The Tenement (15 page)

“Michael,” he said.

“Michael who?” she said.

“Grant,” he replied. “Michael Grant, I was passing,” he said.

“Passing?”

“Yes, I was passing. I saw the window. There were different curtains. I wanted to see. Ours used to be green. Mother liked them green.”

She was a little frightened now. Yet she must remain calm. Not that he looked violent, in fact he looked quite dead, with his dead voice.

“I drove,” he said. “I drove far. I left my car round the side.”

He walked into the living room. “She used to sit there at the window,” he said. “Knitting. She would watch the traffic.”

He sat down on the sofa. “This was not red,” he said. “This used to be yellow. And it used to face a different way.” He shivered as if he were frightened. “I don't like it,” he said.

“She used to watch the buses and the people. She never went out at the end. I remember that. I should have done more for her. Still, it couldn't be helped. She never liked Diana, you see.”

“Diana?”

“She thought she was a money grabber and that she wasn't suitable. She was right.”

“Is there something wrong?” said Linda. “I don't …” and then, inspired, “Would you like a cup of tea?” She didn't want to lose control, though this was a nightmare. She felt that she must step as if on glass, in a minefield. The man was dazed as if he had lost his memory. Now and again he passed his hand across his eyes.

“You've got an electric fire, too,” he said. “There was a coal fire there once. I see you've closed it in. The coal was very dirty: every morning I used to bring a bucketful in. In the winter it was frosted over and I used a hammer to break it.”

He stood up. “The church is the same. She used to watch the weddings and the funerals.”

“Who did?” Linda said. “Mother, of course.”

“Oh.”

There was silence. The man took out a cigarette case and picked a cigarette from it.

“Do you smoke?”

“No thanks.”

“I used to have an ashtray on the arm of this sofa,” he said. “And there was a little table and a sideboard. She kept her letters in the sideboard, her business letters.”

Linda thought, “I should slip out and phone John. I wish I had a phone in the house, but we couldn't afford one.”

But at the same time she wasn't frightened of the man, it was just that he was so strange, as if numb. Now and again he drew his coat collar around his neck as if he was cold, though it was a fine sunny day.

“You used to stay here?” she said.

“Yes. A long time ago. And then I married Diana. My mother didn't like her. ‘You mark my words, that one will leave when she's had enough', she used to tell me.” He lit his cigarette with a trembling hand. “Maybe I could see the bedroom,” he said. Without asking her permission he walked down the lobby and opened the door of the bedroom. This had a blue motif. There was a blue counterpane on the bed and a blue lampshade.

“It's the wrong way round,” he said. “I used to have my radio there. I used to listen to it a lot. I had my books over there. In that corner. I could hear mother working in the kitchen. She used to listen to the Silver Lining; a religious programme.” He picked up the rabbit which she had bought in advance for the child, and looked at it for a long time before putting it down again.

Then he left the room. She followed him as if it was she who was the stranger, and not him. She wondered what would happen if John came in. He would throw this man out, he would be very angry, he would be thinking that she was having an affair. He had such a temper when he was roused.

“I'm just going out,” she said hopefully. “I do my shopping about now.”

“I'll wait till you come back if you like,” he said dully.

“But I can't leave you here on your own,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Why not? I can't. That's all. My husband will be coming in shortly. He comes home for a coffee.”

“Oh.”

He sat down on the sofa again.

“She warned me about Diana. We were married for four years, four years yesterday. Yesterday, she left. She left a note. I drove up here. Mother said I should never have married her. ‘She'll run away, you mark my words', she said. She was right. She wanted everything she could get. Behind my back she was running up bills with expensive shops. You can go, I told her, but I didn't think she would choose that day. Then I took the car and I drove. I don't know why I am here.” And he passed his hand across his brow.

