A is for Angelica (13 page)

‘Thanks, Dad. He’ll be all right.’ My father entered the room and stood next to us. We were in a line. He twisted his neck, bent his knees and stared at the shelf from across
the room. Then he straightened, scratched his chin and repeated the process.

‘That’s not straight,’ he said.

‘I knew it! I told you it wasn’t straight.’ Georgina put her hands to her cheeks in disbelief and started walking to the door. ‘I told you,’ I said. ‘I knew
it wasn’t straight.’

‘Do what you like with it, Gordon,’ she replied. ‘It’s only a shelf.’ I took my screwdriver from my tool belt and walked over to the shelf. I turned to my father
and winked at him.

‘Not that side,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘Not that side. It needs going left a bit.’

‘Left a bit? You mean right a bit.’

‘No I mean left a bit. Come and look.’

‘I don’t need to look. Are you serious?’

‘Of course I’m serious. It’s not straight.’

‘I know it’s not straight. I’ve been saying it’s not straight for over an hour.’

‘Give me the screwdriver.’

‘No.’

‘Come on, give me the screwdriver. Let me do it.’ My father put his tea on the windowsill and held out his hand.

‘I painted that this morning. Is it dry?’

‘It’s fine. Give it me.’ He walked towards me and tried to snatch the screwdriver from my hand. I moved quickly and hid it behind my back. He paused, and before I could react,
he jabbed me in the ribs with his index and middle fingers together. It didn’t hurt, but it was enough to throw me off guard. I turned my back on him instinctively. He grabbed my wrist with
one hand and took the screwdriver with the other. All in one movement. I decided not to argue any further. I walked to the other side of the room and let him get on with it. It took him nearly half
an hour to take the shelf apart and screw it back to the wall. Exactly where he wanted. I watched, waited and drank his tea while he did it. Just to get my own back.

It was late by the time my father left. Don walked with him to the van and helped him reattach the ladder to the roof. They shook hands and laughed. When they stopped laughing,
my father put his hand on Don’s arm, leant towards him and whispered something. Then they laughed again. My father opened the van door and climbed inside. Don tapped the bonnet with the palm
of his hand and walked home. I stood on my doorstep and waved. By the time I’d washed up, locked the back door and made my way upstairs, Georgina was in bed with the light switched off. I
changed into my pyjamas and went to the bathroom. It smelled of paint and detergent. I held my breath while I cleaned my teeth, inhaling only once. We were nearly there. Our own house. Our own
furniture. Fully decorated. I climbed into bed with Georgina.

‘Are you asleep?’ I said, softly. She didn’t answer. I reached beneath the covers and put my hand on her hip. ‘Georgie, are you asleep?’

‘Not any more,’ she mumbled.

‘Sorry. Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine. Have they gone?’

‘About twenty minutes ago. I’ve cleared up downstairs. The paint still smells.’

‘That’s paint for you,’ she said, rolling over and away from me, my fingers sliding around her waist as she turned. I removed my hand and adjusted the pillows. I lay with my
eyes open. They adjusted quickly to the dark. I was able to trace the outline of the moon through the curtains. I listened to Georgina’s breathing. It hadn’t changed. It hadn’t
slowed.

‘Georgie?’ I whispered. She sighed and tugged the covers.

‘What now, Gordon?’

‘I’ve just been thinking, that’s all.’

‘About what?’

‘Nothing really. Just the wedding.’

‘What about it?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve just been thinking.’

‘It’s late, Gordon. Go to sleep.’ Georgina shuffled on her elbows. Changed position. Sighed again.

‘You remember on the way home, when we dropped your mum off, she left her earrings in the car?’

‘She was drunk.’

‘Completely. Do you remember?’

‘Sort of. Not really.’

‘My dad helped her into the house and I went in after them. I took your mum her earrings. They were hugging.’ Georgina didn’t answer straight away. She thought about her reply.
I turned onto my side. I put my hand on her hip.

‘So what?’ she said. ‘What’s your point?’

‘I don’t have a point.’

‘Then why bring it up?’

‘I’ve just been thinking about the wedding. I thought it was strange.’

‘You need to stop thinking, Gordon. Go to sleep.’ She lifted one of her pillows and placed it over her head, clamped it with her forearm. I lay a little longer, my eyes open, staring
at the moon.

