Gabriel's Moon, page 13
‘Yes, that’s the official story. But this man I met, the loss adjuster for the insurance company, thinks – is convinced – our mother started it by accident. Or . . .’ He paused. ‘Deliberately . . .’
‘Deliberately! You were in the house, for God’s sake. Are you saying she was trying to kill you?’
‘Kill us both. I think she’d gone mad on these Serenital tranquillizers.’
‘Bit steep, isn’t it? Bit of a presumption?’
‘I don’t know. But it kind of conforms to my memories, jumbled and crazy though they are. Such as they are . . .’
They sat down.
‘It’s true that after Dad died she went a bit off the rails,’ Sefton said, nodding to himself. ‘Who wouldn’t?’
‘Of course. You might want to kill yourself – but would you want to kill your child as well?’
‘It must have been an accident,’ Sefton said, frowning. ‘Must have been.’
Dr Katerina Haas showed him to his usual chair. It was odd being here in the evening, Gabriel thought. The oatmeal linen curtains were drawn; the room was dimly lit. In some ways it was better – more intimate, less clinical.
‘I’d like to apologize, Dr Haas.’ He used the title deliberately. ‘It was very remiss – very rude – of me to storm out like that. You’re only trying to help me, after all.’
‘Don’t give it a thought, Mr Dax. I’ve had far worse reactions than that. A patient tried to strangle me, once.’
‘Well, I promise I won’t go that far,’ Gabriel said. They both chuckled. Ice broken, Gabriel thought: status quo ante. He felt a wash of release flow through him. He realized how important these sessions had become to him. There was something reassuring about the analyst/analysand relationship that they had, he acknowledged. He felt a freedom when he talked to her. Maybe that was all that was required. Dr Haas switched on the tape recorder.
EXTRACTS FROM THE TRANSCRIPTION OF SESSION 5
DR HAAS: Serenital is a very powerful tranquillizer.
GABRIAL DAX: I’d never heard of it.
DR HAAS: Did your mother drink alcohol?
GABRIEL DAX: Yes, of course. In moderation. Like everyone of her class, I assume. Gin and tonic at lunchtime. A couple of brandy and sodas in the evening, I suppose. I was too young to notice. My brother told me. My father was the same. Everybody drank booze in those days.
DR HAAS: Booze?
GABRIEL DAX: Whisky, gin, brandy. Not so much wine or beer. Wine with a meal, maybe, but otherwise, gin and tonic, whisky and soda.
DR HAAS: Well, if she was drinking and taking Serenital then that could be very destabilizing.
GABRIEL DAX: The loss adjuster told me there were three empty bottles of Serenital in the refrigerator.
DR HAAS: That would be more than enough to kill herself. If that was her plan.
GABRIEL DAX: Since I met Mr Dryden, the loss adjuster, I’ve been thinking back. Trying to focus on the few coherent memories I have. I’m convinced, absolutely convinced, that the fire was burning on the ground floor.
DR HAAS: But of course, it suits you to think that. That means your night light, your glass moon, was not the cause of the fire.
GABRIEL DAX: In some ways I wish it was. Cause and effect. Simple. But, no: I can now remember something she said to me. I was asking her about my father – who had died in this plane crash, just four years before – and I wondered if he’d gone to heaven. And, in my childish naivety, I wondered if the moon was in fact heaven. And then she said something like: ‘We’ll all be with Daddy on the moon before you know it.’
DR HAAS: How can you remember the exact words?
GABRIEL DAX: Because I suddenly can – from talking to Dryden, the loss adjuster. Anamnesis at work. And because of the enduring shock and trauma of the fire as well, of course. Certain aspects of that night stay with me – immovable, constant – they don’t change. You can never forget. But I can’t put them in any kind of chronological order, unfortunately.
DR HAAS: Let’s assume your memories are correct. What do these words imply to you?
GABRIEL DAX: I hate to say this but, to me, now, it looks very much as if she was planning to kill us both. She wanted us both to die in the fire.
DR HAAS: Or she could simply have been saying something nice and fantastical to a little boy who was about to go to sleep?
