The Toll Bridge

  He fingered Gill’s things, his imagination busy. Images of images, he thought now – now in this my now, now in your now, me now not me then. Marks on paper. Bridge between subject and object. Outside over there from inside under here. Janus in this hand, these eyes, this mouth, this head.

  Everything was there, what was true of him and why. All there in Gill’s possessions neatly laid on the bed and Adam next door and Tess soon to be on her way to them. All there at the bridge. But bridges freeze before roads. So cross with care. But cross you must. And the time when he must cross, he sensed, had come.

  He was about to repack the bag when he saw there was something else inside. At first he thought it was a picture postcard. But no: it was a photograph Tess had taken of himself and Adam, arms round each other and laughing. Had Tess given it to her? She had told him about Gill looking at her pictures but had said nothing about giving one to Gill. Had Gill taken it without Tess knowing? Stolen it? Why had she wanted it anyway?

  Suddenly, as if a blockage had been cleared, a membrane breached, there rose from the pit of his belly a sickening sense of remorse at his treatment of Gill. He suddenly saw all the past few months from her vantage, saw how he and everything at the house must have looked to her. He could not believe that he had been so unthinking, so unfeeling, so unknowing. Battering himself with self-reproach, breaking into a sweat, too weak to stand, he could not bear the sensation of being imprisoned in himself, unable to escape his self-accusations. Again and again he sighed and thumped his thighs with his fists and rubbed his hands back and forth, back and forth.

  He suffered like this for some while before the bout subsided. When at last it did he felt a refreshing sense of relief – the relief of knowing at last something you have not even recognized before. And knowing what to do about it.

  He stood and stretched himself, reaching for the ceiling with his fingertips, like a man after a long sleep. Then he carefully repacked Gill’s bag, carefully stowed it under his bed, and returned to the living room to attend to Adam.

  Time to dress the wound. There had been no more bleeding; the cotton-wool pad had left the skin chicken-skin wrinkled and white. Jan sponged the area with a damp disinfected cloth. Adam flinched as he dabbed at the cut.

  ‘You’ll live,’ Jan said, ‘but best leave it uncovered. Probably heal quicker if the air can get at it. What about the headache?’

  ‘Gone.’

  Adam turned away and inspected his wound in the shaving mirror above the sink then, without another word, began making two mugs of coffee: Maybe now he would start talking.

  But he didn’t. Instead he sat in the armchair and gazed unseeing at the blank TV screen, as shut-in and unwelcoming as before.

  When he’d finished his coffee Jan said, trying another strategy, ‘Feel like a walk? I phone home on a Sunday morning.’

  Adam shook his head.

  Maybe some time on his own would be good for him.

  Jan stood up. ‘You’ll be OK?’

  Adam nodded.

  ‘Not be long. Half an hour or so.’

  As he reached the door Adam said, ‘Jan –’

  Jan turned.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘I mean for everything.’

  Nonplussed by this unAdam-like declaration, Jan could only smile and nod.

  Snow began falling again as he left the bridge, thick feathery flakes slowly descending as in the aftermath of an astronomic pillow fight. On the phone, he had the usual conversation with his mother: everything was fine, his father had been doing this and that, Mrs Fletcher had had a nasty attack of angina but her son was doing wonderfully in his new computer software job, they hadn’t seen Gill yet this weekend but perhaps she’d call later, had this week’s parcel (a fruit cake) arrived safely? (yes), had he decided about school next term? (yes, he was staying in his job), she was longing to see him at Christmas, etc. His father followed, talking for five minutes about the garden and painting the inside of the tool shed, telling a lawyer joke heard in court, and working in a coded message – ‘Your mother’s been in good fettle’, meaning she was getting along well after the recent crisis.

  Duty done, he took a deep breath before punching Gill’s number, the call he really wanted to make. On the way there he had composed a short speech on the lines of how sorry he was about the weekend and everything else, that he hadn’t meant to hurt her, that he’d be writing a letter trying to explain and would talk to her at Christmas, but he was ringing to find out that she had got home safely and was all right.

