The Book of Evidence (26 page)

In fact, her n a m e w a s Marian. N o t that it matters.

T h e y stayed very late, all except M r s M a x , w h o left directly dinner w a s over. I watched as she was driven a w a y , sitting up very straight in the back of one of the black limousines, a r a v a g e d Nefertiti. M a x and his pals went upstairs again, and caroused until the d a w n was breaking. I spent the night in the kitchen playing cards with M a d g e . W h e r e w a s M a r i a n ? * don't k n o w — 1 g o t blotto, as usual. A n y w a y , our m o m e n t w a s over, if we were to encounter each other n o w we w o u l d only be embarrassed. Y e t 1 think I must have g o n e to look for her, for I recall blundering a b o u t upstairs, in the b e d r o o m s , and falling over repeatedly
in
the dark. I r e m e m b e r , too, standing at a w i d e - o p e n w i n d o w , very high up, listening to the strains of music outside on the air, a mysterious belling and blaring, that seemed to m o v e , to fade, as if a c l a m o r o u s cavalcade were departing into the night. I suppose it c a m e f r o m s o m e dancehall, or s o m e nightclub on the harbour. I think of it, h o w e v e r , as the noise of the g o d and his retinue, a b a n d o n i n g m e .

N E X T D A Y T H E W E A T H E R B R O K E . A t m i d - m o r n i n g , whe n my h a n g o v e r and I g o t op, the sun was shining as gaily and as heartlessly as it had all week, and the houses along the coast shimmered in a pale-blue haze, as if the sky had crumbled into airy g e o m e t r y there. I stood at the w i n d o w in my drawers, scratching and yawning. It struck me that I had b e c o m e almost accustomed to this strange w a y of life. It was as if I were adapting to an illness, after the initial phase of frights and fevers. A churchbell was ringing.

Sunday. T h e strollers w e r e out already, with their d o g s and children. Across the road, at the harbour wall, a m a n in a raincoat stood with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing out to sea. I could hear voices downstairs. M a d g e was in the kitchen doing last night's washing-up. She g a v e me a peculiar glance. 1 was wearing Charlie's dressing-g o w n . H o w is it, I w o n d e r , that I did not catch it then, that n e w , speculative note in her voice, which should have alerted m e ? She had a helper with her this m o r n i n g , her niece, a d i m - l o o k i n g child of twelve or so with — with what, what does it matter what she had, what she was like.

All these m i n o r witnesses, none of w h o m will ever be called LOW. I sat at the table drinking tea and watched them as they w o r k e d . T h e child 1 could see was frightened of me.

Fe fi fo f u m . He's gone out, y o u k n o w , M a d g e said, her arms plunged in suds, Mr French, he went out as I was c o m i n g in. Her tone was unaccountably accusing, as if Charlie had fled the house because of me. B u t then, he had.

In the afternoon a h u g e cloud g r e w up on the horizon, grey and grainy, like a deposit of silt, and the sea swarmed, a blackish blue flecked with white. 1 watched an undulant curtain of rain sweep in slowly f r o m the east. T h e m a n at the harbour wall buttoned his raincoat. T h e Sunday morning c r o w d was long gone, but he,
he
was still there.

Strange h o w it felt, n o w that it was here at last. I had expected terror, panic, cold sweat, the shakes, but there was none of that. Instead, a kind of wild-eyed euphoria took hold of me. I strode about the house like the drunken captain of a storm-tossed ship. All sorts of m a d ideas came into my head. I w o u l d barricade the doors and windows. I w o u l d take M a d g e and her niece hostage, and barter them for a helicopter to freedom. I w o u l d wait until Charlie came back, and use h i m as a h u m a n shield, marching him out ahead of me with a knife at his throat — I even went d o w n to the kitchen to find a blade fbr the purpose.

M a d g e had finished the washing-up, and was sitting at the table with a pot of tea and a Sunday tabloid. She watched me apprehensively as I r u m m a g e d in the cutlery drawer.

