Fly in the Ointment (16 page)

Forget Ramon. He sounded like a born brute who would thrive in any atmosphere rife with bad moods and spite. But once her character had revealed itself, why did the other two stay?

Had they felt pity? For Janie Gay was definitely what my Scottish neighbour back on Rosslyn Road always referred to as ‘a right Mrs Nae Friends'. Most of the mothers I've known had stronger ties with other females when they had babies and small children
than they'd had back in school. But no young woman ever came up next door's path, either alone or trailing toddlers. So either Janie Gay had skipped all her clinics and parenting classes and given birth in a hedge, or, like the blithe miller in the nursery rhyme I sang for Larry so often (‘Again, Aunty Lo! Again!'), she cared for nobody, no, not she, and nobody cared for her.

From time to time young men would come to her door and chat for a while. Old boyfriends? Unlikely. Drug-dealers? More on the mark. She never let them in. As far as I could tell, apart from the driver of the fast blue car who took her off for the occasional spin, she hadn't had a boyfriend since Guy left. (Guy! The very echo of his name would set me praying for the lad's return, and I would have to make an effort to remind myself that he too was someone's son, and down in Dover there was a woman my age who wouldn't be too grateful for me to wish her easygoing, floppy-haired lad back with this peevish harpy.) I couldn't help but think about him, though. And it was obvious why Guy had made such a fine stab of lasting out through the vicissitudes of life with Janie Gay. He was a natural when it came to kindness, and his affection for Larry had been real and strong. I had seen that the day I made my little visit as Mrs Kuperschmidt.

But what about Malachy? Why had he stayed? Had even a boy as immature as he was somehow already known that all you need to break a chain of family misery is someone in the house prepared to take an interest in a child and treat him gently? The longer I thought about it, the more I wanted to be sure my son had stuck it out with Janie Gay from a sense of loyalty to little Larry – or even from selfishness, simply to keep a roof over his head or save on rent – anything rather than having to face the fact that something in the way that Stuart and I had brought him up had triggered in our son a sense of kinship with someone as clearly starved of love in childhood as Janie Gay.

Yes, starved. And so I made a hundred thousand efforts to offer her the small attentions I thought might buff off some of the corrosion left by a childhood like hers. I took all sorts of tacks. And still the only exchanges I ever managed to have with her took place on her doorstep or mine. If I invited her inside, she didn't even answer or make excuses. She simply acted as if my ‘Why don't you come in? I could make tea' had not been said aloud. I'd try to start a conversation, but it would beach up almost before it began. It was as if she'd never learned how people talk. As she pushed Larry towards me, I'd ask her amiably, ‘Doing something nice?'

‘I doubt it.'

And that was that. She'd slouch away as if she hadn't even realized that it was natural to take the time to chat for a moment or two to someone in whose care you planned to shove your child for several hours. Talk only took off if she had the inclination to use it as a springboard to air self-pity. So, burning with the question that only she could answer, I waited till she'd brought Larry to my house one day, then, nodding after him as he scooted past and vanished into the kitchen, I asked her outright, ‘I've often wondered, Janie Gay. What about Larry's father?'

She gave the most contemptuous snort. ‘Oh, him? He's dead.'

Oh, him?
I could have slugged her. That was my son she was dismissing like some freshly swatted wasp. But, wait. She wasn't finished. ‘He was a real dumb loser.'

‘Loser?' Though she was moving off towards my gate, I still persisted. ‘What do you mean?'

‘You know.' She shrugged. ‘The sort to buy a telly that never works, or vodka that turns out to be water.' In spite of herself, she warmed to the task of trashing my son's memory enough to risk an indiscretion. ‘Mal was so stupid he nearly got me killed once.'

‘Really?'

‘Yes. He owed this guy an awful lot of money. The guy got mad and thought he'd get his own back.'

She gave me a sideways look as if in sudden doubt as to whether it was wise to go on with her story. Perhaps the sight of my frilled blouse and sensible skirt gave her confidence that I wouldn't have the slightest clue what she was on about, because she finished up, ‘Next time they did a deal, this guy fobbed Mal off with some really cheap stuff.' She gave the usual martyred sniff. ‘Of course, it was me that took the bad hit.'

