The Woman who Went to Bed for a Year

19

Over the following days, Alexander managed to see Eva on many occasions. In between other jobs he moved the radio, the television, the bedside tables, the phone, the seascape pictures, the model of the solar system with Jupiter missing and, last of all, Eva’s Billy bookcase which she had bought from Ikea.

He had an identical one at home, though the books could not have been more different.

Alexander’s books were immaculate heavy volumes, the size of small tea trays, on art, architecture, design and photography. Such was their combined weight that the bookcase had been attached to the wall with long masonry screws. Eva’s books were English, Irish, American, Russian and French fiction classics. Some were tattered paperbacks, some were Folio first editions. Madame Bovary was in close proximity to Tom Jones, and Rabbit Redux had been placed next to The Idiot. Poor, plain Jane Eyre was flanked by David Copperfield and Lucky Jim. The Little Prince rubbed shoulders with A Clergyman’s Daughter.

She said, ‘I’ve had many of them since I was a teenager. I bought most of the Penguins at the Leicester market.’

Alexander asked, ‘You’re keeping them, of course?’

‘No,’ said Eva.

‘You can’t let these go,’ he said.

Will you take them in?’ she asked, making the books sound as though they were orphans searching for a home.

‘I’ll gladly take the books, but I can’t house another bookcase. I live in a thimble,’ he said. ‘But what about Brian and the children – won’t they want them?’

‘No, they’re numbers people, they distrust words. So, you’ll take the books to your house?’

‘Yeah, I’ll do that.’

Eva said, Will you lie to me and promise to read them? Books need to be read. The pages need to be turned.’

‘Man, you’re in love with those books. Why are you giving them away?’

‘Since I learned to read I’ve used them as a kind of anaesthetic. I can remember nothing about the twins being born, apart from the book I was reading.’

And what was it?’

‘It was The Sea, The Sea. I was thrilled to have two babies in my arms, but – and you’ll think this is awful – after twenty minutes or so I wanted to get back to my book.’

They laughed at this flouting of the maternal instinct.

Eva asked Alexander if he would take the bookcase to Leeds for Brianne. She sorted her jewellery and put aside all the valuable pieces – a diamond ring, bought by Brian and presented to her on their tenth wedding anniversary, several eighteen-carat gold chains, three slim silver bracelets, a necklace made of Mallorcan pearls, and platinum earrings in the shape of a fan with black onyx drops hanging from them, which she had bought for herself. Then she scribbled a note on a page torn from Alexander’s notebook.

My darling girl,

As you can see, I have sent you the family jewellery. I have no use for it any more. All the gold is eighteen carat, and the stuff that looks like silver is platinum. It may not be to your taste, but I beg you to hold on to it. I know you have sworn never to marry or have a child, but you may change your mind. You might have a daughter one day who will enjoy wearing some of it. Tell Brian Junior I will send him something of equal value. It would be lovely to hear from you.

Al1 my love,

Mum

PS: The pearls are genuine and the diamonds were cut in Antwerp (they are D grade - the best - and have no inclusions). So, please, however poor you may be, do not be tempted to sell or pawn any of this jewellery without consulting me about the value.

PPS: I suggest you keep it in a security box in a bank. I enclose a cheque to cover your expenses.

She was still left with a huge amount of stuff. There were four drawers under the bed, in which were:

a Chanel handbag with gold chain handle

a pair of binoculars

three watches

a gold-plated powder compact

three evening bags

a silver cigarette case

a Dunhill lighter

a lump of plaster into which twin hands and feet had been pressed

a stopwatch

a certificate to prove that Eva had once attended an advanced First Aid course

a tennis racquet

five torches

a small but heavy model of Lenin

an ashtray from Blackpool (complete with tower)

a pile of Valentine’s Day cards from Brian.

One card said:

I will love you until the world ends,

Brian

PS: World predicted to end in five billion years (Red Giant expansion during end of Solar Main Sequence).

There was also:

a Swiss Army knife with forty-seven tools (only tweezers used)

a Hermès silk scarf with a white horse design on a blue background

five pairs of designer sunglasses, each in a case three travel clocks

diaries scrapbooks photograph albums two baby books.

Tomorrow, Alexander said, he would take the carpet up, ready to start painting. Before he left the room he asked, ‘Eva, have you eaten today?’

She shook her head.

‘How can he go to work and leave you hungry?’

‘It’s not Brian’s fault. We keep different hours.’ Eva was very critical of Brian’s behaviour sometimes to herself, but she did not like him being criticised by others.

Alexander foraged downstairs and found a banana, half a packet of cream crackers and five small triangles of Laughing Cow. He also found a flask and filled it with drinking chocolate.

When Brian came home from work, Alexander was washing up the cups that he and Eva had used throughout the day. Alexander watched him picking his way through the black bags and boxes on the hall floor.

Brian said, ‘I’m thinking of asking you for rent soon. You’re getting to be a permanent fixture. I shall be buying you a birthday card next.’

‘I’m working for Eva, Brian.’

‘Oh, it’s work, is it? So, how does she pay you?’

‘Cheque.’

‘Cheque! Nobody uses cheques any more,’ scoffed Brian. ‘I hope you’re not going to leave this crap lying around.’

‘I’m taking most of it to Oxfam.’

Brian laughed. Well, if Eva thinks she’ll be helping the poor by donating her old knickers, let her. The rest of us know that the so-called “charity” bosses drive around Mogadishu in Lamborghinis, chucking a few handfuls of rice at the destitute and starving.’

Alexander said, ‘I would hate to be you, man. Your heart must look like them ugly pickled walnuts they sell at Christmas. Naasty tings!’

‘I’m one of the most compassionate men I know,’ said Brian. ‘Every month the sum of ten pounds is taken out of my bank account by direct debit, which enables an African family to feed and care for two water buffalo. It shouldn’t be too long before they’re exporting Fair Trade mozzarella. And if you think that by affecting a West Indian patois I will be intimidated by you, you’re wrong. I’ve got a pal called Azizi – he’s African, but he’s a good chap.’

Alexander queried, “‘But” he’s a good chap? Think about it. And I’m trilingual. I spoke like dis until I was adopted, man. Then I slowly learned to speak like this,’ he said, affecting an exaggerated form of received pronunciation.

Brian eyed Alexander’s muscled torso and bulging triceps, and wished that he too could wear a tight white T-shirt. He was anxious to reduce the increasing heat of their confrontation. He cast about for something innocuous to say. ‘I don’t need to think about it, Azizi is a good chap.’

Alexander changed the subject. While we’re talking about mozzarella, who’s in charge of feeding Eva?’

‘Eva thinks the people will provide – very biblical, isn’t it? But until that miracle happens it’s down to my mother, her mother and muggins here.’

He put a lump of lard in a frying pan and watched it melt. Before it got hot, he threw two slices of white bread in.

Alexander burst out, ‘No, man! Let the fat get hot first!’

Brian quickly turned the bread over and cracked an egg in the gap between the slices. Before the white of the egg had set, he slid the eggy mess on to a cold white plate. He ate standing up at the counter.

Alexander watched him in disgust. Each one of Alexander’s meals was an occasion. Those eating must be seated, there must be a tablecloth and proper cutlery, children under ten were not allowed free access to the sauce bottles, and hands must be washed. Children were required to ask permission to leave the table. It was Alexander’s contention that food cooked without love was bad food.

Brian had fallen on the slimy mess like a starving dog. When it was gone, he wiped his mouth and put the plate and the fork he’d used into the dishwasher.

Alexander sighed. ‘Sit down, man. I’m gonna cook that again. Watch and learn.’

Brian, who was still hungry, sat down.