oil pump, then the whoof of its flame. She opened the cupboard and switched on the central heating. There was a clunk, a rattle, a tick, another whoof, and the slatted door began to vibrate.
She went back outside, crossing with Helen who was bringing in a case of Cokes. Nicky was following her, struggling under the weight of a carrier bag. She smiled.
‘Can you manage, Tiger?’
He nodded a grim determined nod, and she took another box and followed him in, her feet scrunching on the gravel, watching him tenderly as he put his carrier down, then picked it up again. Such a tiny chap, but he hadn’t seemed so tiny when he was born.
Caesarian. The idiot gynaecologist hadn’t realised her cervix was too small for him.
No, Jesusgoddamn no! Oh my Christ!
A great job you did, Mr brilliant gynaecologist. Mr Framm. Mr smooth-talking great bedside manners Framm. Brilliant bit of surgery on me. What did you use? A shovel?
No more children? Won’t be able to? Great. Triff. Thanks very much.
You could sue him someone had said, but what was the point? It wouldn’t bring her another child.
Sue. Everyone sues everyone. Join the lepers with their begging bowls outside the Halls of Justice. Sue. Sue. Sue. You leave people alone these days; you don’t dare touch; don’t dare lift them bleeding to death out of the wrecks of cars in case they sue you for doing it wrong.
Nicky put the carrier down on the kitchen floor. ‘I’m going to check my base now, make sure that’s all right. I’ve got work to do in it.’
The barn was where he had his secret base; at least he wasn’t scared of barns, she thought, watching him scamper off. He’d have asked Richard to come and check it out with him, but not her. She was all right for the odd game, the odd bit of amusement when he was bored, for putting him to bed and telling him stories, but it was Richard that he really liked to be with. Richard, who took him fishing, played with his cars, taught him to swim and use a computer and sail a boat. Some things you couldn’t change no matter what you did. It wasgood that they loved each other so much. Except sometimes she felt left out. Sometimes she felt as lonely as when she had been a child unwanted by her aunt and uncle.
She went back outside, heaved another box of groceries out of the tailgate and carried it through the fresh blustery air. It could all be so good here. Was all just beginning to feel so good. And then. Richard. Oh you stupid sod!
She lugged her suitcase inside and tramped up the filthy dust sheet that covered the staircase. ‘I thought they were going to finish painting the stairs. They are blighters, these builders.’
There was so much to be done. So much potential. So much you could do – if you had the enthusiasm. ENTHUSIASM. It had been there when they’d bought the place. Yes-yes-yes. The estate agent had given them the key and let them go back for the second viewing alone and they’d made love on the bare dusty floor.
Yes, please. Can we really afford this?
Sure we can, Bugs.
Yes, please.
Last June.
She walked past the dust sheets stretching away down the dark corridor, the ladders, the tins of paint, the rolls of lining paper, into the bedroom and put the case down on the floor. Mirrors. On all the walls. On the doors of the massive mahogany wardrobe they’d acquired with the house. There was one on order to go up on the ceiling. What did he like looking at so much? His own hairy bum?
She walked over and gazed out of the window at the thickening cloud and the swirling leaves. She watched the wind blowing, in the grass, in the trees, in the ripples on the distant river.
Slider.
The black hood stared out at her through the glass partition.
The orange and white boarding card.
Seat 35A.
She heard a click behind her, a gentle click like a door closing, and she felt a sudden fear clam around her like a cold mist. She stared on out through the window, at nothing but a blur. Someone or something had
She went back outside, crossing with Helen who was bringing in a case of Cokes. Nicky was following her, struggling under the weight of a carrier bag. She smiled.
‘Can you manage, Tiger?’
He nodded a grim determined nod, and she took another box and followed him in, her feet scrunching on the gravel, watching him tenderly as he put his carrier down, then picked it up again. Such a tiny chap, but he hadn’t seemed so tiny when he was born.
Caesarian. The idiot gynaecologist hadn’t realised her cervix was too small for him.
No, Jesusgoddamn no! Oh my Christ!
A great job you did, Mr brilliant gynaecologist. Mr Framm. Mr smooth-talking great bedside manners Framm. Brilliant bit of surgery on me. What did you use? A shovel?
No more children? Won’t be able to? Great. Triff. Thanks very much.
You could sue him someone had said, but what was the point? It wouldn’t bring her another child.
Sue. Everyone sues everyone. Join the lepers with their begging bowls outside the Halls of Justice. Sue. Sue. Sue. You leave people alone these days; you don’t dare touch; don’t dare lift them bleeding to death out of the wrecks of cars in case they sue you for doing it wrong.
Nicky put the carrier down on the kitchen floor. ‘I’m going to check my base now, make sure that’s all right. I’ve got work to do in it.’
The barn was where he had his secret base; at least he wasn’t scared of barns, she thought, watching him scamper off. He’d have asked Richard to come and check it out with him, but not her. She was all right for the odd game, the odd bit of amusement when he was bored, for putting him to bed and telling him stories, but it was Richard that he really liked to be with. Richard, who took him fishing, played with his cars, taught him to swim and use a computer and sail a boat. Some things you couldn’t change no matter what you did. It wasgood that they loved each other so much. Except sometimes she felt left out. Sometimes she felt as lonely as when she had been a child unwanted by her aunt and uncle.
She went back outside, heaved another box of groceries out of the tailgate and carried it through the fresh blustery air. It could all be so good here. Was all just beginning to feel so good. And then. Richard. Oh you stupid sod!
She lugged her suitcase inside and tramped up the filthy dust sheet that covered the staircase. ‘I thought they were going to finish painting the stairs. They are blighters, these builders.’
There was so much to be done. So much potential. So much you could do – if you had the enthusiasm. ENTHUSIASM. It had been there when they’d bought the place. Yes-yes-yes. The estate agent had given them the key and let them go back for the second viewing alone and they’d made love on the bare dusty floor.
Yes, please. Can we really afford this?
Sure we can, Bugs.
Yes, please.
Last June.
She walked past the dust sheets stretching away down the dark corridor, the ladders, the tins of paint, the rolls of lining paper, into the bedroom and put the case down on the floor. Mirrors. On all the walls. On the doors of the massive mahogany wardrobe they’d acquired with the house. There was one on order to go up on the ceiling. What did he like looking at so much? His own hairy bum?
She walked over and gazed out of the window at the thickening cloud and the swirling leaves. She watched the wind blowing, in the grass, in the trees, in the ripples on the distant river.
Slider.
The black hood stared out at her through the glass partition.
The orange and white boarding card.
Seat 35A.
She heard a click behind her, a gentle click like a door closing, and she felt a sudden fear clam around her like a cold mist. She stared on out through the window, at nothing but a blur. Someone or something had
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