The Keeper of Stories, page 13
Janice falls asleep in the bath, imagining the call of birds and the wash of water against the side of a boat.
She is woken when the bathroom door bursts open and Mike peers in. “How you doing?” he asks cheerily; she can smell the beer from here. “Feeling better?” He doesn’t wait for an answer but pushes into the bathroom and balances a cup of coffee on the side of the bath. “I thought you might like this.”
He waits expectantly.
“Thanks,” she says, taking a sip.
Milk and two sugars, just the way Mike likes it.
Nineteen
Never tell a story to a deaf man
The following days move in a repetitive cycle: up early, out of the house early to avoid Mike, and a walk to catch the bus – she no longer looks for the geography teacher; early coffee in a café then as many cleaning jobs as she can fit in; a walk with Decius – the thought of which drags her through the day – then it is back to the house – late. Into bed in the spare room – early. Repeat. She is not yet due back at Mrs B’s but she thinks of her often. Mike comes and goes, and when he is in the house with her he is alternately hearty or sullen. She can’t decide which depresses her more. She knows she should feel sorry for him, talk to him, even, but she keeps thinking of a saying she came across whilst cataloguing Mrs B’s books: “Never tell your story to a deaf man.” She has never been able to tell Mike her story.
Thursday has come around again. As always, the bus doors open with a sigh, as if exhaling, and they shudder closed behind her. Today’s driver was a young Asian woman with two long plaits tied with orange bows. As the bus pulls away, Janice is left looking up at the block of well-maintained, Art Deco-style flats on the other side of the road. Déjà vu. Except, she reminds herself, she has seen this many times before.
But she has never seen that before. Standing in front of the main doors that open into the foyer is the geography teacher. The lights from the building illuminate him as if he was on a stage. He is wearing dark trousers and brown trainer-like shoes. His jacket (which looks like it would be good for climbing Snowdon in) is navy and in his hand he is carrying a cycle helmet. He is worrying the strap of this between his thumb and forefinger. He half raises his other hand to her before letting it fall. Even from this distance she can see he is trying to smile but that it’s not really working. A sudden blast of wind moves his cycle helmet so it swings in front of him, but does not move the grey hair that is cut close to his head – just like a geography teacher would wear it.
Janice takes all this in in a few seconds but it feels like she has been standing on the opposite side of the road for hours. She is going to have to cross the road. She tries to concentrate. This is how accidents happen. People are distracted – they step out in the road and … bang! She has an image of a bus knocking her comically up into the air and killing her before she even gets to speak to the bus driver, and she can’t help herself but now she is laughing. He must see this as he stands a little straighter and smiles back at her. She looks carefully right, then left, and crosses the road. The short path to the front door feels like a catwalk – but it is the catwalk that features in her dreams, where she is pushed out in the middle of a fashion show and has no option but to walk down the catwalk carrying her mop and bucket. In her dreams she is always wearing her worst clothes and never her red jumper.
These thoughts get her to the front door and because she cannot think of anything else to say, and because she hopes it will make him smile (he is looking worried again), and because she thinks of it as theirs, she says, “Oh, it’s you.”
He does smile and says tentatively – and it is a slight Scottish accent – “I hope you don’t mind?”
“But how did you know I would be here?”
“I’m a bus driver.”
“I know you’re a bus driver.” She wants to ask if he was ever a geography teacher but now’s not the time. “But how did you know I’d be here today?”
“It’s Thursday,” he says, as if this explains it all.
She looks blankly at him.
He is back to looking worried again. “I’m not a stalker or anything strange like that. I’m just good with timetables. I guess it comes with the job.” He hesitates, then adds, “And I have been driving you for the past seven months.”
“Have you?” She looks at him in genuine surprise.
He laughs. “Didn’t think you’d noticed me.”
But she’s thinking, seven months? How can I not have spotted this lovely man? Instead she offers, “I’m a cleaner,” and then wonders why did she say that? She knows if Decius were here he would be looking at her with his “Get a fucking grip, woman” expression.
The geography teacher says simply, “Yes, I know.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m a bus driver.”
He is really, really nice, but this is getting weird.
He laughs, seeing the expression on her face. “You hear all sorts driving a bus. It’s one of the things I like about it. People always surprise you. I guess it’s like driving a black cab, just bigger, and you don’t have to tell people what you think about everything. I’ve heard at least two people say you are the best cleaner in Cambridge.” He suddenly looks sheepish. “I noticed your name on your bus pass. But I haven’t been looking up your address and driving my bus past your house, or anything like that.”
She knows he means this as a joke but it brings reality down like the February rain. It is Thursday, it is bloody freezing standing here, the wind is whipping her hair about her face, and she is married to the man of a thousand jobs. And she cannot see a way out. Despite her outburst with Mrs B, despite how she was feeling two seconds ago, she knows part of her is still wedged in there in Mike’s alternative universe. In his world, she should be grateful to be with him and she should enjoy being the butt of his jokes. “You’re taking it too seriously, Jan, come on, lighten up. Where’s your sense of humour?” She wonders if she would have some hope of escape if she wasn’t also chained to a memory that says, far more loudly than Mike ever could, she does not deserve better. And it makes her want to cry because she likes looking at this man, but the truth is it is just a fairy story.
