The Book of Evidence (24 page)

still cannot credit it. T h e old bitch has left C o o l g r a n g e to 169
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that stable-girl^ what*s«-her-naraes J o a n n e . T h e r e is s o m e m o n e y for D a p h n e , and for Van's schooling, b e t for m e , nothing. I suppose I should not be surprised, but I a m . I w a s not a g o o d son, but I w a s the only o n e she had.

Maolseachlainn w a s watching m e with compassion. I ' m sorry, he said. I smiled and s h r u g g e d , t h o u g h it was not easy. I wished he w o u l d go a w a y n o w . O h , I said, it's understandable, after all, that she w o u l d m a k e a n e w will.

He said nothing. T h e r e w a s a peculiar silence. T h e n , almost tenderly, he handed me the d o c u m e n t , and I l o o k e d at the date. T h e thing w a s seven, nearly eight years old. She had cut me o u t l o n g a g o , b e f o r e ever I c a m e back to disgrace her and the family n a m e . I recalled, with shocking clarity, the w a y she l o o k e d at me that day in the kitchen at C o o l g r a n g e , and heard again that cackle of raucous laughter. Well, fm glad she enjoyed her j o k e . It's a g o o d one. I find a surprising lack of bitterness in my heart. I am smiling, t h o u g h p r o b a b l y it seems m o r e as if I am wincing.

This is her contribution to the l o n g course of lessons I must learn.

Maolseachlainn stood up, assuming his heartiest manner, as always, in an attempt to disguise his relief at the prospect of getting a w a y . I w a t c h e d h i m struggle into his n a v y - b l u e overcoat and k n o t his red w o o l l e n muffler around his neck. S o m e t i m e s , w h e n he first arrives, his clothes g i v e o f f little wafts and slivers of the air of outdoors, I snuff them up with surreptitious pleasure, as if they were the m o s t precious of perfumes. "What's it like, outside? I said n o w .

He paused, and blinked at me in s o m e alarm. I think he t h o u g h t I w a s asking h i m for an overall picture, as if I m i g h t have f o r g o t t e n w h a t the w o r l d l o o k e d like. T h e day, 1 said, the weather. His b r o w cleared. He s h r u g g e d .

O h , he said, grey, j u s t grey, y o u k n o w . A n d I saw it at once, w i t h a p a n g , the late N o v e m b e r afternoon, the dull
l jo

shine on the w e t roads, and the children straggling h o m e f r o m school, and r o o k s tossing and wheeling h i g h op against r a g g e d clouds, and the tarnished g l o w in the sky o f f behind bare, blackened branches. T h e s e w e r e the times I used to love, the weather's unconsidered m o m e n t s , w h e n the vast business of the w o r l d j u s t g o e s on quietly by itself, as if there w e r e no o n e to notice, or care. I see m y s e l f as a b o y out there, d a w d l i n g a l o n g that w e t road, k i c k i n g a stone ahead o f m e and d r e a m i n g the e n o r m o u s d r e a m o f the future. T h e r e w a s a path, I r e m e m b e r , that cut o f f t h r o u g h the o a k w o o d a mile or so f r o m h o m e , w h i c h I k n e w m u s t lead t o C o o l g r a n g e eventually. H o w green the shadows, and d e e p the track, h o w restless the silence seemed, that w a y . E v e r y time I passed by there, c o m i n g up f r o m the cross, I said to myself, N e x t time, next time. B u t always w h e n the n e x t time c a m e I w a s in a rush, or the light w a s fading, or I w a s j u s t not in the m o o d to break n e w g r o u n d , and so I kept to the ordinary route, a l o n g the road. In the end I never t o o k that secret path, and n o w , of course, it is t o o late.

I h a v e been d o i n g calculations in my head — it keeps my m i n d o f f other things — and I find to my surprise that I spent no m o r e than ten days in all at Charlie's house, f r o m m i d s u m m e r d a y , or night, rather, until the last, m o m e n t o u s d a y of J u n e . T h a t
is
ten, isn't it? Thirty days hath S e p t e m b e r , April, J u n e — yes, ten. Or is it nine. It's nine nights, certainly. B u t w h e r e does the d a y end and the night start, and vice versa? A n d w h y do I find the night a m o r e easily quantifiable entity than d a y ? I h a v e never been any g o o d at this kind of thing. T h e simpler the figures the m o r e they f o x m e . A n y w a y . T e n days, thereabouts, m o r e or less, is the length of my stay w i t h Charlie French, w h o s e 1 7 1
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hospitality and kindness I did not m e a n to betray. It seemed a longer t i m e than that. It seemed weeks and weeks. I w a s n o t u n h a p p y there. T h a t ' s to say, I w a s no m o r e u n h a p p y there than I w o u l d h a v e been s o m e w h e r e else. U n h a p p y ! W h a t a w o r d ! As the days went on I g r e w increasingly restless. My nerves seethed, and there w a s a permanent k n o t of pain in my guts. I suffered sudden, furious attacks o f impatience. W h y didn't they c o m e for m e , w h a t w e r e they d o i n g ? In particular I resented the Behrenses9 silence, I w a s convinced they w e r e playing a cruel g a m e with m e . B u t all the time, behind all these agitations, there w a s that abiding, dull, flat sensation. I felt disappointed. I felt let d o w n . T h e least I had expected f r o m the enormities of w h i c h I w a s guilty w a s that they w o u l d c h a n g e my life, that they w o u l d m a k e things happen, h o w e v e r a w f u l , that there w o u l d be a constant succession o f heart-stopping events, o f alarms and sudden frights and hairbreadth escapes. I do not k n o w h o w I g o t t h r o u g h the days. I a w o k e each m o r n i n g with an anguished start, as if a pure, distilled d r o p o f pain had p l o p p e d o n m y forehead.

