The Book of Evidence (22 page)

T h r o u g h the d o o r w a y at the end of the hall I w a t c h e d C h a r l i e p o t t e r i n g a b o u t in the kitchen, rattling the pots and pans a n d p r e t e n d i n g he w a s n o t trying to hear w h a t I w a s saying. 1 sighed, and the sigh turned into a thin little m o a n . M a , I said, I've g o t m y s e l f into such trouble. T h e r e w a s a noise on the line, or m a y b e it w a s in my head, like a great rushing of m a n y w i n g s . WTiat? she said, I can't hear y o u — w h a t ? I l a u g h e d , and t w o b i g tears ran d o w n the sides of my nose. N o t h i n g , I shouted, n o t h i n g , f o r g e t it!

T h e n I said, Listen, do y o u k n o w w h o P e n e l o p e is — w a s —

d o y o u k n o w a b o u t her? I w a s s h o c k e d a t myself. W h y did 1 say such a thing, w h y did I w a n t to w o u n d her? S h e w a s silent for a m o m e n t , a n d then she l a u g h e d . T h a t bitch? she said, of course I k n e w a b o u t her. C h a r l i e h a d c o m e to the d o o r w a y , a n d s t o o d , w i t h a rag in o n e h a n d a n d a plate in the other, w a t c h i n g m e . T h e light w a s behind h i m , I c o u l d not see his face. T h e r e w a s another pause. Y o u ' r e t o o hard on yourself, Freddie, my m o t h e r said at last, in that reverberant, f a r a w a y voice, y o u m a k e things t o o hard o n yourself. I did n o t k n o w w h a t she m e a n t . I still don't. I w a i t e d a m o m e n t , b u t she said n o t h i n g m o r e , and I c o u l d not speak. T h o s e w e r e the last w o r d s w e w o u l d ever 1 5 6
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e x c h a n g e . I p o t d o w n the receiver g e n t l y , a n d g o t t o m y feet* n o t w i t h o u t difficulty. O n e o f m y k n e e s w a s asleep. I l i m p e d into the kitchen. C h a r l i e w a s b e n t o v e r the sink d o i n g the w a s h i n g - u p » w i t h a cigarette d a n g l i n g f r o m his lip, sleeves rolled, his w a i s t c o a t u n b u c k l e d a t the b a c k . T h e s k y in the w i n d o w in f r o n t of Mm. w a s a pale shade of i n d i g o , I t h o u g h t I h a d n e v e r seen a n y t h i n g so l o v e l y in my life.

Charlie* I said* s w a y i n g , I n e e d a loan.

I h a d a l w a y s b e e n a w e e p e r , b u t n o w a n y hint of kindness c o u l d m a k e m e b l u b like a b a b e . W h e n there a n d then he sat d o w n at the kitchen table a n d w r o t e o u t a c h e q u e — I h a v e it still: s p i d e r y b l a c k scrawl, an illegible signature, a s t e w y t h u m b - p r i n t in o n e c o r n e r — I tried to seize his liver-spotted h a n d , I think I m e a n t to kiss it. He m a d e a little speech, I d o n ' t r e m e m b e r it well, fvfy m o t h e r f i g u r e d in it, D a p h n e t o o . I think e v e n P e n e l o p e ' s n a m e w a s m e n t i o n e d . I w o n d e r i f h e w a s d r u n k ? H e k e p t l o o m i n g into f o c u s a n d f a d i n g o u t a g a i n , yet I felt this w a s less a n effect o f m y b l u r r e d vision than o f a sort o f tentativeness o n his part. O h , C h a r l i e , y o u should h a v e h e e d e d that n i g g l e o f suspicion, y o u s h o u l d h a v e t h r o w n me o u t that n i g h t , f u d d l e d a n d defenceless t h o u g h I w a s .