‘I’m going to straighten the shelf in the morning,’ I said. Georgina didn’t reply.

Misconduct

Two days have passed since we buried Kipling. The smell of diarrhoea has disappeared and Don Donald still has my spade. It’s five to nine in the morning and Benny is late
for school. I’ve been watching his front door for half an hour and he’s yet to emerge. Last night I saw him painting, so I know that he’s not ill. I sat on the edge of the bed and
let my mind wander. I thought about what it was like when I used to wake up in the morning, put on a shirt and go to work. What it was like to have two incomes and no cause for help. How it felt to
go to church at the weekend with faith and no questions. I watched Benny’s candles melt in the half-light. One of them needs replacing. It’s almost down to nothing.

Angelica’s door opens. She steps out and into the morning, turns and locks her door. Her hair is half up, half down. It looks like it’s been trimmed. She’s carrying an umbrella
and wearing the jeans she wore the day she moved to Cressington Vale. The ones with the colours sewn into the hem. She holds her palm flat and feels for rain. Then she looks at the sky and holds
her hand out further. There is no rain. It stopped more than an hour ago. Angelica turns around, slides the tip of her umbrella into the letterbox and shoves the rest of it through by the handle. I
write it down and watch her walk to the pavement. She flicks her hair and pulls her coat tight around her waist. She’s on her way to the newsagents. I’ll make a fresh cup of tea while
she’s gone.

I put down my notepad and pen, push myself up with my elbows and make my way to the kitchen. Before I leave the room, I turn and take one last look through the window. Angelica has stopped.
She’s standing at the end of Benny’s drive and opening the gate. She’s walking towards the house and knocking on the door. I go back to the curtain and pick up my pen. I look at
my watch and make a note of the time.

Note: Angelica is 42 and Benny is 16. He is younger than the distance between them. Average age of menopause onset = 51. Note end.

Angelica has been inside Benny’s house for seven minutes. His mother left for work while I ate my breakfast, which means that no-one else is home. Just Benny and
Angelica. My fingers are shaking. My heart is racing. It’s completely inappropriate. Whatever they’re doing. She knocked three times before he answered the door. He opened it slowly,
smiled at her and yawned. I could see the hair in his armpits. Angelica spoke to him. Benny shook his head. She spoke again and made a shape with her hands. This time he nodded. He took a step
backwards and beckoned her inside. She looked around, searched the street for faces and followed him into the house.

Nine minutes and counting. I’m still waiting for Angelica to reappear and doing everything I can to stop myself from going over there to interrupt. I want to ask her what the hell she
thinks she’s doing. I want to ask her if she knows what it looks like to the rest of us. But I don’t need to interrupt, because Angelica is opening the door and leaving the house. Her
arms are wrapped tight around her chest and she looks angry. As angry as she did when I first saw her at the surgery. She has something in her hand, but I can’t tell what it is because
it’s too small and she’s moving so quickly. Benny appears in the doorway. He looks even angrier. His face is red and his fists are jabbing the air. He shouts at Angelica, but she
ignores him. She bows her head, continues through the gate and away down the street.

When she reaches the end she stops, turns and looks back at Benny. He looks at her. They stand thirty metres apart but hold each other’s stare for what seems like an eternity. Until one of
them cracks. Angelica. She touches her forehead, looks down at the ground and shrugs her shoulders. She covers her eyes with her hand and walks away from Cressington Vale. Benny steps into the
house and pumps his fist in celebration. He smiles and slams the door.

I make notes for the next twenty minutes. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Morale

Georgina knows that Kipling is dead. She worked it out when I told her he was staying with Don for the third night running. She didn’t believe me. We’d been playing
noughts and crosses. She drew lines and circles on the paper with her finger. I copied her instructions with the pen. She beat me fair and square.

