The Woman Who Went to Bed for a Year

They both laughed.

  As Mr Crossley turned away from the light, still laughing, Eva saw for herself the shadow of a handsome man.

  He said, ‘I must go now, Mrs Beaver.’

  She pleaded, ‘Please come and join us tomorrow I plan to get drunk in the afternoon and smoke many cigarettes.’

  He said, ‘That sounds quite irresistible. Of course I’ll come.

  When he opened the door to leave, Brian was skulking on the landing.

  After Stanley had politely informed Brian that he would be coming for Christmas Day, Brian followed him downstairs, hissing, ‘You hold my wife’s hand again and I’ll have it off at the wrist.’

  Stanley said quietly, ‘I know your sort. We had one or two in the squadron. Big mouths, braggarts. They were always the last in a scramble, always the first to come home. Hadn’t engaged with the enemy, but did have a lot of bad luck with sudden and mysterious lack of visibility, radio malfunction and guns jamming. Cheated at cards, rough with their women and all-round total shits. Goodnight, Dr Beaver.’

  Before Brian could think of a reply, Stanley had put his hat on and left.

  The icy pavement shone in the lamplight. He held on to the walls and fences as he slowly made his way to the safety of his own house.

  33

  Early on Christmas Day morning Eva woke and looked out of the window to see snow falling from a navy-blue sky. The house was silent. But when she listened carefully, she heard the hot water circulating around pipes and radiators, and the faint creaking of the floorboards as they made the slightest of contractions and expansions. There was an intermittent bird noise emanating from the eaves. The bird was not singing but making an irritated squawk: ‘Clack-ack-ack.’

  Eva opened the sash window and craned her neck backwards, looking for the bird. Snow settled on her upturned face before melting instantaneously. She saw a blackbird with a yellow beak and one gimlet eye. The other eye had gone, revealing a bloody socket.

  The blackbird flapped its wings and attempted to fly, crying, ‘Clack-ack-ack.’ One wing was distorted and would not retract.

  Eva said, ‘What’s happened to you?’

  Brian Junior came in, running his fingers through his hair. ‘That blackbird has a very annoying alarm call.’

  Eva said, ‘It’s lost an eye and has a damaged wing. What shall we do?’

  Brian Junior said, ‘You do nothing and I do nothing. If it’s badly injured, it will die.’

  Eva objected, ‘There must be something —’

  ‘Close the window, snow is falling on your bed.’

  She closed the window and said, ‘Perhaps if I brought it inside?’

  Brian Junior shouted, ‘No! Life is hard! Nature is cruel! The strong overpower the weak! Everything dies! Even you, Mum, with your gigantic ego, even you can’t escape death!’

  Eva was too shocked to speak.

  Brian Junior said, ‘Happy Christmas!’

  Eva said, ‘Happy Christmas.’

  When he’d gone, she pulled the duvet around her while the blackbird continued its mournful cry.

  ‘Clack-ack-ack.’

  Brian had prepared for cooking his first Christmas dinner by studying the various timings and advice in the cookery books he had bought Eva over the years. She always referred to them as ‘Delia’, ‘Jamie’, ‘Rick’, ‘Nigel’, ‘Keith’, ‘Nigella’ or ‘Marguerite’.

  After extensive reading he had designed a ‘fail-safe’ computer program, which he intended to follow with a stopwatch in one hand and various implements in the other — for beating, basting, paring, cutting, draining, stirring, peeling, mashing, opening, pouring and blending. He had told his guests to arrive at 12.45 p.m. for drinks and the exchange of pleasantries. He wanted them seated at the dining table no later than 1.10 p.m. for the starter of avocado and lavender soufflé.

  He was sorry that Poppy had gone to Dundee to see her dying parents. He had hoped to impress her even further with his culinary achievements over Christmas. She had left the night before, wearing Brian’s fifty per cent cashmere overcoat, taking only a small bag and leaving the rest of her mess all over the sitting room. It had taken Brian an hour before the room was presentable enough to use over Christmas.

  At mid-morning Brianne came into Eva’s room wearing the silk pyjamas with a tea-rose print that Eva had paid for and Alexander had ordered online from his phone. The whole process had taken under five minutes.

  Brianne had done something good with her hair, and her face looked less severe.

