‘I talked to Paul Parrett this morning,’ she lied quickly. His face changed. Now he’d got to guess how much she’d told Paul Parrett. Play for time.
‘Did you?’
‘Yes, he wanted to know how I was. He’s really nice, isn’t he?’
‘What’d you tell him?’
‘Oh, you know. This and that.’
‘About the police? Did you tell him that?’
‘He asked how you were. I said you were fine. I told him I’d be seeing you today.’
‘You want to watch what you say to him. He’s got contacts. Influence.’
‘I wouldn’t say that, Tony,’ said Nadine. ‘He doesn’t need influence, does he? I mean, he’s the one who makes things happen.’
‘Yeah. You could be right,’ said Tony.
‘I know I am,’ said Nadine, watching him. ‘That’s why I had a chat with him. I shan’t be coming back here, Tony. I’m getting a flat. I’ll be fetching my things in a few days.’
‘OK,’ said Tony. ‘OΚ. If that’s the way you want it. Remember me to him.’
‘He remembers you,’ said Nadine. ‘He’s good at remembering.’
‘What about Kai? When’s he coming back?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not with Kai any more. I expect he’ll be back,’ she said, walking past him. The prickling in her flesh was gone. She turned her back on Tony and he watched her go out and up the stairs.
She went up to the bedroom which had been hers and Kai’s. Their rust and gold duvet still lay plumply on the bed. She wouldn’t take it with her, or any of the other things. Not the linen sheets, none of it. In the end Vicki’d been the last one to sleep with Kai in that bed. The sheets were still rumpled where the two of them must have tossed the bedclothes back. They hadn’t had time to think about making the bed. They would have been in a hurry.
There were her clothes and a few books, and that was all she wanted. Not much to show for her time here and everything that had happened. It was less than she’d brought with her, because she’d left so much of her stuff at the summer-house. If she’d brought a case, she could have taken everything she possessed now. The bedroom door had been closed for two weeks, and the room smelled of cats. You never got rid of the smell of cat’s piss once it had soaked into the wood, no matter how hard you tried to scrub it away. She looked upstairs towards Enid’s room. She’ll have to go back there too and help Enid pack, but not now.
She would ring Paul Parrett soon. She would ring with her credit card from a call-box. He’d told her it might take a long time to be put through to him, but if she waited he was always in reach of a phone. She must give her name. A powerful man. A man with a midnight garden high above the city, and ballerina apple trees, and a car to take him anywhere he wanted. There were worse things to want than what Paul Parrett wanted. His crêpe bandages were starting to look as innocent to Nadine as the handcuffs children wear to play cops and villains. He’d liked her, she was sure of it. And surely she’d be safe with him, if she was ever going to be safe with anyone. If it mattered, thought Nadine. If safety mattered so much, after all. Because when you thought you had it, it was already gone. The cold lake is in her. It has gone through her skin, penetrated blood and bone, left her immune. She wants to see him, that’s all.
‘So someone told you I was dead, is that it?’ asks Enid in her hospital bed. ‘And that’s why you came back? That’s the only reason?’
‘Yes.’
‘It was Kai who told you, wasn’t it? I thought so. Still, they say a bad conscience is its own punishment, don’t they? Even for your Kai. Think how Caro must have felt.’
‘He drinks all the time. He wants to cry but he can’t. It’s not just about you, it’s other things. I can’t do anything about them.’
‘So you came away.’
‘Not just because of that. I wanted to see you,’ says Nadine. ‘Even if you were dead. And now you’re not, I’ll come every day.’
‘Would you, dear?’ says Enid eagerly. ‘You know how the nurses like you to have visitors. I’ve just kept having that policewoman.’
‘I’ve got to look for somewhere to live,’ says Nadine. ‘I’ve got enough money for a deposit, and I’m going back to work.’
‘But they won’t keep me here for ever.’
‘I could look for a bigger flat,’ says Nadine. ‘If you liked. If you’d be all right without a warden and things. You know, all those bells. I’ll have to be out at work.’
‘Oh, I don’t need a warden, dear,’ exclaims Enid. ‘Bells you ring if you fall over and buttons you push if someone you don’t know comes to the door. I can’t be doing with all that. I’d have my pension, I won’t be a burden on you.’
