Flying Under Bridges (40 page)

I
turned on the television news and there was some war where at ‘The Front’
soldiers had been raping the wives of their former neighbours and friends. Why
would they do that? I suppose it takes a war or a crisis really to know what
you think about anything. I sat watching and I couldn’t think why. Why did the
BBC keep telling me what was going on? What was I supposed to do with all that
news? I wrote to the Foreign Office, I wrote to my MP, no one said they would
sort it out. What was I meant to do with all that terrible information? I
couldn’t start
Live Aid.
I didn’t know anyone. I’m not anyone. I couldn’t
just sit and listen any more. I thought if everyone loaded up one van and took
some people home then… Why did they keep telling me about it if there was no
point? What did they want me to do?

Reverend
Davies from the Virgin Church came round in the afternoon and stood watching me
in the garage. He was very awkward.

‘I’m
tho thorry, Eve, ith very thad,’ he lisped and sprayed over perfectly good food
in a box. ‘I haf to think of my congregation.’

He had
come to punish me. I was off the flower rota. Doris Turton had been to see him.
There had been complaints about what I was doing to the town. About my
relationship with ‘those women’. He left and I sat amongst my things. No one
wanted me to do this. They were happy to clear their houses of junk but no one
wanted actual foreigners.

I
shouldn’t say it but I think there’s some of that in the Bible. I mean the Jews
longed for a messiah but not just any messiah. They were desperate for a Jewish
king who would, with the help of God, rid the homeland of foreigners. Once more
bring Jewish home rule under divinely inspired law. A place where the old
covenant with God could be replaced with a new one and the old Israel removed
for the new. Very like the British Labour Party really.

I had
tomato salad for lunch but I couldn’t eat it. I kept cutting them open and
looking for some message inside. I had become my mother.

Holiday
Mood

Six
days you shall do your work, but on the seventh day you shall rest; that your
ox and your ass may have rest, and the son of your bondmaid, and the alien may
be refreshed.

(EXODUS
23.12)

I thought about Adam’s
offer of a holiday. All my married life the holiday’ had been a rather strange
concept for me. I used to find the whole thing made me quite tense as I knew I
was supposed to RELAX! and that there was a LIMITED AMOUNT OF TIME to achieve
this strange state and I’d better hurry up or I would SPOIL IT FOR EVERYONE
and, anyway, it had all been rather EXPENSIVE so what was the point if I didn’t
RELAX and GET OUR MONEY’S WORTH. Meanwhile, the children were usually playing
near the deep end of the pool or the high balcony of the hotel or the balcony
over the pool and something unsavoury had taken up residence in the bath. That
kind of thing. It was all very draining.

I dream
of travelling. The filing cabinets have gone and I am only ever flying my
plane. I want to travel on ‘a post horse attached to a heavy berlin’ even
though I don’t know what that is. I want to breathe pure, invigorating mountain
air. I want to have travel clothes. Clothes just for travelling. Perhaps something
old-fashioned. A dress of light woollen material — carmelite or alpaca. A long,
voluminous dress with small rings sewn inside the seams and a cord passed
through them so that I can draw the whole thing up instantly and stop it
knocking stones when I run downhill.

I shall
know how to make a bivouac, how to find just the right sheltered nook with a
panoramic view where I shall eat alfresco and see ‘the distant mountains free
from a trace of cloud’ or hear the ‘roar of the stones which pour from time to
time down the cliffs of the Matterhorn’. I shall stroll through deep meadows
and uncut flowers, hear waves break on a rocky shore, climb through hills of
powdery snow to a view never seen before and come across the egg of a wild
ptarmigan. I will hear church bells ring high up in the still air, cross wooden
bridges, go to a fiesta by accident with a blue carpet of gentians underfoot.
Ahead of me there will be a whole army of distant peaks. I want my mind to be
out of breath as I put my face to the heat of a scorching African sun. I shall
ride a camel amongst scented yellow mimosa, large fields of sweet lilac vetches
and patches of tobacco in full flower. Perhaps I might lodge for a night in an
empty tomb. Eat bread and cheese from saddle bags and read the ancient
Estrangelo alphabet. I shall stand atop Mount Sion at dawn and see Egypt and
Palestine, the Red Sea and the Parthenian Sea, to Alexandria and the vast lands
of the Saracens. I shall be an object of curiosity. A white woman who drinks
caravan tea flavoured with mint and the faint aroma of ambergris. There will be
domes and minarets, the pinnacles of the Holy Sepulchre and the great Mosque…

‘Think
about it,’ called Adam from the bedroom window as I headed out. ‘We could go
abroad… Jersey maybe. Ten days.’

