The Woman Who Went to Bed for a Year

  ‘They’re not mentalists,’ Eva protested. ‘They’re just humans who’ve got themselves into a mess.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, you should see the ones I turn away. ‘Alexander sat down on the bed. ‘I don’t want to be outside in the cold. I want to be here, with you.’

  Eva said, ‘I think about you at night. We share a wall.’

  ‘I know I sleep a foot away from you.’

  They both became transfixed by their own fingernails.

  Alexander said, ‘So, how long are you giving the bigamist?’

  ‘The same as usual, ten minutes is all I can take,’ said Eva, irritably.

  ‘Look, if you don’t want to see him, don’t. I’ll get rid of him.’

  ‘I’m a charlatan. They think I’m helping them, but I’m not. Why do they believe everything they read in the newspapers?’

  ‘Forget newspapers. It’s the internet. You’ve no idea, have you? No idea how crazy they are. You lie up here, we provide room service, and you literally crawl under the duvet if you come across something too unpleasant, something that might upset little Eva. Well, just remember that downstairs is where the real work is done, dangerous work. I’m not a trained bodyguard. I read your mail, Eva. I keep some of the letters back. Am I doing any painting? No, I’m not. Because I’m protecting Eva from the maniacs who want to cut her up. Eva the diva.’

  Eva sat up straight.

  She wanted to get out of bed and put an end to the trouble she was causing. But when it came to swinging her legs round, the floor did not look solid. She felt that if she stood, she would sink through the floorboards as though they were made of jelly.

  She was dizzy. ‘Give me a minute, please, then send the bigamist up.’

  ‘OK. And start eating again. You’re like a bag of bones.’ He went out and shut the door firmly behind him.

  Eva felt as though she’d been punched in the chest.

  She had sensed for some time that she had been behaving badly. She was selfish and demanding and had almost begun to believe that she was at the centre of her small universe. She would tell Alexander he should vacate his room, take his children and go back to his own house.

  She wondered if she could manage without Alexander’s love and care. She had to protect herself from the awful pain of imagining her life of self-imprisonment without him.

  She resumed her exercises, with a series of leg raises. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven …

  58

  Ho’s parents, Mr and Mrs Lin, were walking along a dusty narrow pavement beside an eight-lane highway.

  They were not speaking. The noise of the traffic was too loud.

  Two years ago, there had been no highway. This had been a neighbourhood of one-storey houses, shops and workshops, alleys and mysterious pathways, where people made their living in full view of their neighbours. There had been no privacy. If a neighbour coughed, it was heard by many people, and festivals were celebrated communally.

  They turned off and walked past a new tower block and a car dealership where shiny new vehicles were for sale. They came to a forecourt where electric scooters were arranged in lines according to colour. Mr Lin had always wanted a scooter. He ran his hand over the handlebars and seat of one in his favourite colour — aquamarine.

  As they walked on, Mrs Lin said, ‘Look at the old bicycles.’

  Inside a mesh fence topped with security lights were hundreds of them.

  They laughed together, and Mrs Lin said, ‘Who would even think about stealing old bicycles?’

  They turned a corner and were on their old street. The rubble had still not been cleared.

  They passed the place where they had lived for nineteen years, where Ho had played safely in the traffic-free alleys. Only five of the original houses were still inhabited. One of them belonged to the moneylender, Mr Qu. There were rumours that Mr Qu had contacts within the Beijing Tourist Board, and that he had bribed the bulldozer driver to stop at his house. Mr Qu was afraid of the professional moneylenders who were muscling in on his trade.

  Mr Lin called softly at the open door. ‘Are you there, Mr Qu? It is Mr Lin, your old neighbour.’

  Mr Qu came to the door and greeted them. ‘Ha!’ he said. ‘How do you like living in the sky, with the birds?’

  The Lins were proud people.

  ‘It is good,’ said Mrs Lin, ‘better than living on the ground, with the dogs.’

  Mr Qu laughed politely.

  Mr Lin had never liked the moneylender. He believed that the interest Mr Qu extracted from his customers was outrageous. But he had visited many banks and had been refused a loan at each of them. He had protested that he would get a second job, and work through the night, helping to build the new Beijing. But he was so frail, and the flesh around his head was so shrunken that he looked as though, at any moment, he would be called to join his ancestors. No bank employee expected him to live long enough to pay off his debt.