“This man has escaped from somewhere,” thought Linda. “He's a madman.” But he hardly seemed to notice that she was there or if he did he thought of her as an interloper. What could she do? She couldn't even push him out. She couldn't leave him in the house. John wouldn't be back till one o'clock. Cooper wasn't in. Mrs Floss would probably be in bed. And Trevor Porter might be typing.

“When was it you lived here?” she asked.

“Twenty years ago. About that.” His eye moved away from her to the space at the window, which had once held the chair on which his mother used to sit. “Then we left. Four years ago I married Diana. I worked in a library. She didn't think my pay was high enough. Not enough money, she said.”

“And what's your name again?”

“Michael Grant.”

“And you stayed in this flat?”

“Yes. But it was different then. There was a different name on the door. I looked at your window for a long time. I thought to myself, ‘Who stays there now?' I used to get very tired and my mother would tell me to stay in bed. She didn't want me to marry Diana. Diana was beautiful. I met her in the other place, in the other town.” He tried to remember the name but couldn't.

“She and my mother didn't get on. She gave me an ultimatum. Your mother will have to go or I go. And mother went. To a Home. I used to visit her. Look what you've done to me, she would say. But Diana said that she couldn't stay in the same house as her. She said my mother was an evil woman and made up stories about her. She said my mother would leave the electricity on to make things more expensive. She was very difficult, Diana said. She thought everything she said was right. She said my mother hated her. I could see it wouldn't work and so she had to go to the Home. Diana wouldn't go to visit her. But I did. Every Sunday I went. When am I getting home, my mother would say, when are you getting rid of that evil woman? But I couldn't get rid of her: Diana was very strong willed. She would go into rages and throw things. She would have fits if she didn't have her own way. In the end it was easier to give into her, I found that. I didn't stand up to her. ‘You must stand up to her', my mother would say. ‘She's a bad, bad woman'. ‘It's her or me', Diana would say.”

“I'm sorry,” said Linda.

“She left me yesterday. There was a note under the door when I got home from my work. She said I should have married my mother. You're her child. Her baby.” Linda shivered. The baby jumped in her womb.

“You don't know what it was like. I was between the two of them for four years. And then my mother died in the Home. ‘You'll live to regret this', she told me. ‘These are my last words to you'. ‘Good riddance', that's what Diana said. She called her an old bag.”

He stared down at the floor. “Are you sure you won't take a cup of tea,” said Linda.

“No, thank you. I don't like tea.”

“We stayed here,” he said. “I'm sure there's none of the people left now whom we knew. The door is still the same colour. I noticed that. We always wanted to paint the door, but no one would agree on the colour. One wanted one colour and someone else another. I would have paid for it, though I didn't have much money. There was a painter here and he would have painted it but no one would decide on a colour. So nothing was done. I remember there were old bells hanging there from the ceiling. When you pulled the bell outside, the bells in here would tinkle. There was also an old range which we gutted. The flat cost two thousand pounds, it was in such bad condition. From the moment that we got married Diana wanted a washing machine. Mother never had a washing machine: she hung the clothes out on the line. Usually on Monday mornings.” He took out a handkerchief and wiped his face with it. His face sweated palely.

“My name's Linda, and my husband's name is John. We're called Mason,” she said.

“Oh. I should like to sleep.”

“You can't sleep here,” she said. “John will be coming in shortly for his coffee. I told you.”

“Coffee?” And then, “I don't know you.”

“Did you come by car?” she said.

“Yes, I left it round the corner. There was a big lorry. I hope it will be safe. There's much more traffic here now and more yellow lines. It was only after I got married that I bought a car. Second hand. Diana said everybody has a car nowadays. My mother used to ask me to buy a car so she could go for runs, because she was tired staring out of the window. But I didn't buy one. I was nervous in those days. Diana made me buy one, and I learnt to drive. I left early this morning and drove here. There was a very slow car in front of me. It was driven by an old man in a bowler hat.”

