two cups and some biscuits. ‘Here.' Gordon trotted up to her, followed by Norma. ‘Hello.' Sarah's voice went babyish. ‘Hello, you two.' She squatted down to pet them and I thought her jeans would burst.

‘Norma's a bit off,' Doggo said.

‘Norma!' She let out a trill of laughter. ‘I've heard some good ones, but I like that!'

‘After my great-aunt,' Doggo said, which was news to me, ‘and Gordon.'

‘Her husband?'

‘No, the gin.'

I smiled knowingly.

‘So what's wrong with Norma?' Sarah ran her hands over the little dog and she whimpered. ‘All right, girl,' she said, petting and feeling. ‘She eating?'

Doggo shook his head. ‘Not much, not last couple of days.'

Sarah smiled up at him. ‘Actually I'm a veterinary student,' she went. I thought she was joking but she wasn't.

You should have seen Doggo's face then. You'd think an angel had landed. ‘Could you do anything for her?' he said.

‘I'm taking her to the vet on Monday,' I said.

‘I'm only first year,' she said, ‘but I've a mate who's qualified. I could pop her there now if you like. Want to come?'

‘What
now
?' I said looking at Doggo, but he was nodding.

‘Sure?' I said.

He looked irritated. ‘Course I'm sure.' I was only thinking of
him
.

‘I'm afraid there's not room for the three of us.' Sarah pulled a face at me.

‘Well Doggo can get on with the garden,' I said.

‘No, I'll take her,' he said.

What could I say?

So they left Gordon with me and went away. I watched them get in the car and she was telling the truth, it was full of boxes and stuff and Doggo had to cram up with Norma on his knee. It seemed like a funny sort of lying low to me.

I shut Gordon in the cellar and went up to see Mr Dickens. He was asleep in his chair with a trail of drool stretching like a wire from the corner of his mouth to his shoulder. Doughnut was keeled over by the electric flames and Mr Dickens' tea was cold beside him. I took the tea away and washed the cups up. Mr Dickens woke up. I could hear him saying, ‘What … what …'

I went and sat by him and said, ‘It's OK, Mr Dickens.' I told him Sarah and Doggo had taken Norma to the vet and he smiled an empty pumpkin smile and said, ‘Good lass, she is.'

‘Shall I make more tea?' I said. ‘Only yours got cold.'

‘Must have dropped off,' he said. He looked at his Zimmer frame and then changed his mind. ‘Please.' I turned my face away and switched the lamp on to try and make everything seem brighter.

‘Feel poorly,' he mumbled.

‘What's up?'

‘Can't rightly say.' He creaked his head from side to side. I went and put the kettle on.

I sat by him again so he could see my lips. ‘So Sarah's back,' I said. ‘She staying?'

‘Didn't I say? Could of sworn I said. She's thinking of packing her course in.'

‘She didn't mention
that,'
I said. ‘She must have only just started it.'

‘And coming to Sheffield to work at a kennels. She's staying with a friend for a couple of days, thinking it over. It's in bag if she wants it, connections, you know. And she's a looker,' he added, irrelevantly. ‘Got a way with animals, she has. Ever since she was knee high to a sparrow always rescuing baby mice and feeding them with eye-droppers.'

The kettle started whistling so I went to bring the tea through.

‘Going home for Christmas?' he said.

It was like someone had suddenly got hold of my guts and squeezed. ‘Dunno,' I said, which was true because I hadn't let myself think about Christmas, even though the shops were all choking up with tinsel like some sort of mutant weed.

Last Christmas I minded my American lady's house – not one of my ladies any more. I was only meant to be going in twice a day to feed the cat, switch the lights on and off and draw the curtains to fool any watching burglars. Instead I stayed in the bath practically all week or in bed watching TV. When I was in bed I kept the electric blanket on and the warmth got right into my bones till they almost melted – which made it all the worse when she came back. I got the sack after that. She knew I'd been staying, someone must have said. But what difference did it make? Surely it was better if there was someone there? Not the sack exactly. She just said they'd be moving back to the States soon and she could manage herself till then so she'd have to let me go. Only they didn't move. I kept walking past to see and she even saw me once and looked away quick.