T h e n e x t t h i n g I recall is b e i n g on my knees in the l a v a t o r y , p u k i n g u p a f e r r u g i n o u s torrent o f w i n e m i x e d w i t h f i b r o u s strands o f m e a t a n d bits o f carrot. T h e l o o k o f this s t u f f g u s h i n g o u t filled me w i t h w o n d e r , as if it w e r e n o t v o m i t , b u t s o m e t h i n g rich a n d strange, a d a r k stream o f o r e f r o m the d e e p m i n e o f m y innards. T h e n there i s a n i m p r e s s i o n o f e v e r y t h i n g s w a y i n g , o f glistening darkness a n d things in it s p i n n i n g past m e , as t h o u g h I w e r e b e i n g w h i r l e d r o u n d a n d r o u n d s l o w l y o n a w o b b l y carousel m a d e o f glass. N e x t I w a s l y i n g o n m y b a c k o n the b i g , d i s o r d e r e d b e d upstairs, s h i v e r i n g a n d s w e a t i n g . T h e r e w a s a light o n , a n d the w i n d o w w a s a b o x of d e e p , glistening 1 5 7
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darkness. 1 fell asleep, and after what seemed a m o m e n t w o k e again with the sun shining in my face. T h e house was silent around me, but there was a thin, continuous ringing which I seemed to feel rather than hear. T h e sheets were a sodden tangle. I did not want to m o v e , I felt as fragile as crystal. Even my hair felt breakable, a shock of erect, minute filaments bristling with static. I could hear the blood rushing along my veins, quick and heavy as mercury. My face was swollen and hot, and strangely smooth to the touch: a doll's face. W h e n I closed my eyes a crimson shape pulsed and faded and pulsed again on the inside of my lids, like the repeated after-image of a shell bursting in blackness. When I swallowed, the ringing in my ears changed pitch. I dozed, and dreamed I was adrift in a hot lake. W h e n I w o k e it was afternoon. T h e light in the w i n d o w , dense, calm, unshadowed, was a light shining straight out of the past. My mouth was dry and swollen, my head seemed packed with air. N o t since childhood had I k n o w n this particular state of voluptuous distress. It was not really illness, m o r e a kind of respite. I lay for a long time, hardly stirring, watching the day change, listening to the little noises of the world. T h e brazen sunlight slowly faded, and the sky turned f r o m lilac to mauve, and a single star appeared. Then suddenly it was late, and I lay in a sleepy daze in the soft summer darkness and w o u l d not have been surprised if my mother had appeared, y o u n g and smiling, in a rustle of silk, with a finger to her lips, to say g o o d n i g h t to me on her w a y out for the evening. It was not M a m a n w h o came, however, but only Charlie, he opened the d o o r cautiously on its wheezy hinges and peered in at me, craning his tortoise neck, and I shut my eyes and he withdrew softly and creaked a w a y d o w n the stairs. A n d I saw in my mind another d o o r w a y , and another darkness — that fragment of m e m o r y , not mine, yet again — and waited, hardly breathing, for something or someone to appear. B u t there was nothing.

I think of that brief bout of ague as marking the end of an initial, distinct phase of my life as a murderer. By the morning of the second day the fever had abated. I lay in a c l a m m y tangle of sheets with my arms flung wide, just breathing. I felt as if I had been wading frantically through waist-high water, and n o w at last I had gained the beach, exhausted, trembling in every limb, and yet almost at peace. I had survived, i had c o m e back to myself. Outside the w i n d o w the seagulls were crying, looking for M a m m y French, they rose and fell with stiff wings spread wide, as if suspended on elastic cords. I rose shakily and crossed the r o o m . There was wind and sun, and the sea glared, a rich, hazardous blue. B e l o w in the little stone harbour the yachts b o b b e d and slewed, yanking at their mooring-ropes. I turned away. There was something in the gay, bright scene that seemed to rebuke me. I put on Charlie*$ dressing-g o w n and went d o w n to the kitchen. Silence everywhere.

In the calm matutinal light everything stood motionless as if under a spell. 1 could not bear the thought of food, I found an open bottle of Apollinaris in the refrigerator and drank it off. It was fiat, and tasted faintly of metal. I sat d o w n at the table and rested my forehead in my hands. My skin felt grainy, as if the surface layer had crumpled to a sort of clinging dust. Charlie5s breakfast things were still on the table, and there was spilled cigarette ash and a saucer of crushed butts. T h e newspapers I had bought on Thursday were stuffed in the rubbish bin. This was Saturday. I had missed, what, nearly t w o days, t w o days of accumulating evidence. I looked for the plastic bag in, which I had put my clothes, but it was gone. Charlie must have put it out 1 5 9
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for the binmen, it w o u l d be on s o m e d u m p by n o w .

Perhaps at this very m o m e n t a rag-picker was r u m m a g i n g in it. A spasm of horror s w a r m e d over me. I j u m p e d up and paced the floor, my hands clasped together to keep them f r o m shaking. 1 must do something, anything. I ran upstairs and swept f r o m r o o m to r o o m like a m a d king, the tail of the dressing-gown flying out behind mc. I shaved, glaring at myself in the fish-eye mirror, then I put on Charlie's clothes again, and b r o k e into his desk and took his cash and his wallet of credit cards, and went d o w n the stairs three at a time and stormed out into the world.

A n d paused. Everything was in its place, the boats in the harbour, the road, the white houses along the coast, the far headland, those little clouds on the horizon, and yet — and yet it was all different s o m e h o w f r o m what I had expected, f r o m what something inside me had expected, s o m e nice sense of h o w things should be ordered. T h e n I realised it was I, of course, w h o was out of place.

I went into the newsagent's, with the same c r a m p of fear and excitement in my breast as I had felt the first time.

W h e n I picked up the papers the ink c a m e o f f on my hands, and the coins slipped in my sweaty fingers. T h e girl with the pimples g a v e me another look. She had a curious, smeared sort of gaze, it seemed to pass me by and take me in at the s a m e time. Pre-menstrual, I could tell by her manner, that tensed, excitable air. I turned my back on her and scanned the papers. By n o w the story had seeped up f r o m the b o t t o m of the front pages like a stain, while reports on the b o m b i n g dwindled, the injured having stopped d y i n g off. There was a p h o t o g r a p h of the car, looking like a w o u n d e d hippo, with a stolid guard standing beside it and a detective in Wellington boots pointing at something. T h e boys w h o had found it had been interviewed. D i d they r e m e m b e r me, that pallid 1
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stranger d r e a m i n g on the bench in the deserted station?