GABRIEL DAX: Yes. Of course. True, now you mention it . . . But then the house burnt down. I don’t know! Was she mad with grief because her husband had died in a plane crash? Was she out of her head on brandy and Serenital? I know everyone thinks my night light, my moon, caused the fire but, now that I’ve spoken to two witnesses, I’m beginning to think my memories are accurate. Or largely accurate. I woke up. I’m sure the fire was blazing downstairs. Then I have a memory of my mother lying on the floor – dead. From the Serenital – not the fire. I think that was what she wanted. A kind of closure. And she wanted to take me with her.
DR HAAS: Why would she make the 999 call, then?
GABRIEL DAX: That’s the one reassuring element in this narrative. A final gesture – or realization – that she was doing something terrible, unforgivable.
DR HAAS: Anamnesis, as you say, Mr Dax. I can’t comment. You’re gathering the new information that surrounds the trauma. New facts, more facts. The more you gather the more your memories will solidify, believe me. That’s excellent. You were there, not me. You’re testing your memories with these new facts. Maybe we’re on the road to a new understanding.
PART TWO
Madrid
Cádiz
Southwold
Warsaw
1962
1.
A New Year
Gabriel was slightly worried that this might become a New Year’s Eve tradition. Starting in the Goat and Crow with Lorraine, Tyrone and some of their friends, then, when the pub closed, back to his place. More drinks and revelry. Then everybody left except Lorraine. Then drunken, hilarious, farcical sex.
Gabriel brought Lorraine a mug of tea around noon on New Year’s Day. She was lying half-naked on the bed, the sheets and blanket flung off her, reading a magazine. She was completely unselfconscious about her nudity – something he had remarked from their first sexual encounter. Sometimes she wandered around the flat, naked, all morning. He had a mildly gonging hangover, but still found the sight of her, in repose, arousing. Lorraine, the odalisque. She looked around and raised a knee.
‘Nice cuppa tea, thank you kindly,’ she said.
He slipped off his underpants and settled down beside her, kissed her neck.
‘Fancy a little bit of—’
‘Can we have a proper talk, Gabriel.’ She put down the mug. ‘Just for once.’
‘Of course.’
‘I’ve been waiting to tell you, since before Christmas.’
‘Tell me what?’
He suddenly thought, fuck, no. She’s pregnant.
‘I’ve lost my job.’
‘Oh. God . . . What? Bloody hell.’
Lorraine crossed her arms.
‘They’re closing the restaurant on the Fulham Road.’
‘The Wimpy Bar? Why?’
‘Not enough “footfall” is the word. We’ve been made redundant. All staff paid off, if you can call it that. Three years, one hundred pound.’
‘That’s shocking. Scandalous. You should counter-sue.’
‘Oh, sure. Great idea.’
‘What about your trade union?’
‘What trade union?’
‘Yeah. Right. Bastard thing to happen.’
Lorraine rolled over to face him. He was very aware of the tender sway and loll of her breasts during the change of position. He commiserated, put his hand on her cool shoulder.
‘The thing is, Gabriel, now I’m out of work, at home all day, I can’t stand it. My Mum is doing my head in. I’m going mental.’
‘You should get a flat of your own. You’re twenty-three – you should move out.’
‘Twenty-two, actually.’
‘The point’s the same. You have to leave the nest one day. Why not now?’
‘I can’t afford it.’
‘You’ll get another job. I bet there are other Wimpy Bars that would hire you.’
‘Ha ha, very funny. No, I had this idea . . .’ She paused, rolled back over and had a sip of her tea, and then faced him again. ‘I was just thinking I could, you know, maybe move in here with you. I spend two, three nights here every week, anyway.’
Gabriel slipped out of bed and put his underpants back on, his mind flashing through all sorts of dire prognostications.
‘Look, Lorraine, it’s a great idea but it just wouldn’t work. Much as I’m crazy about you. Much as we get on.’
He pulled on his shirt and trousers.
‘Why not?’ she said.
