A is for Angelica (21 page)

‘Yes, because of the stroke. She has to sleep in the afternoon. I should have realised. We’ll have to come back another day.’

‘Can’t you just wake her up?’

‘Would you like a biscuit, Angela?’ says my mother. ‘We’ve plenty of biscuits.’

‘I can’t wake her up. Definitely not.’

‘Are they chocolate biscuits? You have very nice bone china, Mrs Kingdom.’

‘Why thank you, dear. I think they might have nuts in. Do you like nuts?’

‘She needs her rest. Really, we need to go.’

‘Have you ever had it valued? I need the toilet first.’

‘I don’t know what you mean, dear. Do you like nuts?’ says my mother.

‘Fine. You can go to the toilet.’

‘Well, thank you very much.’

‘There’s one under the stairs. Use that one. Don’t go upstairs.’

Angelica glares as she walks past me. What in God’s name am I doing? Georgina’s at home and she’s had a third stroke. Not like the others, but still a stroke. I should be with
her, not here. I need to step up the routine. More exercises. More noughts and crosses. More everything. I watch Angelica. She doesn’t go to the toilet. Instead she goes straight to the front
door. She opens it, turns and says, ‘Nice to meet you Mrs Kingdom.’ Then she walks up the drive and gets back into the car. She puts her seatbelt on and folds her arms. She looks
incredibly cross. I look at my father. He’s been standing at the end of the hall. He’s been listening. ‘Anyway, it’s been nice to catch up,’ I say. But he
doesn’t reply. He just stares at me, nods at the plaque on the wall. Red with gold lettering: ‘We live by faith, not by sight. Two Corinthians. Chapter 5. Verse 7.’

‘Does Angela like nuts, Gordon?’

‘I don’t know, Mum. I really don’t know.’

Angelica still hasn’t started the engine. It’s thirty seconds since I kissed my mother, shook my father’s hand and came to get in the car. I can see him
standing by the curtain in the living room. He’s watching us.

‘What’s going on, Gordon?’

‘Nothing.’

‘What’s wrong with Georgina?’

‘Nothing. She’s just asleep.’

‘You said you hadn’t seen her for weeks.’

‘I haven’t.’

‘And you couldn’t wake her up?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because of the stroke.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

This is it. I can’t keep my secret any longer. My father is watching me and he knows that I know that he’s watching me. He’s not even hiding. He’s just standing there.
With his cup of tea and his biscuit. And Angelica doesn’t believe me. I’ll have to tell her everything. She’s waiting for an answer. I put my hands in my lap and clasp my fingers
together tightly, like I’m about to pray. Like I’m sorry for something.

‘It’s my mother,’ I say. ‘She’s here to look after my mother.’

‘I thought she was sleeping.’

‘She is. She needs to rest.’

‘Because of the stroke?’

‘Because of the stroke.’

Angelica looks at me, sits perfectly still. She pauses for a moment. Then she reaches under the dashboard and twists the key in the ignition. The engine starts first time.

‘Let’s go,’ she says. ‘Before I wet myself.’

Temptation

This has to stop. I can’t keep my secret any longer. It’s half past three in the afternoon and I’m on the chair next to Georgina’s bed. The room is
nearly dark because the curtains are almost closed. It’s raining again. I can hear it beating against the window. It gets louder then softens. Louder then softens. I’ve been sitting
here for over an hour. Listening to its rhythms and counting with my fingers. I’ve been looking around the room. At the suitcase on top of the wardrobe. At the cobwebs in the corners. At my
beautiful bed-ridden wife. And I’ve been thinking. Making decisions. Georgina’s not improving. I know it. She knows it. I don’t need my manual and I don’t need to carry out
tests. I can tell by the look in her eyes, the touch of her hand and the sores on her back. She should have been better by now. She should have been up and walking. But she isn’t. And
it’s my fault. I’ve taken my eye off the ball. I’ve been too busy telling lies. But things are going to change. I can’t do this on my own. I thought I could. But I
can’t. The time has come. I need help. Help to change the sheets. Help to move her legs. Help to keep me focused. I’m going to tell Angelica. I’m going to tell her everything.
I’m going to tell her tonight. She’s my only hope. She always was.

Note: Practice speech. You know what you are doing. You just need someone to help you. It looks much worse than it is. Note end.

