Small Holdings (11 page)

Ray answered the door wearing an old striped night-shirt that reached just below his knees. He looked like a waxen and buttery Wee-Willie-Winkie.

‘So you found Nancy, then,’ he said, sounding not the slightest bit surprised, picking her up and tossing her like a bag of compost over his shoulder. I followed him upstairs, into his flat. He threw her face down on to his sofa. She pushed her nose into a pillow and wheezed.

‘How about Doug?’ Ray asked, ‘Did you find him too?’

‘Nope.’

He looked down at Nancy. ‘Did she tell you anything?’

To o drunk. I found her truck. I banged on the back of it but I got the feeling Doug wasn’t in there. It has a certain kind of echo when it’s empty.’

‘So, ‘ Ray inspected the palms of his hands, ‘either she dumped him somewhere or she took him to hospital . . .’

‘Or else . . .’

‘What?’

‘Or else she never took him in the first place.’

Ray didn’t seem impressed by this line of reasoning. He said, ‘Then why would she have taken her truck and gone and got herself so drunk that she could hardly string a sentence together?’

I shook my head, ‘I don’t know. Maybe she was ashamed. She wrecked the greenhouse. I’m positive of that.’

‘And maybe,’ Ray added, catching on to the whys and wherefores of speculation, ‘maybe Saleem did tell Doug after all, after she’d promised not to, about Nancy being blind in her eye.’

It was feasible, but I couldn’t help wondering what Saleem would have to gain from that particular line of action. I told Ray as much. Ray stared at me, wide-eyed.

‘You, of course,’ he said.

‘Me?’

‘She likes you.’

‘Nancy likes
me?’

Ray cackled at this. When he laughed he tensed his belly and his night-shirt lifted to reveal the top of his dimpled knees. ‘Not Nancy, Saleem!’

‘Saleem?’

‘Yep. ‘

My chin dropped. ‘You don’t know that.’

‘I know it.’

‘She hates me.’

‘She hates everybody, but she hates you with a special kind of, uh, intensity.’ Ray was proud of these four fancy syllables. He would have worn them on his lapel as a badge if it had been possible.

I said, ‘I think that just means that she hates me more than other people, not that she . . .’ I couldn’t say it, Noway. ‘Not that she . . . hates me any less.’

Ray shrugged, i didn’t mean to step over the mark,’ he said, i just thought it might have had something to do with this particular situation.’

He nodded over towards Nancy. ‘She thinks you don’t like her,’ he added, off the top of his head.

‘Nancy?’

‘No! Saleem!’ He laughed.

‘She thinks I don’t like her? Why would she think that?’

‘I don’t know. She just does.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Just little things.’

‘Like what?’

‘Well . . .’ Ray thought about it for a while, ‘she thinks she makes you angry. You never pay her any attention when she talks to you. You just get, kind of, huffy.’

‘Huffy?’

‘Yeah.’

I scratched my head. Why was I having this conversation? It was so embarrassing and I was embracing that embarrassment, but Ray plainly didn’t know what he was talking about.

‘Maybe we should phone Mercy,’ Ray said, changing tack suddenly, ‘and see if Doug’s there. Or maybe I should ring around some of the hospitals in the area and see if he’s been checked in.’

‘We wouldn’t want to ring Mercy and make her worry unnecessarily,’ I said, and then realized that Saleem had said the very same thing earlier that afternoon. ‘I’m sure Doug’s capable of looking after himself. I don’t think Nancy could have done anything too terrible to him. We’ll just have to wait until she sobers up a bit and see what she says then.’

‘And what about the meeting?’

‘Hopefully Doug will have turned up by the morning.’

‘And what if he’s crackers?’

‘We’ll work something out.’

Nancy started snoring. Her mouth vibrated into the pillow.

‘She’s got her own built-in muffler, there,’ Ray said, smiling, and added, ‘By the way , I don’t think she’s a bad person at heart. I don’t think she’d’ve wrecked the greenhouse without someone else putting her up to it.’

‘Well, I didn’t,’ I said, somewhat stupidly.

‘Neither did I,’ Ray said quickly. ‘And Doug wouldn’t have. And the Chinaman . . .’

‘Forget about him.’

‘Yeah.’