She asked if I w o u l d be wanting my lunch, or w o u l d I wait for Mr French. I laughed wildly. Lunch! T h e niece laughed too, a little parrot squawk, her top lip curling up to reveal a half-inch of whitish, glistening g u m . W h e n I looked at her she shut her m o u t h abruptly, it was like a blind c o m i n g d o w n , jacintha, M a d g e said to her sharply, 185
.

you go h o m e . Stay where you arc! I cried. T h e y both flinched, and Jacintha's chin trembled and her eyes filled up with tears. I abandoned the search for a knife, and plunged o f f upstairs again. T h e m a n in the mackintosh was gone. I g a v e a great gasp of relief, as if I had been holding my breath all this time, and slumped against the w i n d o w -

frame. T h e rain teemed, big drops dancing on the road and m a k i n g the surface of the water in the harbour seethe. I heard the front d o o r open and b a n g shut, and M a d g e and the girl appeared below me and scampered a w a y up the street with their coats over their heads. I laughed to see them g o , the child leaping the puddles and M a d g e w a l l o w i n g in her wake. T h e n I spotted the car, parked a little w a y op the road, on the other side, with t w o dim, large, motionless figures seated in the front, their faces blurred behind the streaming windscreen.

I sat in a chair in the d r a w i n g - r o o m , gazing before me, my hands gripping the armrests and my feet placed *

squarely side by side on the floor. I do not k n o w h o w long I stayed like that,
in
that g l i m m e r i n g , grey space. I have an impression of hours passing, but surely that cannot be.

T h e r e was a smell of cigarettes and stale drink left over from last night. T h e rain m a d e a soothing noise. I sank into a kind of trance, a w a k i n g sleep. I saw myself, as a b o y , walking across a w o o d e d hill near C o o l g r a n g e . It was in M a r c h , I think, one of those blustery, Outch days with china-blue sky and tumbling, cindery clouds. T h e trees a b o v e me swayed and groaned in the wind. Suddenly there was a great quick rushing noise, and the air darkened, and something like a bird's vast w i n g crashed d o w n around me, thrashing and w h i p p i n g . It was a branch that had fallen. I was not hurt, yet I could not m o v e , and stood as if stunned, aghast and shaking. T h e force and swiftness of the thing had appalled me. It was not fright I felt, but a 186
.

p r o f o u n d sense o f shock a t h o w little m y presence had mattered. I m i g h t h a v e been no m o r e than a flaw in the air. G r o u n d , branch, w i n d , sky, w o r l d , all these w e r e the precise and necessary co-ordinates of the event. O n l y I w a s misplaced, only I had no part to play. A n d n o t h i n g cared.

If I had been killed I w o u l d h a v e fallen there, face d o w n in the d e a d leaves, and the d a y w o u l d h a v e g o n e on as before, as if n o t h i n g had h a p p e n e d . F o r w h a t w o u l d have h a p p e n e d w o u l d h a v e been n o t h i n g , o r n o t h i n g e x t r a o r d i n -

ary, a n y w a y . A d j u s t m e n t s w o u l d h a v e been m a d e . T h i n g s w o u l d h a v e had to s q u i r m o u t f r o m under m e . A stray ant, perhaps, w o u l d e x p l o r e the b l o o d y c h a m b e r o f m y ear.

B u t the light w o u l d h a v e been the same, and the w i n d w o u l d h a v e b l o w n as it had b l o w n , and time's a r r o w w o u l d n o t h a v e faltered for an instant in its flight. I w a s a m a z e d . I never f o r g o t that m o m e n t . A n d n o w another branch w a s a b o u t to fall, I c o u l d hear that s a m e rushing noise a b o v e m e , and feel that s a m e dark w i n g descending.

T h e telephone rang, w i t h a s o u n d like glass breaking.

T h e r e w a s a h u b b u b of static on the line. S o m e o n e seemed to be asking for Charlie. N o , I shouted, no, he's not here!

and threw d o w n the receiver. A l m o s t at o n c e the thing b e g a n to shrill again. 'Wait, wait, d o n ' t h a n g up, the voice said, this
is
Charlie.
I
laughed, of course, fm d o w n the road, he said, j u s t d o w n the road. I w a s still l a u g h i n g .