“I was wondering if we might have a cup of tea together sometime?” He says it like he expects her to say no.
And maybe it is that, maybe it is the anxiety in his eyes, but she hears herself saying, “Yes, I’d like that.”
He looks genuinely shocked. “Great, well … great!”
She has said “yes,” and meant it, but she feels she needs to qualify it.
“It’s complicated … I’m married.” Now it is out there. She can’t bring herself to say the clichés: “But we sleep in separate rooms” or, “My husband doesn’t understand me”. So, she finds herself repeating, “It’s complicated.” She adds, “I’m sorry.”
“Okay,” he says slowly, looking at the cycle helmet in his hand. “Look, we can just be friends meeting for tea.” He adds, “And it will be fine, you mustn’t worry. I’m not a real ladies’ man.”
Oh, he’s gay. She definitely didn’t see that coming.
He reads her look. “No, no, I’m not gay.” He half laughs. “It is just I do have quite a few female friends … well, like you say, it’s complicated.” He brightens. “I could tell you about it over tea.” He adds, “I just wanted you to know I’m not some sleazy oddball.”
“Just a bus driver,” she says.
He nods. “Who would like to have tea with a cleaner.”
It is only when she is opening the door to Carrie-Louise’s flat that she realises she does not know the geography teacher’s name.
Twenty
The thick and the thin of it
Adam is telling her about a sci-fi comic series he is collecting. She is touched he talks to her like she might actually have some idea of what he is on about and she hopes her replies don’t give her away. She thinks she is doing quite well until he says impatiently, “No, he’s in Descender. You’re thinking of Mass Effect.” She had actually been thinking about where the geography teacher might suggest for tea and what she would wear. She tries to look suitably contrite and enquires a bit more about Descender.
Adam suddenly laughs and shakes his head. “You’re just like Mum. I bet you watch Midsomer Murders like she does too.” It is not said in anger, just the bewilderment of youth that old people could actually like that sort of stuff. He runs off to find a stick for Decius, who looks at her with his “About blooming time” expression and chases after him. She is glad that Decius moderates his language around Adam.
As Adam races ahead she thinks of Simon. With him it had been Star Wars. It amazes her how young boys can get wrapped up in the minutiae of the worlds they choose to become obsessed about – which she realises is a bit rich coming from a woman who collects stories and keeps an extensive library of them in her head. On an impulse, she pulls out her phone and calls her son’s number.
“Hi, Mum.”
She can’t read his tone. Is he pleased to hear from her? This leads her to her default position – guilt – as it is some weeks since she has phoned him.
“How are things? I was just thinking about Star Wars for some reason and you popped into my mind.”
She is glad to hear the smile in his voice as he says, “Now what brought that into your head, ‘Yousa thinking yousa people ganna die?’”
She has no idea what he is talking about. She never did when he started quoting from the films, but rather like when she chats to Adam, it doesn’t seem to matter what he is saying; just that they are talking is enough. It amazes her that this fact seems to have passed her by.
“Look, I’m sorry I haven’t called…” she starts.
“Don’t worry about it, Mum. It’s not like I’ve been great at keeping in touch. Look, I can’t really talk now, I’ve got to head out to a meeting.”
Janice can’t help feeling awkward and disappointed. “Of course, you’re at work. I should have texted.”
“No, it’s fine. Are you around at the weekend? I could call and have a catch up then.”
She feels her spirits rocket. “Yes, that would be great, anytime you like.”
Suddenly remembering the atmosphere at home, she adds, “Call me on my mobile.”
As she hangs up and walks on, she watches Adam, who is now wrestling Decius for a large branch. She feels a huge wave of affection for him. So, it has taken a twelve-year-old boy to remind her that we should just keep talking to our children.
Since their conversation over coffee, Fiona has come out with them on a few walks and Janice is pleased to see the change in her as she watches Adam. To start with, Fiona bombarded her son with questions. She seemed to feel the need to keep up a constant flow of conversation – a bit like she’s just been doing with Adam, Janice realises. Then, over time, a more natural order has been established; she and Fiona chat and lag behind, and Adam and Decius run ahead. Gradually, she has seen Fiona’s shoulders drop and she notices she has stopped watching Adam’s every move. She thinks Fiona has seen what she sees: a twelve-year-old boy happily playing with a dog. Of course, it doesn’t give the full picture of how Adam is doing, but she thinks it gives his mother hope.
The only thing that mars her memory of these walks is something that she knows is entirely her fault. And it is a thing she cannot explain to Fiona and Adam. Decius the circus dog had been balancing on Adam’s knees and then on his two feet (briefly) as Adam lay on his back on his coat on the grass. Fiona and Janice were the audience on a bench nearby, and applauded as required, in between chatting about new additions to the loft in the doll’s house. Janice had seen Adam pull a packet from his pocket and reach in for a reward for Decius. She can’t remember actually jumping up from the bench, but suddenly she was in front of Adam, dashing the packet from his hand, screaming at him, “Get it out of his mouth, has he eaten any?” She had pulled Decius away from Adam and frantically checked the dog’s mouth.