We stared at each other in silence for a moment, then Ray showed me out.

RAY LIVES ON
a strange street. Actually it’s a road, Avondale Road, and his flat is next door to the house where Stevie Smith, the poet, used to live. I checked my watch. Eleven twenty-two. Now what?

Stevie Smith, as far as I know, was Palmers Green’s most famous inhabitant, ever. The house she had lived in - a plain and undistinguished place - was rendered exceptional only by the cobalt-blue plaque on its wall. I stared at the plaque but it was too dark to read it properly.

And I didn’t know much about Stevie except that she lived with her aunt and dressed like a little girl when she was old and that she drank a bit too much because she was lonely, sometimes. And one other thing: she was loyal. She had lived in Palmers Green her whole life. On this street. Sometimes she went riding in the parks, or walking in them. And she had loved this place; strange, lonely old Stevie, she had loved this place, just like I do. Just like Doug does. Just like Ray and Nancy. Just like Saleem.

‘Where’s Doug?’

Saleem had Cog under her arm. She didn’t look like she was expecting me. She was wearing a dirty vest and some cut-off jeans. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’

‘I saw the light was on.’

‘So?’ She held Cog under her arm like he was a hot water bottle.

‘Doug. Where is he? Do you know where he is? Is he inside? Is he upstairs?’

‘What kind of a stupid question is that? Nancy’s got him. I already told you.’

‘I’ve seen Nancy. He wasn’t with her.’

‘What did she tell you?’

‘Nothing. She was drunk.’

Saleem licked her lips. ‘She’s such a slut. She deserved to be fired.’

‘That’s not what you were saying earlier.’

‘Maybe I changed my mind. It’s a woman’s prerogative.’

‘Did you tell Doug?’

‘What?’

‘About Nancy’s eye.’

‘Of course not. But I’ll certainly consider telling him if you don’t go to that meeting tomorrow.’

‘No, ‘ I said, ‘you won’t tell Doug.’

Saleem tightened her grip on Cog, who had started to writhe and to wriggle. Her arm was a vice around his midriff. When she tightened her grip, a little squeak of protest shot out of him.

‘Why not?’ Saleem asked, slitting her eyes. ‘Nancy’s expendable.’

‘I’ll tell you why not. If you tell Doug about Nancy’s eye, I’ll tell Doug about the fact that you burned the museum down. I’ll tell Doug and anyone else who’ll listen that it was arson, not an accident after all.’

‘I don’t think you’d do that.’

‘Try me.’

Saleem was silent for a minute and then she said, ‘Actually, why don’t you come in for a while? We should talk this over. I’ve only just brewed some tea.’

She pulled the door wide. I hesitated. ‘Look,’ she said, suddenly, ‘of course I wouldn’t tell Doug about Nancy. I’m just trying to make sure that you’ll go tomorrow, that’s all. I have no real problem with Nancy. See?’

Maybe she knew I wasn’t keen to come in. She turned and let go of the front door so that I had to catch it to stop it from closing in my face and by the time I’d pushed it wide again she had already disappeared into the kitchen. I closed the door behind me and followed her in. She was holding two cups full of steaming tea. She offered me one. ‘Herbal,’ she said, ‘peppermint. Sit down.’

I sat down. Saleem took a sip of her tea. ‘I suppose you saw the maze,’ she said, ‘in among the receipts and things.’

‘Yes. ‘

‘He ordered all that privet and he hasn’t even got planning permission. He knows full well that they’d refuse. I don’t think we could accuse Enfield Borough of being all that imaginative.’

‘I suppose not.’ I sipped my tea. It was horrible. Too strong and not peppermint. Fennel, more like.

‘I must say,’ she added, pulling out a chair for herself, ‘I’m very impressed by your loyalty to Nancy. Very impressed.’ She fixed me in her steely gaze and smiled. I drank some more tea. I looked down into my cup and then drank more still.

Breathe one, I thought. Breathe two. Breath three.

‘I wonder,’ Saleem said, then didn’t add anything. I wondered what Saleem was wondering but I didn’t ask because I was certain that it would be something bad or something cruel. My tea was hot but I drained my cup and put it down decisively.

‘Right,’ I said, but didn’t stand up like I’d intended to.