Linda looked around her. Suddenly she saw a big black range instead of her electric fire. Then she saw a chair at the window. An old woman was sitting on it knitting. For some reason she fancied she saw a Bible beside her. She felt disorientated. It was odd; she had never felt like this before. Mr Cooper might be coming home shortly. Sometimes, not every day, he would come home for his lunch. She would have been glad to see him, though John didn't like him. She would have preferred him to this ghost, this phantom, who wandered around like a lost soul. And her house suddenly became unreal. She must get a grip on herself. She must say to herself, this is my house, this is John's house, this is our house. Then it occurred to her, maybe this is a ghost. Maybe this isn't really happening, maybe I'm imagining it. Pregnant women often have odd notions. And she sweated suddenly. But he was there, he was definitely there, or was he? Of course he was. If she put her hand out she would be able to touch him. The tenement was, however, strangely silent. Not even the tapping of Trevor Porter's typewriter could be heard. It was as if she had stepped into a vacuum. And in the vacuum was herself and this thin man.

But she had never heard of anyone called Grant before. Cooper would know if there had been someone with that name. Mrs Floss wouldn't know: neither would Mr Porter. Mrs Miller, however, would know. She would leave the door open in case she happened to descend the stairs. She would be glad to see even her.

But then the man had said, ‘Diana'. Could she have imagined that too? Of course not. The man was real, she was real. The house was real. He was sitting on the sofa again staring ahead of him. He was twisting his hat in his hand. Stay, she thought, you must stay till I can find someone else who will see you. But there was no one else. She could hear no movement in the flat. She could hear the silence.

“Diana didn't like the hospital,” he said. “She was tall and fair. She was beautiful. I never knew why she married me. She deceived me. At first I thought everything would be all right. We used to go every Friday night to this particular hotel. I used to argue with her because she would smile at other men. She said that I was jealous and jealousy was bad. But she did smile at other men. Pull your skirt down, I would whisper to her. But she wouldn't. ‘I like that man, he's handsome', she would say. The quarrels we had. I would apologize: it was always me who apologized, and I would leave flowers for her. But I was going through hell just the same. If only she would leave, I told myself, I would have peace. Last night I didn't sleep at all. I wanted to leave the house and drive somewhere, anywhere. And now I'm here. Why did I come here?” He stared at her blankly.

“Perhaps you were happy here.”

“Maybe. I don't think I was, but maybe I was. I thought to myself, if my mother dies, I will marry. So I married anyway, even before she died. She didn't like that. ‘You betrayed me', she would say. ‘Look at all I've done for you and you betray me, you put me in a Home. You wait', she said, ‘she'll start finding fault with me. That will be the first thing. I know women, you don't. Your mother's not a fool. She's an old dog on a hard road. You wait.'

“My mother was difficult right enough: she had ways of being difficult. About the garden, for instance, and about the food. ‘I never used to make food like this', she would say. Diana liked Chinese dishes, you understand. My mother liked simple food, mince, tripe, things like that. She wouldn't eat the food Diana cooked. ‘She's always putting sauce on everything', she would complain. ‘I can't stand it. When can we have some proper food?'

“But I didn't want to offend Diana. No, she wasn't like you. She was tall and blonde. She never visited mother in the Home. I used to go and see her. It broke my heart. ‘It was you who put me here', she would say. ‘If you had stood up to Diana. But you never would'.” His eyes fastened themselves on Linda. “I never stood up to anyone.”

Please let someone come, thought Linda. Even my father-in-law. He's real, he may be a drunkard but he's real. But there was no sound everywhere, she might as well have been on a desert.

“Listen,” she said suddenly, “will you do something for me? Can I take your photograph?”

“My photograph? What for?”

“I want to show it to my husband when he comes.”

“If you like. What does it matter.” She went into the bedroom and found the camera. She set it quickly and took his photograph sitting on the sofa. He didn't smile. His face was fixed, stony. “That's done,” she said. “Thank you. And now I really must go. I have to get the messages.” And she made for the door. But he didn't follow her. He still sat where he was.