Then Fiona was by her side and she had a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay Janice. They’re dog treats. I said it was okay for Adam to buy them. Is Decius allergic to something we don’t know about?” Janice had looked at Adam’s white face and Fiona’s calm one, and had kept saying, “Dogs can’t eat chocolate. They mustn’t, they really can’t.” Fiona had kept her hand on Janice’s shoulder and said, as if to calm a small child. “It’s okay Janice. It’s not chocolate. It’s okay.”
Later she had apologised to them both, but did not expand on why it had upset her so much. How could she? The following walk had been a bit more stilted and awkward than before – but soon, in their joint admiration of Decius the wonder dog, the atmosphere had eased and nothing more was said about it.
After dropping Decius back home, Janice decides to go into the centre of Cambridge. She still has a reasonable amount left on the John Lewis voucher Simon sent her for Christmas and she would like to look for something new to wear for when the geography teacher calls her about tea. She did manage to remember to give him her mobile number, even though she forgot to ask his name.
She has been thinking about this all day and has decided she would like to wear a skirt. She rarely wears one and she doesn’t want to turn up wearing anything that reminds her she scrubs toilets for a living. She has a couple of skirts in her wardrobe that are quite flattering and not too dressy. Her leather jacket should look okay with one of them – she could even wear her red jumper. But she is not at all sure about the shoes she has. She thinks her John Lewis voucher might stretch to a pair of black boots if she chooses carefully.
The woman who comes to help her is in her early thirties and soon points out some knee boots that might work and that won’t break the bank. As she returns with a pile of boxes, the assistant is waylaid by a short woman in her forties, who is carrying around a sample boot – similar to one of the ones Janice has chosen. The woman is pin thin and dressed entirely in black. This immediately makes Janice nervous – she has had problems getting boots to fit around her calves before. On one occasion a young male assistant had dropped to a lying position to try and get the zip up a leg that was never going to fit in the tiny bit of leather he was trying to wrap around it. He seemed to take it as a personal challenge – one he lost. He was oblivious of the searing embarrassment Janice felt standing in the middle of the showroom like an Ugly Sister. Oh God, is this going to happen again? If the boots do fit the thin, very posh-looking woman, they are never going to get around Janice’s legs.
The other customer reminds her of Mrs YeahYeahYeah. She has already tried to pinch the assistant who is helping her – as if Janice did not even exist.
She tries again. “You! Can you come over here.” It isn’t a question.
Janice nearly hugs the assistant when she politely refuses. “I will be with you in a moment, madam, I am just serving this customer.”
Unable to get her physical presence, this does not stop the woman from calling across the shop to her. “But you have to tell me. Will they flop? Will these boots flop? I have bought others before, Italian leather, and my legs are so slim they just will not hold up.”
Janice smiles at the young assistant who is helping her into a rather nice pair of black leather and suede boots. “Not a problem I can say I’ve ever had.”
“Me neither," the girl admits, grinning.
Janice can feel their shared bond as the thin woman shouts across the department. “Would you say my legs are very slim? Is that the issue? Because I do not want the boots to flop.”
“I will be with you in a moment, madam,” the assistant says and winks at Janice.
Janice thinks she loves this girl. She has already found her a great pair of boots that are in the sale, and she has not been lured away by this more demanding and, she suspects, very much richer customer. As they manage to pull up the zip of the boot Janice is trying on – snug, but okay – she shares her story of the young man lying at her feet.
The young assistant suddenly bounces to her feet and this appears to set off the other customer again. “Tell me, you. You! Are these Italian leather?”
The assistant turns in the woman’s direction, but keeps her attention on Janice. “I have the same problem you have with boots.” And with this she lunges forward. Janice sits back in surprise.
“I used to play a lot of squash,” she explains, striking another pose. She now looks like a player reaching for a tricky shot. She comes back to a standing position. “You get very fit but you do get enormous legs. It’s all that lunging.”
Janice laughs. “I can certainly understand that. But what’s my excuse?”.
The girl smiles down at her. “I think those boots look great.” She then adds quietly, “I used to play squash for England.”
“Now, madam,” she says, turning away from Janice. “How can I help you?”
As Janice leaves John Lewis with her boots and a story, she can still hear the other customer’s querulous voice. “But you are sure they won’t flop?”
Twenty-One
When push comes to shove
Janice gets through the front door faster than she has done in years. She wants to get her box containing her new boots out of sight. As she runs up the stairs – no sign of Mike – she thinks of the young woman in the shoe department of John Lewis. Maybe life is not about having a story? Perhaps it is about having done one thing that you can look back on with pride? That you feel defines you. She thinks of her neighbour, Mr Mukherjee. He runs a dry cleaner’s, but he also played cricket for India when he was sixteen. Does the young woman smile and remember playing squash for her country and think, “Yes, I did that”? She hopes this thought sustained her when she was dealing with Mrs Floppy-Boots.