T h a t big old house with its smells and c o b w e b s w a s oppressive. I drank a lot, of course, but not e n o u g h to m a k e m y s e l f insensible. I tried to achieve oblivion, G o d k n o w s , I p o u r e d in the b o o z e until my lips went n u m b and my knees w o u l d hardly bend, but it w a s no g o o d , I could not escape myself. I waited with a lover's rapt expectancy for the evenings, w h e n I w o u l d put on my hat and my n e w clothes — my n e w m a s k ! — and step forth gingerly, a q u a v e r i n g Or Jekyll, inside w h o m that other, terrible creature chafed and struggled, lusting for experience. I felt I had never until n o w l o o k e d at the ordinary w o r l d a r o u n d m e , the people, places, things. H o w innocent it all seemed, innocent, and d o o m e d . H o w can I express the tangle of e m o t i o n s that thrashed inside me as I p r o w l e d the city 17
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streets* letting my monstrous heart feed its fill on the sights and sounds of the c o m m o n p l a c e ? T h e feeling of p o w e r , for instance, h o w can I c o m m u n i c a t e that? It sprang not f r o m what I had done, but f r o m the fact that I had done it and
no one knew.
It wa s the secret* the secret itself*
thai
wa s what set me a b o v e the dull-eyed ones a m o n g w h o m I m o v e d as the long day died, and the streetlights c a m e on, and the traffic slid a w a y h o m e w a r d , leaving a blue haze hanging like the s m o k e of gunfire in the darkening air.

A n d then there was that constant, hot excitement, like a fever in the blood, that was half the fear of being unmasked and half the longing for it. S o m e w h e r e , I k n e w , in d a y r o o m s and in smoke-filled, shabby offices, faceless men were even n o w painstakingly assembling the evidence against m e . I thought about them at night, as I lay in Charlie's mother's big l u m p y bed. It was strange to be the object of so m u c h meticulous attention, strange, and not entirely unpleasant. D o e s that seem perverse? B u t I w a s in another country n o w , where the old rules did not apply.

It was hard to sleep, of course. I suppose I did not want to sleep, afraid of what I w o u l d encounter in my dreams.

At best I w o u l d m a n a g e a fitful hour or t w o in the darkness before d a w n , and w a k e up exhausted, with an ache in my chest and my eyes scalding. Charlie too was sleepless, I w o u l d hear at all hours his creaking step on the stair, the rattle of the teapot in the kitchen, the laborious, spasmodic tinkle as he emptied his old man's bladder in the b a t h r o o m . We saw little of each other. T h e house was big enough for us both to be in it at the same time and yet feel we were alone. Since that first, drunken night he had been avoiding me. He seemed to have no friends. T h e phone never rang, no one c a m e to the house. I was surprised, then, and horribly alarmed, to c o m e back early one evening f r o m my rambles in t o w n and find three big black 173
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cars p a r k e d on the road, and a u n i f o r m e d g u a r d loitering in the c o m p a n y of t w o watchful m e n in anoraks at the h a r b o u r wall. I m a d e m y s e l f w a l k past slowly, an honest citizen out for a stroll at end of day, t h o u g h my heart was h a m m e r i n g and m y p a l m s w e r e d a m p , and then skipped a r o u n d the back w a y and g o t in t h r o u g h the m e w s .

H a l f w a y up the j u n g l y garden I tripped and fell, and tore my left hand on a rose-bush that had run wild. I crouched in the l o n g grass, listening. Smell of l o a m , smell of leaves, the thick feel o f b l o o d o n m y w o u n d e d hand. T h e yellow light in the kitchen w i n d o w turned the dusk a r o u n d me to tenderest blue. T h e r e w a s a strange w o m a n inside, in a white a p r o n , w o r k i n g at the stove. W h e n I opened the back d o o r she turned quickly and g a v e a little shriek. H o l y G o d , she said, w h o are y o u ? She w a s an elderly person with a henna w i g and ill-fitting dentures and a scattered air. H e r n a m e , as we shall discover presently, w a s IViadge.