I felt like saying, ‘Our old friend Wilbur, was it?' but kept a grip. In any case, she'd reached the gate and started cursing at the loop of string I'd recently fixed on it to stop young Larry charging into the road. ‘Well, see you when I see you.'

I gave a nod, as if her careless words had been the grateful thanks for looking after her son that had been due. But inside I was thinking just how much trouble would have been saved for me and everybody else if that bad hit had come about a little earlier, and been a whole lot worse.

A few days later, emptying a new batch of files out of my car, I found myself glancing towards Janie Gay's house as usual.

That glint.

Was it her doorkey sticking out from the lock? Well, if it was, here was an opportunity I wasn't going to miss. Hoping that no one on the street could tell from a glance that I was walking as lightly as possible, I went up her path. I had no fears at all about being seen to pull the key from the lock. After all, saving your next-door neighbour from any sharp-eyed ne'er-do-well is only sense.

But one must at least knock. So, raising my hand, I shook it vigorously in front of the door. That would look right.

When, after a while, I still heard nothing from inside except for Larry's howls and the persistent snarls of irritation that passed in Janie Gay's book for ‘standing firm', I slid away, back to my car.

Her total lack of interest in those around her had always left her blind to other people's altered routines. None of her swathes of grimy netting twitched as I pulled out from the kerb again so shortly after arriving. So off I drove, into the early evening and down to Marriot's, where, in a booth tucked away beside the entrance, two men whose backs seemed permanently turned against the customers spent their days heeling shoes and cutting keys. The girl behind the counter picked out a key base in the only colour left, a lurid purple I would not have chosen for myself but liked at once, and passed it back to one of them along with
Janie Gay's key and the graceless warning, ‘Better get on with it. This one's not shopping. She's going to hang around.'

In minutes I was driving home again and back at Janie Gay's door. This time I really knocked while, under cover of the noise, I slid the key back in.

The door swung open. ‘What the
hell
? Oh.
You
.'

I pointed. ‘Just walking by and thought I ought to warn you . . .'

‘Oh, right.' She tugged the key out. ‘That's Larry's fault. The little arse-wipe wouldn't come inside. I had to drag him in. Then I forgot about it.'

‘Easily done.'

Yes. Easily done. And though I wasn't sure how I'd so quickly summoned the wits to take my chance when it was offered me, it was with satisfaction and relief I dropped the purple copy of her key into the little flowered china pot that sat so innocently on my shelf.

NEXT TIME I
took the chance to drop in at the office there was no sign of Trevor or his father. I had become so used to one or another of them hearing the tell-tale buzz of the security lock and leaping out to greet me that I stood rather helplessly in the hall. The place seemed colder than usual. Where were the usual cries of welcome? ‘Lois! You've never finished Alderson & Howatt? What a gem you are!' Or ‘Dad was just saying how much he hoped you'd pop in before Friday.'

Silence.

Then from inside I heard a fruity sniff. I pushed the door. Dana was at her desk, hunched over a cairn of tissues. ‘Lois! You'd better keep away from me. I'm a sink pit of germs. I really shouldn't be here.'

‘Where's Audrey?'

‘Still off. This is her cold, you know. She had the damn thing first.'

‘What about the Hanleys?'

‘The old man's just gone home. Same thing, I reckon. Trevor keeps popping in and out.' She blew her nose again before she added, ‘I think he was hoping to catch you. Wants a little chat.'

I felt the chill of premonition. Clearly this spread of illness round the office had set the Hanleys thinking that mine was an arrangement that couldn't last. I'd obviously have to tackle the business of getting Larry into a nursery if I were going to get back to my workplace without abandoning the child for too long to his mother's care. I stacked more files, wondering if there was any point in phoning Mrs Kuperschmidt to see if there were any strings that she could pull. But when I tried to think how any conversation of that sort might roll along, I could imagine her suspicious tone. ‘So, Lois. You're still taking a very deep interest in this child . . .'