  Gill’s mother answered. ‘Oh, it’s you, Piers.’

  ‘Hello, Mrs Redmond. Could I speak to Gill, please.’

  There was a muffled pause before Mrs Redmond said, ‘Yes, well now, Gill’s not here, I’m afraid, well, no, she is here –’

  ‘Could I –’

  ‘– but the fact is, Piers, she’d rather not speak to you today –’

  ‘But if –’

  ‘– and to be honest, we’re rather cross with you, her father and I, for the way you’ve treated her –’

  ‘Would you please ask –’

  ‘She arrived home in a terrible state. I don’t know quite what went on between you, she wouldn’t tell us, but one thing I do know she’s very upset –’

  ‘I’ll explain if –’

  ‘So we think it would be best if you left her alone and didn’t try and contact her for a while –’

  ‘But –’

  ‘She’ll get in touch when she feels up to it –’

  ‘Couldn’t I –’

  ‘And frankly, Piers, I’m surprised you’ve called now after being so silent all the time you’ve been away, which wasn’t very friendly, you must admit, especially when you consider how much Gill did for you before you went away, how much we all did. So I’ll say goodbye for the present.’

  The dialling tone burred in his ear. He slammed the receiver down and cursed. And remained where he was for some minutes, blank of mind, until Tess’s voice brought him to his senses again.

  ‘Making your Sunday call?’

  He nodded and they set off together towards the bridge, hunched against the snow, hands in pockets, heads down.

  ‘You all right?’ Tess asked as they stomped along. ‘Seem a bit down.’

  ‘Tried Gill.’

  ‘But she didn’t want to talk.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I know, I phoned her as well.’

  ‘She talked to you?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Bloody hell! So why won’t she talk to me?’

  ‘Oh, come on! Why didn’t you answer her letters?’

  ‘Just wanted to know she got home OK and tell her I’d be writing this week.’

  ‘Promises, promises.’

  ‘I will, I’ve been thinking.’

  ‘Try doing.’

  ‘Been doing as well, looking after Adam.’

  ‘And how’s he this morning?’

  ‘Talking.’

  ‘Thank God! So what’s the story?’

  ‘Still can’t remember.’

  ‘D’you believe him?’

  ‘About the time he’s been here. But I’ve a feeling he can remember before.’

  The snow was brisker now, blown by a gusty breeze the flakes having turned to spelks of ice stung the face.

  Jan said, ‘The raven came back. He tried charming it, but it wasn’t having any, which set things back a bit.’

  Tess stopped abruptly.

  Jan had taken eight or nine paces before he realized she was not beside him.

  ‘What’s up?’ he called.

  She shrugged, head down, huddled into herself.

  He went back. ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘Can’t face it.’

  ‘Face what?’

  ‘Him.’

  The unTess-like pitifulness of her voice anguished him. They were on the outskirts of the village, nowhere to get out of the snow. But a few metres ahead was
a bus shelter. Jan put an arm round Tess’s shoulder and guided her into it. Doing so, he felt a decisiveness that was new; Tess too, and in the calm part of herself she thought: He’s changed, grown. More certain of himself. How much I like him.

  In the shelter Jan turned Tess to him and held her loosely, his arms round her neck.

  ‘Come on, this isn’t my Tess.’

  She tried to smile but was close to tears.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Everything.’

  ‘What’s everything?’

  ‘The last few days, Adam, Gill, me – everything.’

  Jan said nothing. Brushed wet hair from her eyes.

  Tess sniffled, wiped her nose on the back of her hand. ‘Hardly slept since Wednesday.’

  Snow swirled round their feet. They nestled closer, Tess resting her brow on Jan’s chest, his chin on her head.

  ‘And I’ll have to see the doctor,’ she mumbled.

  Jan tried to take a step back to look her in the face but she prevented him.

  ‘What’s matter? Are you ill?’

  ‘He’ll give me a heavy lecture, I expect. You’ll laugh.’

  ‘Why? What about?’