‘I wonder,’ Saleem said again, reaching down to stroke Cog, ‘I wonder whether you actually
would
tell Doug about the museum. I mean, it’s not as though they could prove anything, really. It was so long ago.’ She smiled. ‘And I was so very, very careful.’

She was still stroking the cat, so I chanced it. ‘You lost your leg,’ I said, ‘you couldn’t have been that careful.’

She ignored me. ‘I’m not at all intimidated,’ she said, ‘by your little threat to tell on me. Not at all. I’m only interested in whether you would tell.’ She straightened up and stared at me, then added, eventually, ‘And I actually think you would, too.’

My mouth went dry. I said, ‘Nancy’s tough, but she can’t defend herself against someone like you.’

Saleem shrugged. ‘There’s no need for her to defend herself. I have nothing against Nancy. This is between you and me.’

I yawned. It seemed such an inappropriate response to what she was saying, but I simply couldn’t help myself.

‘Hope I’m not boring you.’

I yawned again. My mouth felt drier still.

‘I don’t know why, ‘ Saleem said, very quietly it seemed, ‘but I always think that when you confide in a person, when you give them a present of something private that’s hidden away in your heart, well, then that’s like a kind of bond between you, a link. And if someone threatens to break that bond . . .’ She whistled under her breath. ‘What could be worse than that, Phil? What crime could be worse than that?’

I would have answered, I had plenty to say on this matter and on other related matters, too, but when I tried to move my mouth it wouldn’t move. I stared at Saleem for a little while. She stared back at me. Then my head fell slowly forward on to the table. I stared at the grain in the tablecloth for a long, long time. It was the oddest sensation, seeing the rest of Thursday trickle away and sensing Saleem moving around in the kitchen like a dark, hard, sharp arachnid.

Friday

FIRST THING I
remember: a musky, dusky, single-limbed bundle of badness was sitting on my lap with a razor. I couldn’t do anything. Had I been asleep? I guessed I must’ve been. I felt very heavy. Could’ve been her weight on me.

‘Hello Phil,’ she said, when I opened my eyes, and then carried on touching my skin with the blade.

‘Usually,’ she said, ‘I use this razor under my arms. See?’ She lifted her arm. I saw the pores under her armpit, close up like little craters. ‘Nearly finished,’ she sighed, lowering her arm and wiping off a spot of foam from the blade and on to the vest she was wearing. ‘Hot,’ she said, ‘isn’t it?’

I wondered how long we’ d been having this conversation. Might’ve been hours.

‘There!’ Saleem threw the razor on to the table and dried her hands on her vest, then lifted up the front of the vest and rubbed my face with it. I sensed her breasts against my shoulder. I couldn’t feel them, but I sensed them, soft. Soft.

When she’d finished wiping me she pulled back for a moment and stared. ‘You know, you’re quite a dandy, really.’

I stared back, blankly.

She shifted on my lap, sat sideways, one leg dangling down, the other, truncated, stiff and horizontal like the erect, docked tail of a pointer.

‘It’s nice,’ she said, casually, ‘to have a bit of company.’

‘Feel this?’ she asked, a moment later. I felt nothing. I tried to shake my head. I blinked.

‘What’s that mean? Yes? No? Feel this?’ she asked again. I stared straight ahead. I felt nothing.

‘Only,’ she said, slightly preoccupied, ‘you’ve got an erection. Either that or . . .’ She shifted on my lap. ‘Either that or you’v e got the keys to the main gates in your pocket. Do you happen to know off-hand if you have those on you?’

I tried to nod, couldn’t.

‘The ones with the big, wooden . . .’ she guffawed, ‘the big, wooden key-ring? Hang on.’

She dug her hands into my pockets. She removed some small change, an old tartan handkerchief, a couple of till receipts.

‘No keys,’ she said, smiling. From the other pocket she removed my wallet. She opened it, looked inside and, finding nothing of interest, tossed it down on to the table. ‘Right,’ she said, ‘do you want me to kiss you?’

I remained frozen. She moved up close to my face. Her arms wound around me. She closed her eyes and caught my top lip between her teeth, then let go with her teeth and held my lip between her two lips. Her breath tasted of germoline and bubblegum. Sweet and antiseptic.

