The Woman Who Went to Bed for a Year (40 page)

Mr Qu asked, ‘How is Ho in England?’

Mrs Lin said, ‘He is very well. Ahead in his studies
and top marks in his exams.’

‘Is this a social or a business call?’ said Mr Qu.

‘Business,’ said Mr Lin.

Mr Qu ushered them into the little house and invited
them to sit down. He gestured to Mr Lin to carry on speaking.

Mr Lin said, ‘We have an unexpected expense. Family.
A flood in the countryside.’

‘Most unfortunate,’ murmured Mr Qu. ‘Exactly how
much are these expenses?’

Mrs Lin said, ‘To replace a floor, mattresses, a
cooking stove, clothing for eight people, a television. There is more …’

Mr Lin said, ‘Better make it fifteen thousand US dollars.’

Mr Qu laughed merrily and said, ‘A significant sum!
And do you have collateral?’

Mr Lin was prepared. ‘Ho himself. He will be a qualified
doctor in six more years. From an English university. He will pay you back.’

Mr Qu nodded. ‘But for now, he is only a first-year
medical student … so many drop out, disgrace their parents.’

Mrs Lin said, fiercely, ‘Not Ho. He knows the sacrifices
we have made.’

Mr Qu said, ‘To reflect the length of time before I
make a return … an interest rate of thirty per cent.’

Mr Lin said, ‘You can have a share in Ho’s salary
for ten years. It will be taken from his bank account, and deposited into
yours.’ He hoped to appeal to Mr Qu’s gambling instinct.

Mr Qu shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. What is the
most valuable thing you have in your life, Mr Lin?’

Mr Lin looked to the side and said, ‘My wife, she is
precious to me.’

When
they were walking back, Mrs Lin sat down halfway home on what used to be her
doorstep.

Her face was flushed, and she said to her husband, ‘The
shame, the shame of it.’

Mr Lin pulled the international money order from his
pocket and said, ‘It was only a business transaction.’

She said, ‘But he has humiliated us.’

‘How?’

‘He did not ask us to take tea with him.’

59

Eva’s
sycamore was in full leaf and provided a fluttering lime-green canopy between
the window and the gathering of people on the pavement opposite. Eva could not
see Sandy Lake, but she could hear her shouting her disturbing messages
throughout the day and night. There was an injunction in place, which was meant
to keep Sandy 500 metres away from 15 Bowling Green Road. But she regularly
breached the order and, emboldened by the late response of the police, would
try to get through the front door and provoke Alexander into losing his
temper.

She would push and shove him, shouting, ‘Get out of
my way, Sambo! I need to speak to senior angel Eva!’

When, at Eva’s insistence, Alexander finally made a
formal complaint to PC Hawk, the policeman minimised Sandy’s ‘nuisance value’.

He said, ‘Yeah, she is a bit overenthusiastic, but
personally I quite like that in a woman. I’ve been on dates where, after the
first few minutes, they’ve said almost nothing at all.’

Alexander replied, emphatically, ‘Ask her out for a
pizza then, and I’ll guarantee that you wouldn’t last beyond a second helping
at the salad bar. She’s seriously mentally ill. And you should know how
inflammatory “Sambo” is to a black person. It doesn’t bother me any more, but
add a couple of bored black youths to the mix and you, PC Hawk, have got a riot
on your hands.’

PC Hawk said, ‘No, I’d take the heat out of the situation
immediately. I’ve been on a racial awareness course. Mr Tate, why not try a bit
of banter with her? The next time she calls you “Sambo”, why not call her “fatty”?
When she gets to know you better, she’ll realise that you’re a human being,
just like her. Tell her you’ve both got red blood in your veins.’

Alexander looked down at PC Hawk’s innocent and
ignorant face, and understood that nothing he could say would make any
impression on this policeman. He had closed his mind at adolescence and cemented
it shut at police training college. He would not be opening it again.