‘I’ll start looking, then. I’m staying in a guest-house at the moment, just till I get fixed up. I’ll leave the number on your locker. I’ve still got some money. We can get all your stuff out of the house once we find a flat.’
Enid’s eyes have closed. She looks very tired and there are marks under her eyes. Nadine bends down and kisses her again, gently, on the fragile, papery temples. She smells of hospitals, not of herself. She would never have chosen that night-dress. One of the nurses must have gone out and bought it for her. She hasn’t had any visitors.
‘Goodbye, Enid darling,’ she says. ‘I’ll bring you some grapes tomorrow.’ Enid smiles slightly but doesn’t open her eyes. ‘Get black ones,’ she murmurs, ‘I like those.’ All she wants now is a nice sleep. She can relax at last. She can smell the bronze chrysanthemums Nadine has left on the bed.
Half-way down the ward the policewoman sees Nadine move away from Enid’s bed. She steps forward purposefully and intercepts her. It’s all very undramatic, think the watching patients disappointedly. A nod, a gesture. Sister’s office door closes behind them. The low murmur of voices goes on and on, but even the patients nearest to the partition can’t make out any of the words.
Paul Parrett’s telephone rings three times. The quick, immaculate tones of Security answer it. Nadine gives her name, and then there’s a long pause while money is steadily drained off her credit card. She stares down the bank of telephones, imagining other people’s conversations. A girl leans into her receiver, smiling. What’s making her smile like that? She finishes her call loudly: ‘I’ve got to go, Mum! Meet me off the 7.40, all right?’ Nadine turns away and taps the glass rhythmically, then Paul Parrett’s voice comes through on the line, fresh and vigorous.
‘Nadine! I’ve been wondering when I was going to hear from you.’ Not if, thinks Nadine. When.
‘I’ve been away,’ she says.
‘Did you have a good time?’
‘Not really…; Listen, I’m moving, that’s why I’m in a call-box. I’m getting a flat with a friend of mine. I’ll let you have the address once we’ve found a place.’
‘A different friend? Not Kai?’
‘A different sort of friend. I’m going to share the flat with Enid, she’s the old lady in the attic I was telling you about. We don’t want to stay in the house any more.’
There’s a slight pause. Then his voice again, ‘Well, it sounds as if a lot’s been going on. So you’ll be sharing a flat with Enid. Tell me about it – can I call you back, if you’re in a call-box? This must be costing you a fortune.’
‘It’s OK,’ says Nadine. ‘I’ve got a credit card.’
‘The thing is,’ says Paul Parrett, ‘when am I going to see you again?’
‘Soon. Really soon. But I’ve got to get Enid settled in first. She hasn’t got anyone else, and she’s had an accident. She’s still in hospital.’
‘Is she all right?’
‘She’s getting better. But any fall’s serious at her age.’
‘Who’s looking after her? Just you?’
‘Well, there’s all the nurses. But I will, when she comes home. When we get the flat. They said at the hospital that she was doing really well. The sister said she was going to make a complete recovery.’
‘Good.
Good.’ Then suddenly, his voice urgent down the line, ‘What does she look like?’
‘Oh, well, pale. But you’d expect that. Her arm’s in a sling.’
He is silent. The line hangs dead between them. ‘Does she need anything?’ he asks. ‘Money?’
‘She’s got her pension. But it’s a bit complicated – the accident. Listen, is it all right to talk – I mean, on this phone?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s to do with the accident, Enid’s accident. The police are involved, but Enid’s not saying anything. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I mean, it’s one of the reasons.’
Silence. Then, ‘Yes. Go on.’
‘You know she was the sitting tenant in our house. And she was around all the time. Maybe she saw things. You know. Things to do with Tony and Kai.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘Or she heard things. The reason I phoned you, one of the reasons, is that I don’t want there to be any more accidents.’
‘You think there might be?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘That it might happen again?’
‘Yes. Not just to Enid, to both of us. But I don’t think it would, if people knew I’d been talking to you.’
‘People being who?’
‘You sure this line is OK?’
‘Sure.’
‘Tony. Kai. Maybe others.’
‘Right. So the thing is, to make sure that these people do know?’
‘Yes. I did talk to Tony a bit today – I wanted to make it seem as if I’d already talked to you.’ Her voice is thin, breathy.
‘He frightened you.’
