Dizzy was sitting on the stone wall at the front of the house when Resnick arrived, stretching his legs and trotting along the top of the wall beside him, tail arched high in greeting.
Happy New Year.
Thirty-two
Michelle opened her eyes to see Karl staring down at her, his face close enough to hers for her to feel the faint warmth of his breath. How long he had been standing there she didn’t know. Through the gap at the top of the curtains, the street light shone a muted orange. Karl started to speak but she shushed him and smiled and pressed her finger lightly against first his lips and then her own. As usual, Gary had fetched up close beside her in the bed and Michelle eased herself sideways, slipping out from beneath the weight of his arm and leg.
“I not sleep,” said Karl on the stairs. “Cold.”
Michelle tousled the tangle of hair on his head and shooed him into the living room. Natalie had bunched herself sideways along the top of her cot. When Michelle reached under the covers to move her she was shocked by the child’s coldness. Natalie stirred, whimpered, fell back to sleep.
“Come on,” she whispered to Karl, “let’s go and make the tea.”
Even with slippers and two pairs of socks, the damp seemed to seep up through the kitchen floor. While she watched, Karl took two slices from the packet of sliced bread and placed them on the grill to toast; once she had swilled almost boiling water around the pot and emptied it down the sink, he lifted two tea bags from the box and dropped them inside.
“Good boy,” Michelle said encouragingly.
“’ood boy.”
“Soon be able to do all this by yourself. Bring me and Gary breakfast in bed.”
Karl looked uncertain. The swelling at the side of his face had mostly gone down and even the bruise was beginning to fade.
Michelle caught herself yawning and when she moved her hand to her mouth she realized she was nursing a headache. She and Gary had been to the pub last night, along with Brian and josie. Where Brian got the money from to spend on drink she couldn’t imagine, didn’t want to know. Generous, though, she’d say that for him. Even if, when he’d had his fair share, he wasn’t above pushing his leg against hers under the table, once or twice sliding his hand along her thigh. Michelle had mentioned it to Josie when they were on their own and Josie had just laughed. Brian having a bit of fun. Gary wouldn’t laugh, not if he knew, she was certain of that. Gary saw him as much as put his little finger on her and he’d kill him for it.
She pulled out the grill pan just in time before the toast started burning. “You’re supposed to be watching that,” she said. “What d’you want? Marmalade or some of that strawberry jam?”
Pam Van Allen was at work early, earlier than usual; only her senior’s Escort was in the car park ahead of her, right-on slogans occupying a goodly proportion of its rear window. Although no more than thirty yards from the entrance Pam wrapped her scarf around her neck before reaching to the rear seat for her briefcase and Guardian, and locking the car door. Chilly again this morning, but at least it was bright.
Neil Park was in his office, leafing through reports on green and yellow paper, sipping at the first of many cups of Maxwell House. He called a greeting as Pam walked past reception and while she was making coffee for herself, he came out and joined her.
“Some offices,” Pam said, “have a decent coffee machine. Real coffee.”
“But we have biscuits,” Neil said, offering her the tin. Inside were a couple of plain digestives, the wrong half of a coconut cream, a Rich Tea, and a lot of crumbs.
“Good night last night?” Pam asked, opting for one of the digestives.
“Terrific, Mel and I fell asleep in front of the TV. Woke up and it was next year.”
Pam smiled. After failing to interest any of her friends in joining her in a search for something to eat, she had settled for a chicken and black-bean takeaway and the remains of a bottle of white wine. It had been the ideal opportunity for watching those programs she’d taped about the lives of women between the wars. These were so depressing, she had found a documentary about the Sequoia National Park and watched it through twice.
“Who’ve you got today?” Neil asked. “Anyone interesting?”
“Gary James, first thing.”
“Oh, well,” Neil said, wandering off with the last half of coconut cream, “start as you mean to go on.”
Gary was close to fifteen minutes late, par for the course in his case, though less than desirable. Old Ethel Chadbond was out there already, spilling herself and her belongings across three seats in the waiting area and already imbuing everything with a healthy smell of methylated spirits and Lysol.
Pam restrained herself from looking too pointedly at her watch. “Gary, take a seat.”
He slouched sideways, soccer shirt, jumper, jeans jacket, jeans. Gave her that look that said, so, what do we do now?
“That interview I arranged for you, at the training center.” Pam picked up the sheet of notepaper as if it were relevant. “You didn’t go.”
“No.”
“You mind me asking why?”
On and on for a further fifteen minutes, Pam’s questions, remarks, suggestions, all of them fielded with the same sullen indifference; part of a ritual both knew they had to go through. God! Pam thought, sliding open a drawer for something to do, coming close to slamming it shut, was this the first day of a new year? Another three hundred and sixty four days of this?
“Gary!”
“What?” He sat bolt upright, eyes wide open and she realized she had shouted, startling him.
“Nothing, I’m sorry. It’s just …”
It’s just you’re getting your monthlies, Gary thought.
“It’s just we seem to be going over the same ground, you know. Over and over.”
He breathed heavily and leaned back in his chair: what d’you expect me to do about that?
“The house,” Pam asked, “have you made any more progress finding somewhere else?” She knew as soon as the words were out of her mouth it was the wrong thing to say.
“That poxy fucking place,” Gary said. “Ought to be against the fucking law bringing up kids in there.”
“Gary …”
“You know how cold it was this morning when I got out of bed? D’you know? Put my hand on the baby’s face and I thought she was fucking dead! That’s how cold it was.”
“Gary,” Pam said, “I’m sorry, but I’ve told you before, that’s not really my province. That’s the Housing department’s responsibility, it’s not …”
He was on his feet so fast, the chair skittered backwards beneath him and collided with the wall. His fists were so close to her face, Pam let out an involuntary shriek and covered herself with her hands.
“You know what fucking happened when I went to the fucking Housing. You know about that, don’t you? Eh? One of these bits of bloody paper’ll’ve told you all about that.” With a sweep of his arms, he cleared everything from the desk: pens, paper, diary, telephone, paper-clips. Pam was on her feet, backing away, staring at him. There was a panic button underneath the ledge of her desk, but no way now could she reach it. “You and that tart up at Housing, that dirty cow as used to spread her legs for my brother’s mates every chance she got, you think you can shit on me like I’m nothing, don’t you? Eh?” He walked on into the table and it jarred sideways off his thigh. “Nice Gary, good Gary, here Gary, good dog, Gary.”
He snorted at her in his anger, took another step towards her before moving suddenly sideways to the door. “You wouldn’t treat one of your pets the way you treat ‘Chelle an’ me.” He wrenched at the handle and pulled the door wide open. Neil Park was standing anxiously outside, wondering whether he should intervene. “None of you.”