“Hey!”
“Yeah. You can’t see it but until Tuesday, you could have driven around in it. I sold it and bought Becky a car.”
“Did she like it?”
“She thought it was an okay shed. She didn’t think much of the raft, and she thought it took up a lot space in the workshop when it was a shed again. She’d have a fit if she saw what’s in there now.”
“Jesus,” I said. I had felt sorry for Becky, angry at her, jealous of her, puzzled by her. But that was the first moment I just felt nothing for her. If she didn’t get Shed Boat Shed, she wasn’t worth the bother.
“I bet the kids loved it,” I said.
“Dillon was too wee to know, but Ruby thought it was brilliant,” he said.
“Have you got a copy of the film?” I asked. It took him a long time to answer.
“The film’s part of the piece,” he said. “It’s sold too.”
I felt like I’d asked if I could get a painting in cream to match my couch. Felt like I’d had no business looking down my nose at Becky. Poor, miserable Becky.
“Bed?” said Gus.
And he carried me all the way.
Sixteen
Saturday, 8 October
I had thought that I was in a love story, a sad one, with a happy ending for lucky me. Ros was selfish-broke Becky’s heart, left Kazek in the lurch. Becky was selfish-ruined her husband’s life, broke her kids’ hearts. Then I came along, not deserving what I got but holding on to it anyway.
Then came the weekend that changed everything.
At the end of every summer when I was a kid, my mum used to say she’d be glad to get back to work for a rest. Now, I couldn’t see what could have tired her out on a caravan holiday, because this lot that stayed at Sandsea never did a hand’s turn. Gizzy, God rot her, had forwarded the customer services line to my mobile and all day Saturday folk were phoning to say they’d run out of bog roll or couldn’t work the shower, or there was a spider, mouse, or funny smell somewhere there shouldn’t be.
And that was on top of the actual jobs she gave me. Plus Gus was working, locked in his studio, so I had the kids too, even though I told him Gizzy would sack me on the spot if she found out. They were fine. Ruby was a big help, pulling the bed sheets off and stuffing them in a black sack for me. She made it too heavy for her to lift, so Dillon and her rolled it along the floor and shoved it out onto the grass like a pair of dung beetles. That was as helpful as Dillon got, really. Except that he happened to be looking out the window, so he was the one who spotted Kazek coming.
It was as soon as we went into the first really tucked-away van. He must have been watching for me.
“Mr. Kaz!” Dillon shouted.
“Kazek!” said Ruby, looking too.
I opened the door and stood back, shut it after him, just a quick peek to see if anyone was watching, but with all those net curtains who could say.
“Hiya,” I said. “Have you come to say good-bye? Have you sorted something out for yourself? Moving on?”
“Trouble, Jess,” he said. “Friend?”
“Listen pal,” I told him. “I’m sure you’ve got a hard luck story. Who doesn’t? And I’ve heard them all. But Ros is gone, you’ve got your friend’s beads and Bible, and there’s not much more I can do.”
That was the moment I found out it wasn’t a love story after all. He took the Morry’s carrier bag that was tied shut with its own handles out from inside his jacket and started undoing it. I was wiping the kitchen cupboards, but I kept half an eye on him. Ruby and Dillon went back to the bedroom for Dill to bounce on the bunks while Ruby stripped the pillow cases for me.
Kazek unfolded the bag so slow and careful it was maddening. It looked like a book. Another Bible? Wrong shape. Then he tipped it up and what was inside fell out onto the breakfast bar. The Queen’s face looked up at us from the top note of a bundle. He shook the bag again. Another bundle just the same. Two neat, solid blocks of fifty-pound notes. Or maybe they were fake. I wouldn’t know.
“I’ll have my twenty back then,” I said, picking up the nearest and flipping through it. They crackled, new and crisp, and gave off a smell you wouldn’t mind smelling, not like the stink of money at all. “Are they real?” I asked him. “Real, Kazek?”
He nodded, picked up the other bundle, and showed me the number on the top one, then the next number on the next one. Then he made the farting noise again like when he’d told me he wasn’t a good Catholic boy and he threw them over his shoulder, like so much dross.
“Got it,” I said. “Real but stolen.”
“Jessie-Pleasie,” he said, and he took my hands in his. “I am a good. I am not a bad. Believe me.”
“But you’re in big trouble.”
“In Little China,” said Kazek. He wrapped the money up again, tied the handles, and returned it to its hiding place. Then he turned to me. “I phone?”
He had tens of thousands of pounds and he was living off stale shortbread in an empty caravan. If he was a villain, he was a really shit one. I handed him my mobile.
“Two minutes,” I said. “And it better not be Poland, pal.”
The only word I understood was Jaroslawa. Other bits sounded like English-powered zinnias, jamboree-but Ros’s name was the only thing I knew for sure he was saying. He said that plenty times, talking very slowly, explaining something to someone, then talking faster, interrupting, getting interrupted, then almost weeping, nodding his head and shaking it-saying what sounded like shuprasham over and over again. He finished up with saying something slow and clear, sounded like a number from the tune of it and the zero-sounding word-zero jeden szesc cztery cztery, cztery dwa, zero dwa, jeden trzy-and then he hung up, wiped the phone on his jeans, and gave it back to me.
Ruby and Dillon had rolled the dung-ball bin bag as far as the living room and were standing staring at us.
“Cztery,” said Ruby.
“Cze cze,” said Dillon.
“Mówisz po polsku?” said Kazek to Ruby, bending down.
“Czy Ros umarl?” said Ruby. “Dead? Tak jak Mama?”
Kazek sat back on his heels on the toxic orange carpet and began to cry.
So I gave him the rolls and margarine that the folk in the Spindrift van had left in the fridge and let him use the tin opener to open the tin of tuna they’d left in the cupboard and told him I’d see him tomorrow.
“Forgive me,” he said. “Has to be.”
The phone was ringing when I opened the cottage door and let the kids run in. No sign of Gus, and so I thought it was probably him on the line, telling me he’d be late. Again. God’s sake, Jessie. I told myself I should be glad he phoned at all and didn’t just turn up at midnight. But still I let it ring. So the answer machine clicked on. I should have seen it coming but I didn’t, of course.
“Hiya!” it said in a woman’s voice. A girl’s voice, young as my own. “This is the Kings, but we’re at the beach. Leave a message!” I hit the button and played it again. “Hiya!” She didn’t sound like someone speaking into a machine. She sounded like someone calling out when they’ve just spotted a friend. “This is the Kings, but we’re at the beach.” A bit of a sing-song lilt to it. This is the Kings, but we’re at the beach. To Market, to market, to buy a fat pig. The corn is as high as an elephant’s eye. She must have recorded it when they’d just moved in. When it seemed like a novelty. When she’d got over feeling low after Dillon and thought she’d never go through it again? Except Gus had said she’d only just got over Dillon. So maybe she’d just met Ros when she recorded it. Maybe Ros was the one she thought would be phoning her. “Leave a message!” And that was why she sounded the way she did. There was no reason for her to sound like that if she was depressed and missing the town and stuck in a marriage with someone she’d never loved, not brave enough to live her real life.