  She said, ‘These are the loveliest pyjamas! I don’t want to take them off!’

  ‘Alexander chose them,’ said Eva.

  ‘I know. Isn’t he the nicest man?’

  ‘You should thank him when you see him.’

  ‘I already have. He’s outside with his kids. I invited them for dinner. Aren’t they the cutest kids ever, Mum?’

  Eva was surprised but pleased that Alexander was here. She said, ‘Cutest?’ That’s not a word you use.’

  ‘But they are cute, Mum. And they’re so clever! They know reams of poetry and all the capital cities of the world. Alex is so proud of them. And I love his name —Alexander. He really is Alexander the Great, isn’t he, Mum?’

  Eva agreed. ‘Yes — but Alexander is forty-nine years of age, Brianne.’

  ‘Forty-nine? That’s the new thirty!’

  ‘You once ranted that nobody over twenty-five should be allowed to wear jeans, or dance in public.’

  ‘But Alex looks so good in jeans, and he did A level maths, Mum! He understands nonhomogeneous equations!’

  ‘I can tell you’re fond of him,’ said Eva.

  ‘Fond?’ said Brianne. ‘I’m fond of Grandma Ruby, I’m fond of whiskers on kittens and bright copper kettles, but I’m passionately in fucking love with Alex Tate!’

  Eva said, ‘Please! Don’t swear.’

  ‘You’re such a fucking hypocrite!’ yelled Brianne. ‘You swear! And you’re trying to spoil my relationship with Alex!’

  ‘There’s nothing to spoil. You’re not Juliet. This is not a Montague and Capulet situation. Does Alex even know you love him?’

  Brianne said, defiantly, ‘Yes, he does.’

  ‘And?’

  Brianne lowered her eyes. ‘He doesn’t love me, of course. He hasn’t had time to get to know me. But when I saw him struggling with that bookcase in Leeds, I knew immediately that he was the person I’ve been waiting for since I was a kid. I always wondered who it would be. Then he knocked on my door.’

  Eva tried to hold Brianne’s hand, but she pulled it away and put it behind her back.

  Eva asked, ‘And he was kind to you?’

  ‘I rang him three times on his mobile when he was on the motorway. He told me to go out more and meet people of my own age.’

  Eva said, gently, ‘He is right, Brianne. His hair is grey. He has more in common with me than with you. We’ve both got Morrissey’s second solo album.’

  Brianne said, ‘I know that. I know everything there is to know about him. I know his wife died in a car crash and that he was driving. I know that Tate was his family’s slave name. I know how much he earned in the noughties. And I know how much tax he paid. And which school his children go to, and what their grades are. I know his previous romantic history. I know he’s overdrawn by £77.1 5 and that he doesn’t have an agreed overdraft facility.’

  ‘And he told you all this?’

  ‘No, I’ve hardly spoken to him. I doxed him.’

  What’s “doxed”?’

  ‘It’s like talking to Neanderthal woman! I’ve read every document about him. If there’s info I want, I can find it on the net. I’ve mapped the story of his life, and one day I’ll be part of it.’

  ‘But, Brianne, don’t forget his children. You don’t like children, remember?’

  Brianne screamed, ‘I like his children!’

  Eva had never seen her in such an emotional state. She heard Brian Junior’s bedroom door open, and seconds
later he crashed into her room.

  ‘I can hear you slagging my sister off, Mum. Why don’t you butt out and leave us alone?’

  The twins drew together, as they must have done in her womb.

  She was glad when they went out, but she had never felt more alone. She heard them talking in Brian Junior’s bedroom. Their voices were low and insistent, as though they were conspirators plotting a political outrage.

  Brian’s hand-held computer had fallen into the turkey gravy. He tried to pick it up with a pair of tongs but it fell back into the pan, splashing drops of boiling gravy on to his face. He screamed and splashed his face under the cold tap. He tried again with the tongs, and this time he managed to lift it out. He threw it into the already crowded sink. As he had expected, the screen had died.

  Brian panicked.

  What came next?

  For how much longer should the turkey cook?

  What time should he turn on the sprouts?

  Should he take the Christmas pudding out of the steamer?

  Was the bread sauce thick enough?

  Where was the potato masher?