‘Because . . . Because I work here. This is my place of work as well as my flat. My office, if you like. I need to be alone – all day, totally alone – to write.’
‘I wouldn’t be here all day. I’d be shopping, out and about, seeing my friends. I might get another job. I’d be away for hours.’
She was sitting up in bed now.
‘And I’m an insomniac,’ Gabriel said. ‘You know how I don’t sleep – even when you’re here. You’d have to sleep in the spare room. I’d drive you insane. Make your life hell.’
‘I’d be quite happy to sleep in the spare room.’
‘Also, this coming year I’m going to be travelling, for weeks, months maybe.’
‘Then I can look after the place for you while you’re away. Fab.’
She stepped out of bed, searched for his dressing gown and pulled it on.
‘It’s the perfect solution, Gabe. And we get to see each other all the time. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
She came over to him and kissed his lips, briefly.
‘I really like you, Gabriel. I’ve never met anyone like you. Never, ever. Never felt so – you know – so connected to a bloke. We just click. I think it would be amazing if I was living here with you, the two of us, don’t you?’
He took her in his arms. Weak, weak, weak, he was saying to himself.
‘Let me have a think about it.’
‘What’s to think about?’
He kissed her. Tongues.
‘It’d be a huge change in my life. In every way,’ he said, forcing himself to step away.
‘A good change for you, maybe. Maybe you’d calm down a bit. Relax more. Get a good night’s sleep.’
‘Yeah, well . . . Let me have a think, Lorraine, OK? Big decision. Can’t be rushed.’
As Gabriel came down Radnor Walk he saw the silver Mercedes 190 parked across the street but Faith Green wasn’t at the wheel. She was standing at the front door to his flat. She was wearing a mid-calf, navy coat that looked very expensive, somehow, something about its heft and cut, the fine texture of its dark pelt.
He was pleased to see her, he was vaguely surprised to note. Why? They hadn’t met for weeks, months – and here she was, with her pale, knowing face, the rich formality of her expensive coat at odds with her indigo velvet Alice band and her tousled girl’s hair.
‘It’s uncanny how you know when I’m coming home,’ he said.
‘Yes, isn’t it? Anyone would think I was having you followed.’
He showed her in and, after he’d relieved her of her coat, she took the same seat as before. He placed the coat over the back of the sofa. Cashmere? Alpaca? So soft and heavy in his hands.
‘Such a nice flat,’ she said. ‘A writer’s home.’
‘You said that last time.’
‘Because I’m always struck by it. Have you read all these books?’
‘I haven’t read them all. But those I haven’t read I’ve consulted, or else I’m going to consult them. One day. All absolutely essential.’
He sat down opposite her.
‘Cup of tea?’
‘Anything stronger?’
He fixed them both whisky and water. He offered her a cigarette – forgetting she didn’t smoke. He asked if she’d object if he did – she didn’t – and so lit up a Gitanes.
‘Were you just passing by?’ he said.
‘Of course not. I’m on a mission. We’d like you to go back to Spain, to Cádiz. We want you to buy another drawing from Blanco.’
‘Sorry. No can do. I’m in the middle of a new book.’
‘Same wages.’
Gabriel looked at her. What was it about her that got to him? Her unassuming arrogance? Her faint air of patronizing him? Her absolute self-assurance? The trouble was that £200 would come in very handy now, he had to admit, funds were running low. But then he knew it wasn’t about the money. She wanted him to go to Spain. So he would go to Spain. He had to talk about this to Katerina Haas.
‘May I ask why you need another drawing?’
‘You may ask but you’ll get no reply. We need one. Full stop.’
‘When?’
‘As soon as possible.’
Selfishly, he realized this would usefully postpone the Lorraine flatmate problem – buy him some important time.
‘All right. Consider me on board.’
‘Oh. Good. Very nice whisky. What blend?’
‘It’s not a blend. A Speyside malt: Glenfeshan.’
She smiled. Swirled the whisky in her glass.
‘Sometimes I envy your life, Gabriel. A one-man band. The ultimate one-man band. You and your writing. You live exactly as you want to live. The world laid out before you, waiting for you to encounter it on your travels.’
