“This stuff isn’t going to eat itself,” she said. Then a look of concern crossed her face. “Are you okay? You look… well, you look shocked. Or scared.”
Tom knelt down on the blanket, reached for a sandwich. “Sorry. I was just thinking — thinking about my late father.”
And then he was frightened all over again, because it was true: he had been thinking about his dead father, but without even realising he was doing so. Those fists — those images of violence — had been all that was left of the man, a representation of his will. His ghost, his phantom, was nothing more than a snatch of unfocused aggression, a flock of fists fighting against something unseen.
After they’d eaten — sandwiches with cheap fillings, freezer-shop-bought vol-au-vonts, mini sausage rolls, flattened cheese spheres wrapped in red plastic jackets — Hailey walked across the grass and then started to stroll along the side of the rampart. She bent over to pick up a stone, threw it, and then ran her hand along the weather-worn surface of the wall.
“She was a twin, you know.” Lana smiled, but her eyes were flat. “Her brother was stillborn. Thirty-seven seconds after I had Hailey, I delivered a little corpse.”
Tom didn’t know what to say, so he remained silent. He stared at Lana’s face, at the way her hair fell across her cheek and she kept pushing it out of the way; an unconscious gesture, but somehow sad and beautiful.
“I haven’t told anyone that,” she said, glancing at him, and then down at the ground. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you.” She shook her head. “Hailey doesn’t even know she almost had a brother.” She smiled again, and this time it was better, stronger, almost real.
“What’s wrong?” Tom waited for her to answer; there was no rush, they had all day. “What’s really bothering you?”
“I’m worried about her,” said Lana, turning to stare at her daughter’s back.
Tom moved round on the blanket so that he was sitting right next to her on the rock. He could feel the heat of her body, even through their fleecy jackets. A flash of sunlight lit the sky above them, and then dimmed but did not vanish. “Why? Is she still having those fainting spells?”
Lana shook her head. She lifted a hand and pushed the hair from out of her eyes. “No, she seems to have stopped those. But there’s something else, something wrong.”
Tom placed his hand on her knee.
She glanced at him and smiled, but the expression didn’t last. “I think she might be pregnant.”
“Ah… okay. Has she said anything?” He squeezed her knee, but this time she failed to respond.
“No, it’s nothing she’s actually said. But sometimes when I look at her, when she’s wearing thin clothing, her belly seems swollen. Then, the next time I look, it’s flat. I’m not sure what’s going on, but it isn’t right. It could be a tumour, or something. It might not be natural at all. I think I should take her to see a doctor, but if I tried I know she’d fight me.”
The landscape was silent; not even the birds sang. Not a living soul was visible. The sky trembled.
“This all sounds a bit strange,” said Tom, unsure of what she wanted him to say. “Her belly — you say it looks like she’s pregnant one day, and then the next it looks normal?”
“No,” said Lana. “Not normal. On those other days she looks too thin. Skinny. Like she’s starving to death. Her skin’s all dry, her breath smells, and she’s passing blood when she goes to the toilet. She says she’s never even been with a boy. I don’t know what to do. I couldn’t handle it if she was seriously ill.”
Tom remained silent. He wanted to help, to offer support, but this was something in which he had little experience. He’d never been a father; his marriage had not produced a child.
“I’m sorry.” She hitched closer again, so that her thigh brushed against his leg. “I shouldn’t be burdening you with this. All my troubles, my fucking woes.” She tried to laugh but it didn’t quite work: the sound was shrill, pitched almost at breaking point. “It’s just that everything seems to be turning bad, and I have nobody else to talk to.”
Tom held her hand. It was warm, despite the chill. “Listen, I’m here for you. I don’t know what it is, but we have a connection here. I’m married, you have your own responsibilities, yet we’re drawn together. Or am I reading this all the wrong way, and you just need someone to lean on? I can be that, too… if that’s all you want.”
She shook her head. The movement was vigorous, as if she were trying to convince more than just Tom of her motives. “No, that’s not all I want. I need someone to hold me in the night, to make love to me and make me remember that I’m a woman and not just a single mother, a statistic struggling to cope. I need… I need. That’s all.”
Her hand ran along his thigh, moving into his lap to cup him there. She squeezed, softly at first and then harder, and Tom felt like he was about to burst apart at the seams.
“I think I need you, Tom.” Her eyes were wet, but she did not cry. Her neck blushed red; her cheeks took on a little of that colour.
“We’ll work something out. I promise. Because I think I need you, too.”
They both looked over at Hailey at the same time, as if she had called out to them.
The girl was standing motionless, turned slightly away from them but with the side of her face still visible, about a hundred metres along the wall. Her hand was outstretched, the palm held flat, and a tiny red and gold bird was perched at its centre. Hailey’s lips were moving, as if she were talking to the creature. Then, as they both watched in silence, the brightly-hued bird rose and hovered inches above Hailey’s hand before skimming off across the top of the wall, where it disappeared into the shuddering dimness beyond.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LATER, AS HE drove away from the Grove, Tom thought about what a strange day this had been. Nothing had seemed to go right on the surface of things — the junkie trying to rip off his own face, the tense mood once the three of them had finally reached Hadrian’s Wall, the revelations regarding Hailey’s problems, and that odd, insightful moment with what had looked for all the world like a hummingbird — but underneath all this, he felt that it had all been so perfect he wanted to wrap up his memories of the day and lock them away inside a little box.
He had wanted nothing more than to stay for a while at Lana’s place, but Hailey’s mood had soured once they got out of the car and he thought it best to leave them, to give mother and daughter some time together. It was getting late anyway: they’d remained at the site longer than expected, leaving reluctantly only when the sun began to set. And he had promised Eileen Danby — the neighbour who was keeping an eye on Helen for the day — that he wouldn’t be back too late. He had already broken that promise, just like all the others he had broken simply by spending the day with Lana.
He drove slowly through Far Grove, trying to prolong his time away from home, but deep down inside he knew that wherever he went and however long he stayed away, he would always have to return to his wife. It was his duty, his penance. His entire life had been lived in the shadow thrown by an obstacle he could never quite define, and now he was facing the punishment for so many lost years and wasted chances. There wasn’t even anyone to blame, not really. Because That Man had not been a monster, just another human being making mistakes like everyone else.
He turned into their street and parked the car on the drive. Then he sat behind the wheel for a while, filled with a dark regret. He stared at his hands on the steering wheel. They looked old, wrinkled. He imagined that in a few years’ time liver spots would appear, marking the onslaught of death.