T h e y did, they g a v e a description of m e : an elderly m a n with black hair and a bushy beard. T h e w o m a n at the traffic lights w a s sure I w a s in my early twenties, well-dressed, with a m o u s t a c h e and piercing eyes. T h e n there w e r e the tourists a t W h i t e w a t e r w h o saw m e m a k e o f f with the painting, and R e c k and his m a , of course, and the idiot b o y and the w o m a n at the g a r a g e w h e r e I hired the car: f r o m each of their accounts another and m o r e fantastic version of me e m e r g e d , until I b e c a m e multiplied into a b a n d o f m o u s t a c h i o e d cut-throats, rushing about glaring and m a k i n g threatening noises, like a chorus of brigands in an Italian opera. I nearly laughed. A n d yet I w a s disappointed. Yes, it's true, 1 w a s disappointed. D i d I w a n t to be f o u n d out, did I h o p e to see my n a m e splashed in monster type across every front p a g e ? I think I did. I think I l o n g e d deep d o w n to be m a d e to stand in front of a j u r y and reveal all my squalid little secrets. Yes, to be f o u n d out, to be suddenly p o u n c e d u p o n , beaten, stripped, and set b e f o r e the h o w l i n g multitude, that w a s my deepest, m o s t ardent desire. I hear the court catching its breath in surprise and disbelief. B u t ah, do y o u not also long for this, i n y o u r hearts, gentlepersons o f the j u r y ? T o b e rumbled.

To feel that h e a v y hand fall u p o n y o u r shoulder, and hear the b o o m i n g voice of authority telling y o u the g a m e is up at last. In short, to be u n m a s k e d . A s k yourselves. I confess (I confess!), those days that passed while I waited for t h e m to find me w e r e the m o s t exciting I have ever k n o w n , or ever h o p e to k n o w . Terrible, yes, b u t exciting too. N e v e r had the w o r l d appeared so unstable, or my place in it so thrillingly precarious. 1 h a d a r a w , lascivious awareness of myself, a b i g Warm d a m p thing parcelled up in s o m e o n e else's clothes. At any m o m e n t they m i g h t catch m e , they m i g h t b e w a t c h i n g m e even n o w , m u r m u r i n g into their 1 6 1
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handsets a n d signalling to the m a r k s m e n on the r o o f . First there w o u l d b e panic^ then pain. A n d w h e n e v e r y t h i n g w a s g o n e , e v e r y shred o f d i g n i t y a n d pretence, w h a t f r e e d o m there w o u l d be, w h a t lightness! N o , w h a t a m I saying* n o t lightness, b u t its o p p o s i t e : w e i g h t , g r a v i t y , the sense at last of b e i n g f i r m l y g r o u n d e d . T h e n finally I w o u l d b e m e , n o l o n g e r that p o o r i m p e r s o n a t i o n o f myself I h a d been d o i n g all my life. I w o u l d be real. I w o u l d be, o f all things, h u m a n .

I t o o k the b u s to t o w n , a n d g o t o f f at a street w h e r e I used to live years a g o , w h e n I w a s a student, and w a l k e d a l o n g b y the railings o f the p a r k i n the w a r m w i n d under the seething trees, my heart filled w i t h nostalgia. A m a n in a cap, w i t h terrible* soiled eyes, s t o o d on the p a v e m e n t shaking a fist in the air a n d r o a r i n g o b s c e n e abuse at the cars passing b y . 1 envied h i m . I w o u l d h a v e liked to stand a n d s h o u t like that, to p o u r o u t all that r a g e and pain and indignation. I w a l k e d onu .A. trio of light-clad girls c a m e tripping o u t of a b o o k s h o p , l a u g h i n g , and for a second I w a s c a u g h t up in their midst, my side-teeth b a r e d in a frightful grin, a beast a m o n g the graces. In a bright n e w s h o p I b o u g h t a j a c k e t a n d trousers, t w o shirts, s o m e ties, u n d e r w e a r , a n d , in a flourish of defiance, a h a n d s o m e b u t n o t altogether unostentatious hat. I t h o u g h t I detected a slight stiffening of attention w h e n I p r o d u c e d Charlie's credit cards — m y G o d , d i d they k n o w h i m , did h e s h o p here? — b u t I turned up my accent to full f o r c e a n d dashed o f f his signature w i t h a p l o m b , a n d e v e r y o n e relaxed. I w a s n o t really w o r r i e d . In fact, I felt ridiculously excited a n d h a p p y , like a b o y on a b i r t h d a y spree. ("What is it a b o u t the m e r e act o f b u y i n g things, that i t can a f f o r d m e s o m u c h s i m p l e pleasure?) I s e e m e d to s w i m a l o n g the street, u p r i g h t as a sea-horse, breasting the air. I think I m u s t h a v e b e e n feverish still. T h e p e o p l e a m o n g w h o m I m o v e d 162
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