The Miracle Inspector (5 page)

‘Sir? Do you mind if I stay with her? In case she needs something?’

‘No, course not. It’s better if you stay. I’m just going to talk to her. Or perhaps I could watch for a minute, while you talk to her. Could you talk to her?’

Maureen looked relieved. She’d decided he was a decent bloke. She’d probably decided that the moment he’d had a piece of her lemon drizzle cake. She’d have made it specially for his visit and another man – someone like Jones – wouldn’t have accepted it. Someone like Jones might have wanted it but he’d have said no. Whereas Lucas knew she’d gone to a lot of trouble and he’d had a piece and it was quite nice. He wasn’t born this way, with the ability to put himself in someone else’s place; to empathise. It was the sort of thing you picked up, doing a job like this.

‘Do you have kids?’

‘Not yet. One day.’

‘Married, though? Young chap like you, handsome.’

Alright, Maureen, calm down. I had a piece of your lemon drizzle cake, that’s all. ‘Can you talk to Christina, then, tell her why I’ve come?’

Maureen turned to her little daughter. ‘He’s heard you’re special, Christina.’

That caught him unexpectedly, nearly choked him. Everything about it. The love in Maureen’s voice when she spoke to the child. The lie of it, the terrible lie in that word special. She was a sweet enough little child, she was loved. But special? She was terribly unfortunate; that was the word he would have used. He felt suddenly so desolate and desperate that if he’d had a gun in his hand now, he would have put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger. Perhaps he’d even do the kid the favour of taking her with him. Perhaps he’d lean down and put his head against her little head with its soft shiny hair and put this imaginary gun against his temple and blow them both away.

‘See, that’s what she does when she’s happy. See that? That little smile? It takes a tremendous amount of effort for Christina to do that. She only does that for people she knows, or if she likes you.’

‘Lovely.’ He ought to – but he thought of it quite often and he couldn’t do it for everybody and so in fact he had never done it – he ought to remember their address and send them some money anonymously. Do something to help them, make their lives better.

‘Oh, but that isn’t the miracle.’

‘Of course not. No.’

‘You see, if you had something – if you were unhappy…’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘If you were unhappy about something. Or if you were sick. I mean – I know you’re not…of course. But if you were troubled or…’

‘Oh, I get it. Like a cat?’

He meant it genuinely. Any warm-bodied, empathetic creature without the power of speech: the perfect confessor. Always listening, never giving advice. Poor old Maureen, he might as well have slapped her. He might as well have dragged her by the hair into the kitchen, filled the sink with water on top of – he hadn’t seen it, he was guessing here – its dirty dishes, and repeatedly dunked her face in it, pushing her head down towards the plates with (guessing again) their traces of baked bean juice, then held it under the water as a very few uneaten baked beans dislodged from the plate and floated slowly towards the surface, like lilies unfurling in the daylight.

‘I wouldn’t say that, sir.’

‘No.’

‘It’s altruistic, isn’t it? A miracle. They never try to heal themselves. It’s others they help.’

‘No, exactly. Standard question. Right answer.’

‘You’re not writing any of this down?’

‘I’ll make the report after, don’t worry. I like to take it all in. You’ve got your head bent over a piece of paper, you’re likely to miss something. The sly look between conspirators.’

‘Oh.’

‘Or the moment when the miracle happens. You see what I mean?’

‘Oh. Yes. ’

She was reappraising him, Maureen. His stock was rising. He was in charge, he knew what he was doing. She’d thought him a bit of an idiot; too young, with his blue eyes and his pretty face and his day-dreaming. Now she knew he was in charge. And she thought that because she could see that he was clever, it made her clever. But she could only see it because he let her see.

He turned to the child. ‘Now then, Christina.’

What on earth was he going to say to her? To be fair, he did think he could see a tiny little change in her expression, a glimmer.

‘She likes you.’

‘Yes.’

They sat in silence for a while, all three of them, Maureen content now for him to be in charge. He wondered whether he ought to go through some farcical examination whereby he brought in the sick and the heartsick and paraded them in front of Christina to see whether they could be cured. But it didn’t seem fair on the kid, to raise her hopes only to say it hadn’t worked. Maureen might quite like the company but she didn’t have money to be spending on lemon drizzle cake for sundry visitors. Besides, she’d be bitterly disappointed when he declared there hadn’t been a miracle.

‘Does she like singing?’

‘Yes.’

‘My wife has a lovely voice.’

‘Yes?’

‘Angela.’

‘Really? I’d love to hear her sing some time. I’m sure Christina…’

‘Ah, well. She rarely gets outside the house.’ That’s the way you expressed it these days, as if it was a minor, temporary inconvenience, particular to the person being discussed. You’d never say, ‘Isn’t it terrible, all the women in London being under house arrest?’

‘Did you ever work, Maureen, outside the home?’

She looked a bit nervous. You ever asked anyone a personal question, they assumed it was a trap. Quite right, too. But Maureen was game. She wanted him to declare that Christina was a miracle. So pretty much anything he said, she was going to play along. He thought she was going to say she had done something domestic and dreary. But she didn’t.

‘I used to read the news. On the local network.’ Christ! Now he was interested. ‘It might have led to something. I was only young. I actually reported on the attacks that changed everything – though I didn’t know how far-reaching the effects were going to be at the time.’

‘No one did.’

‘I had Christina very late.’

‘Yes. Or rather, I mean, you don’t look…’

She laughed. ‘I know what you mean.’

