Turquoiselle by Tanith Lee (best memoirs of all time TXT) 📕

Hedid not bother about lunch. He went in later. It was around 5 p.m. A smiling,friendly, helpful youngish man approached him and explained how he could reachthe bar and canteen on the sixth floor of that section – which was the sectionhe had, it seemed, entered.

Carverwent, (as expected?), up to the bar. It was very clean and well-ordered,frankly clinical in its own manner, as if alcohol had now become availableinside a UK NHS hospital.

Carverasked for, and unhurriedly drank, a single whisky.

Hedid not want it, but could tell it was a decent one, despite the unknown labeland name.

Noone approached now, in the clinical bar. The bar staff were attentive andfriendly. Anyone who caught Carver’s eye either looked at once away, or smiledradiantly at him. (Did he imagine this? Again, the residue of drugs?)

Laterhe went into the canteen, which resembled, unlike the bar, a plushy and ratherexpensive London restaurant, perhaps belonging to a private political club. Heate a hamburger and salad under the darkly tawny drapes.

Hewas not tired, only exhausted. He left about eight-thirty. His room had been,as before, and as in the best hotel, immaculately hoovered, brushed and dusted,the bed made up, the bathroom cleaned and aromatic with .flowery bleach. Newclothes had arrived for him also, still in their packaging, shirts, T-shirts,trousers, underwear. All similar to things he had worn.

Beyondthe window a quarter moon lay sideways on the western rim of the sea. Twilightand water. He left the blind up.

WouldAnjeela Merville visit him tonight?

Carverthought not.

Inthis he was correct.

Fourteen

A series ofcodes began to move through his head. On the black screen of his mind: letters,numbers. Stupid, simplistic. ABC. 123. U.R.U.I.M.E.

Sara,his – Andy’s – mother went entirely mad the day she found out she was pregnantagain. Her madness, until then, had been eclectic, and composed of elementsthat might be explained away, put out of sight. Some things she did were onlyhysterical – screaming sometimes out of the window of the flat over the off-licenceafter drunks, once they had gone – or, skittish always, ‘making sure’ the frontdoor was properly shut three (even six) times after leaving the flat. Smallthings.

Itwas just before he took off for the college. Sunderland had come back, andspent about an hour talking to Andy, explaining transport and routine,necessities. After he left, Sara began slowly to seethe and then come to theboil.

“Youget everything, don’t you? Yeah? It all comes to you, if you’re a fucking man. You don’teven get in the family way.” (One of her more prissy expressions.) “Well, I’mnot going to have the little fuck. I had enough shit ‘cuz of you. That wasenough. Or you wan’ it, yeah?No, din’ think so. Just fuck off to your poncy college, you little bugger. And I’ll get rid ofthis one that’s beenstuck up me. Once’s enough.” And she flung her mug and then, snatching it, his,against the wall.

Andy,despite himself, had been shocked. He had not even known – why, how, should he?– that she had had recent sex with a man, maybe many men. He knew nothing aboutSara but the outlines of the past, inside which she had still seemed to move.

Hesupposed she had cared for, and financially supported him, but she had neverhad any lasting interest in him (“Why should I?” she might well say, “I never wanted you. And whathave you done?”) But shehad protected – tried, actuallyuselessly, to protect – him, from his father. She had made him skimpy butregular meals, and washed his clothes and bought him sweets and, when he waslittle, walked him to vile schools and left him there, skimmed off some of herhard hard-earned cash togive him his ‘dole’.

Putup with his own indifference and absences. Pretended to like his few (ill–devised?)generosities.

Presumablyshe did get rid of the second child. Or else she had never been afflicted byit, just a fearful mistake put right by her next menstruation.

Onceat the college, he had ceased to see her. He did not need to ‘go home’. He didnot call her ever. They never wrote. Not even cards.

Thenshe did write him a letter, when he was sixteen. It was poorly spelled, as bythen he could see, and put its words together less ably than Sara did whenspeaking. She told him she was moving north with someone she knew, she did notspecify gender or connection. She called her son, as ever, Andy, and she wishedAndy luck. She, however, did not sign it ‘Mum’, as she had with his birthdayand Christmas cards in childhood, but with her name, this spelledcorrectly and in full, Zarissa Maria Cava.

A.B.C. 1.2.3.  1.4.  1.4.  1.4.

Anotherday arrived, flared blue, green and gold, and sank to darkness in the sea.

Carverspent it, as he had substantially the days before. He had, though, some companyin the afternoon.

Following breakfast inthe kitchen, Carver lingered. The others, including the non-communicativeAnjeela Merville, gradually ebbed away, she in company with the boiler-suitedFiddy. It was a different boiler suit today in deep orange.

Ballwas the last to leave. He and Van Sedden seemed scowlingly to have fallen out,did not exchange a word with each other or with anyone else. When Ball rose heglared also at Carver and said, “Have a nice day, Car, why don’t you.” Carvernodded and went back to reading the ancient copy of The Independent he had foundlying at an empty place on the table. He continued to read a while after Ballhad also gone. The paper seemed fairly fresh and crisp, but that must be sometreatment – it was dated 2009.(He had noted such or more out-of-date news-sheets and magazines in the bar,but that was strangely in keeping with the bar’s hygienic hospital ambience.)

Thekitchen was vacant then aside from Carver.

Hewas, he had concluded, expected – meant – to steal something. So he picked upthe black mug he had drunk from and walked out with it.

Inthe cloakroom off the hall below the stairs, Carver annexed an unused bar ofhand-soap, dressed in its white wrapper.

Goingthrough the appropriate corridor that he now knew led out to this side of thegrounds, one passed a cupboard for office-type stationery, and left unlocked.Carver selected three