Eva
was lying on top of the bed facing the door. It was a hot summer’s day and she
was irritated by the heat and the buzzing of flies as they hurtled round the
ceiling. She was longing for somebody to come in with a tray of food and drink.

Hunger made her panic. She had been left alone several
times lately when Alexander had other paid work he had to do.

What would she do if nobody came in for a week?
Would she get out of bed and walk downstairs to the kitchen, or would she lie
there and allow herself to starve — waiting for her organs to close down, one
by one, until the heart sighed and gave up, the brain dis connected its
pathways after giving a few exploratory signals, and the tunnel appeared with
the bright light beyond?

Eva thought about the inside of her body, the
trillions of cells, smaller than the width of a human hair. About the body’s
immune system which, if threatened by disease, will summon all the good
defensive cells to a crisis meeting. About how the cells select a leader who
will make the decision to welcome disease or repel it. Like democracy in
Ancient Athens, when the citizens met to decide how the city was to be run.

She wondered if we carry our own universe within us,
if
we
are the gods.

Alexander knocked and came in. He was holding a
piece of A4 paper. He said, seeing how hot and tired she looked, ‘Are you up
for this today?’

‘I don’t know. Who’s out there?’

‘There’s the usual swizzle heads. The new ones are
on the list.’ He looked down at the paper and tried to decipher his own
handwriting. ‘An agricultural seed merchant who says nobody has ever loved
him.’

‘Yes, I’ll see him,’ said Eva.

‘Then there’s a vegetarian who works in an abattoir.
The only work he could find. Should he leave his job? I’ll check him for
knives.’

Eva raised herself on one elbow and took the list.
She said, ‘I’m so hungry, Alexander.’

What do you want?’

‘Bring me bread. Cheese. Jam. Anything.’

He stopped at the door and said, Would you mind saying
“please”? It would make me feel less like a castrated lackey.’

She said, grudgingly, ‘OK. Please.’

‘Thank you, madam. Will that be all?’

‘Look, if you’ve got something to say —’Alexander
interrupted. ‘I’ve got plenty to say. I’m sick of seeing you waste yourself,
festering in your pit, deciding who is to see the great Eva, and who is to be
turned away at Eva’s whim? Do you realise I’ve never seen you on your feet? I
don’t even know how
tall
you are.’

She gave a deep sigh. The thought of listening to
people’s misery depressed her. The household she lived with seemed to be
permanently miserable, and now even Alexander was showing the strain.

She pleaded, ‘Alexander, I can’t think straight at
the moment. I’m so hungry.’

Alexander put his face close to Eva’s and advised,
Well, get out of bed, and run down to the kitchen yourself.’

‘I thought you understood. We have an understanding,
don’t we?’

‘I don’t think we do. It feels as though we’ve got
our legs set in concrete. Neither of us can move.’

He went out, leaving the door wide open, as though
he couldn’t even be bothered to slam it.

Eva picked up the list and read it. She was annoyed
to see that Alexander had commented on some of the entries.

Married man — has gay lover. (So
what?)

Canteen assistant — showed me
bruises. Made by husband.

Detective Sergeant, Drug Squad —
addicted to amphetamines. Has frightened himself with crystal meth.

Sheet-metal worker — multiple
internet betting accounts. Lost £1 5,000, plus credit card limit of £5,000.
Wife doesn’t know. Is still betting, ‘chasing losses’.

Full-time mother of six, Ipswich
— strongly dislikes her fifth child.

Carpenter — being evicted
tomorrow.

Classroom assistant — is frequent
successful shoplifter. Wants to stop.

Retired bricklayer — refuses to disclose
problem.

Adolescent boy — is cruel to
insects, dogs and cats. Is he ‘normal’? (For a psychopath, yes.)

Bus driver — drinks at the wheel.

Personal assistant — should she
marry man she doesn’t love? (No! No! No!)