He realised that something had changed. He was talking to her as an equal. At first, he’d dismissed her as some worried old bag with a disabled daughter who couldn’t come to terms with what had happened to the child. But her situation was more complex than that. Here was a woman who had worked for a living, who’d once had a job. He was being awkward and she was being nice to him. He suddenly wished that he could tell her about Angela. His wife was the sort of person who ought to have a good job. Maureen had been on TV. His wife ought to have been on TV, with her voice. To hear her sing, it was like hearing the angels singing. No, that was a crap way of putting it. Maybe Maureen, with her journalistic background, would have a better way of expressing it. He tried to imagine Maureen, microphone in hand, reporting live on Angela’s singing, with respect and enthusiasm, and a neat turn of phrase.

He couldn’t remember the last time Angela had sung anything. He would go home and ask her to sing.

‘I’d like to come back here, Maureen.’

‘Oh yes, of course.’

‘It doesn’t happen all at once. You don’t sit here and say yes or no, tick a box. It has to be assessed properly. You know?’

‘Of course.’

Maureen was very calm but he could detect the eagerness. She was sharp, she had worked out that there was a chance. He hadn’t said no. She had realised that however many parts there were to the test, she and Christina were through to the next round.

‘Right, then.’

‘Could I ask you, then, sir…’ That rankled with him now and embarrassed him, that ‘sir’. She wasn’t a subservient, ignorant woman who called him sir by default, as he had assumed when he came in. She was an intelligent, desperate woman who was trying to flatter him.

‘You can call me Lucas.’

‘Oh, right. Thank you.’ She didn’t dare, though. Good for her. He’d have hated her for it. ‘Could you tell me, typically, how long? I mean, I’m not pressing you…’

‘I don’t know. Maybe a couple of months.’

‘Oh, right.’

He didn’t want to toy with her. He wanted to do something nice. ‘The thing is – at the end… I mean, I can’t say…’

‘No. Of course not. Still, we’d rather live with hope. You see, I believe–’

‘What has she got? I mean, is it a disease?’

Maureen’s face. Honestly. He hadn’t meant it like that. Her face twisted as if he’d just punched her in the guts.

‘I’m sorry. It’s just, we have to know. For the reports.’ They didn’t.

‘No. She’s… it was something in the womb. Or maybe at birth. You know how it is with the midwives now, the care.’

‘What’s the prognosis? Will she get any better?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘She won’t get worse, will she?’

‘Well, it’s not good, actually. Nobody thought she’d survive; that she’d be here this long.’

‘Oh, poor little thing.’

‘She doesn’t suffer.’

‘No. Good.’

He went over to the child and bent over her, all smiles. ‘Goodbye, Christina,’ he said. He led Maureen outside.

A sad thought had occurred to him. ‘Maureen, I’ve got to say this.’ Did he? Well, he’d started now. Besides, he liked the woman. ‘If you’re looking for me to help Christina… If you think maybe you can get connections, someone to help you, through me…’

She’d been looking anxious. Maybe she thought he was going to walk outside the door with her and say no, I’m not coming back after all, it’s not a miracle. Now she smiled, her face one big Nike swoosh of a smile. She thought he was kind and sweet and she was delighted because he hadn’t denied her disabled daughter her chance of being declared a miracle.

‘No,’ she said. ‘No, Lucas, it’s nothing like that. Thank you.’

So, they were on first name terms. And he was for some reason going to go back to that house again and prolong everyone’s agony, including his own.

He got in the car and went home to Angela. Why didn’t she sing any more and why hadn’t she got pregnant? Those were two things that he wanted to know. He would ask her.

Darling,

The time has come. We must leave – now, before the borders close. Don’t underestimate the danger. I think this is our last chance. You can bring the kid but we must leave now. I have friends in Adelaide who will look after us. The last boat leaves in two days’ time. You know I’ve tried to persuade M to go? We could all go together but he’s adamant that he won’t leave. You try. But if he won’t come, please come with me. I have the tickets.

Just so we’re clear, I have tickets for three adults and one child. If you can’t persuade M, I’ll give his ticket away at the dock. Someone will be glad of it – although it’s a horrible thought that my gift might split up a couple hoping to go away together, with one being left behind. No, let’s be positive. Perhaps it means a family who already have tickets will be able to bring Granny with them, or some other spare relative. Best of all, M will be there with you and we’ll all leave together.

You understand me, though? I have bought a ticket for M because I don’t want there to be any reason for you not to come with me.

I love you.

J xx

p.s. You know I won’t care if you continue to live with M in Australia. We can sort out the domestic arrangements when we get to the other side. I haven’t bought tickets with a view to buying a place for you at my side. This is the last chance out of here, for all of us. Be there!

p.p.s. It’ll be crowded on the docks. I’ll wear flowers in my hair so you’ll easily be able to spot me. I’ll build a trembling, conical tower of brightly-coloured blossoms on my head, so that as I stalk through the crowd looking for you, fragrant petals will scatter in my wake. I hope to generate enough interest with my striking new look to be able to found a religion on board, to while away the hours on our passage to the promised land. Wear flowers in your hair or don’t, my darling – I’ll be able to find you by the warmth of your smile. But be there. Be there. I love you xxx

p.p.p.s. If you have trouble getting through security without tickets, tell them you’re booked in cabin 2.012 under my name. I suppose it means that if I have to give away M’s ticket, we’ll have a granny travelling with us in our cabin? Please persuade him to come to spare us the granny. I can almost hear the song that he and I would compose together to celebrate being spared the granny. Another way to pass the time on the voyage while other less inventive people are playing Scrabble. See how good we’ll be together, we three plus little El? We’ll have a roaring good time.

One final note (too many pees, sorry) – we can still make a difference over there. We’re not deserting the cause, just re-grouping. But we can’t stay here. Remember: you can’t make a difference when you’re dead.