Didn't want that. Exchanging a few last pleasantries about the virtues of aspirins and hot toddies, I made for the door. ‘Tell Trevor I'll do what I can to come in tomorrow.'

I said it with so little conviction that Dana didn't bother to respond. I drove off in a flurry of anxiety. Was my job on the line? I had a vision of having to
choose between my precious house at Pickstone and abandoning Larry. Perhaps I did take far less care than usual to keep to the speed limit. Maybe I did take chances shooting through amber lights along the Forth Hill Road. All I know is, the drive back to the estate took far less time than usual.

Pulling the box from the car, I hurried up the path and stacked the new files on the usual shelf, way above Larry's reach. I pushed my heaps of current paperwork aside to make some room to go through my own affairs just one last time to see if there was any way that I could run to paying for a place for Larry in a private nursery. No doubt it would turn out to be a stretch too far. It was, after all, only a matter of a few months since the two Hanleys had increased all our salaries, and already the costs of running both houses had swallowed up the difference and stretched me to the limit once again. And I would have to fool Larry's mother into thinking the nursery was free. But telling lies to someone who won't benefit from learning the truth is always easy. And being good with figures was my job. I could at least make an attempt to force the columns to balance.

Almost before I started there was a rapping on the door. Sighing, I rose.

Janie Gay.

She had a dangerous look about her and so,
instead of stepping back to let her in, I held my ground in the doorway. ‘Everything all right?'

Oh, she was certainly in fighting trim. For safety's sake, I pulled the door closed behind me as she lurched forward to thrust a shimmering silver-grey jacket towards me. ‘See that?'

I caught the stench of vomit.

‘So?' she snarled. ‘What do you call that?'

I couldn't think how best to answer. In any case, it would have made no difference. She had kicked off on one of her tirades. ‘That's
sick
, that is! This jacket is brand new and now it's
ruined
. And it's all your fault! What've you been feeding him?'

‘Look, Janie Gay, I—'

‘Come on! What kind of crap have you been shoving down his gob?'

‘I can assure you—'

If I'd not stepped aside, she would have pushed the stinking material in my face. ‘
You
fucking get the stain out! You're the big one for laundry – forever out here hanging stuff on the line so you can snoop at my house over the fence.
You
fucking sort it out!'

She spat – she actually spat – in my direction. Then she turned and strode off. She rarely left without a parting shot and so I waited. Sure enough, as she wrenched open my gate, she hurled one last theatrical gobbet of spite in my direction. ‘And don't
think I'll be letting Larry near you until that jacket's back. And looking
perfect
.'

I didn't go inside at once. I think I wanted to let her poisonous miasma dissipate before I opened my door. That is the only reason why I saw the head bob up above the hedge.

‘Trevor?'

Realizing he'd been rumbled, he rose to his full height and walked along the pavement to come in through the gate. ‘Sorry.'

‘How did you find this place?'

‘I followed you. I tried to catch you as you left the office. I thought you'd heard me calling, but you just threw yourself into your car. Mine was right there, so I took off after you.' He gave his head a rueful shake. ‘You weren't half belting it, Lois. I was behind you for the first couple of streets and you never even noticed me flashing.' He waved a hand behind him. ‘I found a parking space just up the street, but couldn't work out which house you were in.' All the time he was talking he was busily prising Janie Gay's stinking jacket out from between my fingers. Dropping it next to the tub of flowers on the step, he ran an arm round my shoulders. ‘Anyway, Lois, that was all most unpleasant. You'd better come with me, at least until she calms down.' He shuddered. ‘Christ, what a woman! I had no idea
what you were putting up with. Let's push off quickly, before the crosspatch little madam comes back for second helpings. I know. I'll take you out for a late lunch.'

‘No, no.'

He swivelled me round, a hand on each of my shoulders. All of his previous shyness seemed to have vanished. ‘Lois, I'm going to have to
insist
. You can't stay here. She might be back at any moment. I know you're doing your best by her but, really, the woman is unhinged. She looked quite fierce. You would be much, much wiser to leave her house entirely until you're sure that she's calmed down.' He looked around in the most business-like fashion. ‘Now, where's the little boy? Is he inside? Should we take him along with us and leave a note?'