“No,” said Ruby.
“You’ve got to, Roobs,” he said. “Daddy needs the car.”
“Did Mummy take her car to heaven?” she said. I glanced at Gus. Where was Becky’s car? Still at the bottom of the drop? Police station? Junkyard?
“Yes,” I said.
“Stupid,” said Ruby. “In heaven, you can fly.”
“Do you want some toast?” I said to Gus. “Listen, if you tell me where the van keys are, I’ll do some bits of shopping or whatever.”
“The van’s not really… you can’t get both kids’ seats in it.”
“Could you use it and I’ll take the car?” I asked him.
“Does Mummy need her car to come and visit us?” said Ruby.
“Mummy coming!” Dillon said.
“Do we actually need any shopping?” said Gus.
“Fine,” I said. “No problem. I’ll stay here till you’re back. Be great fun, eh kids? You can show me the best bits of the beach.”
“When the shop’s open’s the best bit,” said Ruby. She gave her toast crust a look of distilled hatred and dropped it on the floor. “Mummy cuts them off, by the way.”
“Bet Mummy doesn’t drop them on the floor, though,” I said.
“Didn’t,” said Gus. “Mummy’s gone, Roobs.”
“A puppy would eat them up,” Ruby said.
“Yeay!” said Dillon. “Puppy-dog! Woof-woof.”
“Can we get one, Dad? Can you look in the paper at the resky dogs? Maybe there’s a resky dog?”
“I’m off,” said Gus. “See you tonight.”
I followed him from the kitchen through the living room to the front door.
“Tonight?” I said. “You think it’ll take all day?” I could have chewed off my tongue when I saw the look on his face, everything falling blank.
“How long should I give it?” he said. “Persuading them to do a post-mortem, I mean. Before I call it quits?”
“I’m sorry. I just hope they’re okay with me as long as that. I hope nothing happens that I can’t handle. Cos I don’t think they could take more bad stuff, you know.”
He smiled. “Them?” he said. “They’ll be fine. I hope you’re okay. Don’t let Ruby walk all over you.”
“Okay.” I leaned in to the hug he was offering. Easy, affectionate, not a trace of new, awkward feelings. I might as well have been handing him his packed lunch and reminding him we were having the Joneses over for bridge that night. Christ, I was even holding a tea towel.
“What’s a resky dog?” I said.
“Rescue,” said Gus. “For God’s sake, don’t read the adverts out the paper to her.”
I nodded. “How does she even know about them?” I asked.
“God knows,” said Gus and was gone. I wandered back through to the kitchen and put the tea towel over the rack. I’d babysit. I’d have another go at the milk stain on the couch-I’d noticed the sour smell, even stronger, as I passed through-but I wasn’t giving it Calamity Jane’s cabin all day long. Suddenly, playing houses-playing mummies and daddies-didn’t sit that easy. It was like I was in a dream and I kept waking up for a minute and seeing that it made no sense at all, but before I could shake it off I was asleep again.
“So who told you about rescue puppies, Ruby-two-shoes?” I said.
She narrowed her eyes as she looked at me. “Mummy,” she said. “Come on, Dill. Let’s go and play.”
I unstrapped Dillon and set him down, let them wander off with jammy hands and crumbs in the folds of their clothes. I wiped the table and the high-chair tray, shook the crumbs out the back door for the birds, thinking about a woman who would tend a garden and look for a puppy while she was planning to kill herself. A woman who would let herself get pregnant two more times after a depression that crushed her. Someone who would end her life instead of getting out of a marriage she was sick of.
But she’d left a note.
And who knows how it would feel to be married to someone that didn’t love you. Even a great guy like Gus. Or a moody bastard like Gus, who hated you asking anything he wasn’t ready to tell you. Which one was he, when you got right down to it, really?
I stared out of the kitchen window, thinking of how he had told me he didn’t want to bring the novelty pen through the room, even in a bag. That’s who he was. And how could living with a guy like that be bad? I could just see one corner of the grey plastic lid. It was still in there. I felt a pulse starting to thump in my neck. Stupid bi-
Then I stopped myself. Instead of that, I told myself: it’s hidden away and it can’t float out. It can’t hurt you. And for the first time in your life, you’ve got someone to help you. Someone even willing to give his kids a talking-to about it. So don’t waste his efforts and freak yourself out, eh?
But I could feel the misery unrolling over me like fog. Gus had been great, but it wouldn’t last. He’d get sick of me like everyone always did. There’d be some day, some advert on the telly, or some fancy-dress costume, some daft comedy that suddenly had a slow-motion pillow fight where you could see them hit people’s face and they’d have them stuck to their eyelashes and be spitting them out of their mouths, and I’d lose it. And Gus would have had a long day or a bit of bad news or be stressed like last night (Did you switch that bloody monitor off when you were touching it?) and he’d wish that just for once I would give it a rest, and he’d roll his eyes or crack a joke and this lovely, impossible bubble would burst and then there’d be nothing.
Unless. I could feel the blood draining out of my face and my hands turned cold. Unless I made the most of this miracle-having someone who cared-and tried again. There was a novelty pen, in a bag, in the wheeliebin, ten feet from where I was standing. I could open the lid and find out if the bag was see-through. If it was, I could look at what was inside and count to a hundred. And then tonight I could tell Gus what I’d done, and instead of so what I’d get a great big cheer.
And if the bag wasn’t see-through, then at least I tried.
I’d walk on the beach and I wouldn’t avoid the sticks and seaweed at the high tide line, which is where they always were. I wouldn’t look at them, like some OCD freak, and I wouldn’t look away from them either. I’d act like a normal person. And I’d tell Gus later how brave I’d been.
“I’m just nipping out the back, kids,” I shouted. My voice was warbly with adrenalin; I sounded like a pigeon. There was no answer. I stepped outside into the porch and then outside again to where the wheelie stood against the wall, next to the wood store. I gripped the lip with both hands and breathed in and out.
“Gus King cares about you,” I said out loud. “Sick timing, but it’s true. You’re not alone anymore. It’s all going to be okay.”
I lifted the lid with my eyes screwed tight shut, then leaned over the rim and opened them.
Twelve
It was empty. No bag, see-through or otherwise. Nothing. Not so much as a sweetie wrapper. I let the lid fall again and rolled around to lean against the porch wall until my breathing settled.
He had taken it away. I smiled at the thought of it, and a warm feeling started low in my stomach. Not one in a million people would know I’d be freaked out at the thought of it being there and take it away. Not even folk with problems of their own. Not even my sister-in-law, who was dead scared of heights. Especially not her, actually.
“But the thing about”-she pointed upwards but couldn’t say the word-“is that you can… ” She pointed downwards and gave me a patient smile. “See? Whereas feathers”-oh, she could say that word okay-“can’t harm you at all. That’s just silly.”
I had swivelled in my chair to stare at my mother. We were all sitting round the table having Sunday lunch together, for the benefit of Allan’s suitable new fiancée.