Some Here Among Us (15 page)

‘I came to town to see this girl,’ said Salmond. ‘But she shut the door on me. She laughed in my face,’ he added, deciding to reveal what until a moment before he had planned always to hide – the extent of his humiliation.

‘Then I drove round but I couldn’t find anyone and I thought of Rod Orr. So I came here. Then it started pouring down so I just waited here. I didn’t know what else to do. Race! I never thought
you
’d be here. Thank God for that!’

Race was unused to the role of saviour. ‘Wait,’ he said. He went to the window and pushed at the splintery wooden frame with his fingers. The window went up shakily on a single sash cord. Race swung his leg over the sill and went into the room and disappeared. A light came on through the mottled glass of the front door, and Race reappeared.

‘
Yes?
’ he said, opening the door a little.

They crowded in past him.

‘Are you sure Rod Orr won’t mind?’ said Candy.

‘Rod Orr will be honoured,’ said Race.

‘I adore Rod,’ said Candy, superstitiously. She had an idea that Rod Orr, five hundred miles away at Chadwick’s wedding, might be able to see them walking around his house at that moment.

‘Look at Rod’s wine,’ Adam called out from the dining room. He began to read out labels. ‘Chateau Talbot. Côte de Beaune. Meursault. Nuits-Saint-Georges.’

‘Rod is into wine,’ said Candy. ‘He’s got a part-time job as a waiter at Le Normandie so now he’s really into wine.’

‘Let’s have a drink,’ said Adam, picking up a bottle.

‘No!’ said Candy. ‘Not his good wine. Open some plonk.’

They opened a red that looked more humble and went into the sitting-room. Race closed the window where the rain was coming in on the gale. The sitting-room had a red carpet and a faded red velvet sofa and red and yellow curtains with a jaunty pattern of musical instruments – oboes, clarinets – in yellow thread. There were some pot plants on the coffee table and a vine growing up a trellis on the wall.

‘Oh, how lovely,’ said Candy, sinking onto the sofa. ‘Shall we light a fire? It’s horrible out there. Did you notice how horrible it was tonight? Did you notice the atmosphere? All those men.’

‘What men?’ said Morgan.

‘Those old men everywhere. In blazers. Old men in blazers on the street.’

‘They’re remembering the war,’ said Morgan. ‘What do you expect?’

‘I hate Anzac weekend,’ said Candy. ‘All those old men in their blazers. Glorifying war. The
boys
at Gallipoli.’

‘Well, they were boys,’ said Morgan. ‘They were
boys
. What do you think they were?’

Candy looked baffled. She had had the feeling that Morgan was angry with her, but why? What had she done? Now he was picking a fight with her over war, of all things. War, you’d think, would be safe ground. She wished she remembered more about Gallipoli.

‘Gallipoli was absurd,’ she said. ‘It made no sense. The British—’

‘It made perfect sense,’ said Morgan. ‘Knock Turkey out of the war. Relieve the eastern front. No Russian collapse. No sealed train. No Lenin. No Bolshevik revolution. No Hitler. No World War Two. Seems like a good plan to me.’

Candy gave up. Her brow was furrowed. Did Morgan really hate her? Sometimes she thought he hated her for taking Adam from him. Sometimes she thought he liked her more than he liked Adam. And what did she think of Morgan as a possible lover? That was dark to her. She turned towards Salmond.

‘So,’ she said, ‘who’s the girl?’

‘You don’t know her,’ said Salmond.

‘In which case there’s no reason not to tell us, is there?’ said Candy.

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ said Salmond.

‘What’s her name?’

‘Sandra.’

‘OK,’ said Candy, nodding. ‘Sandra who?’

‘You don’t know her,’ said Salmond.

‘You’ve said that,’ said Candy. ‘Oh my God, not
Sandra
!’

‘Yes,’ said Salmond.

‘Sandra Isbister?’

‘Yes,’ said Salmond.

‘Oh my God,’ said Candy.

‘Do you know her?’ said Salmond.