T h e n there w a s a silence. T h e g u a r d s are here, Freddie, he said, they w a n t to speak to y o u , there's been s o m e sort of misunderstanding. I closed my eyes. Part of m e , I realised, h a d been h o p i n g against h o p e , u n a b l e quite to believe that the g a m e w a s u p . T h e h u m i n the wires s e e m e d the very s o u n d of Charlie's anxiety and e m b a r r a s s m e n t . Charlie, 1

said, Charlie, Charlie, w h y are y o u h i d i n g in a p h o n e - b o x , w h a t did y o u think I w o u l d do to y o u ? I h u n g up b e f o r e he c o u l d answer.

1 8 7
.

I w a s h u n g r y . I w e n t d o w n to the kitchen and m a d e an e n o r m o u s omelette* and d e v o u r e d half a l o a f of bread and d r a n k a pint of milk. I sat hunched o v e r the table with my e l b o w s planted on either side of the plate and my head hanging* stuffing the f o o d into m y s e l f with animal indifference. T h e rain-light m a d e a kind of dusk in the r o o m . I heard Charlie as s o o n as he entered the house — he never w a s v e r y g o o d at negotiating his w a y a r o u n d the furniture of life. He put his head in at the kitchen d o o r and essayed a smile, w i t h o u t m u c h success. I m o t i o n e d to the chair opposite me a n d he sat d o w n gingerly. I had started on the cold remains of last night's boiled potatoes. I w a s ravenous, I could n o t get e n o u g h to eat. Charles, 1 said, y o u l o o k terrible. H e did. H e w a s g r e y and shrunken, with livid h o l l o w s under his eyes. T h e collar of his shirt w a s buttoned t h o u g h he w o r e no tie. He ran a hand over his j a w and I heard the bristles scrape. He had been up early, he said, they had g o t h i m up and asked h i m to go to the station. For a second I
did
not understand, I thought he m e a n t the train station. He kept his eyes on my plate, the mess of spuds there. S o m e t h i n g had h a p p e n e d to the silence a r o u n d us. I realised that the rain had stopped. G o d a l m i g h t y , Freddie, he said softly, w h a t h a v e y o u done? He s e e m e d m o r e b e m u s e d than shocked. I fetched another, half-full bottle of milk f r o m the back of the fridge.

R e m e m b e r , Charlie, I said, those treats y o u used to stand me in J a m m e r ' s and the Paradiso? He s h r u g g e d . It was n o t clear if he w a s listening. T h e milk had turned. I drank it a n y w a y . I e n j o y e d t h e m , y o u k n o w , those occasions, I said, even if I didn't always s h o w it. I f r o w n e d . S o m e t h i n g w r o n g there,, s o m e t h i n g off, like the milk. Mendacity a l w a y s m a k e s my voice s o u n d curiously dull, a Hat blaring at the back of the throat. A n d w h y resurrect n o w an ancient, u n i m p o r t a n t lie? W a s I j u s t k e e p i n g my hand in, 188
.

getting a bit of practice for the big tourney that lay ahead?

N o , that's too hard. I was trying to apologise, I mean in general, and h o w was 1 supposed to do that without lying?

He looked so old, sitting slumped there with his head drooping on its stringy neck and his mouth all d o w n at one side and his bleared eyes fixed vaguely before him.

Oh, fuck it, Charlie, 1 said. I'm sorry.

Was it coincidence, I wonder, that the policeman made his m o v e just at that moment, or had he been listening outside the door? In films, I have noticed, the chap with the gun always waits in the corridor, back pressed to the wall, the whites of his eyes gleaming, until the people inside have had their say. And this one was, I suspect, a keen student of the cinema. He had a hatchet face and lank black hair and wore a sort of padded military jacket. The sub-machinegun he was holding, a blunt squarish model with only about an inch of barrel, looked remarkably like a toy. Of the three of us he seemed the most surprised. I could not help admiring the deft way he had kicked in the back door. It hung quivering on its hinges, the broken latch lolling like a hound's tongue. Charlie stood up. It's all right, officer, he said. The policeman advanced into the doorway. He was glaring at me. You're fucking under arrest, you are, he said. Behind him, in the yard, the sun came out suddenly, and everything shone and glittered wetly.