Using dusters and newspapers from a pile in one of the sheds he wrapped his haul carefully, arranged the pieces in the back of the van and covered them with the tartan rug. First thing tomorrow he would go over to Bath. If he got off first thing then he might even be back before Jean and Steph were up, and he would make breakfast for them and they would wake to the smell of bacon and toast and coffee. The little smile that had been on Michael’s face all afternoon widened. He closed the van doors and turned to look properly around him.
The afternoon was wearing to its end now but evening had not come; the earthy, growing smell of the spring day would not leave the air. He strolled out of the courtyard, drawn by the red gleam of the sun going down behind the hills miles away, far beyond the limits of the house. He followed the wide bend where the drive curved round to the front of the house before it straightened out to the half mile that ran down to the invisible road. Steph was walking towards him, though she did not appear to have seen him. Her arms were rigid against her sides, her hands apparently pushing the pockets of her jacket to the ground, and her head was down. Then she looked up and it seemed to Michael, from the angle of the lift of her head and the infinitesimal shake of her hair, that she had experienced pleasure at seeing him, perhaps for her, too, the first sensation of pleasure since before her baby had died. All at once the thought of tomorrow’s grand surprise breakfast seemed inadequate. He wanted Steph to be in on the secret too. How much better it would be if they did it together! He began to run towards her. She would be so delighted when he told her the plan; he would take her with him in the van tomorrow, and they would do the whole thing together. He would include her in everything, even show her off to Mr David.
‘Steph! Steph, listen! I’ve had this idea, it’s all set up, I’ve done it all, it’s ready to roll.’ He stopped, gasping. He felt sick and light-headed; it was such a long time since he had eaten properly.
Steph looked faintly interested. ‘Oh?’
‘I’ve took some stuff from the house, not much, nothing we’ll even miss, but worth a bit.’ He took her arm and steered her towards the house as he spoke, as if she had not been heading that way in any case. ‘Listen. It’s in the van, all ready, tomorrow we go and see my contact, you know, I’ve got this contact.’
‘Mr David. The one that rips you off.’
‘Yeah, well, this is better stuff, more saleable. It’s not the best in the house, so it’s not like it’ll get noticed, right, but it’s nice stuff, small stuff. He’ll take it. It’ll give us enough, anyway, and it’s cash, right? Enough to see us right till the next pay cheque’s due, and there’ll be an extra two hundred quid there, don’t forget. Six hundred instead of four. And if we need to, I can always do it again, there’s loads of stuff. I’ve only touched two rooms. Come with me- we’ll go early before Jean’s up, get the cash, go shopping, surprise her. You are coming, aren’t you?’
‘Oh, Michael. You and your small stuff. I can’t come with you.’
‘Why not? We won’t be out that long. If you’re worried about leaving Jean on her own… I mean we can always-’ He stopped, panting, his hands on his hips.
‘Aren’t you even going to ask me where I’ve been?’
Michael looked at her, stricken. Why had it not even occurred to him? She was leaving.
And she was smiling, actually smiling in a way Michael had not seen for weeks. She placed her hands on his shoulders and stood on tiptoe with excitement. ‘I can’t come. I can’t come with you tomorrow ’cause I’ll be at work. ’Cause I’ve got a job, haven’t I?’
May
It was all very difficult for a time. As I said, there was a patch when I could not be sure how many days passed. And it hardly mattered except that our supplies, which were low, dwindled to nothing without anyone noticing. Or it’s possible we noticed but just could not consider it important. So by the time Michael took matters in hand it was serious. The only thing we had plenty of was wine (although even the cellar was looking rather emptier than at the beginning). That, and unhappiness. Unhappiness was everywhere in layers, layers all the same colour folded and unfolded over and around us; we carried wads of it everywhere, we left it in every room and then it came flapping after us. I neglected the housework, I will admit, and so after a while I thought I could actually see it, this unhappiness everywhere- it had come to look the same as the coating of dust that flattened all the surfaces.
But things did get better, starting with some very practical developments. I date it from the day after the one when Steph had not been home for lunch and Michael and I, saying nothing, had sat over bowls of some awful stuff we were trying to call soup. Michael’s silence was kind, as is everything about Michael, and afterwards he shooed me off upstairs for a lie-down. The next morning I decided I would stay in bed. Michael brought me up a cup of tea and said he’d be back later and not to worry. What I did not find out until later that day was that he and Steph had both gone out. If I had known, I wonder if I would have worried (even worrying was beginning to require more energy than I could find). How that day passed I still do not know. I had gone beyond being hungry so it wasn’t that, though at the back of my mind I was aware that this was the fifth or possibly the sixth day when there literally was not enough to go round. We had got to the stage of eating rhubarb from the garden, without sugar because there wasn’t any, and there’s a limit to how much of that a stomach will stand. We had all but finished the potatoes, and there was scarcely another thing except for a tin of anchovies and some dried chestnuts, nor any money to buy anything until my next salary was paid. Steph and Michael for a time had been as unable to care about this as I was, but they kept turning the study upside down looking for a way out of our problem. Michael in particular got to know all about the investments and so on but there was no way of getting ready cash. So nothing more came of that, except that Michael and Steph fell out. That was to do with hunger, I’m sure.
Anyway, it crossed my mind that day that perhaps if I kept upstairs in bed and out of the way, Michael and Steph would not feel bad about dividing what there was between the two of them. I felt that perhaps I was the problem. I was dragging them down with me. I was an old woman and the time had come to relinquish my hold. A bleak idea on the face of it, but I swear that just the thought of their survival filled me with joy, even then. I was hopeful, even as I lay there (as I thought dying) that with me out of the way they would find some way to manage. After all, they had done well over getting the oil; that had gone without a hitch and Michael had even managed to relight the Aga without any trouble. My mind wandered in and out of all the things we’d done and said we would do, until I was a little confused between what had really happened here and what had not.
So by the time it came to afternoon on this day, I’d dropped off to sleep again and was dreaming about food. Surprisingly, not so much the taste of it in my mouth as the sight of it being prepared, and the smells, the savoury air of a good kitchen. The relish of those sensations is not just the prospect of eating but also the homeliness of a prosperous, well-ordered house and somebody generous-spirited at the stove. It makes me happy again to think of it. So in this dream I could see and smell food, and it’s not true that a starving man dreams of a feast. What I could smell was toast. Plain, simple, lovely toast. And then I realised I was awake and Michael was at the foot of my bed. My first thought was oh, my goodness, has the day gone by already, and here’s me still in bed and I haven’t managed to do a thing.