She opened her eyes. ‘Your face,’ she said, ‘is very swollen. You look like an apple that’s been peeled and soaked in water. Kind of bloated.’

She licked my cheek like a cat with a tight tongue. In my ear she whispered, ‘Why do you hate me? What did I ever do? You evil son of a fucking bitch.’

She unwound an arm from around my neck. ‘I’m undoing your trousers.’ More wriggling. ‘I’ve taken off my knickers. See?’ She held a pair of old, skinny black flannel briefs in front of me, then dropped them. ‘Apparently,’ she grinned, turning to face me, ‘you’re drugged and heavy and dumb and kind of numb, but one tiny little part of you is still awake, has a mind and a motivation all of its own. Life’s a killer like that,’ she added, ‘isn’t it? Full of those wicked, bitter, little surprises.’

She pulled off her vest. I could see her shoulders and her shoulder-blades. My mind was caught up in a debate with itself about whether I would like to be feeling something or whether I preferred not to feel. I could not feel. I could not.

Saleem kissed my lips again. ‘That’s right,’ she muttered, ‘move your hands just that way. ‘

My hands? What was I missing?

‘I’m kidding you,’ she smirked. ‘Your hands aren’t moving.’

Her face, close up, seemed damp. When I listened, I could hear a pan boiling on the oven and the air was full of steam. Saleem nudged my cheek with her nose. ‘One moment,’ she whispered, and pulled herself up, both her hands pushing on my shoulders, and then one hand let go, for a second, before she lowered herself down again, but slowly this time, her face puckering with something like spite but not quite. She sighed. ‘This is a good kind,’ she whispered, ‘a sweet kind of revenge.’

I wished I could feel something. Anything. Only my eyes and my lips. She kissed my lips and then sucked the air out of me. She rose and she fell. The simplest, the slightest of movements: she was a small lake, lapping away in her own time, rolling and riding with her own regular momentum. Gentle waves, rising, falling. Tiny sighs like gusts on the water.

The chair was rocking. I stared at her face. Her eyes were closed. She was smiling. She had nice teeth. I hadn’t noticed before what good teeth she had. She leaned back a bit. If I looked down I could see her breasts. I looked up again. I looked down again. What could I feel? A tingling in my chin and in my neck.

She leaned in closer and bit the side of my throat with her fine teeth. I could feel it. I felt something. Her hair tangled around my ears. Her hands touched my shoulders, lightly, and then my chest. She pulled at the buttons on my shirt. I could feel my shoulders, and just below, I was sure I felt something.

While she undid my buttons she whispered into my ears. ‘Is this hurting? As bad as I want it to? You evil, loyal, Nancy-loving little fuck.’ She pulled her head around and stared into my eyes. ‘Is it?’

I was sure I could have answered, but I remained as stiff as if I couldn’t answer. I could feel my ribs and my belly. I could feel them. She pushed her hands down on to my hips. I felt her hands. They prickled on me like itchy peaches.

Her breathing quickened. She rose and she fell. I could feel my belly. I could feel below my belly. Oh, I wanted to feel her so badly! Her eyes were closed and if I shifted my neck slightly I could see her breasts which were lifting as she was breathing, and shimmering wetly. I watched as a drop of perspiration swooped and shot from her chin to her stomach. I wanted to catch it on my lip.

Her eyes were still shut as she pushed herself up close. I could feel her so softly against me. She kissed my lips and she was smiling when she drew away, and she was very glisteny as she pulled back and as she opened her eyes.

I could feel something. Oh Christ! Something dark and strong and hot and tight and urgent as anything. The chair was still rocking. I could feel something.

She froze. She was glaring, all of a sudden. She stared at me. She had stopped moving. ‘It’s no fucking good,’ she said, savagely. ‘Fucking Nancy! Nancy! I don’t believe it. You’d fuck me over just for Nancy. That bitch. Fuck it.’ She pushed herself up. Oh, that was too bad. That was too, too bad. ‘Fuck Nancy! Fuck her! Fuck you! Fuck you both.’

She hopped over to the oven, picked up a saucepan, hit herself hard on the side of her head with it.

‘Ow!’ she yelled, staggering, and then hitting the table, gathering speed, all the time, until, finally, with the swiftest and the smartest backhand I’d ever witnessed, she hit me.
Bop.