  Mr Qu asked, ‘How is Ho in England?’

  Mrs Lin said, ‘He is very well. Ahead in his studies and top marks in his exams.’

  ‘Is this a social or a business call?’ said Mr Qu.

  ‘Business,’ said Mr Lin.

  Mr Qu ushered them into the little house and invited them to sit down. He gestured to Mr Lin to carry on speaking.

  Mr Lin said, ‘We have an unexpected expense. Family. A flood in the countryside.’

  ‘Most unfortunate,’ murmured Mr Qu. ‘Exactly how much are these expenses?’

  Mrs Lin said, ‘To replace a floor, mattresses, a cooking stove, clothing for eight people, a television. There is more …’

  Mr Lin said, ‘Better make it fifteen thousand US dollars.’

  Mr Qu laughed merrily and said, ‘A significant sum! And do you have collateral?’

  Mr Lin was prepared. ‘Ho himself. He will be a qualified doctor in six more years. From an English university. He will pay you back.’

  Mr Qu nodded. ‘But for now, he is only a first-year medical student … so many drop out, disgrace their parents.’

  Mrs Lin said, fiercely, ‘Not Ho. He knows the sacrifices we have made.’

  Mr Qu said, ‘To reflect the length of time before I make a return … an interest rate of thirty per cent.’

  Mr Lin said, ‘You can have a share in Ho’s salary for ten years. It will be taken from his bank account, and deposited into yours.’ He hoped to appeal to Mr Qu’s gambling instinct.

  Mr Qu shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. What is the most valuable thing you have in your life, Mr Lin?’

  Mr Lin looked to the side and said, ‘My wife, she is precious to me.’

  When they were walking back, Mrs Lin sat down halfway home on what used to be her doorstep.

  Her face was flushed, and she said to her husband, ‘The shame, the shame of it.’

  Mr Lin pulled the international money order from his pocket and said, ‘It was only a business transaction.’

  She said, ‘But he has humiliated us.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He did not ask us to take tea with him.’

  59

  Eva’s sycamore was in full leaf and provided a fluttering lime-green canopy between the window and the gathering of people on the pavement opposite. Eva could not see Sandy Lake, but she could hear her shouting her disturbing messages throughout the day and night. There was an injunction in place, which was meant to keep Sandy 500 metres away from 15 Bowling Green Road. But she regularly breached the order and, emboldened by the late response of the police, would try to get through the front door and provoke Alexander into losing his temper.

  She would push and shove him, shouting, ‘Get out of my way, Sambo! I need to speak to senior angel Eva!’

  When, at Eva’s insistence, Alexander finally made a formal complaint to PC Hawk, the policeman minimised Sandy’s ‘nuisance value’.

  He said, ‘Yeah, she is a bit overenthusiastic, but personally I quite like that in a woman. I’ve been on dates where, after the first few min
utes, they’ve said almost nothing at all.’

  Alexander replied, emphatically, ‘Ask her out for a pizza then, and I’ll guarantee that you wouldn’t last beyond a second helping at the salad bar. She’s seriously mentally ill. And you should know how inflammatory “Sambo” is to a black person. It doesn’t bother me any more, but add a couple of bored black youths to the mix and you, PC Hawk, have got a riot on your hands.’

  PC Hawk said, ‘No, I’d take the heat out of the situation immediately. I’ve been on a racial awareness course. Mr Tate, why not try a bit of banter with her? The next time she calls you “Sambo”, why not call her “fatty”? When she gets to know you better, she’ll realise that you’re a human being, just like her. Tell her you’ve both got red blood in your veins.’

  Alexander looked down at PC Hawk’s innocent and ignorant face, and understood that nothing he could say would make any impression on this policeman. He had closed his mind at adolescence and cemented it shut at police training college. He would not be opening it again.

  Eva was lying on top of the bed facing the door. It was a hot summer’s day and she was irritated by the heat and the buzzing of flies as they hurtled round the ceiling. She was longing for somebody to come in with a tray of food and drink.

  Hunger made her panic. She had been left alone several times lately when Alexander had other paid work he had to do.

