Secret Smile

CHAPTER 33

Susan Lyle lived at 33 Primrose Crescent, which was on the eastern outskirts of the town, near a cemetery. It was a row of beige and grey houses. Number 33 had closed curtains, a peeling red door and its bell, when I pressed it, rang out a tune: a few notes from 'How Much is that Doggie in the Window?'

Because I hadn't let myself think about what I was doing, and because I had imagined that anyway Susan Lyle would not be at home, I was taken aback when the door opened almost immediately and a woman stood in front of me, filling the entrance. For a moment, all I could think of was her size. She had a vast stomach that looked misshapen in blue leggings; her white T-shirt, on which was written in bold pink 'Do Not Touch!', was stretched across her bulky chest; her neck was thick; her chin fell in folds; her hands were dimpled. I felt myself blushing with a kind of shame as I tried not to look anywhere but into her eyes, small in her wide, white face; at the person beneath the mountain of flesh. In her grandmother's photograph she had been skinny and knock-kneed; what had happened in life to make her like this?

'Yes?'

'Susan Lyle?'

'That's right.'

I heard a child's wailing come from behind her.

'I'm sorry to disturb you like this. I was wondering if I could have a quick word with you?'

'What's this about? Are you from the council? They already checked the premises, you know.'

'No, not at all. Not the council, nothing like that. You don't know me – I'm – my name's Miranda and I know your brother.'

'Simon?' She frowned. 'You know Simon?'

'Yes. If I could just…'

I took a small step forward, but she didn't budge from the entrance. The wailing inside grew louder, joined by another more high-pitched shrieking.

'You'd better come in before they kill each other,' she said at last and I followed her into the hall, where the radiator was hot even though the day outside was mild.

It was dim in the living room because the curtain was drawn, so it took me a few minutes to make out exactly how many children there were in the stuffy, cluttered room. There was a baby sitting placidly in the playpen among a giant heap of soft toys, dummy in its mouth. There was a wailing toddler with a damson streak down its bib strapped into a high chair, and an upturned bowl on the floor. There was another toddler on the sofa, staring at the television screen where there was some kind of game show going on, though the sound was turned down. She was gripping a lollipop in her fist. I peered into the carrycot on the floor and there was a baby in there, fast asleep in spite of the noise. It held its hands straight out in front of it, as if holding on to some invisible object, and its eyes flickered rapidly. What do babies dream about?

'What a lot of children,' I said brightly. There was a glowing bar fire behind a guard, giving out scorching local heat, and a smell of nappies and air freshener clogged my nostrils. I felt a sense of acute oppression, a thickness in my chest. 'Are they all yours?' As soon as I asked this, I realized it was a stupid question, mathematically impossible.

'No,' she said, staring at me with mild contempt. 'Just the one.' Then she added with pride: 'I have three more who come after school three days a week too. I make a good living. I'm registered.'

Tenderly, she lifted the screaming boy out of the high chair and wiped his mouth with a corner of the bib. 'Quiet now,' she said. 'Shush!' And he immediately quietened, his smeared mouth breaking out into a grin and he put a hand into her thick, dark hair.

Perching the child on the great swell of her hip where he clung like a tiny koala, she said: 'So – Simon?'

I hadn't rehearsed an opening, so it came out abruptly.

'When did you last see him?'

'Are you police?'

'No.'

'Social?'

'No, I just…'

'So what gives you the right to barge into my house and stand there looking as if there's a bad smell under your nose and ask me questions?'

'Sorry. I didn't mean to… I'm just worried and I'd be really grateful if you could help me.'

'Has he dumped you or something?'

'What?' For a ghastly moment I thought that perhaps Brendan had even got to his sister before me and told her his version of our relationship.

'Why else would you come running to me for help?' She lowered herself on to the sofa with her son, and the other child immediately clambered on to her lap too and pushed her sticky face into the folds of her neck. Susan seemed not to notice. She picked up the remote control and flicked through channels randomly before saying, 'Not for ages. We've gone our separate ways. He's got his life and I've got mine. Why? What's it to you?'

'Like I said, I know Simon. I've known him for nearly a year now. And I'm a bit worried about him.' I sat down on the edge of the sofa. 'I think he might not be very well.'

'Are you a doctor?' She flicked away the lollipop that was being waved in front of her face as if she were swatting a fly.

'No.'

'He should go to a doctor. What am I supposed to do about it. He's a grown-up.'

'I don't mean ill like that – I mean… well, his behaviour has been rather disturbing and

'Oh. I see. You mean ill in the head, do you? Mmm?' She suddenly sounded like Brendan.

'I'm not sure. That's why I wanted to talk to you.'

'There's nothing wrong with Si.' She stood up with surprising agility and the children fell back into the depths of the sofa, letting out yelps of surprise. 'Who do you think you are?'

