Untouchable Things (27 page)

José and Seth were leaning against each other on the floor, exhausted from Twister.

“So your criminal days began early.”

“Yeah, I used to stuff them down my tights and when mam undressed me in the evenings they’d all come tumbling out. Look at this, it’s the farmyard one. I’m sure I used to have this.”

The men watched as she unearthed more fuzzy felt boxes.

“Right, I’m sorted for your birthday present now. Give me a few minutes and I’ll amaze you.”

Seth sighed. “I can hardly wait.”

Twenty minutes later she put the final touches to her artwork, wrapped it up with a convenient length of red ribbon and handed it to Seth with a flourish. The felt letters read Happy 8th Birthday.

Scene 18

Tea descended into an enormous food fight. Rebecca was shocked to see Seth’s designer home turned into a scene from Happy Eater on Sunday afternoon. But, if anything, he was the ringleader, flicking squares of cheese across the table and ducking the debris that boomeranged back. The polished floorboards squelched with squashed sausages, crunched with Monster Munch.

Cigarette smoke sketched spirals around streams of glittering bubbles that popped on their plates. Oedipus had been turned to the wall so as not to cast a shadow over proceedings. Rebecca pictured the flat in its usual pristine state and felt a rush of giddy glee. Scooping out a wobbling pink blob of jelly she pulled back her spoon, and lobbed it straight at Seth.

It was war then. Seth grabbed a fistful of blancmange and chased her round the room as she shrieked, eventually begging and covering her head with her hands as he shampooed her with it. Vol-au-vents and sausages continued assailing them from the table. In the mayhem she saw Michael lobbing bread rolls and Charles ducking. She couldn’t breathe, she was laughing so much.

A truce was called and after fifteen minutes it actually held. Jake cleared the table while everyone else got down on their knees, scraping up food. Rebecca showered her hair over the side of the bath trying to avoid the inevitable cascade of mascara. Several others needed strip washes. By the time they’d all convened in the drawing room, now mostly tidy but looking as though it had seen off an invasion, it was eight o’clock.

In her damp shirt and wet hair, Rebecca was aware of Seth and Jake looking at her. Jake had lit a fire and Seth sat her next to it. Was it just her or did he feel this bubbling tide between them? His eyes shone dewy green with his hair black wet on his face. She wanted to run her hand through it and pull his face to hers, finish what they had started last time she was in this room. No, not finish; plunge headfirst into the wave of longing that had been rolling inside her since they first met.

He caught her eye and she let her thoughts splay across her face. The sides of her ribs burned where he’d tickled them and her cheeks ached from laughing. He held her gaze while people handed out cups of tea and slumped down into chairs, giving her the tiniest smile before accepting his mug from Catherine.

Jake held out a packet of chewing gum. “To take away the taste of all those sweets.” Rebecca shook her head, thinking Jake looked better dressed these days. He was in a brightly striped shirt today, almost like something Seth would wear.

“So, I think it’s time.” Seth paused for effect and surveyed the room. “I wanted to do something different today, experiment, engage us more with the theme. I think you’ll all agree we make pretty good children.” He let the giggles subside. “I also thought it might help us to be creative, a bit more subversive, saying fuck you instead of better not. Strange that children might have something to teach us about rebelling, but there it is.”

Michael smiled. “At the risk of belying my role as a world-weary, inner-city school teacher, children can teach you pretty much anything.”

Seth nodded. “Anyway, there’s another part of the experiment too, but it won’t be clear if it’s worked until we’ve shared our stuff.”

Charles coughed. “Are we being monitored by Nestlé to see how much sugar a human being can tolerate before ripping its own head off?” He had a gleam in his eye, as he often did after a couple of drinks.

Seth reached for a cigarette. “Nope, Anna’s already been paid and had reconstructive surgery for that one.” Anna threatened to recommence confectionery hurling but was restrained by José. “So I think we should see what happens. Who wants to go first?”

The usual silence. Anna, standing by the fireplace, ran her hand over the green marble frieze. “Perhaps the fat cherubs here could kick off.”

“
Bacchic putti
, if you don’t mind.”

“Even better, bet they could tell a story or two between them.”

Catherine got to her feet, saying she wanted to get hers over with as she’d been struggling to learn it. She played a light, flowing, melodic piece by Schumann called
Kinderscenen
(Scenes of Childhood). It was perfectly pleasant, but as far as Rebecca could see, there was nothing different, no particular risk, although she reiterated at the end how tricky she’d found it. For once, Seth wasn’t in raptures; in fact, Rebecca thought, he looked a little disappointed. Catherine hesitated as she took her seat again, not used to a lukewarm reception.

No one wanted to go next but Rebecca forced herself to her feet. She’d just treat it like any other audition. Like it was someone else’s material.

It was just a short piece about… well about losing my twin. It was called “
Rachel
”.

“
Come over here
, she says.

Come and snuggle down, chest to back,

Back to chest, back to where we started.

“
Come over here
, she says,

Come and build a tower with me,

One brick each until it topples over both of us.

“
Come over here
, she says,

Pretend to be me to confuse the teachers,

Chase me at playtime.

“
Come over here
, she says,

Tell me about your first kiss,

Let me brush your hair

And you can brush mine.

“
Come over here
, she says,

Stand next to me on my wedding photo.

Come over here
, I say,

Come and be my sister
.”

Her words ran into silence as she sat down, avoiding eye contact.

“You wrote it?”

She looked across at Seth watching her from the armchair. She hadn’t wanted to get into that.

“I had a go. It’s not really my thing, I’m better with a script.”

“
Au contraire
.” His words were slow, intimate, as if she were the only other person in the room. “It’s brilliant.” Anna and José nodded on either side of her. “It’s brave and honest and exactly the type of thing I was hoping for. On top of that, it’s poetry.”