‘Of course I know her,’ said Candy. ‘Who was helping me make a dress this afternoon?’

‘Who?’ said Salmond.

‘Cassandra Isbister.’

She gazed at Salmond with an expression that was kind and contemptuous. It was brave, and foolish, was what her expression meant, to fall for Sandra Isbister.

‘Everyone falls in love with Sandra Isbister,’ she said.

‘Not me,’ said Adam.

‘Not me,’ said Morgan. ‘I’ve only met her once.’

‘Not me,’ said Race. ‘I never heard of her before.’

‘You
did
,’ cried Candy, turning on Adam. ‘You said you thought she was incredibly attractive.’

‘Only because you asked me if I thought she was incredibly attractive, and I said I c-c-c-could see why people said so.’

His stutter was back. He had felt the tension between Candy and Morgan and he was angry with Morgan for that.

‘She
is
incredibly attractive,’ said Candy. ‘She looks an ordinary little thing at first, then you realise she’s incredibly attractive. It’s not her hair, it’s not her eyes. They’re just grey eyes. It’s her walk. It’s her body. She has –
jouissance
.’

No one said anything.

‘I’m being objective,’ said Candy. ‘You might give me the credit for that.’

She turned back to Salmond.

‘Wait a minute,’ she said. ‘You’re the one who’s been to Scotland?’

‘Yes,’ said Salmond.

‘She told me about you! She told me about this guy who was coming back from Scotland and wanted to take her out.’

‘Did she?’ said Salmond.

‘Oh – my – God,’ said Candy again. ‘You saw her tonight?’

‘Yes.’

‘And she shut the door in your face?’

‘Yes.’

‘So then you came here?’

‘Yes.’

‘To see Rod Orr?’

‘Yes.’

‘A shoulder to cry on?’

‘Sort of,’ said Salmond.

‘Oh, dear,’ said Candy. ‘That’s just incredibly funny. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh, but it
is
funny.’

‘What’s funny about it?’ said Morgan.

‘It was Rod who put her off you,’ said Candy. ‘He said – I’m sorry, I’m just repeating what he said – he said you were this, well, rich country boy who dresses like Prince Charles or someone and doesn’t have a clue about what’s going on.’

‘Is that what he said?’ said Salmond. His face went red.

Candy looked slightly guilty about her cruelty but she nodded. Salmond got up and went into the dining room and came back with a bottle of Chateau Pomerol and a bottle of Chateau Talbot, both of which he opened.

He tipped wine into their glasses.

‘The thing is,’ said Morgan, ‘that it worked.’

‘What worked?’ said Race.

‘Gallipoli.’

‘No it didn’t,’ said Race.

‘It nearly worked,’ said Morgan. ‘We got to the top.’

Candy stood up and left the room.

Morgan stood up too, and then climbed on the coffee table and looked at the wall as if it was very far away.

‘What are you doing?’ said Race.

Morgan didn’t answer. His fist was clenched near his heart as he looked at the wall.

‘What’s he up to?’ said Race to Adam.

‘I d-d-don’t know,’ said Adam.

‘I’m the monument on Brooklyn hill,’ said Morgan.

‘I don’t know any monument on Brooklyn hill,’ said Race.

‘Well, exactly,’ said Morgan. ‘No one goes near it any more. That’s why I’m going to the trouble of standing on this table to show you. OK, so I’m the war memorial on Brooklyn hill. I’m the statue of a soldier. What am I looking at?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Race.

‘Some people say that I’m looking at the ships sail away to World War One. But that doesn’t make sense. If I’m a soldier, why would I be standing on Brooklyn hill watching the troopships sail away to war?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Race.

‘It doesn’t make any sense,’ said Morgan.

‘So what are you doing?’ said Race.

‘I’m looking at Constantinople,’ said Morgan. ‘I’m on the top of the hills at Gallipoli, and I’m looking east, at the lights of Constantinople. Because that’s what happened. We got there. We took the heights. The Wellington boys, the Maori boys. And they
were
boys,’ he said, looking down the hall where Candy had gone.