  What would she do if nobody came in for a week? Would she get out of bed and walk downstairs to the kitchen, or would she lie there and allow herself to starve — waiting for her organs to close down, one by one, until the heart sighed and gave up, the brain dis connected its pathways after giving a few exploratory signals, and the tunnel appeared with the bright light beyond?

  Eva thought about the inside of her body, the trillions of cells, smaller than the width of a human hair. About the body’s immune system which, if threatened by disease, will summon all the good defensive cells to a crisis meeting. About how the cells select a leader who will make the decision to welcome disease or repel it. Like democracy in Ancient Athens, when the citizens met to decide how the city was to be run.

  She wondered if we carry our own universe within us, if we are the gods.

  Alexander knocked and came in. He was holding a piece of A4 paper. He said, seeing how hot and tired she looked, ‘Are you up for this today?’

  ‘I don’t know. Who’s out there?’

  ‘There’s the usual swizzle heads. The new ones are on the list.’ He looked down at the paper and tried to decipher his own handwriting. ‘An agricultural seed merchant who says nobody has ever loved him.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll see him,’ said Eva.

  ‘Then there’s a vegetarian who works in an abattoir. The only work he could find. Should he leave his job? I’ll check him for knives.’

  Eva raised herself on one elbow and took the list. She said, ‘I’m so hungry, Alexander.’

  What do you want?’

  ‘Bring me bread. Cheese. Jam. Anything.’

  He stopped at the door and said, Would you mind saying “please”? It would make me feel less like a castrated lackey.’

  She said, grudgingly, ‘OK. Please.’

  ‘Thank you, madam. Will that be all?’

  ‘Look, if you’ve got something to say —’Alexander interrupted. ‘I’ve got plenty to say. I’m sick of seeing you waste yourself, festering in your pit, deciding who is to see the great Eva, and who is to be turned away at Eva’s whim? Do you realise I’ve never seen you on your feet? I don’t even know how tall you are.’

  She gave a deep sigh. The thought of listening to people’s misery depressed her. The household she lived with seemed to be permanently miserable, and now even Alexander was showing the strain.

  She pleaded, ‘Alexander, I can’t think straight at the moment. I’m so hungry.’

  Alexander put his face close to Eva’s and advised, Well, get out of bed, and run down to the kitchen yourself.’

  ‘I thought you understood. We have an understanding, don’t we?’

  ‘I don’t think we do. It feels as though we’ve got our legs set in concrete. Neither of us can move.’

  He went out, leaving the door wide open, as though he couldn’t even be bothered to slam it.

  Eva picked up the list and read it. She was annoyed to see that Alexander had commented on some of the entries.

  Married man — has gay lover. (So what?)

  Canteen assistant — showed me bruises. Made by husband.

  Detective Sergeant, Drug Squad — addicted to amphetamines. Has frightened himself with crystal meth.

  Sheet-metal worker — multiple internet betting accounts. Lost £1 5,000, plus credit card limit of £5,000. Wife doesn’t know. Is still betting, ‘chasing losses’.

  Full-time mother of six, Ipswich — strongly dislikes her fifth child.

  Carpenter — being evicted tomorrow.

  Classroom assistant — is frequent successful shoplifter. Wants to stop.

  Retired bricklayer — refuses to disclose problem.

  Adolescent boy — is cruel to insects, dogs and cats. Is he ‘normal’? (For a psychopath, yes.)

  Bus driver — drinks at the wheel.

  Personal assistant — should she marry man she doesn’t love? (No! No! No!)

  Baker — spits in dough. (Find out where he works.)

  Fourteen-year-old schoolgirl — can she get pregnant if she has a shower after sex? (Yes.)

  Married couple — both in late seventies. Wife has cancer of the womb. Will you administer lethal dose of insulin to both? (Dear Eva, please don’t agree to murder them, this is going too far, love Alex.)

  Schoolgirl aged thirteen — being sexually, physically and emotionally abused by family member. (ChildLine: 0800 11 11. Police.)

  Muslim girl — hates burka. Feels ‘suffocated’.

  Audio typist — married to A, still in love with B, but having affair with C.

