Читать книгу The Second Life of Sally Mottram - David Nobbs - Страница 21

Sally woke to find the sun streaming in through elegant curtains that Judith had bought because they were beautiful not because they kept the light out. The tulips on the elegant dressing table were as fresh as the day they’d been picked. The elegant glass of water at her bedside was untouched. She couldn’t remember when she had slept so well. She glanced at the elegant little bedside clock and was shocked to find that it was twenty-five past eleven. They were due at house number four at eleven. Judith would be livid.

She didn’t mind! She could face Judith’s lividity. She had survived yesterday’s ordeal. She felt stronger for it.

She practically leapt out of bed. Her legs buckled, her head swam. A moment ago she had felt strong. Now she felt weaker than she had ever been.

She sat on the bed.

The door opened and Judith came in. She looked as if she was dressed for lunch at the Ritz. She didn’t look livid, but she didn’t look exactly pleased either.

‘We’ve missed our appointment,’ she said. ‘I’d cancelled a golf match because of that appointment.’

‘I’m really sorry.’

‘It’s all right. I’ve rearranged it for three o’clock.’

‘I hope you win.’

‘Not the golf match. The viewing.’

Oh God. Could she face it?

No. No more lies.

‘You’re covered in bruises.’

‘Am I? Sorry.’

‘Don’t be silly. Look at you. What did he do to you?’

Sally examined her body. She had slept in the nude since Barry had died, whereas she never had when she had been sleeping with him. This morning, when her nudity was witnessed by her sister, that suddenly struck her as odd.

Judith was right. She was black and blue.

‘He didn’t do anything.’

She could see that Judith didn’t believe her. Mysteriously, she needed to make Judith believe her.

‘He didn’t, Judith. He really didn’t.’

‘All right. I believe you.’

But she didn’t.

‘How much did I tell you last night?’

‘Not a lot. That dreadful man told me to give you a hot bath, something solid to eat and a hot drink. You kept falling asleep. You were like a very big baby. I virtually had to bath you and feed you. And I just couldn’t stop you shivering.’

‘He wasn’t a dreadful man. He was very nice.’

‘He didn’t look very nice to me.’

‘Nor to me. I thought he was awful. I feel bad about that now. I should have got his name. Did you?’

‘Of course I didn’t.’

‘I want to thank him. He saved my life.’

‘Don’t exaggerate.’

‘I’m not. Seriously, I think I might have died of hypothermia. It was very cold, and I only had thin clothes.’

‘You’re an idiot, Sally.’

‘I know. And you aren’t. It’s nice to be so different. It’s why we get on so well.’

‘Do we?’

‘I don’t even have his number plate. It was covered in mud.’

‘Exactly. He’s not to be trusted. I knew the moment I saw him there was something odd about him.’

‘In a way, what was odd was that he wasn’t odd.’

‘What on earth do you mean?’

‘He didn’t match the lorry. It had one headlight and …’

‘… he should have only had one eye?’

‘Exactly. Well, not that exactly. But he should have been … dishevelled.’

‘He was dishevelled.’

‘I thought so last night. But now I think he was trying to look dishevelled. That’s a funny word, isn’t it? I mean there isn’t a word “shevelled”. “I won’t be long, darling, I’m just trying to get myself shevelled.”’

Judith showed no response to that. She had no interest in words per se, only as useful social tools.

‘He shouted at me,’ she said. ‘It was horrid. I’m not used to being shouted at by odd, strange men.’

The scene came back to Sally vividly. Judith speaking to her in a kind of whispered shout, furious with her for scaring her by disappearing, furious that she had needed to call the police, but also very anxious not to wake the neighbours. The man had shouted, ‘Shut up. Fuck the neighbours. Give her a bath, some solid food and a hot drink – fast.’

‘He shouted at you because he cared.’

‘Rubbish.’

Sally stood up very gingerly. Her thighs protested hugely. Her head swam again. She put her left hand on the bed to support herself.

‘I need food, Judith, and quickly. I’m weak.’

‘Of course you do. I’m an idiot too.’

‘Can I have it in my dressing gown?’

‘Well, of course you can. What do you think I am?’

‘You’re very correct, Judith. Everything is always done very correctly.’

‘Has it occurred to you that maybe that’s because I lack the confidence to do it any other way?’

‘You?’

‘Me.’

‘How about that breakfast?’

‘You see. I am an idiot.’

Judith brought her dressing gown over, helped her put it on, and walked her through to the dining room where an elegant table was elegantly laid for one.

Sally sat there, bathed in elegance, but her face immobile. She was thinking hard. The sun beamed. The picture windows were spotless. Not a crumb sullied the carpet. Her future lay before her. She was thinking about what to do with the rest of her life. Big stuff when you were starving.

Judith brought orange juice from real oranges, perfect buttery peppery scrambled eggs, and good strong coffee. She left Sally to it. Sally resisted the temptation to gulp it all down. This was one of the great moments of her life, to be able to enjoy a good breakfast barely eighteen hours after she had almost thrown herself over a cliff and ended that life.

When she had finished eating, Judith brought more strong coffee, and joined her.

‘You look as though you’ll live,’ said Judith.

‘I think so.’

Something in the way Sally said it caused Judith to look at her with an expression she had never seen from her before. She suddenly realized what was different. Judith was taking her younger sister seriously.

Sally took a gulp of coffee and braced herself.

‘You’re not angry with me any more?’ she began.

‘I rang my doctor to discuss you. I had to. I was worried. He took it all very seriously. He told me to be very careful, and I do what doctors tell me, Sally. I think you ought to see him and get yourself checked.’

‘I’m all right.’

‘You should see him.’

Sally decided to give way on that one. The next few minutes were going to be hard enough, without an added disagreement over the doctor.

She forced herself to say what had to be said. She felt very nervous. She wasn’t yet quite as strong as she had thought. ‘I … I’ve a lot to tell you, Judith. Yesterday, I began to realize, without really realizing it, if that makes sense, that – this’ll sound trite, but to me it’s massive – that I have only two ways I can go. Up or down. I decided to go up. Again, I didn’t really realize I had decided.’

Judith didn’t speak. Sally had the distinct impression that she was listening properly to her, with all her being, for the first time in her life.

She told Judith about the cliff edge, about how she strode towards it before she saw the boat. If Judith had been silent before, she was now very silent. Sally was grateful for that. She sensed that if she didn’t tell the whole story now, she never would.

She told her next about her financial situation.

‘You mean …’ said Judith. ‘No. Carry on.’

‘You’re right,’ said Sally. ‘Doing those three viewings was a farce.’

‘You could have told me.’

‘No. I couldn’t.’

‘But you can today?’

‘Yes.’

And then she told Judith about the letter to her son. She had an awful feeling that she was going to cry. She didn’t want to. She hoped that she had cried herself out. If she cried again, she felt that she might let it destroy her, that she would cry and cry and crawl away to die like a sick rabbit.

She had an awful feeling, also, that Judith was going to cry. She had never seen her sister cry. She wondered if she ever had cried. She didn’t cry now, but Sally believed that she had come close to it, that she had been truly moved. But the memory of how utterly she had failed to recognize what was going on in Barry’s head was too recent; understanding Judith was a hope, an objective, but not yet, if ever, a reality.

Even when Sally had finished speaking, Judith said nothing. Sally had the impression that she had hunted for the correct words and not found them.

‘Well, Judith,’ she said. ‘We’d better cancel that viewing.’

Judith looked shocked, almost as shocked as at anything in Sally’s tale.

‘Do we need to? Can’t we just go?’

‘Why?’

‘I’ve already rearranged it. Difficult now to cancel it.’