It’s now half past one in the morning. We’ve been sitting on the bed together for over a minute. We’re waiting for Benny. I’m drinking tea from a mug. Angelica’s
drinking whiskey from a hip flask. She took it from her bag before we came upstairs. Now she has her feet on the valance. I want to tell her to remove them. They’ll make it dirty. But I
don’t need to. She stands up, walks over to the window and rubs it with her sleeve. She seems agitated. She’s wearing a white cotton shirt. It sticks to her forearms.

‘I can’t believe this fucking rain,’ she says. ‘I think it’s getting worse.’

‘It’s about the same.’

‘Are you sure? I can’t see a thing.’

‘I’m positive.’

‘Well it looks worse to me. Maybe I’m just tired.’

She puts her hand to her mouth as if she’s going to yawn but hiccups. I need to tell her about Georgina. I need to tell her before the situation gets any worse. This is the perfect time.
I’ve said I’m going to do it and now I am. I should have done it sooner.

‘Angelica, there’s something I need to tell you.’

‘I don’t think he’s even there, you know.’

‘It’s quite important.’

‘What’s he pissing about at?’

‘It’s Georgina.’

‘Jesus Christ!’ She hits the window with the palm of her hand, so hard that it seems to bounce off the glass. If it weren’t double glazed, she’d have probably put her
fist through. It shocks me into standing.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing?’

‘I just can’t see that’s all.’

‘But he’s not painting.’

‘I know.’

‘You’ll break the window.’ She turns to face me. We are both on our feet, only inches between us. I can smell her breath and perfume. Her face is orange from the glow of the
lights in the street. She is close enough to kiss me. She would never kiss me. I wouldn’t let her.

‘Are you an expert on windows?’ She’s annoyed with me. How would she like it if I tried to smash her window? She probably wouldn’t care. I think she’s going to
swear at me. I think she’s going to leave. But perhaps not. Her shoulders are relaxing. She’s shaking her head. She’s going to apologise. She smiles and rolls her eyes.

‘I’m leaving, Gordon.’

‘There’s no need to leave. It’s only a window. I overreacted.’

‘No, I mean I’m moving out.’

‘Moving out?’

‘Yes.’

‘You can’t move out.’

‘I’m going back to my husband. We’re giving it another go.’

‘You only just moved in.’

‘He says he can forgive me.’

‘Can he?’

‘Yes.’

‘I didn’t know you’d done anything wrong.’

‘I didn’t. Not really. He thought I’d had an affair.’

‘Did you?’

‘I’m sorry about losing my temper.’

‘Did you have an affair?’

‘I guess I’m on edge about it all. I’m just tired. It’s all the late nights.’

‘But did you have an affair?’

‘Of course not. It doesn’t matter now. What were you trying to tell me?’

‘Sorry?’

‘You said you wanted to tell me something.’

‘Oh, nothing.’

‘Go on.’

‘It’s nothing.’

‘You said something about Georgina’

‘No I didn’t.’

‘Yes you did. Is she all right?’

‘She’s fine.’

‘Is she finally coming home?’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘I mean yes. Not for long.’

‘Is there a problem?’

‘She loved her flowers. Did I tell you she loved her flowers?’

‘No, I don’t think you did.’

‘Well she did, she loved them.’

‘Okay. I’m glad.’

‘That was it. Georgina loved her flowers.’

The cavalry has vanished. After all my preparation. I feel faint. I have to put my hand on the wall to stop myself from falling. I sit back down on the bed. Angelica turns to the window and rubs
the glass with her sleeve. I look at the space where my files used to be. An empty bookcase gathering dust. She puts her hands on her hips and hiccups again. Benny has started painting. I need
another cup of tea.

‘Where are you going?’ she says.

‘I’m making a drink. Do you want one?’

‘Water, please. It might get rid of my hiccups.’

I take a glass from the cupboard and run it under the tap to wash the dust out. I fill it with cold water and place it on the worktop. I put the kettle on to boil, sit down at
the table and wait. It’s almost two o’clock in the morning. I’ve been watching Benny for months so I’m used to the late nights. But tonight I’m tired. In fact,
I’m exhausted. And now Angelica is leaving. She’s been here six weeks and I have several files worth of notes on her. I’ve bought her gifts and she’s met my parents. Right
now, she’s the only person who can help me. But she won’t be here to do it. She’ll go when she’s still needed.