'I didn't…'

'Get out!'

'I just want to help,' I lied.

The anger suddenly went out of her. 'I could do with a fag,' she said. She picked a video up from the side table and slid it into the player under the TV. Cartoon characters ran across the screen. She turned the sound up high and then, reaching up to a shelf, brought down a tin of biscuits and fished out three chocolate bourbons which she pushed into three eager hands.

I followed her into the kitchen where she sat down heavily on a chair. She poured herself a large glass of fizzy lemonade and lit a cigarette.

'Is he in trouble?'

'I don't know,' I said cautiously, aiming for a vague and misleading truthfulness. 'It's more that I want to prevent trouble, if you see what I mean. So I thought I'd come here and just talk to someone who knew him before he got taken into care.'

'What?'

'I thought…?'

'Care?' Her laugh was a high, thick wheeze. 'Where did you get that idea from?'

'You mean, he didn't get sent away?'

'Why would he, with our mum and then our nan there to look after us? We were never in care. You should be careful what you say.'

'I must have got the wrong end of the stick,' I said in a placating tone.

She pulled on her cigarette and then released a trail of blue smoke.

'Si wasn't a bad boy,' she said.

'What about school?'

'Overton. What about it? He was good at lessons, but he hated people telling him what to do or criticizing him. He could have done all right if they hadn't…' She stopped.

'If what?'

'Never mind.'

'Did they punish him?'

'They don't like boys like him being clever.'

'He was expelled?'

She ground out her cigarette, swilled back the remains of her lemonade and stood up. 'I'd better see what they're up to in there,' she said.

I stared at her. 'What happened then, Susan?'

'You can see yourself out.'

'Susan, please. What did he do after he was expelled?'

'Who are you anyway?'

'I told you, I know Brendan.'

'Brendan? Brendan? What is all this?'

'Simon, I meant.'

'I've had enough of people poking their noses into our business. Live and let live, I say. I don't believe you want to help Si, anyway. You're just snooping.'

Again, with that word, uttered with such hostility, I heard a weird echo of Brendan. He might have left his past, changed his name, reinvented himself utterly, and yet still at some deep level he remained connected to it all.

'Get out of my house,' she said. 'Go on. Fuck off before I call the police.'

So I left, out into the fresh air and a sky that was clearing after heavy rain, with blue on the horizon and the deep grey separating out into clouds. I drank some water and popped a Polo into my mouth then started the van. I headed back the way I'd come, through the gleaming wet streets, but after a few minutes stopped again. Brendan didn't let things go, I thought grimly. Never.

I wound down the window and when a woman walked past I leaned out and said, 'Excuse me, could you tell me where Overton High School is?'

Children were coming out of school, weighed down by backpacks, carrying musical instruments and PE bags. I sat and watched them for a few minutes, unsure what I was doing here. Then I got out of the van and wandered over to a couple of women standing by their cars chatting.

'Sorry to bother you,' I said.

They looked at me expectantly.

'I'm moving to the area,' I said. 'And my children – well, I was wondering whether you'd recommend this school?'

One of them shrugged. 'It's all right,' she said.

'Does it do well academically?'

'All right. Nothing to write home about. Your Ellie does well, though, doesn't she?' she said to the other woman.

'Is there much bullying?'

'There's bullying in every school.'

'Oh,' I said, stumped. Then: 'I had a friend who came here about, let's see, twelve or thirteen years ago. He mentioned something about an episode.'

'What d'you mean?'

'I can't remember now what it was, exactly. Just, he said something…' I allowed my words to trail away.

'I don't know. Things are always happening.'

'That'd be the fire,' said the other woman. 'It was before our time of course, but people still talk about it.'

I turned to her, my skin prickling. 'Fire?'

'There was a fire here,' she said. 'You can see. A whole Year Eleven classroom was burnt to the ground, and half the IT area.'

She pointed across the yard to a low red-brick building that was newer than the rest of the school.

'How awful,' I said. I felt hot and then cold all over. 'How did it happen?'

'Never caught no one. Probably kids fooling around. Awful what they get up to nowadays, isn't it? There's Ellie now.' She raised an arm to a lanky girl in plaits walking our way.

'So no one was caught?'

'Good luck with the move,' said one of them over her shoulder. 'Maybe see you again, if you decide to come here.'

I got back into the van and put another Polo into my mouth. I sucked on it, feeling its circle become thinner and thinner until it broke and dissolved. I turned on the ignition, but still sat with the engine idling, staring at the new classroom, imagining a blaze of leaping orange flames. Simon Rees's revenge. I shivered in the warmth. Like a sign I knew how to read, like graffiti scrawled on the wall: Brendan woz 'ere.