‘Well, it has its own ups and downs – as a life,’ Gabriel smiled. ‘It can be a bit precarious, sometimes, but it works for me. Suffice to say, Faith, I don’t envy yours.’
She stood and went to gather up her sumptuous coat.
‘Oh, mine has its own small compensations, as well,’ she said, pulling on her coat. ‘How would I get to meet someone like you, otherwise?’
‘Such a bonus.’
‘Can you pop by Long Acre tomorrow at noon? We’ll sort out all the paperwork. And the cheque.’
‘I’ll be there.’
He walked her to the door. They shook hands and he watched her cross the road to her expensive car. What the fuck is going on? The words flashed like garish neon in his brain. Why did he do whatever she asked him to do?
2.
The Blanco Deal
Madrid. The Simca. The Hotel Florida. It was becoming worryingly familiar. He unpacked his bag in the same modest suite on the top floor of the modest hotel. Bagman, he thought – is that what I am for them? Some sort of inoffensive, deniable, maybe expendable courier? There must be a bigger picture, he knew; something of more scale and jeopardy was going on and he was unwittingly involved in it. Maybe Caldwell would tell him.
At the meeting in Long Acre he had been given his instructions and the same set of vouchers. Faith was there and Harrison Lee, and an older man was introduced – a Mr Fuller. Fuller took notes as they talked – a fact that Gabriel found a little disconcerting. Faith was brisk and businesslike; Lee was all smiles and geniality. Gabriel was told to check into the Florida and wait until Caldwell made contact.
‘I thought I was meant to be going to Cádiz and Blanco?’ Gabriel said.
‘You will,’ Faith said. ‘But not until you’ve met and spoken with Kit Caldwell. He’ll give you bits of information that may be useful.’
‘Bits?’
‘Pieces, segments, elements – choose your synonym.’
Gabriel decided to be awkward.
‘Why would he give me these “pieces” of information?’
‘They may help you in your negotiations with Blanco, that’s why.’ She paused. ‘Blanco and Caldwell have a – what shall I say? – “romantic” history. They’re still close, I believe.’
Gabriel stored away the fact that she knew this. He decided not to tell her that Caldwell had also confided in him.
‘Just to be clear,’ he said. ‘I want to stay in the Hotel de France et Paris in Cádiz, if you don’t mind. The hotel you got for me before was completely unsuitable.’
‘It’s up to you, Gabriel,’ Faith said with a smile. ‘You have funds. Rent a villa if you’d prefer.’
Yes, he thought, only very rarely had he thrown her. Only when he talked of Lumumba did she show some nerves, some uncertainty and imbalance – the famous cool poise challenged. Surely all this business with Caldwell and Blanco couldn’t be connected to the Congo and Lumumba? How? He realized he was beginning to suffer from ‘spy’s paranoia’, as he had dubbed the symptoms. Looking for connections where there were none; airing fresh suspicions when there was nothing to be suspicious about; not trusting people who were perfectly innocent and trustworthy. It was a contagion.
He went down to the bar and ordered a large whisky and soda. He smoked two cigarettes, thinking about his life. He should be at home in Chelsea writing Rivers, not gallivanting about Spain at Faith Green’s behest. Then recalling his Chelsea flat brought Lorraine to mind and the ongoing Lorraine problem. It was impossible for her to move in with him. Impossible, however sexually gratifying or available. How to resolve that issue without hurting feelings or causing lasting resentment . . .? He liked Lorraine. He enjoyed her company. She was amusing, sharp. And, of course, he found her incredibly, tumescently alluring. But he didn’t want to live with her. What did that make him? Some sort of sex profiteer; some sort of selfish, randy bastard? She’s your girlfriend, another voice in his head said to him, and the emphasis is on friend. You’re not in love with her. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life with her. So, deal with it in as kind and caring a way as you can. He sighed. Problems, problems. He was glad he was back with Katerina Haas, however. At least he had his psychoanalyst, though he was still sleeping no better, of course, with all this new commotion in his life. He ordered another whisky.