Christmas makes me think of my mum and I can hardly bear to think. We used to have Christmas lunch with the friends. The morning always started off the same right up till I was fifteen. I'd take my Christmas stocking into her bed really early and we'd take everything out together. We'd drink tea from her Teasmaid and unpeel and eat the tinny-tasting chocolate money. Then we'd have bacon sandwiches for breakfast because they were our favourite thing and she'd mix up fizzy white wine and orange juice to drink while we opened our presents. We'd put on our best clothes and lipstick even though it was only us and still early in the morning and we'd take turns to watch each other open the presents and make noises like fireworks going off though we already knew what half of them were.

We'd walk to the friends' house which was a long walk but we always did because it was good for us and so that she could drink. We'd take bags of presents and bottles of wine and spot the kids playing out on their new bikes or roller skates, spot the new hats and scarves. The lunch would be long and hot and noisy with crackers and silly jokes and a flaming pudding.

Walking home was always the best bit. The friends always said for goodness sakes get a taxi but we would love to be walking with ringing heels in the frosty dark, our breaths puffing out in front of us and the path glittering in the street lights. We liked to peep in windows where the curtains hadn't been drawn yet and see snatches of other people's Christmases, televisions flickering, streamers flopping down, someone snoring in a chair. The moon would be a flung-up silver threepence and cats would prowl and we would link arms and hardly need to say a word.

Anyway this Christmas I don't know what yet and I don't really care, to tell the truth. It's just another day in a line of days.

‘What about you?' I asked.

Mr Dickens said, ‘Don't fuss with it myself. Meals on Wheels usually drop off a cracker.' Which made me laugh.

It seemed like hours before Doggo, Norma and Sarah came back and when they did there was a look between them which left me out. I couldn't look at Doggo. I wondered what he'd told her. After all that they hadn't even got to see her friend. The surgery was closed, and Sarah had decided that anyway Norma wasn't seriously ill. They were going to try again tomorrow.

‘Back to work then,' I said, but Sarah said, ‘Oh no, let's have a cup of tea first.'

I said, ‘Well we've just had one.'

But Mr Dickens said, ‘I could do with another, Sarah makes a good cuppa,' which I know was only him being polite but still made me think, what about
me
, don't
I
make a good cuppa too?

I have to admit she's pretty even though she's big. She's got the kind of smile that makes you want to smile too, just some trick to do with a dimple and a look in her eye. She told us a story about her friend who had to do an operation on a goldfish and operated on the wrong one. Imagine operating on a
goldfish
. It's a mad world, isn't it? One end of the street there's someone frying great hunks of slaughtered cod and haddock and at the other someone fiddling about taking a lump off a goldfish.

I needed to pee after all that tea. I went out into the hall to what Mr Dickens calls his cloakroom which is a toilet with coats hanging in it – including a blue fur-collared one of Zita's – and a washbasin with a cake of leatherish cracked soap.

When I came out I stood in the hall and listened to their voices sounding happy, sounding like they were part of something and I wasn't. I stood by the nailed-up door. I put my nose against the wood and sniffed to see if there was any smell of burning left. It seems wrong to me, to nail it up like that and leave it burnt. If it was my room I'd clean it up and use it, fill it with light and flowers, not nail a plank across the door and leave it empty. I think that's what I'd do.

When I went back in they were sitting cosily round, drinking a second cup of tea. Norma hopped up and sat on Sarah's lap which she has never done with me. ‘Uh-ho,' Doggo said, ‘she's fallen in love.'

‘She's always had a way with them,' said Mr Dickens, giving Doggo a dirty twinkle. ‘Animals I mean.'

You
have
perked up, I thought.

We finally managed to get away. It was always worse when you first went into the cellar, the dismal light, the cold and damp. It got better when you were used to it. I lit the Calor gas. ‘You didn't tell her about the cellar – or anything?' I asked.