  Ignoring the noises coming from the kitchen, including the faint screams and curses, Ruby and Yvonne lay back on comfortable armchairs in the sitting room, in front of a log fire, and reminisced about the many Christmas dinners they had cooked over the years.

  Without the benefit of a computer,’ said Ruby. ‘Or a husband who would cook,’ said Yvonne.

  Outside, Alexander was walking alongside his children in the middle of Bowling Green Road, watching out for cars. The pavements were still icy with flattened snow.

  He was helping Venus to ride a new bicycle with stabilisers. Thomas was pushing a doll’s pram with a stuffed giraffe propped up against a pink pillow Alexander wondered if he had gone too far with the gender politics.

  Stanley Crossley slammed his front door as they were passing his house. After congratulating the children on their Christmas presents, he said, ‘I hope I’m not too early.’

  Alexander laughed and said, We may be eating a little later than was planned.’

  ‘It’s of no matter to me,’ said Stanley.

  Outside the Beavers’ house, Thomas told Stanley that the giraffe’s name was Paul.

  The old man remarked, ‘That’s an entirely suitable name for a giraffe.’

  Venus stared at Stanley and asked, ‘Does your face hurt?’

  ‘Not now,’ he said. ‘But it looks horrible, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Venus. ‘If I was you, I would cover it in a mask.’

  Stanley laughed, but Alexander was embarrassed and tried to apologise.

  Stanley said forcefully, ‘That’s the child’s honest reaction. She’ll soon get used to me.’

  Hearing the voices outside, Eva pushed the sash up and poked her head out. ‘Merry Christmas!’ she shouted.

  They all looked up at the window and shouted, ‘Merry Christmas!’ back.

  Alexander thought, ‘She looks beautiful — even with her mad hair on end.’

  Stanley thought, ‘If Tiny Tim came hobbling round the corner now, one would not be surprised.’

  They eventually sat down to dinner at 5.15 p.m. Brianne managed to secure a chair opposite Alexander.

  Parts of the meal were quite edible.

  Ruby said, after clearing her plate, ‘There were only a few things that let you down, Brian. Your roast potatoes were not crispy, they had no rustle to them, and the gravy had a funny taste.’

  Yvonne said, ‘Plasticky.’

  Brian Junior corrected her, ‘No, metallic.’

  Stanley said, ‘I thought the turkey itself was quite superb. Many congratulations, Dr Beaver.’

  Brian was exhausted. He had never been through such a physical and intellectual ordeal. Behind the closed kitchen door he had, in turn, wept, cursed, screamed, fallen into despair, and laughed hysterically as he struggled to serve everything together at the same time and keep it all hot. But he had heroically managed to get the thirteen main components of the meal into serving dishes and on to the table. Crackers had been pulled, paper hats worn and jokes groaned over.

  Ruby congratulated Alexander on the polite behaviour of his children.

  Venus said, ‘Daddy told us he would give us ten pounds if we were good.’

  Alexander laughed and shook his head.

  ‘Define goodness!’ Brian Junior said to Venus.

  Yvonne chided him, ‘The child is only seven years old, Brian Junior!’

  Venus put her hand up and looked urgently at Brian Junior, who nodded.

  She said, ‘Goodness means telling good lies, so that people won’t get hurt by true words.’

  Brian said, ‘Venus, I would like to know your opinion on the meal that I cooked and you have just eaten.’

  Venus asked, ‘Daddy, do I have to be good?’

  ‘No, just tell the truth, sweetheart.’

  Venus placed her napkin on the table. She unrolled the white cotton square, revealing a burned stuffing ball, a charred chipolata, a fat-logged roast potato, three overcooked Brussels sprouts and an undercooked Yorkshire pudding.

  There was a shout of laughter, and Alexander hid his face in his hands. When he looked through his fingers, he saw Brianne mouthing, ‘I love you.’ He shook his head and quickly looked away.

  Brian said, ‘I see that you managed to eat the turkey, Venus.’

  Thomas adjusted his nurse’s cap and, speaking for the first time, said quietly, ‘She threw the turkey under the table.’

  There was another burst of laughter.

  Alexander was surprised and horrified to realise that he had forgotten Eva. Lately, she seemed to be constantly on his mind. ‘Did anybody feed Eva?’ he asked.

