Desire Line (48 page)

The pig swivelled a fan-shaped ear to rival one of Crook's at us and began to amble forward. The effect was odd, with the rolls of flesh in motion but behind the main action like an afterthought. Gloop and solids dropped from the underside. Everything in slowtime. Then it began to trot— comically. And then to run. Each stride seemed so great an effort it was impossible to follow up but it came on at increasing speed, leaving me in no doubt. This was a charge. The thing must weigh over 300 kilos with a stopping distance somewhere out in Berkshire and it was heading in our direction. My direction. And the barrier between us was a line on a map rather than a hindrance, was made of matchwood, old as the gravel workings. A malevolent beast was going to trample me to death and above the thunder of it Eurwen was laughing her head off.

Chapter 32

‘Marvin,' I said later while I was at the MultiCook rustling us up
Oyakodon
, (it translates as ‘Mother and Child'), ‘is pretty light on his feet.'

‘
I know
. Don't worry. Your clothes will clean— if you've put them to soak.'

As the pig swerved to a stop I'd got a full frontal stuccoing of mud and worse. ‘Why did you have to go and call him?'

‘You see? One day and we argue. He was coming over anyway. Pigs are innately curious beings, much cleverer than dogs.'

‘More get eaten.'

But Eurwen was preoccupied— at the other end of the kitchen she was sending ‘material' to Henri. Needed urgently. Across her screen the pictures flickered, selected or rejected, all apparently involved animals but it was hard to tell. Human bodies mainly obscured the violent activities. ‘What did you say?' barely caught over Mama
Rotti—
again. Singing
I Want to be a Celebrity
this time, that I actually liked enough to join in, falsetto, ‘And I want to be famous for just being me! No time to learn a new
skill that needs discerning/ My only concern is that I will be earning
.'
She and Sara were like timetwins, disappearing then three decades later, a revival. ‘Nothing can
stop me with my self belief/ with my new hair cut and bleached white tee-th!'
Except
Mama Rotti's
lead still lived. To prove it her shout of triumph overlaid the final eight-bar alto sax riff. ‘Be it,' she shouts, ‘Is! Am! Life!'

The air was dense with starch from rice steaming and sharp with the dregs of soy-sauce I'd just emptied onto hot red peppers in my pan. Cooked onions, put aside, added their note. (Also cat smell from the streaky-grey tom that had come through a dip in the Thames and was under my feet.) And frying eggs. I eased them gently away from the sides, folding inwards, cosseting the yolks, losing myself in the perfection of their change. I was less than satisfied – with life not the eggs – but not unhappy. Sara was all boiled off somehow. I hadn't even remembered to ask if Eurwen had ever met Kim Tighe, for instance. If Neil Rix
had
been the fairground artist and painted the portrait of Kim on a billboard for Sara to recognise, then it was likely they all knew each other. It was a small place— and Sara wasn't stupid. Researcher's intuition had told her she was onto something, that Kim could lead her to her daughter. I liked that, her not being wrong about everything. And that if she'd carried on or held on and Kim hadn't fried her own brains, it could have worked out. Sara's journals and the rest of
the stuff
lay safe in my rucksack
.
But why, Yori? Just say nothing for another night. You'll be here tomorrow. And what does it matter if you never know more than you do now? It doesn't. (I tried to convince myself anyway, nearly succeeded).

‘That's the liquid gone onto the onions.' I said. ‘Very soon, now.'

‘You couldn't wait to learn to cook!'

‘I probably knew I'd need to.'

‘Ouch!' She stopped what she was doing and came down the length of the kitchen and stood looking into the pan. ‘Was I a dreadful mother?'

‘No.'

‘You were a nice baby. I don't think I've liked another since. Never bad-tempered. You watched everything. We knew you were mulling it over.'

‘I was. This is near ready.'

Obediently she took the place I'd laid for her with Fleur's second-best crockery and Arts and Crafts flatware, a satisfaction to handle. ‘Ah!' Finally, she'd noticed Sara's necklace coiled next to her glass. ‘I haven't seen this in
years
. Mum gave it me. Where on earth—?'

‘Josh has been keeping it for you. There was nothing else I thought you'd be interested in. Only this.'

Nodding, she held it up to the light and the moonstones shimmered. ‘It's been mended!' In putting it on, her fingers showed they knew how, with no fumbles, and the clean fleece she wore was opened at the neck making the fall into its V perfect.

I'd known it would. ‘Happy birthday!'

‘Thank-you!' As she half-rose to kiss me she flushed through her white cheeks and all the way down into her throat, hardly looking, IMO, any older than when it had first been given. Did the makers of
 
 
ever predict this when they were passing out their tickets to happiness and good skin and not-thinning bones, how parents and children ended up siblings with all the problems of
that?
My only loss was I'd never see her in peacock silk wanting to please everybody round Fleur's table—

—also that the PalmWalk model was shifted to the furthest shelf to gather dust. It had not, despite her promise, been looked at since this morning. At least the necklace was a success. Then she took it off and handed it back. ‘There's no point— I won't wear it. Too sad. Anyway, Henri and me we don't do that sort of thing. I can't remember the last time I needed to get dressed up. It was a kind thought, Yori, but really, take it home with you. Give it to— I don't know, whoever.'

