Читать книгу The Curious Charms Of Arthur Pepper - Phaedra Patrick - Страница 11

Nathan Patterson existed in that he had a body and a head and arms and legs. But Arthur wasn’t sure if there were any thoughts inside him making his body operate. He walked like he was on an airport conveyer belt, looking as if he was gliding. He was reed thin and dressed in tight black jeans that hung off his hips, a black T-shirt with a skull on it and bright white training shoes. His fringe obscured most of his face.

‘Hello, Nathan. It’s very nice to meet you again,’ Arthur said brightly and offered his hand as they stood together on the pavement outside Bernadette’s house. ‘We met at a coffee morning once, do you remember?’

Nathan looked at him as if he was an alien. His hands hung by his sides. ‘Nah.’

‘Oh well, it was only briefly. I understand that you’re looking at universities. You must be a very smart young man.’

Nathan turned his head and looked away. He opened the car door and got into the driver’s seat without speaking. Arthur stared after him. This could be a long journey. ‘I’ll sit in the back, shall I?’ he said, to no response as he got in the car. ‘Give you and your mum a chance to talk in the front.’

Arthur had wheeled his suitcase over to Bernadette’s house after lunch. He had given Frederica extra water and felt quite guilty leaving her behind. ‘It will just be for a couple of days,’ he muttered as he gave her leaves a wipe with a damp cloth. ‘You’ll be fine. Me and you, we can’t just sit around any longer. Well, you can. But I have to go. I’m going to find things about Miriam that I didn’t know. I think you would want this for me.’ He examined Frederica for a sign, a shake of her leaves or a bubble of water in her soil, but there was nothing.

He packed a spare shirt and underwear, his toiletries, cotton pyjamas, an emergency carrier bag and a sachet of hot chocolate. Bernadette had booked him a single room at the Cheltenham bed and breakfast they were staying at that night. ‘It looks nice,’ she said. ‘Some rooms have a view of Cheltenham Minster. It will just be like being in York, Arthur. So you won’t feel homesick.’

Bernadette bustled out of her house. She wheeled out a navy blue suitcase and then a purple one, followed by four Marks and Spencer carrier bags.

Arthur wound the window down. He assumed that Nathan would rush out to help, but the young man sat with his feet on the dashboard eating a bag of crisps. ‘Do you need a hand?’

‘I’m fine. I’ll just load this little lot into the boot then we can set off.’ She slammed the boot door shut then took the front seat next to Nathan. ‘Now, do you know where we’re going?’

‘Yes,’ her son sighed.

‘It should take us around three hours to get to our accommodation,’ Bernadette said.

In the car Nathan turned up the radio so loud that Arthur couldn’t think. Rock music blared out. A male singer screamed about wanting to kill his girlfriend. Periodically, Bernadette turned and gave Arthur a smile and mouthed, ‘Okay?’

Arthur nodded and gave a thumbs-up. He was already tense about changing his morning routine. He hadn’t shaved and he didn’t remember washing out his teacup. When he got back from the trip it would have a thick collar of beige gunk inside. Perhaps he had over-watered Frederica. Had he swept up the crumbs from the worktop? He shuddered at the thought. And he had locked the front door properly, hadn’t he?

To cancel out his worries, he tucked his hand in his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the heart-shaped box. He stroked the textured leather and felt the small padlock. It felt comforting to have something that belonged to his wife so close to him, even if he didn’t know where it had come from.

As they drove along tree-lined roads toward the motorway, Arthur felt his eyes shutting. He widened them but then slowly they flickered and closed again. The shush of tyres on tarmac lulled him to sleep.

He dreamed that he was on a picnic with Miriam, Lucy and Dan at the seaside. He couldn’t recall which town. Lucy and Dan were still young enough to be excited by a trip to the sea and a 99 ice cream. ‘Come and have a paddle, Dad.’ Dan tugged his hand. Sunlight rippled like silver sweet papers on the surface of the sea. The air smelled of freshly cooked doughnuts and vinegar from the food vans on the promenade. Seagulls cawed and swooped overhead. The sun shone hot and bright.

‘Yes, come on in, Arthur.’ Miriam stood facing him. The sun was behind her and she looked as if she had a golden halo in her hair. He admired the silhouette of her legs through her translucent white dress. He sat on the sand, his trousers rolled up to his ankles. Perspiration formed under his mustard tank top.

‘I’m a bit tired,’ he said. ‘I’ll just have a lie down on the sand and watch you three. I’ll catch up on the day’s news.’ He patted his newspaper.

‘You can do that anytime. Come on in with us. We can relax tonight when the kids are in bed.’

Arthur smiled. ‘I’ll just stay here. You and the kids go paddle.’ He reached up and ruffled Lucy’s hair.

His wife and two kids stood and stared at him for a few seconds before giving up on their persuasion. He watched as they held hands and ran toward the sea. For a moment he almost stood up and raced after them, but they disappeared into a sea of beach umbrellas and coloured towels. He took off his tank top, rolled it up and put it under his head.