The
bell is calling me for dinner. I don’t cook any more. I do like that. Hugs to
you both.

Love,
Eve

PS Now that Shirley is
reading my letters, will you show her this? I read it in the paper.

Fact
—
to the outside world, Richard Cohen was a very lucky man. He
had been Tina Sinatra’s first husband and had about £62 million, which was one
million for every year he had been alive. I call that lucky. He was lucky
enough to live in Beverly Hills and lucky enough to be invited to a very smart
dinner party. It seemed that Richard’s only real misfortune was that he was
allergic to nuts. Still, most people can live with that. He went to the dinner
party and didn’t have the nuts. He did, however, have steak. Perhaps Richard
was lucky enough to sit next to a beautiful woman. Anyway, something may have
stopped him paying proper attention to his chewing because he choked on his
steak. Luckily enough there was a doctor at the party and, even better, the
doctor knew how to do the Heimlich manoeuvre. He put his arms around Richard
from behind and jerked hard to dislodge the food. It didn’t work the first time
so the doctor tried again. Luckily the doctor was strong and this time the
manoeuvre worked. Unluckily he was so strong that he broke Richard’s rib, which
punctured his lung. Fortunately the doctor knew about mouth-to-mouth
resuscitation. Unfortunately the doctor had been eating nuts. Richard died and
his wife got the money.

Life’s
like that, isn’t it? I mean, sometimes things happen and there’s nothing you
can do to stop them.

Chapter
Twenty-five

More and more Eve felt
like she was acting in a play. A play where she was never allowed to read the
next scene before she had to act it. A play where things happened to her
character that were never quite what she expected. Eve needed a miracle. She
had spent the afternoon with Inge helping her sort Kate’s things. Journalists
never left Inge alone for a minute. They phoned with sympathy, they wrote with
sympathy, they even yelled sympathy through the letterbox. Everyone wanted an
exclusive. One last chance to wring some fame out of Inge Holbrook before she
was finally hung out to dry for good. Inge Holbrook was consumed with grief and
everyone wanted in on it. They wanted to know the truth about her private life,
her festering secret. Eve made tea, sorted things, helped where she could and
Inge wept and wept, tears sliding down where there had once been a famous
smile. She wept for Kate but she also wept for herself. For all the years of
fear and stupidity.

By the
time Eve got home, her need for a miracle had become too intense to bear. She
needed one for Inge, she needed one for her mother and she needed one for
herself. As she turned up the drive, for one brief moment, one happened. Eve
could see that the garage door was open but she couldn’t see inside. The whole
entrance was obscured by a great plume of dust. Inside a single light burned
and a man appeared brilliantly lit from behind. He was surrounded by cloud and
light. Eve couldn’t see who it was but he seemed to hold his hands out to her.
Mesmerised, Eve walked towards him. There was snow in the air and behind her
the last wisteria faded on the garden wall. She didn’t know what she thought
but for that moment, at least, Eve believed. Slowly the dust settled and the
man walked towards her. He came out of the gloom with a broom. It was Adam. He
had been sweeping because that’s all there was to do. There was nothing but
room to sweep. Behind him the clouds settled and Eve could see that the entire
space was empty. The place had been full to overflowing with boxes of clothes,
shoes, games, kitchen equipment, food… and now it was empty. There was
absolutely nothing left.

‘Hello,
Eve.’ He smiled. Everyone smiled. Everyone smiled all the time even when there
was nothing to smile about.

‘Adam?’

He
looked down and found something fascinating to sweep near his wife’s feet.