  ‘Taking stupid risks, not being responsible.’

  ‘What sort of risks?’

  ‘Wasn’t going to tell you, but –’ She sniffled and raised her head and wiped her nose again and could look him in the eyes now. ‘Thursday night, while you were at my place –’ She paused, the words clogging in her throat.

  Jan said, ‘I know.’

  ‘He told you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Guessed?’

  ‘Saw.’

  Now it was Tess who tried to step back and Jan who held her still. He told her of his jealousy and his lust and about stealing out of the house and running to the bridge and peeking into the living room and watching her and Adam at it in front of the fire, and how happy he’d been for them. But he left Bob out of the story.

  Tess squinted at him, tears staunched by an astringent douche of embarrassment.

  ‘You never!’

  He nodded, grinning.

  ‘Pervert!’

  ‘Sexpot!’

  ‘Voyeur!’

  ‘Crrritic!’

  They cuddled against the cold and hung on for a while before Tess said,

  ‘I will, though, have to see the doc I mean, and I’m worried sick.’

  ‘You’ll be OK.’

  ‘How can you say that! How can you know! I was stupid. I’ve always told myself I’d never be that stupid, but I was, and now I’ll have to have awful embarrassing tests and wait till the results come through, and even then, if I’m HIV, nobody can tell for months, longer – years –!’ She was crying now.

  ‘Hey, hey! Steady!’

  ‘It’s all right for you to say that! Steady! What does steady mean? Doesn’t change anything, does it!’ She stamped her foot in desperation.

  ‘I know, I know, but I don’t know what else to say. I don’t blame you or anything. And I’m not going to desert you whatever happens . . . I’m here . . . OK?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know, I’m being hysterical, but I feel hysterical, dammit!’

  ‘Now listen, you! Don’t you desert me now. You go twitchy, who’ve I got to keep me right?’

  ‘I need to be kept right sometimes as well, you know.’

  ‘Now she tells me! And I’ve always thought of you as confident, knowing who you are, what you want.’

  ‘Well, I’m not!’

  ‘You’re not! Dear God, another shock! Well, it’s enough for me that I believe you are, so don’t go letting me down.’

  He wiped her tears away and they clung to each other again, weaving gently back and forth, till Tess said,

  ‘Hello, friend.’

  ‘Hi, pal.’

  ‘I’m feeling the cold a bit.’

  ‘Me too. Want to go?’

  ‘Dunno whether I can face it.’

  ‘I’m hardly the one to say so, but maybe that’s the very thing you should do.’

  ‘On the falling off a horse principle?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘You know, when it comes down to it, you’re a terrible moralist.’

  ‘There you go, insulting me again.’

  ‘Well, somebody has to tell you the truth about yourself.’

  ‘And what else are friends for?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  Tess released herself, glowered at the snowbound scene around them. The breeze had dropped, the snow had eased. She said, ‘Come on then. Mount up.’

  ‘Joy at last.’

  She laughed and turned to go, but before setting off, her back to him, said in a small voice, ‘Jan, seriously – do I matter that much?’

  Jan took a deep breath. ‘Nobody more.’

  Tess left a pause before saying, ‘Why?’

  ‘When I understand that myself, you’ll be the first to know.’

  She turned to face him again, smiling. ‘I was right to call you Janus.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Now you do, then you didn’t.’

  ‘Maybe that’s the reason.’

  As we came round the bend into the straight stretch of road leading to the bridge, Tess said, ‘Do you see what I see?’

  An unmistakable figure in the middle of the bridge by the downstream parapet.

  ‘Now what’s he up to?’

  There was something about his posture that made the pit of the belly lurch.

  ‘He’s fiddling with something round his ankles.’

  ‘Doing up his laces?’

  It was hard to be sure through the curtain of snow.

  Before we could see clearly, Adam stood up straight, leaned on the parapet, peered down into the river as if checking he was in the right place, shuffled round, hitched his bottom up onto the parapet, swung his legs up and then pushed himself to his feet.

  By this time we were close enough to see clearly.