The kettle boils. As I stand up, I notice Angelica’s handbag. It’s pink like her slippers. And she’s left it unzipped. I could put my hand in. I could open it and look inside.
She’d never know. I put a teabag in a mug. There are two bottles of milk in the fridge. One of them is full, the other almost empty. I take the bottle that’s already been opened and
check the label. I look back at the bag. It’s almost like she’s left it there on purpose. Like she wants me to look. The rain has eased or the wind died down. It’s definitely
quieter. If she comes downstairs I’ll hear her footsteps. I finish making tea and put the mug next to the glass of water on the worktop. There’s a notepad in the cupboard under the
sink. It’s for emergencies. This is an emergency. I take it out and grab a pen from the cutlery drawer. I walk over to the table, put my hand in Angelica’s bag and start taking things
out.

Note: Angelica’s inventory = Tissues. Nail polish (three colours). Make-up. Mirror. Photo Album. Swiss army knife. Note end.

I put the items on the table. The bag is huge. I thought there’d be more in it. The photo album has a red cover and the word ‘Love’ printed across the top in
gold lettering. I open it carefully. My fingers shaking. It holds two photos. One is of a man around my age. He has a moustache and is standing beside a boat. It was taken during summer. Or in
another country. The other photo is of a boy, except he doesn’t look like a boy. He looks like a man. It’s a school photograph and he’s sitting in front of a blue background with
books painted on for effect. It could’ve been taken anywhere. He has a wide smile and dark hair. I’ve seen him before. In Angelica’s kitchen. He looks exactly like her.

I’ve been downstairs for almost nine minutes. Angelica’s hiccups might have gone by now. I should go back up. If I tell her about Georgina, she might change her mind about leaving.
She’ll feel guilty and stay. One by one I put the items back into the bag. Apart from the purse, which is leather and has the letter ‘A’ stitched into the side. It looks almost
new. Slowly, I undo the clasp. My tea is going cold. She’ll be wondering where I am. The purse is full of notes, but no cards. I take them out, lick my thumb and count them. Two hundred and
forty pounds. Ten twenties. Three tens. Two fives. I fold the notes and put them back in the purse. There is a zipped compartment sewn into the lining of the bag. I pull the zip and put my fingers
inside. I can feel one object. It is long and round. I take it out and put it on the table. A thick, black marker pen. I stare at it for a while. A minute. Maybe two. Then I place it back inside
the purse. There must be some mistake.

Benny has extinguished his candles and Angelica is asleep on the bed in the darkness. Her hair lies loose across her cheek and her feet are under the covers. The hip flask is
on the floor. I put our drinks on the bookcase. Second shelf down from the top. I need to wake her. This is where I sleep. ‘Angelica,’ I whisper. No response. I bend my back, lean
closer. ‘Angelica, you’ve fallen asleep.’ Again, nothing. It must be the drink. I raise my voice a little, ‘I’ve brought your water. How are the hiccups?’ She
doesn’t answer. She lies there motionless. Her chest isn’t moving. I put my fingers to her wrist and check her pulse out of habit. She’s alive. Of course she’s alive. I
shake her gently by the shoulder. I speak at my normal volume, ‘Angelica, it’s gone two o’clock. You can’t sleep here.’ Her fingers twitch.

‘David, I’m fine,’ she says softly, without waking. I look around for a notepad, but they’re all in the loft. Or under the kitchen sink. I don’t really need one
anyway. I can remember a name.

‘Angelica?’ Back to nothing. ‘Angelica?’ She’s not going anywhere. She’ll have to stay here. I could sleep on the sofa and use the spare sheets from the
airing cupboard. They should be warm enough. I’ll wake her early and ask her downstairs for breakfast. Tea and toast for two. It’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow. I can give her the
card I’ve made. My way of saying thank you. That’s all. She’ll be polite and appreciative. Then we’ll sit at the table and talk. I’ll ask her about the marker pen.
She’ll explain everything. Then she’ll say she’s sorry for falling asleep. That she can’t believe how tired she must’ve been. And I’ll say it’s fine, no
bother at all. Then we’ll be quiet and struggle for something to say. Until she asks about Georgina. Then I’ll crack a joke. And we’ll laugh together. But she’ll ask me
again. And I’ll tell her the truth. She’ll completely understand. She’ll change her mind about leaving.