When we’d finished she put her hand on my arm, pointed to the dog hairs on my cardigan. She took my hand, squeezed it once. ‘He’s still with Don,’ I said, without looking
at her. I took my hand away, shuffled the papers on the bed and tried to look sincere. Georgina started crying. It was the first time she’d cried since the night she had her second stroke.
And she couldn’t stop. The tears poured from her eyes. I sat with her, wiped them away with tissues and toilet roll. I put my arm around her shoulders, told her he was old and it was probably
for the best. He’s with the Lord now. But it made no difference. She continued to cry. Then after more than an hour, she fell asleep. I waited until I knew she wouldn’t wake up.
Arranged her pillows and put her in position. I sat in the chair by the bed. My back ached from sitting on the mattress. It ached even more on the chair. But I had to stay with Georgina. One eye
had stopped, but the other continued to weep while she slept.

Note: Expect dry eyes and reduced lid control leading to poor closure. Tears do not necessarily relate to levels of discomfort. Note end.

I collected every item of clothing in the house. From underpants to overcoats. Georgina’s and mine. I folded them up and put them into piles in the spare room. Then I
went to Wilkinson, bought every roll of Sellotape they had. When I got home, I took the ironing board upstairs, opened it by the spare room window. I watched John Bonsall. He must have had the day
off work to finish his conservatory. Every twenty minutes he appeared at his front door. He was wearing his fluorescent rubber suit. It used to fit him. He sipped from his mug, stood for a while
and sucked in the cold winter air. Then he disappeared again, went back to his ‘work’.

I cut off strips of Sellotape. Hundreds of them. I used them to remove every trace of Kipling I could find. I put each item of clothing on the ironing board, dragged the tape across the fabric.
When I finished, I started on the furniture, beginning with Georgina’s bed, making sure I didn’t wake her. It took me four and a half hours to complete the house. It had gone dark
outside. I sat by the spare room window, sweat dripping from my forehead onto the sill. Pamela Bonsall pulled into the drive. John was standing by the door, waiting for her. He had his mug in his
hand and a smile on his face. He kissed her on the cheek, pretended to wipe sweat from his brow. I picked up a notepad and pen, and began to write.

I think Georgina may be deteriorating. I’m beginning to doubt my capability. This morning, I tried to get her to stand up. We’ve been practicing. Last week, she
managed to stand for thirty seconds. She even took a step. But this morning she refused to even try. Her skin was pale and she barely touched her breakfast. She struggled to drink her water and
take her tablets. I told her not to worry. I told her we’d have another go later if she wanted. But she looked at me as if to say, ‘No, not today.’ And I sat there, watched her
staring at nothing. Or at our wedding picture on the dresser. At the mirror above it, too high for her to see a reflection of herself. Just the window by her side, the thick curtains and the strip
of sky where they fail to meet. She looked terrified and angry. I picked up the manual, licked my thumb and flicked through the pages. For the first time in weeks, I didn’t know what to do.
There was nothing I could do. I closed the manual and put it back on the bedside table. I sat and I stared. I watched Georgina’s eyes close. She looked older than she ever has before. She
looked like her mother.

‘What if I can’t do this?’ I whispered, but Georgina was already asleep, her mouth slightly open, the smallest gap for her to breathe through. I put my hand on her forehead and
checked her temperature. ‘Don would help if I asked him. He always wants to help.’

Nobody’s business

It’s quarter past three in the afternoon and I’ve spent the last two days thinking about Benny and Angelica’s argument. Thirty seconds ago I was upstairs in
the bedroom. I’d opened the window so that I could hear the street in case something happened. Instead, I heard Don whistling his way into my front garden. I had to run downstairs and block
him off, before he got to the door. He’s in his suit again.

‘Did you hear the commotion then?’

‘Morning Don. What commotion was that?’

‘Jenny’s lad. Shouting his mouth off at the new girl.’

‘You mean Angelica?’

‘That’s the one. Right here in the street.’

‘She’s not really a girl.’

‘Well you know what I mean.’

‘No I didn’t see anything.’

‘Me neither, but I heard them. Well, I heard him anyway.’ Don laughs and snorts without meaning to. He half-wipes his nose with his sleeve. I turn and check I’ve closed the
door correctly.

‘What were they arguing about?’ I say.

‘I’ve got no idea. It was mainly him. He was effing and blinding. She said she didn’t want to talk about it. He’s a strange one.’

‘You spoke to Angelica? When did you speak to her?’

‘She was at the surgery when I picked up my prescription.’

‘At the surgery? What was she doing there?’