  Failed financier, lapsed Rastafarian, struggling painter — captivated by bed-bound slightly older woman. Wants to share bed and take her for a walk in countryside. (This problem is urgent, suggest you see this man by appointment soon.)

  She smiled as she read the last item, then stopped as she heard Sandy Lake shout, ‘I’m back! I’m here! I would die for you, angel Eva! I’ll never leave you! They can’t separate us! You are my other half!’

  Eva wished that Sandy Lake would die. She didn’t want her to feel any pain, only to die in her sleep. She wanted to tell somebody that Sandy Lake frightened her, but she did not want to appear weak and needy.

  When Alexander returned with a plate of sandwiches, Eva took one, bit into it, then immediately spat it out.

  She shouted, ‘I asked for bread and cheese or bread and jam, not all three! Who eats all three at the same time?’

  Alexander said, quietly, ‘Somebody eccentric perhaps? Somebody who can’t, or won’t, get out of bed? Somebody who is besieged by her fellow eccentrics?’

  Eva pulled the slices of cheese out of the sandwiches and tore at the bread and jam, not stopping until the plate was empty. She licked her jammy fingers clean.

  Alexander watched.

  He said, ‘I’m going to fetch the kids from school, then I’m going home. I’ll say goodbye.’

  Eva said, ‘You make it sound so final.’

  ‘I can’t do it, Eva. It’s like caring for an ungrateful baby.’ He bent down and kissed her on the cheek.

  She turned her back on him. She heard the sounds of his departure, his feet on the hall floor, the front door opening and closing, the shouts and whistles from the crowd as he passed them, the sound of his engine, the gear change as he turned the corner, then nothing.

  She was alone.

  She missed him immediately.

  60

  Brian’s sheds were still filled almost to overflowing with Titania’s possessions. He had forbidden her to bring anything else from the house she had once shared with her husband, but there were certain things
she could not do without: her autumn and winter wardrobe, the Welsh spinning wheel she had picked up in Florida, the postmodern cuckoo clock from Habitat, the Victorian chaise longue she had bought for £50 from a stallholder who she thought of as gullible (only to find it was riddled with woodworm and cost her £500 plus VAT to be restored and recovered).

  Brian was manoeuvring his bulk around Titania’s stuff in the extension shed they called the ‘kitchenette’. Titania looked up irritably from the book she was reading, Hadrons and Quark-Gluon Plasma. She had just noted in the margin, ‘Not according to Prof Yagi. See his paper ref: JCAP Vol. 865, 2 (2010).’

  She said, ‘Brian, you’re tutting like a village gossip. I know it’s inconvenient to have my things here, but I can’t store them at the old house, can I? Not now he’s renting it.’

  Brian said, forcing himself to sound reasonable, ‘Tit, I admit I’m a little annoyed that I’m sharing my space with the culmination of the junk you’ve collected over the years, but have I once complained? No. Will I be pleased when it’s gone? Yes.’

  Titania said, ‘Please! If you ask a question and answer it yourself again, will I go mad and do you serious harm? Yes, yes I will!’

  They lapsed into sullen silence, each knowing that, if certain words were said, it would be like leaving the comparative safety of a muddy trench at Ypres and going over the top to the carnage of the battlefield.

  In the long, tense silence, Titania reassessed their affair. It had been quite exciting, at times, and what other man would understand and sympathise when the particles were not behaving themselves and refused to correspond to her theories?

  Brian knocked his ankle bone on the Welsh spinning wheel. He shouted, ‘The fucking thing!’ and kicked out at it, hard.

  He was not to know that the spinning wheel represented Titania’s bucolic retirement — she and Brian would keep hens, and there would be a good-natured dog with a black patch over one eye. They would take Patch to the village shop to pick up Nature and Sky & Telescope. She would buy bags of wool from the cooperative sheep farm, spin it and knit Brian a sweater in a pattern of his choice. She couldn’t knit or sew, but there were classes she could take. It wasn’t rocket science. The seeing would be good in the Welsh hills. There was a tiny Spaceguard outpost at the 24-inch reflector observatory in Powys. They would link up with the scientists there, and Brian would advise them and carry out consultancy work. He was a well-known and highly respected astronomer. They could easily avoid the peak hours for school tour groups.