Adam got up and went out of the room.

‘We got to the top,’ said Morgan. He followed Adam with his eyes. ‘The plan had worked. It was just like the
Iliad
. Troy was only fifty miles away from Gallipoli. A lot of people at Gallipoli thought they were in the
Iliad
.’

Salmond went back to the dining room and came back with more bottles, a Chablis and a Nuits-Saint-Georges, both of which he opened.

‘Steady, lover-boy,’ said Morgan. ‘It’s only a girl.’

He held out his glass. Salmond filled it.

‘The Greeks took Troy. We didn’t take Constantinople,’ said Race.

‘
Exactly
,’ said Morgan.

‘What I don’t see,’ said Salmond, ‘is why she should take any notice of Rod Orr.’

He was kneeling, hunched, in front of the fireplace.

‘Women like disinterested advice,’ said Morgan.

From his armchair Race looked down the hall. It was only a small house with a dining room off to the right of the hall and a bedroom off to the left and a kitchen at the back. He could see no one down there in the dark. A fire was now burning in the grate. Salmond was feeding it screws of newspaper.

‘In the
Iliad
,’ said Morgan, ‘there’s this big debate – whether to stay and take Troy or to sail home. Thersites said “Let’s go home” and so Achilles beat him with a golden rod.’

‘Who’s Thersites?’ said Race.

‘The ugliest man who ever came to Troy,’ said Morgan. “
Squint-eyed, lame, hunched, pointy head crowned with fluff. He cared not what he said as long as he raised a laugh. ‘Let’s all sail home,’ he said,
‘
the king can go fuck himself.’ ‘Silence,’ said Ulysses. ‘No mortal worse has come to Troy,’ and he beat him with his golden staff
.
” It was the same at Gallipoli. We took the heights. We could see the lights of Constantinople. We could have done it. But what happened? This journalist arrived. No worse mortal ever came to Troy. He only stayed for three days, listened to all the worst opinions he could find, and then went to London and made a fuss. He cared not what he said as long as he caused a stink. The British panicked and abandoned the campaign and so then we packed up and sailed away.’

Salmond stood up and went over to the window. He stood on a chair and took down one of the red curtains with golden oboes and clarinets on it. Then he wrapped it around himself and lay on the floor.

‘There’s the difference,’ said Morgan. ‘Thersites got beaten with a golden rod, Murdoch got a knighthood. Then he founded an empire. They bought up the local paper here the other day. And that’s still the Murdoch racket: find the worst opinions you can, then package them up and sell them to the people you got them from.’

Race looked down through the house from his armchair. He could see no one down there in the dark.

‘That’s the racket,’ said Morgan.

‘Where have they gone?’ said Race.

‘To bed,’ said Morgan. He stepped off the table.

‘To bed!’ said Race. There was only one bed, he realised, in the house. ‘There’s only one bed,’ he said.

‘They have priority,’ said Morgan. ‘They get the double bed. Sex has priority. Troy was all about sex. Who gets Helen? Who gets Candy?’

‘Who gets Sandra Isbister?’ said Race.

He looked at Burns wrapped in the red curtain like a chrysalis and apparently fast asleep.

‘Who gets Sandra Isbister?’ said Morgan, bowing his head as if acknowledging the oversight.

Race looked down the hall and saw Candy come out of the kitchen. The kitchen and hall were still dark but he saw her walking carefully, carrying two glasses of water. She was naked. Race felt a cool pang in his throat and chest. Candy went through the bedroom door which was ajar; she opened it with one foot, there was a brief glow from a bedside light, then the door was closed.

‘That’s what the
Iliad
was all about,’ said Morgan. ‘Who gets the girl? Who gets the double bed? That’s always the big story. What about you?’ he said. ‘What’s your version?’

2

Race then told Morgan about his love affair the year before.

‘She was engaged to someone else,’ he said. ‘She was in love with him and going to get married.’