  There was scandalised laughter as each of them realised they had forgotten her. There were only a few leftovers. Even the turkey had been well picked over. But Alexander managed to gather enough to make a decent plateful. He placed it in the microwave and turned the dial to three minutes. Then he made some fresh gravy, poured it into a little jug and went in search of another box of crackers that Brian said were in the house somewhere.

  The other guests were reluctant to move from the table. More drinks were poured and conversation was easy. There were frequent outbursts of laughter. Even Stanley and Brian were talking.

  Brian was just saying, ‘Yes, Stanley, I think a five-tog duvet is all anyone needs for winter,’ when the kitchen door burst open and Poppy almost fell into the room, announcing in the little-girl version of her voice, ‘They’re dead. Mummy and Daddy are dead!’

  The laughter stopped.

  Ruby said, ‘Your main and dad have died?’

  Yvonne said, ‘You poor kid! And on Christmas Day.’

  Brianne sneered, ‘Yeah, well, I’ll believe it when I see the death certificate.’

  Yvonne said, ‘Brianne, what a thing to say! I’m ashamed of you.’

  Poppy looked at Brianne defiantly and said, ‘Well, it hasn’t been issued yet.’

  ‘Until I see an official death certificate, I’m not going to show you the slightest bit of sympathy, OK?’ said Brianne. When did they die? Yesterday? Today?’

  Poppy said, ‘This morning.’

  ‘And you were there?’

  ‘Yes, I was with them until the end.’

  ‘They died at precisely the same time, did they?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Poppy. ‘I was holding both their hands.’ Brianne looked around the table at the fascinated audience and said, ‘Now, that is the most amazing coincidence I’ve ever heard. That is spooky.’

  Poppy declared, with the spasm of a triumphant smile, ‘Their machines were switched off at the exact same time, at my request.’

  Brianne ploughed on. At what time did they die?’

  ‘At ten o’clock this morning,’ said Poppy.

  ‘In Dundee?’ checked Brianne.

  ‘Yes,’ said Poppy.

  ‘So, how did you manage to get from Dundee to Leicest
er by six thirty on Christmas Day? There’s no public transport, is there?’

  ‘No,’ said Poppy. ‘I caught a cab.’

  Brianne, sounding increasingly like Inspector Morse, said, ‘In deep snow? There are blizzards up there. Whiteouts.’

  Poppy said, ‘We must have been lucky with the weather.’

  ‘Did you stop to eat?’ Brianne hectored.

  ‘No, I’m starving,’ said Poppy. ‘I feel quite faint.’ She gave a little stagger and sat down on a vacant chair at the end of the table.

  Brianne said, ‘What did you really do with the money my parents gave you to fly to Dundee?’

  Brian snapped, ‘That’s enough now, Brianne!’

  The microwave pinged.

  Alexander took Eva’s plate of food out and put it at the end of the table, then turned to find a tray. Poppy pulled the plate in front of her, reached for a clean knife and fork and said, ‘Thank you.’

  Everyone watched in horrified silence for a moment, as she began to cram food into her mouth, then they all shouted at once that it was Eva’s food. Poppy picked up the plate and hurried out of the kitchen.

  Alexander shouted after her, ‘I hope you’re taking that up to Eva!’

  Brian Junior said quietly, ‘Why did she come back? She’s going to spoil everything again.’

  Alexander ran upstairs.

  Eva was lying with her face to the wall. She turned to him and, seeing he was empty-handed, turned away again and said, ‘I’m so hungry, Alexander. Have I been forgotten?’

  Alexander sat on the edge of the bed and said, ‘Not by me. I think about you all the time. Feel my heart.’ He took her hand, placed it over his white shirt front and said, ‘Hear the rhythm? It’s saying “Eva”.

  Eva said, trying to lessen his intensity, ‘I could eat your heart right now — with ginger, garlic and chillies.’ She thought, ‘Oh no, now there’s a situation, and I’ll have to manage it.’

  He turned her hand over and kissed the palm.

  She examined his face, noting the age spots around his eyes and the grey stubble on his cheeks. She said, ‘All I can think about is food.’

  He got up abruptly. ‘Turkey sandwich?’

  When he got downstairs, he saw Poppy in the sitting room. She was cramming the last of the food into her mouth with her fingers.