‘Yes, of course, of course,’ she says crossly. ‘I can feel him down there now. That heaviness. Those heavy thoughts going round and round and leading nowhere. I noticed them earlier. But you’d specifically promised me that you’d tell me in advance and so I’d persuaded myself I must be wrong.’
She’s very agitated now and gets up to fetch her cigarettes from the dresser, fumbling one out of the packet, lighting it, drawing deeply and then laying it down in the glass ashtray that always sits beside her on its slightly grubby doily. Almost straight away she begins to take another cigarette out of the packet, and then remembers the first one. Another person might be amused by her own absent-minded mistake, but Angelica never laughs at herself. She pushes the second cigarette back into the pack, and tosses it crossly down.
‘He arrived in the early hours,’ I tell her. ‘You were probably still asleep. He won’t disturb you, and very soon he’ll go out.’
‘What time will he go out? I must know what time. And the time he’s coming back as well. I often look out of the window, you know. Often. It’s my view, my peaceful view, and he’s no right to spoil it by making me worry that I might see him there.’
I look out of Angelica’s window myself sometimes, when I find myself alone in the living room – it is a lovely view, and I always admire those rows of blue slate roofs, climbing the hillside opposite – but I’ve never once seen my aunt look out for the pleasure of it. The only occasions I’ve ever observed her pull back the curtains is when she hears some noise in the street below, some potential threat. She has no resources spare for mere curiosity. She is in a permanent state of emergency. Everything is in the service of defence.
‘I’ve already got the times,’ I tell her.
Knowing how she’d fuss, I spoke to him earlier on the phone. It was extremely embarrassing, asking my aunt’s landlord to spell out the precise times when he would leave and return to his own house, but of course he was as gentle as ever.
‘I’m so sorry that Angelica and I have had this misunderstanding, David. It seems to cause her so much distress. I really do assure you that I only ever intended to offer her my friendship, but in my clumsy way, I somehow gave her the wrong impression. And then, when I tried to put her straight, I got that wrong as well. I really am so sorry. I’d ask you to pass on my apologies but, from what you tell me, that would only upset the situation even more.’
‘And he mustn’t look up,’ Angelica adds. ‘When he comes in and goes out he must not look up! Do you understand? David, answer me! Do – you – understand?’
Why do I put up with this? Why do I keep coming here to be bullied by my mother’s mad sister, who never asks me a single thing about myself, and never wonders, even for a moment, whether I might have worries or troubles of my own? Am I really doing this out of altruism and family feeling, or am I just submitting to her power?
For she is powerful, that’s the strange thing. Angelica is so utterly terrified of the world that she doesn’t leave her flat for months on end. And yet, somehow, she still wields enormous power. ‘I’ll tell him, Aunt Angelica. As to those times you asked for: he’ll be going out at—’
‘I don’t even like you speaking to him, you know. It really isn’t very nice for me having to talk to you when I know you’ve spoken to him earlier in the day. In fact, to be frank with you, David, I’m surprised that didn’t occur to you.’
I’m really cross now. ‘Well, what do you want me to do, Aunty? I need to speak to him, don’t I, if you want me to find out about his movements?’
She’s noticed the sharpness in my voice and, just for a moment, I can see her considering it. But then she hears some sound – she’s very sensitive to sound – and imperiously holds her hand up for silence.
‘What was that?’
‘Just a toilet flushing, Aunty.’
‘Just a toilet flushing, you say. Do toilets flush themselves, then, David? It was him flushing it, you mean. Him. Did you think you could leave out that obvious fact?’
‘Him flushing it, then.’ Once again I can’t quite keep the irritation from my voice. ‘But now it’s quiet.’
My aunt glances at my face. She has certainly registered my annoyance, but she’s not planning to flatter it with her attention, for if there’s one single thing in the world she’s not afraid of, it’s me. She sniffs.
‘I notice you still haven’t told me when he’s going out and coming back.’
‘He’ll go out at nine thirty and return just after five.’
‘He mustn’t come back any earlier then. He’s told you his plans, and now he must stick to them. If he finishes his business sooner than expected, he’ll just have to sit and wait in the park. His so-called business, I should really say, because I’m not fooled, David, even if you are. I know perfectly well that he just comes here because of me. It’s utterly pathetic, but it seems that’s how he gets his little kicks.’
‘I really don’t think it is, Aunt Angelica. You’re not quite such a big figure in his mind as he is in—’
‘Not back before five. You must make him promise that.’
Angelica is waiting. She’s beside the window, hiding behind the curtain but peeking out. It’s 4.30 in the afternoon.
‘What are you doing here at this hour?’ she demands, dropping the curtain immediately and stepping back with a flounce. ‘I sometimes wonder what they pay you for, David, in that job of yours. Don’t you have work to do?’
‘I thought I’d check if you were alright.’
‘Well, obviously I’m not. How could I be alright, when he’s on his way back here? He’ll probably be early. I know his timekeeping of old. So I was just having one last look at my lovely peaceful view before he spoiled it.’
‘Those blue roofs, eh? Those blue roofs climbing up the hill?’
‘Yes. But why do you say it in that sarcastic way? I must say you’ve been very unpleasant and sarcastic lately, David. I don’t know why you’re out of sorts, but I don’t think it’s very grown-up or fair of you to take it out on me.’ She snorts. ‘I suppose you were trying to hint that I was looking out for him, were you? Some chance! He should be so lucky. He – should – be – so – lucky.’
She crosses the room, picks up her cigarettes, fumbles the lighter open with her shaky hands.
‘Well, alright,’ she says. ‘I was looking out for him. But only to check that he kept his promise. Only for that.’
My tiny aunt pulls deeply at her cigarette, exhales, then glares defiantly out at me with her enormous eyes from the middle of a poisonous white cloud.
Angelica is listening.
She is really listening. She’s standing quite motionless in the middle of the room, her head tipped over to the right, her right ear positively straining towards the floor. She even holds back a wisp of her featherlight hair so as not to obstruct her hearing in any way.
‘He talks to himself, you know. I can hear him talking all the time. “Mumble, mumble, mumble,” he goes. “Angelica this, Angelica that, Angelica three bags full.”’
She stands up straight. She lets that little wisp of hair fall back over her ear. She looks for her cigarettes.
‘You think I make it all up, don’t you? You really are so like your mother.’ She shrugs, lights a cigarette, draws deeply on it. ‘Well, you can believe what you like, David. It’s entirely up to you. But he does talk about me. Of course he does. How could he avoid it, when he thinks about me all the time?’