Rebecca squirmed at the praise. Writing wasn’t something she thought she could do well. But since talking to Seth about her sister, about Rachel, she’d been having dreams and this had poured out of her pen one morning.

Catherine didn’t move, but the others leaned in, asking her what had happened, squeezing her hand. She felt held.

Michael went up to the stereo holding a cassette. “What do I do here?”

“Just switch the top button to tape.”

He slipped in the cassette and turned. “As you know, I work at a school where most of the pupils have had incredibly tough lives and have had to grow up way before their time. This is a recording of these kids in assembly yesterday morning.” He pressed Play and sat down again. The tape lurched and crackled, then sounds of scuffling, shuffling and whispered conversation catapulted Rebecca back to her school days. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, digging each other in the ribs, some poor sod standing at the end to find his shoe laces tied together. As she listened a distant piano started playing – what was that song? Seth had it:

“I’ll name that tune in one.”

And then the singing started, loud and distorted, and she heard what it was.

Consider yourself

At home

Consider yourself

One of the family

They looked at each other, struggling to keep straight faces. Broadway it was not. Too much special orange juice made Rebecca want to giggle and she looked away from Anna quickly. Jake coughed. “Don’t give up your day job, mate. Oh, sorry, this is your day job.” Sniggers. Michael seemed unperturbed, leaning back on the sofa and folding his arms. At least the kids had the accent right:

Always a chance will be

We will see some ’arder days

Empty larder days, why grouse?

And then at the good bit they suddenly went into harmony.

“Well, I never.” Seth nodded and Michael nodded back. It was starting to sound rather good. And
Oliver
was the epitome of childhood cut short. As Rebecca listened she started to pick out individual voices; some gruff and broken, some earnest and squeaky, plenty out of tune, like someone was walking round with a microphone.

Maybe it was impossible for children’s singing to be anything other than moving, no matter how rough and ready it was. Tears flooded her eyes unexpectedly. The song was about belonging, having a place in the world. How many of these kids had that?

How many of us have that?

There were bursts of laughter from the sofa at strange croaks and missed notes but she saw that other people’s eyes were shining like hers. Michael had done something simple and yet wonderful. She saw Seth watching him as if he shared her thoughts.

For after some consideration we can say

Consider yourself…

ONE OF US!

No one spoke for a couple of seconds. Smiling eyes were wiped with the heel of hands.

“God, that really got me.”

“That was amazing, Michael.”

He smiled and bowed slightly. “Well, I didn’t do anything really. All I did was let them have a voice. Sadly that may not happen very much for some of them.”

Rebecca hoped he wasn’t going to spoil the moment with a lecture. But she’d seen another side to him since volunteering at his school, which had softened her. He really cared about those kids and he was a good teacher. It was easy for her to breeze in, do something fun with them, but much harder to plug away day after day with the disruptive ones. Seth stretched an arm along the back of his seat and Rebecca was surprised at the fierce intensity of the look Michael shot back at him.

Scene 19

We’ve been hearing people’s accounts of the Childhood group, Mr Stanley. Apparently the word ‘experiment’ was used. Do you have any idea what Mr Gardner’s experiment might have been? You’re laughing, Mr Stanley?

I’m laughing because it was just Seth’s usual shit, dressed up as an experiment so we’d waste pointless energy trying to figure it out. Like we’re doing now.

So…

Seeing how far he could push us. That was his ‘experiment’. Nothing like a bit of childhood regression to get us to lower our guard.

Is that what happened with you, Mr Stanley?

He should have stayed well away. Childhood cut short was never going to lead anywhere but a cold, dark trip down memory lane. Seth had drawn him, hadn’t he, probed and asked the right questions. And he’d been too vocal about his job, talking about how the most vulnerable children were protected now at school if not at home. Other people wittering on about how this teacher and that teacher would never be able to get away with throwing blackboard dusters, caning or giving verbal abuse any more. And then he’d looked up and Seth was staring at him as the others continued with funny-but-disturbing teacher stories and he’d given it away, something in his face had given Seth the answer he craved. And then one of the others asked him a question and his mind went blank and he started stuttering, but Seth smoothly took the attention away from him.

Seth could have made him suffer but instead he was noticeably solicitous to him for the rest of the group. Barely any of the usual spikiness between them. And at the end he took him aside in the kitchen.

“You should talk to someone, you know.”

“Talk to someone?”

“I think you know what I mean.” That bloody group, the booze, the theme, because Michael discovered he had tears in his eyes. He looked away.

“I’m fine.”

Seth’s voice was low. “I’m sorry.” That got Michael’s attention. “If I’d known I would have been kinder to you.”

They stared at each other.

“Look, I’m probably not your first choice but if you want to talk, you know where I am.” It was a typically awkward male attempt to support, and reassuring for that. It made it seem genuine.

Michael nodded. “Thanks.”

No, not at all. I didn’t really talk about anything personal.

* * * * *

“Well – follow that, anyone?” A second’s inertia then José sighed.

“I’ve been doing a bit of pottery.”

“You had a bit of a thing about it at one point, didn’t you?”

“Still do, in a way. There’s something about the squelch of the clay under your hands…”

“Ooh, now I’m thinking Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore. Mmm.” Anna closed her eyes and let out a pornographic sigh.

“Anna!”

“What’s she on about?”

“The film
Ghost
. Sex scene with Demi Moore straddling a potter’s wheel – need I say more?” Jake winked at Anna. “I’m with you there.”

“Excuse me, does anyone want to see what I’ve done?”

“Sorry, José.”

He took out a large, round plate, unwrapped the tissue paper and put it down on the coffee table. “Here.”

Murmurs as they bent over it. Bars of watercolours in reds, orange and purple were, on closer inspection, clusters of houses. “It’s the village where I grew up.”