‘Yes. A bit.’
‘OΚ. That’s no problem. I’ll get in touch with our dinner host and I’m sure he’ll pass the word on to all his friends. They’ve got a bit big for their boots,’ says Paul Parrett. ‘Starting to act as if they’re in the big time. But they’re not, you know.’
‘Aren’t they? How do you know?’
He laughs. ‘Oh, Nadine. They’re a couple of amateurs, your Tony and Kai.’
‘Don’t call them that.’
‘Anyway, they can be taken care of. No need to worry.’
There is more silence, then in a quite different voice he asks, ‘How old are you really, Nadine?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘No reason. Only, perhaps, people sound younger on the telephone.’
‘I’m sixteen.’
‘Sixteen,’ he says.
‘Yes. Yes.’
‘You’ve got enough money?’
‘I’m all right for money.’
‘Let me have your new address as soon as you know it. And if anything worries you, anything at all, ring me up straight away. But it won’t. It’s all going to be OK.’
‘I dreamed about you last night,’ says Nadine.
‘Did you?’
‘Yes, you were on a liner, we both were. It was dark red, you know the paint that stops rust? That colour. We had to sail down a street. The river ran between the houses and it was steep, like a street in San Francisco or being on a switchback.’
‘Did we get through?’
‘I don’t know. The front of the liner reared up out of the water, then it went down. We went so fast everyone was screaming. Like on a rollercoaster. That hanging bit at the top and then you plunge.’
‘What colour was the river?’
‘Bright green. And little white clouds in the sky. And people were looking out of the house windows and waving. We could have touched their hands.’
‘Oh, Nadine,’ he says. ‘Nadine.’
‘I know. Silly, wasn’t it?’
‘No. No, it sounds wonderful.’
They say goodbye. Nadine hangs up and leans against the transparent plastic hood of the booth. She is smiling. Really, what he wants is so little compared to what he is able to give. The way he makes her feel alive. How funny, Tony was right after all. He said she’d like him. What a long time it seems since she was on that train, going to London. And the girl jumped out of the train. He makes her feel twice as alive. Where’s she going to find that anywhere else? Compared to Paul Parrett, Kai’s half dead. Anything could happen.
That’s what Enid was talking about, what she found at the Manchester Ladies when the doors opened and she saw the lights and the mirrors and the flowers and flames leaping against their reflections. And Sukey made all that happen. Sukey’s energy. Sukey lapping Enid round with it. And it was love, argues Nadine, though the newspapers had a different word for it.
Hundreds of miles north the wind sifts across the forest. The birch grove by the lake grows lighter daily as leaves fall. The forest is getting ready for its yearly transformation, when light pours upward from the snowy ground. The birches strip themselves and stand naked, ready for the snow. The evergreens darken as pale grains of sun hit the forest floor. Wind ruffles the lake, fish sink into its silt for the winter, and grass, leaves and rushes are tinged with brown. It won’t be long before the marshes freeze. In their apartment in Tampere, Matti and Marja Linna plan the extension they will build to their summer-house next spring. The children are getting older and they need more space. Marja hopes that the doors and windows she fastened so carefully on their last visit will remain secure against the winter storms. Neither of them thinks of Kai Toivanen. He was a friend once, but they haven’t heard from him for years and he has gone out of their address books. Their friends are parents of young children, like themselves.
It is cold now. The birch leaves that remain are yellow, and the sap is sinking in the young pines. Soon summer-house and sauna will be under the snow. The lake by the summer-house will freeze until the ice could support an army of skaters, but no one will set foot on it. The lake where the swans nested and Nadine swam will freeze too, until it’s possible to walk safely to the island and to the black crags which are shaped like a head and shoulders. Snow will cover the ice, and the wind will blow it into stiff peaks and curves. It will harden, then new soft snow will fall, covering the scar marks of birds’ feet and falling branches. There will be footprints too: perhaps a dog, perhaps something more savage and lonely, looking for company. In the long, silent, lightless winter a wolf could become a man, or a man could become a wolf. A man can burn with vodka until he doesn’t feel the cold, and when at last he does it’s only very slowly, like sleep. A child stands for hours on the snow crusted ice, waiting for the snow-woman to find him and cradle him to her cold heart.
Helen Dunmore, Burning Bright
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