Josh had told me, ‘Don't be disappointed with her,' as we'd stood, side-by-side, and looked into his apple tree. ‘If you let yourself, it won't drive her down— she's not Sara and thank Christ for that— it'll just drive her away. See me.'

I brought the rice over, then the ‘child', fried eggs. Then into another warmed dish I heaped the ‘mother'. It was all vegetables though it ought to have included stewed chicken— unmentionable in
my
mother's kitchen. I sat opposite. And couldn't stop myself saying, ‘Why animals?'

She didn't pretend. And at least considered it seriously. ‘You know I can't properly tell you. It's what I do. Or perhaps all I'm able to do. Sometimes it makes no sense but that doesn't stop me. And it's a burden, caring about them so much which I always have. I can't let them suffer. It would— it would
belittle
me to let them suffer.' I was reminded of someone else, another attempt to reason out an attachment that wouldn't stand up— Tomiko's. When I'd told him my plan was to come here and I said
Eurwen
out loud, he'd tried to talk and failed. Stared at his feet. Anyway she seemed to have mystified even herself because she flipped it to a joke, ‘and of course the whole point about donkeys and starlings and dogs is
they never read books!
'

‘There's that.'

‘Yes! And why the question? In fact why do you keep staring like that?'

‘I can't believe I'm here. I can't believe I'm looking at real you.'

‘Huh! Too real, probably.'

Silence, apart from her messages announcing themselves and the cat's long, regular tongue-rasps across its own belly fur which was unpleasant. I do not like cats almost as much as donkeys. I filled both our glasses from the water jug noting she'd gone for the same utilitarian design I'd chosen equipping my flat at Libby's. ‘Don't let your supper cool.'

‘I won't. What happened to Kailash?'

I held up my spread fingers, looking straight at Eurwen. ‘Daddy's company. Pick of projects. Success. Money. One boy, Hari. ' But as I said it, I knew another reason. Even salt is never salty enough.

Eurwen nodded anyway. ‘Families!' and seemed about to start then put her fork down. ‘Oh, I've just thought! You used to do pretend meals for a little girl— you'd made her up. My friend would like food. Here is noodles. Here is aubergine. My friend has no dinner at home. Her brothers steal it. She is very poor. Very hungry. Here is rice. What was her name? I always blamed it on Tomiko or whatever we're meant to call him now. Him and his stories. What
was
her name?'

‘Tess.'

At the first mouthful she said, ‘
Tess-ss
. Mm— very nice!' but then leaned back away from her plate and took stock. Her kitchen was orderly now, the surfaces gleaming, canisters lined up and dry goods stowed away in shut cupboards. Stone floor flags were damp at the corners still. It had taken me hours. The scrubbed deal table sat in its own pool of light while the rest of the room remained dim. I was pleased at the result and as part of the same thought, I realised the necklace mattered less than it would've done once. It was mended. She'd worn it. She was going to eat her
oyakodon
, winding strips of pepper onto her fork, still not putting it to her mouth though, smiling— more mockery on the way? But it was only a hint she would squeeze my arm with her free hand and giggle at herself. And then Eurwen said something made me want to shout out loud with love. ‘I'm amazed you found anything to cook.'

IV

Lantern

When I wake up in Geoffrey's chair, it's at the middle of a wrinkle-free sleeve of a building stretching as far as the residents need. Animal Farm's a lot fitter for humans. Windows open, drains drain and though those good Welsh slates weren't as sound as they looked, they
are
now I've been on the roof. I try to coincide my stay under it with Henri's raids on London or Brussels— H, I'm meant to call her if I have to call her anything. When poor planning puts us together we turn into a pair of those not-wanted dogs jostling for Eurwen's attention. And H still hasn't seen the funny side of what happened with the mug. How could I've known? I never figured out the mechanism that made the mug obsess over one person, never mind how it hated another. Or what would happen. So much for the smile I thought nothing could wipe off H's face. But things can
just
work if none of us speaks the name Sara.

2041 marked the thirty-third year since her disappearance and death, the reason for which
was
left open by the coroner when he reconvened. It made all Josh's fears valid because the verdict spawned a Sarafest of mentions and clips and theories. CyberSara really is a work in progress which I can't help getting a charge from.
My grandmother.
Eurwen's livid, of course, over Charity's collaboration with an up-and-coming documaker though I think what's threatened shows Charity as just somebody else with a weight tied to one foot. Only my opinion. You decide.

Chapter 33

Josh isn't bothered by any of this. Not many weeks after the inquest, which they didn't force him to attend, he was found on the slopes of Croagh Patrick. He'd got himself a comfortable position to sea-gaze from, spine supported by a boulder, his belt pouch of coffee uncapped ready to drink. So Macy Kennedy from Gisborne, NZ assumed till he saw frost on the eyebrows and the white horseshoe moustache that turned out to be icicles. (‘He was obviously an oldie sort of guy so I thought it was, like, a lot of facial hair, eh?') Sometime during the previous night Josh's body had given up. He'd been willing it to since my delivery of the Sara thunderbolt. Now that he knew for certain she was dead, he must've decided
why wait?
Lack of 
 
plus untreated inflammation of the lungs will overwhelm the system but takes effort— and even then some extra final push. He'd made an efficient job of it, getting the height and exposure needed to finally achieve what all that clambering up the Pilgrim Path had been in aid of.