Soon he was out of sight. I waited another half an hour until I could be sure he had gone, and then I returned, walking fast all the way, to the trailer.
By the time I got there it was pouring, and I sat inside and stared as raindrops pitted the water. When it stopped I went outside. The river lay like a swath of thick, dull cloth under the pall of the clouds, and seemed barely to flow. I could not stay here. The sight of Col had shown me that I had to act urgently to put distance between my old life and the new one. It was distasteful to linger in this way, like a mourner at my own funeral. The trailer was damp and falling apart; what had been asylum was now a rotting prison. If I did not get out at once and rejoin the living, my defiant vanishing act would amount to nothing but a self-imposed shackling to a dead end where I was alive to nobody on earth except Silva.
Besides, I could do nothing for her by staying. How would it help for me to stay and witness any more of her faith that Stefan and Anna were coming back, when I was too cowardly either to encourage her hopes or to destroy them? The best thing I could do for her would be to leave some money and be gone by the time she returned. I would write her a note explaining-only in part-why I had left. I could not be sure that she would be able to read much English, and she might ask someone she knew-her employer, probably-to read it for her. I could not tell her anything that mentioned the car and gave me away. But the truth was I could not tell her the truth anyway. I did not have the courage.
The only paper I could find was a coloring book of Anna’s, and I carefully removed a page she had already scrawled over and wrote on the back of it.
Dear Silva,
Thank you for the food and accommodation and for looking after me when I was unwell. Your hospitality was very welcome at a time when I needed it, and I valued your company very much.
I apologize for telling you I didn’t have enough money on me for a hotel when I first arrived. It wasn’t true, but for complicated reasons I had to say it. It is a long story how I came to turn up at your place. I enclose herewith a sum to reimburse you for expenses incurred during my stay and also as a token of my gratitude. I hope it will be useful to you in the future, whatever it may bring.
I regret I was unable to let you know in advance that I was leaving today. I hope your husband and daughter are now back safe and sound.
Yours, Annabel
I knew my letter was formal in a way that was odd in the circumstances, but I didn’t know how else to do it. It took me much longer to compose than I thought it would. I had deliberately let my mobile phone battery go dead, so I could not know the time exactly, but I had reckoned it was the middle of the afternoon when I began the letter. By the time I had finished and folded fifteen hundred pounds into the single sheet of paper, I could hardly see to write. Daylight was fading, and the sky was lowering with waiting ice. Maybe it was later than I had thought after all, and I remember thinking that this was a good thing. It shortened the interval until Silva’s return when the trailer would be unattended, with the money inside lying on the table. But when I closed the door and went down the steps onto the shore, I saw at once that I couldn’t leave.
Downstream, between where I stood and the wrecked bridge end, two small fires at the river’s edge were burning through the blurry dusk. It was not difficult to gauge their distance from me; the nearer of the two had been set on a jutting-out part of the bank where three or four felled tree trunks lay on the ground. I had wandered down there several times in the past few days; it was a tricky walk over slippery rocks and around ponds of mud, and possible only at low tide, but it took no more than ten minutes. If the tramps displaced from the wasteland had encroached as far as that already, they could easily come farther. The trailer was set well back and under trees and could not be seen from their bonfire, but if any of them wandered along and found the trailer empty, of course they could easily steal the money and take the trailer over for the night. And for all nights to come. I might trust to the coming darkness to keep them from exploring any further today, but I would have to stay outside on the lookout just to be sure. And I was going to be very cold. I couldn’t risk drawing their attention by lighting a fire for myself.
Vi was sitting at the stove with a shawl round her shoulders and a glass of red wine in her hand when Ron returned to the shop. She looked up from a magazine spread over the counter. Her eyes were sour and watery, and her mouth was puckered and stained dark with wine, like a patch of rot starting on a small, bruised piece of fruit.
“Cold out there,” Ron said.
“You’ll have to be quick, I’m closing early.”
“Where’s Silva?”
Vi pushed herself up a little in her chair. “Silva!” she yelled, then slumped back. “You come from the river?” she asked, swinging her glass toward the darkness on the other side of the window.
“You could say that.”
“Terrible thing.”
Ron wandered farther into the shop, looking at the shelves, sniffing gently as if he found the air, laden with kerosene and wine, too heavy to breathe.
“It’s self-service. Take a basket. Aye, terrible thing, that bridge.”
She gulped some of her drink and returned to her magazine. Ron brought a packet of biscuits back to the counter.
“Drowning your sorrows, then,” he said, placing a five-pound note on the counter.
“What’s it to you? Keeps the cold out,” Vi said, but she stood up and placed her glass out of sight under the counter. She put the bill in the cash register and started pulling coins out for the change, counting aloud, but her voice slowed. She stared at the money in her hand, dumped it all back, and started again.
“Can’t add up the day,” she said, trying to smile. She made another mistake, turned the coins from hand to hand, counted them into her open palm, and then dropped them. They fell rattling over the counter and cascaded onto the floor. Swearing, she ducked to pick them up and almost knocked over the stove as they rolled away. As she resurfaced, she swayed forward and gripped the back of her chair, but it screeched away from her and she nearly fell.
Ron looked over his shoulder. Silva was walking down from the back room with her bag on her shoulder, wrapping her scarf round her neck, smiling.
“That’ll be four pounds, twenty-five pence I’m owed,” he said, turning back to Vi.
“Well, it’s on the bloody floor. You’ll need to come back for it.”
“I’d like my change, please.”
Vi slammed the register shut. “You’ll have to come back the morn. We’re closed.”
“Come on, Vi, I’ll do it,” Silva said, moving behind the counter to open the register.
Vi shoved her away. “Don’t you touch my bloody money! We’re closed!”
Silva looked at her for a moment, then pulled her wallet from her bag and counted out four pounds, twenty-five pence.
“Here, take it,” she said to Ron. “It’s better not to argue with her. It’s all right, I got paid today. I’ll get it back tomorrow.”
“Sure? Well, thanks.” Ron took the coins and picked up his packet of biscuits. Vi was now back in her chair with her glass in her hand.
“Are you locking up, Vi? Want me to do it?”
“I’ll do it myself. In my own good time,” Vi said. She lifted her glass and swigged. “Go on, fuck off home.”
“Bye, Vi. Don’t fall asleep there, now.”