‘Yes…
look, it was for the best. The thing is, it would never have worked and I didn’t
want you to be disappointed…’

‘This
has nothing to do with me being disappointed,’ Eve said.

‘I
wanted to protect you,’ he pleaded. ‘No one wanted those damn refugees and it
would have caused you such grief.’

Eve
looked at her mortified husband. The man who would be king in his community. The
saviour of the people. ‘Wouldn’t have done you much good either, would it?’

‘I was
trying to protect you. People were beginning to say bad things.’

‘Where
is it? Where is everything?’ Eve managed.

‘John
got Stuart Packer to take it away … to the dump. Anyway, I heard on the news.
The government has agreed to the detention centres. There was no one to come
anyway.

Eve sat
in the empty garage for ages. It had been pathetic. Thinking she could do
something. It was the day of the local election. Adam’s day when the people
would choose. Finally it would all be over. Adam got dressed in his best suit
and sat in the car waiting for his wife but she didn’t move. Eve was supposed
to be at Adam’s side for the ‘count’. Tonight was the night the Marshalls once
more took on the mantle of Adam’s civic responsibility. Eve didn’t know what
came over her. She never moved. After a while Adam left on his own and Eve
stayed in the garage. She never voted. She didn’t go and vote for Adam. She
meant to but she couldn’t seem to get up from the floor. She didn’t go anywhere.

Night
fell and Eve sat. After several hours Inge came round and she too sat on the
garage floor. They didn’t speak for a while. Inge’s crying had wrung out her
body and she had no conversation left. Finally she handed over a letter from
the hospital authorities for Eve to read. Inge had been refused permission to
know which funeral parlour Kate had been taken to. As she had no legal claim on
the body the hospital refused to give out any information other than to
immediate family. The authorities referred her to Mrs Andrews’ solicitors —
Hogart, Hoddle and Hooper. The solicitors had the facts. It was all legal. It
was all correct.

‘You
must have some rights,’ said Eve.

Inge
shook her head. ‘No. None. We weren’t married. We couldn’t marry. I’m nothing.’

Eve looked
at her friend, sitting in shock on the floor of the empty garage. They had
known each other for over twenty-five years. They had been young and optimistic
together. They had had good hair and no cellulite. They had raced their
bicycles over cobblestones never knowing the life they raced towards. Never
knowing they would end up imprisoned. Eve knew what some people in Edenford
thought. That whatever Lawrence might say in the future, Inge and Kate would
always be blamed for Patrick’s death. That to some of the town Inge stood as
proxy for all that is evil. They hated her and wanted Eve to feel the same. It
was a litmus test for being a normal person.

‘Who
ha! Who ha!’ called Eve’s mother from the dining room. ‘Who ha! Who ha!’

Inge
leant against Eve and Eve needed that. She put her arm around her friend and
rocked and rocked her. When Adam came back, the two women were still sitting
there. Silent; one smiling, the other holding. Shirley and John were helping
him in because he had had a few drinks. Inge looked at Eve and shrugged. Adam
saw Inge’s smile and he hated her. He saw her hug his wife, his alien wife, and
go home.

‘A
triumph!’ he kept shouting. ‘A bloody triumph!’ The count was not in yet but
Adam was clearly in no doubt that he had swept to victory. No one had said
anything horrid. It had gone much better than expected. Adam went to get
another bottle of something from the fridge when William let himself in with Pe
Pe. William was not drunk but seemed even more demented than Adam.

‘Evie,
Evie, where are you?’ he yelled, as he ran from the hall to the kitchen. He
stood in the doorway beaming at his family. ‘You’re all here, how marvellous.
Ladies and gentlemen… uhhum…’ William cleared his throat and announced, ‘May
I present my wife, Philippa Cameron, woman of my dreams and soon to be…
mother of my child.’ William stepped back and put his arm out as Pe Pe stepped
into the doorway. She was also smiling. Shirley was smiling, John was smiling,
Adam couldn’t stop smiling. Everyone was demented with joy except Eve. William
and Pe Pe fell over each other trying to give out all the details.