T h e y ' r e all upstairs, she said, dismissing m e , and turned back to her steaming saucepans.

T h e r e w e r e five of them, or six, counting Charlie, t h o u g h at first it seemed to me there must be twice that n u m b e r . T h e y w e r e in the big, g a u n t d r a w i n g - r o o m on the first floor, standing under the w i n d o w s with drinks in their hands, d u c k i n g and b o b b i n g at each other like n e r v o u s storks and chattering as if their lives d e p e n d e d on it. B e h i n d them the lights of the h a r b o u r g l i m m e r e d , and in the far sky a h u g e bank of slate-blue cloud was shutting d o w n like a lid on the last, s m o u l d e r i n g streak of sunset fire. A t m y entrance the chattering stopped. O n l y o n e o f t h e m w a s a w o m a n , tall, thin, with f o x y red hair and an extraordinary stark w h i t e face. Charlie, w h o w a s standing with his back to m e , saw me first reflected in their swivelling glances. He turned with a pained smile. A h , he said, there y o u are. His w i n g e d hair g l e a m e d like a J 74

polished helm. He was wearing a bow-tie. Well, I heard myself saying to him, in a tone of cheery truculence, well, you might have told me! My hands were trembling. There was a m o m e n t of uncertain silence, then the talk abruptly started up again. T h e w o m a n went on watching me. Her pale colouring and vivid hair and long, slender neck gave her a permanently startled look, as if at s o m e time in the past she had been told a shocking secret and had never quite absorbed it. Charlie, m u m b l i n g apologetically, had put a shaky old hand under my elbow and was gently but firmly steering me backwards out of the r o o m . T h e fear 1

had felt earlier had turned into annoyance. I felt like giving him a clout, and putting a dent in that ridiculous praetorian helmet of hair. Tell M a d g e , he was saying, tell M a d g e to give y o u something to eat, and I'll be d o w n presently. He was so worried I thought he was g o i n g to weep. He stood on the top step and watched me m a k e my w a y downstairs, as if he were afraid I w o u l d c o m e scampering back up again if he took his eye o f f me, and only when I had safely reached the bottom, and was heading for the kitchen did he turn back to the d r a w i n g -

r o o m and his guests.

T h e kitchen was filled with steam, and M a d g e , her w i g awry, looked even hotter and m o r e harassed than before.

This place, she said bitterly, honest to G o d ! She was, as she picturesquely put it, Mr French's occasional w o m a n , and came in w h e n there were dinner parties, and that. This was interesting. Dinner parties, indeed! I helped her by opening the wine, and sat d o w n at the table with a bottle for myself. I had drunk half of it when there was a loud knock at the front d o o r that set my heart thumping again. I went into the hall, but Charlie was already rattling hurriedly d o w n the stairs. W h e n he opened the door I could see the t w o anoraks outside, guarding the w a y for a burly 175
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m a n and a tail, sleek w o m a n , as they advanced at a regal pacc into the hall. A h , M a x , Charlie said, and stepped f o r w a r d with clumsy eagerness. T h e w o m a n he ignored.

M a x shook hands with h i m briefly, and then took back his hand and ran it u p w a r d s quickly over his low, truculent b r o w . Christ, he said, you're far e n o u g h out, I thought we were never g o i n g to get here. T h e y m o v e d towards the stairs, Charlie and M a x in front and the w o m a n behind them. She w o r e an u g l y blue g o w n and a triple rope of pearls. She glanced along the hall and caught my eye, and held it until I looked a w a y . M a d g e had c o m e out of the kitchen, and hovered at my shoulder. There's his nibs, she whispered, and the missus too.

I waited a while after they had g o n e up, and when M a d g e returned to her c o o k i n g I f o l l o w e d them, and slipped into the d r a w i n g - r o o m again. Charlie and M a x and M r s M a x were standing at one of the w i n d o w s admiring the view, while the others b o b b e d and clucked and tried not to stare too openly in their direction. 1 seized an armful of bottles f r o m the mantelpiece and passed a m o n g them, t o p p i n g up their glasses. T h e m e n had a scrubbed, eager, slightly anxious air, like that of big, blue-suited schoolboys on their first adult outing, except for one old chap with a nose like a b l o o d - o r a n g e and stains d o w n the. front of his waistcoat, w h o stood to one side all on his o w n , glazed and dejected. T h e others carefully looked through me, but he brightened up at once, and was ready for a chat. W h a t do y o u think, a n y w a y , he said loudly, will we win, will w e ? I understood it to be a rhetorical question. We will, I said stoutly, and g a v e h i m a broad wink. He raised his e y e b r o w s and stepped back a pace, h o w e v e r , peering at me doubtfully. By G o d , he said, I don't k n o w , n o w . I shrugged, and passed on blandly. Charlie had caught sight of m e , and w a s smiling fixedly in alarm. M i n e was a 176
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