Baker — spits in dough. (Find out
where he works.)

Fourteen-year-old schoolgirl —
can she get pregnant if she has a shower after sex? (Yes.)

Married couple — both in late
seventies. Wife has cancer of the womb. Will you administer lethal dose of
insulin to both? (Dear Eva, please don’t agree to murder them, this is going
too far, love Alex.)

Schoolgirl aged thirteen — being
sexually, physically and emotionally abused by family member. (ChildLine: 0800
11 11. Police.)

Muslim girl — hates burka. Feels ‘suffocated’.

Audio typist — married to A,
still in love with B, but having affair with C.

Failed financier, lapsed
Rastafarian, struggling painter — captivated by bed-bound slightly older woman.
Wants to share bed and take her for a walk in countryside. (This problem is
urgent, suggest you see this man by appointment soon.)

She smiled as she read the last item, then stopped
as she heard Sandy Lake shout, ‘I’m back! I’m here! I would die for you, angel
Eva! I’ll never leave you! They can’t separate us! You are my other half!’

Eva wished that Sandy Lake would die. She didn’t
want her to feel any pain, only to die in her sleep. She wanted to tell
somebody that Sandy Lake frightened her, but she did not want to appear weak
and needy.

When
Alexander returned with a plate of sandwiches, Eva took one, bit into it, then
immediately spat it out.

She shouted, ‘I asked for bread and cheese or bread
and jam, not all three! Who eats all three at the same time?’

Alexander said, quietly, ‘Somebody eccentric perhaps?
Somebody who can’t, or won’t, get out of bed? Somebody who is besieged by her
fellow eccentrics?’

Eva pulled the slices of cheese out of the
sandwiches and tore at the bread and jam, not stopping until the plate was
empty. She licked her jammy fingers clean.

Alexander watched.

He said, ‘I’m going to fetch the kids from school,
then I’m going home. I’ll say goodbye.’

Eva said, ‘You make it sound so final.’

‘I can’t do it, Eva. It’s like caring for an
ungrateful baby.’ He bent down and kissed her on the cheek.

She turned her back on him. She heard the sounds of
his departure, his feet on the hall floor, the front door opening and closing,
the shouts and whistles from the crowd as he passed them, the sound of his
engine, the gear change as he turned the corner, then nothing.

She was alone.

She missed him immediately.

60

Brian’s
sheds were still filled almost to overflowing with Titania’s possessions. He
had forbidden her to bring anything else from the house she had once shared
with her husband, but there were certain things she could not do without: her
autumn and winter wardrobe, the Welsh spinning wheel she had picked up in
Florida, the postmodern cuckoo clock from Habitat, the Victorian chaise longue
she had bought for £50 from a stallholder who she thought of as gullible (only
to find it was riddled with woodworm and cost her £500 plus VAT to be restored
and recovered).

Brian was manoeuvring his bulk around Titania’s
stuff in the extension shed they called the ‘kitchenette’. Titania looked up
irritably from the book she was reading,
Hadrons and Quark-Gluon Plasma.
She
had just noted in the margin, ‘Not according to Prof Yagi. See his paper ref:
JCAP
Vol. 865, 2 (2010).’

She said, ‘Brian, you’re tutting like a village
gossip. I know it’s inconvenient to have my things here, but I can’t store them
at the old house, can I? Not now he’s renting it.’

Brian said, forcing himself to sound reasonable, ‘Tit,
I admit I’m a little annoyed that I’m sharing my space with the culmination of
the junk you’ve collected over the years, but have I once complained? No. Will
I be pleased when it’s gone? Yes.’

Titania said, ‘Please! If you ask a question and
answer it
yourself
again, will I go mad and do you serious harm? Yes,
yes I will!’

They lapsed into sullen silence, each knowing that,
if certain words were said, it would be like leaving the comparative safety of
a muddy trench at Ypres and going over the top to the carnage of the
battlefield.