  ‘Rope!’ Tess exclaimed. ‘Round his ankles!’

  ‘Christ, no!’

  We started to run. A car appeared, driving slowly over the bridge from the other side.

  ‘Adam!’ Jan shouted. ‘Adam! No!’

  Adam’s head snapped round in our direction. He yelled, ‘Go away!’ and shuffled, trying to twist himself towards the river. The car, almost to him now, blew its horn. Adam swung in its direction, his hobbled feet slipped and he fell backward just as the car went by, hitting its roof, bouncing off, and falling to the road. The car swerved, braked, and, its wheels locking, skidded across the bridge, turning back to front as it went and ending up with an almost delicate bump against the corner of the house.

  We reached Adam seconds later. He lay on his side, growling and groaning and cursing and holding his leg at the knee.

  As we bent down to take hold of him a man’s voice shouted from the car, ‘Don’t touch him! Lie still!’

  We both straightened up like children yelled at in school. The car was a black Ford Granada. We could see the driver through the windscreen, the wiper still going: short-cropped silver-grey hair, large round florid face; he was using a car phone.

  But Adam went on howling in pain and anger. He tried to get up but instantly collapsed with an excruciating scream that shook us out of our schoolkid obedience. Jan pulled off his anorak, rolled it into a bundle and placed it under Adam’s head before holding him by the shoulders, all the time saying, ‘Steady, steady, take it easy, you mustn’t move, looks like you’ve broken your leg.’ Adam’s face was pallid, a sickly yellow against the snow, except for the wound on his brow which shone a hot raw red.

  While Jan tended Adam, Tess was examining the rope tied round his ankles, tracking its length over the parapet and down and looping back up again before it reached the water, the other end tied to the neck of one of the urn-shaped balusters. Her heart thumped with horror, for she realized what it meant; had sensed what Adam was doing from the moment she s
aw him.

  ‘We’ve got to fetch help,’ she said and set off, only to be stopped by the man getting out of his car, holding out an arm and saying, ‘Hang on, where are you going?’

  ‘For help.’

  ‘Done. Phoned for an ambulance and the police. You’ll be needed as a witness.’

  Tess didn’t like the sound of him: officious, overbearing. She said, ‘And I should fetch my dad.’

  ‘Why, what’s he got to do with it?’

  ‘He’s in charge of the bridge.’

  The man hesitated, giving her a suspicious look before saying, ‘On the phone?’

  Tess nodded.

  ‘Use mine. You shouldn’t leave before the police get here.’

  Tess got into the car. The driver walked over to Adam and surveyed the scene with a detachment that made Jan wonder whether he had any feelings.

  ‘What the hell was he up to?’ the man said, but seeing the rope added, ‘Oh, yes, like that, is it.’

  ‘We can’t leave him here,’ Jan said, ‘he’ll freeze to death.’

  The man crouched down and inspected Adam’s leg, feeling it as if prodding a marrow for ripeness. Adam let out a yelp. ‘Fractured, I’d say.’

  ‘The ambulance could take ages. Has to come from the hospital in town, and with this weather –’

  The man straightened up. ‘Doesn’t matter. Could be injuries to his back, his head, anything. Dangerous to shift him. And you know how bloody touchy the insurance is these days.’

  Adam went suddenly silent. He stared at the man with wild panicked eyes.

  Jan felt trapped, all the old home-school constrictions clamped over him again. He wanted to pick Adam up and run.

  ‘At least we should try and keep him warm,’ he said, hearing the desperation in his voice. ‘I’ll get some blankets.’

  ‘Where from?’

  It struck Jan that the man didn’t know who he and Adam were.

  ‘The toll house. We live here.’

  His eyes swam. He glanced down at Adam, beautiful lost desperate frightened Adam-that-was-not-Adam, in whose eyes glaring back at him he read the same understanding: that this was the beginning of an end. He bent down, kissed him on the forehead, said quietly, ‘I’ll be back. I’m going for some blankets.’

  [– The rest of that day was horrible.