But because this was a dream, he was able to rewind events in his head. This time when his wife stood before him inviting him to paddle, he said yes. Because he knew he might never have this moment again. Because he knew that his time with the kids was precious, and in the future Dan would live thousands of miles away and Lucy would be distant. He knew there would be so many times over the coming years that he would long to be on the beach with his family again.

So this time, in his dream, he stood up and took Dan’s and Lucy’s small clammy, sandy hands in his own. They ran down the sand together, the four of them in a line, laughing and squealing. And he kicked the sea until it soaked his trousers to the thighs and made his lips salty. Miriam waded toward him. She laughed and trailed her fingertips in the water. Lucy clung to his legs and Dan sat with the sea lapping around his waist. Arthur wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist and pulled her close to him. He saw that freckles had sprung to life on her nose and she had pink sun circles on her cheeks. There was nowhere he wanted to be more than this. He leaned in toward her, feeling her breath on his mouth and …

‘Arthur. Arthur!’

He felt a hand on his knee. ‘Miriam?’ He opened his eyes. His time with his wife and children vanished abruptly. Bernadette was leaning over from her front seat. Her door was open. He could see expanses of grey tarmac. ‘You dropped off. We’re at the services. I need to spend a penny.’

‘Oh.’ Arthur blinked, readjusting to the real world. He could still feel Miriam’s hand in his. He wanted to be with her so badly, to kiss her lips. He wriggled out of his slump. ‘Where are we?’

‘We’ve almost reached Birmingham already. The roads are quiet. Come on out and stretch your legs.’

He did as he was told and got out of the car. He had been asleep for two hours. As he walked toward the grey slab of a building, he wished that he could slip back into his dream to be with his family again. It had seemed so real. Why hadn’t he appreciated those moments when they were happening?

He meandered around WHSmith and bought a Daily Mail and then a coffee in a cardboard cup from a machine outside. It tasted of soil. The lobby rang with the sound of amusement machines, their coloured lights flashing and piping out jaunty electronic music. He could smell fried onion rings and bleach. He carefully placed his half-drunk coffee in the bin and went to the loo.

Back at the car he found himself alone with Nathan.

The boy was sitting with his feet on the dashboard again, displaying an expanse of milky ankle. In the back Arthur opened up his paper. There was going to be a heatwave over the next couple of days. The hottest May in decades. He thought of Frederica’s soil and hoped it would stay moist.

Nathan took a yellow curl from his packet of crisps. After taking the longest time that Arthur had known anyone eat a crisp, he finally said: ‘So are you and my mum, you know …?’

Arthur waited for the next part of the sentence, which didn’t arrive. ‘I’m sorry, I …’

‘You and Mum. Are you, y’know, getting it on?’ He then affected a posh accent as he turned to face Arthur. ‘Are you dating?’

‘No.’ Arthur tried not to sound aghast. He wondered how Nathan could possibly have got this idea. ‘Definitely not. We’re just friends.’

Nathan nodded sagely. ‘So, you have a separate room at the B and B?’

‘Of course I have.’

‘I was just wondering.’

‘We are definitely just friends.’

‘I’ve noticed that she makes you the savoury stuff, pies and shit. Her others only get sweet things.’

Her other lost causes, Arthur thought. Mad Mr Flowers, housebound Mrs Monton and Co. ‘I really appreciate your mother’s efforts for me. I’ve been going through a tough time and she’s been a great help. I prefer savoury to sweet.’

‘Oh, yeah.’ Nathan finished munching his crisps. He folded up the packet, tied it into a knot, then positioned it beneath his nose and wore it as a moustache. ‘My mum gets off on helping people. She’s a real saint.’

Arthur didn’t know if he was being sarcastic or not.

‘Your wife. She died, didn’t she?’ Nathan said.

‘Yes, she did.’

‘That must’ve been pretty shit, huh?’

For a second, Arthur felt like jumping over the seats into the front of the car and ripping the crisp packet out from under Nathan’s nose. How easily young people could dismiss death, as if it was some far-off country that they’d never get to visit. And how dare he talk so casually about Miriam like that. He dug his fingernails into the leather seat. His cheeks burned and he stared out of the window to avoid catching Nathan’s gaze in the vanity mirror.

A woman wearing a black T-shirt printed with a badger was dragging her screaming toddler across the car park. The little girl clutched a Happy Meal bag. An elderly lady stepped out of a red Ford Focus and began to shout too. She pointed at the bag. Three generations of family arguing over a McDonald’s hamburger.

Arthur had to answer Nathan because it would be rude not to, but he couldn’t be bothered to describe how he felt. ‘Yes. Pretty shit,’ he responded, not even realising he had sworn.

‘Here we are then.’ Thankfully, the front door opened and Bernadette manoeuvred a series of stuffed carrier bags into the footwell of the car. She then tried curving into her seat to fit herself around them. ‘Ready for off?’ she asked, fastening her seat belt.

‘What have you got in there, Mum? There’s only a MaccieD.’s and a WHSmith in that place,’ Nathan said.

