Part 14 (1/2)
Why didnt you tell me, Lauren? Im sorry I was so rude and horrible to you. Really sorry, but . . . why didnt you trust me, instead of following me all the way to Germany only to lose your nerve?
”Gaby? You okay?”
I tell Dan Im fine and focus on the physical details of the room. I dont expect it to tell me anything helpful, but I look anyway. A wall of built-in wardrobes, two bedside tables, a lamp on one of them. No books. A pine bed with a pale pink flowery bedspread; drawers underneath, built into its frame, all open. Three cuddly toys-a bear with a heart for a nose, a duck and an owl-are sitting on the pillows, leaning against the headboard. There are clothes scattered on the floor on both sides of the bed, mainly thongs in various colors on what must be Laurens side. On Jasons, theres a white T-s.h.i.+rt, a pair of jeans, a few socks and a ripped silver condom packet.
”I dont think Lauren and Jason would want you in here, Gaby.” Dan approaches me tentatively, as if were at the zoo and Im a lion on the loose.
”You all sleep within a few feet of one another? How cozy: you and Kerry, Tim, Lauren and revolting Jason, all sleeping symmetrically behind your symmetrical closed doors. And Francine, before she died.”
”Francine had a room on the ground floor,” says Dan. ”Not that it matters. What do you care where we all sleep?”
”I dont,” I tell him. ”Convenient for you, though. Do you all meet on the landing at midnight every night, make sure you know all your lies by heart?”
”I think you should leave, if youre going to be like this.”
”Im not leaving until Ive seen Tims room. Where is it?”
”No.”
I a.s.sume that the door Dan has hurried over to block with his body is the one I want.
”Kerry and I dont go in there and its our house. Our cleaners dont even go in there. Tim prefers to clean it himself. Thats how much he values his privacy.”
”Sometimes,” I say. ”Other times, hes happy to sign up for a lifetime of s.h.i.+tting in front of his cell mate, in a shared toilet with no door, and having prison warders stare at him through bars whenever they want to, as if hes a monkey in a cage.”
I see the effect my words are having on Dan and press home my advantage. ”Id say I value Tims privacy a whole lot more than he does at the moment-and his happiness, and his freedom. Havent you let the police into his room since all this happened, come to think of it? How many times?”
Dan sighs and stands to one side. ”Dont touch anything,” he says.
I swear under my breath and open the door. Soon as Im in, I pick up a book from one of the piles on the floor beside the bed and wave it in the air, to show Dan that I intend to ignore his no-touching rule. Having made my point, Im about to put the book back when I notice what it is: e. e. c.u.mmings Selected Poems 19231958. A strong jerk-back sensation takes hold of my body, as if my blood vessels are reins and someones tugged them taut, pulling me away from the brink.
i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) Did Tim first read the poem in this book? If I look at the index of first lines, will I find it?
I mustnt look. If I read that poem now, in front of Dan, Ill fall apart.
”Are you okay, Gaby?” His voice seems to come from a million miles away.
Why do people ask that? Its such a pointless question. Whats ”okay”? Im still able to stand up and breathe; I think thats pretty good going. I think Im doing better than okay.
”I need to take this book,” I tell Dan.
”No!”
I recoil at the sound of his raised voice. Dan Jose doesnt yell. Ever. Then I realize its himself hes angry with, not me. Hes embarra.s.sed by his inability to take control of the situation. He has given an inch, several inches, and now I want to take a poetry book.
”Its Tims book,” he says.
”Im taking it. Tim wouldnt mind. You know he wouldnt.”
Dan stares out at the view that was Tims before he had himself moved to HMP Combingham: a vast expanse of green and then Lower Heckencott Hall beyond, in the distance. Its impressive, but thats not why Dans looking at it. He doesnt want to have to see what Im doing. Hes used up all his arguing energy and decided the best thing he can do is avert his eyes and let me get on with it.
I look around the room. I am in Tims bedroom for the first time. Only Tims; nothing to do with Francine. I want to stay in here forever. I want to examine each of his possessions in detail, but Ive frozen. This is too important. Im looking but not seeing; my minds too jittery to process the visual data.
Calm down, for f.u.c.ks sake.
Its smaller than Lauren and Jasons bedroom, though still a large room. Theres a single bed pushed up against one wall. The sight of it makes me angry. ”Single beds are for children,” I say. ”Tims a grown man in his mid-forties.”
”His choice,” says Dan. ”Kerry tried to persuade him to get a double, but he insisted.”
The pillow and duvet are white. Theres no headboard, no bedside table, two tall piles of books by the side of the bed. A wardrobe, a desk and an office-style swivel chair, a leather armchair in the corner. I walk over to the desk and look at the spotless stack of notepaper, the pile of matching envelopes, three pens that look expensive. It all looks brand-new and untouched. I flinch, thinking that Tim might have bought these things because he wanted to write to people who arent me.
Or he bought them because he wanted to write to me. Desperately. But didnt know how, or what to say, and so never did.
My scientists mind points out that there is no evidence to support my preferred theory, so I mustnt allow myself to believe it.
On the wall there are poems-unframed, Blu-Tacked-that look as if theyve been cut out of magazines: George Herbert, Yeats, Robert Frost, Wendy Cope, someone called Nic Aubury. His poem-or hers, if Nic is short for Nicola-is only four lines long.
”THE SOMMELIER AND SOME LIAR”
Knowledgeable-nonchalant, I tell the waiter, ”Fine,”
When really what Im thinking is, ”Im fairly sure its wine.”
I smile. Tears snake down my cheeks from the outer corners of my eyes.
Whats going to happen to me, without Tim? With Tim in prison for . . . how long?
”Dan,” I whisper.
”What?”
”I need Tim not to be locked up. You have to help me.”
”Gaby, I . . . Jesus!” Dan leans his forehead against the windowpane. He might be crying too. ”Ive done everything I can, trust me.”
”Before, when Tim and I were apart, it was okay, I could live with it. . . .”
”You live with someone else,” Dan says accusingly.
”Sean. Yes. Is that supposed to be proof of my disloyalty to Tim? You know what happened. Id have left Sean like a shot.”
”I know.” Dan holds up his hands. ”I didnt mean it to come out like that.”
”I always knew that if I wanted to find Tim, I could. He didnt want me, hed made that clear, and I could live with it, as long as I knew that he was there, out there, reachable when I was ready to try again. To persuade him hed made a mistake. I hadnt given up, Dan. I was . . . waiting.” Procrastinating. Treading water in my relations.h.i.+p with Sean until I felt the time was right to approach Tim again.
If Id been pregnant, Id have done it. It would have been the perfect excuse to contact him: Look, Ive got exciting news! Im having Seans baby, Im no threat to your marriage anymore, please can we be friends?