‘Just some magazines, drinks, chocolatey things for the journey. You and Arthur might get hungry.’

‘I thought you had food in the boot?’

‘I know, but it’s nice to have fresh stuff.’

‘I thought we’d be getting tea at the B and B,’ Nathan said. ‘We’ll be there in an hour.’

Arthur felt uncomfortable. Bernadette was only trying to please. ‘I’m a little peckish actually,’ he said, trying to support her, even though he wasn’t hungry at all. ‘A drink and snack would be just the ticket.’

He was rewarded with a warm smile, a king-size Twix and a two-litre bottle of Coke.

His bedroom at the B and B was tiny with just enough space for a single bed, a rickety wardrobe and a chair. There was the smallest sink he had ever seen in the corner with a wrapped soap the size of a Babybel cheese. The toilet and bath (the landlady informed him) were on the next floor up. No baths after nine at night and you had to give the toilet a firm flush or else it wouldn’t get rid of all the contents.

Arthur couldn’t remember the last time he had slept in a single bed. It seemed so narrow and confirmed his status as a widower. The bedding was bright and fresh though and he sat on the side of the bed and looked through the sash window. A seagull strutted along the windowsill and there was a pleasant view of the park across the street.

Usually the first thing he and Miriam would do when they got to a room in a B and B was to have a nice cup of tea and see what type of biscuit graced the courtesy tray. They had devised a rating system together. Obviously, receiving no biscuits at all scored a big fat zero. Digestives scored a two. Custard creams were a little better, coming in at a four. Bourbons, he had originally rated as a five, but had grown to appreciate them, so upgraded them to a six. Any biscuit that tasted of chocolate without containing any had to be admired. Further up the scale were the posh biscuits usually provided by the larger hotel chains—the lemon and ginger or chocolate chip cookies, which came in at an eight. For a ten, the biscuits had to be home-made by the proprietors, and this was very rare.

Here, there was a packet of two ginger nuts. They were perfectly acceptable but the sight of them in their packet made his heart sink. He took one out and munched on it then folded over the packet and put it back on the tray. The remaining ginger nut was Miriam’s biscuit. He couldn’t bring himself to eat it.

There were still two hours before he had arranged to meet Bernadette and Nathan for their evening meal in the restaurant downstairs. He and Miriam would usually put their anoraks on and go for a walk to explore and get their bearings, to plan what they would do the next day. But he didn’t want to go out on his own. There didn’t seem much point in discovering things alone. Out of the window he watched as Nathan sloped out toward the park. He had one hand dug in his pocket and smoked a cigarette. Arthur wondered if Bernadette knew about this bad habit.

He took the box from his pocket and opened it up on the windowsill. Even though he was used to seeing it now, used to handling it, he still couldn’t relate the bracelet to his wife. He couldn’t imagine something so chunky and bold dangling from her slender wrist. She had taken pride in having elegant taste and was often mistaken for being French because of her classic way of dressing. In fact, she often said that she admired the way French ladies dressed and that one day she would like to go to Paris. She said it was chic.

When she began to feel ill, felt her chest growing tight and the shortness of breath, she changed the way she dressed. Her navy blue silk blouses, cream skirts and pearls were replaced by the shapeless cardigans. Her only aim was to keep warm. She even shivered when the sun beat down on her skin. She wore her anorak in the garden, her face bravely tilted toward the sun as if she were confronting it. Ha! I can’t feel you.

‘I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me about India, Miriam,’ he said aloud. ‘Mr Mehra’s story was unfortunate, but there was nothing for you to be ashamed of.’

A magpie stood on the other side of the window and stared in at him, and then it seemed to look at the bracelet. Arthur tapped the window. ‘Shoo.’ He held the box to his chest and squinted at the charms. The flower was made of five coloured stones surrounding a tiny pearl. The paint palette had a tiny paintbrush and six enamelled blobs to represent paint. The tiger snarled, baring pointed gold teeth. He looked at his watch again. There was still an hour and forty-five minutes to go before dinner.

If he was at home he would have eaten by now. He and Miriam always dined at five-thirty prompt and he carried on the tradition. He set the table while she cooked. After eating, he washed up and she dried the pots. Their only day off from this routine was Friday—chippy tea day when they sat in front of the TV and ate fish, chips and mushy peas straight from the polystyrene tray. He lay back on the bed with his hands behind his head. Food wasn’t the same without his wife.

To fill his time, he started to think about the next day. He doubted that he’d get his cup of tea and breakfast at the usual time. He read through the train times he had scribbled down on a piece of paper, and memorised them. He imagined Lord Graystock striding toward him with his hand outstretched and greeting him like an old friend. Then he tried to picture Miriam kneeling in the dust, playing marbles with young children in India. It was too hard to comprehend.

Time had only ticked on ten minutes so Arthur picked up the remote control for the miniature television which hung wonkily on the bedroom wall. He switched it on, flicked through all the stations, and began to watch the last twenty minutes of an episode of Columbo.