Bitterhall by Helen McClory (story books to read .txt) 📕

I unzipped the bag and pulled out handfuls of the clothes, ‘This?’

He nodded and took them. He removed my coat, covering himself a little for privacy.

‘Why did you throw your stuff at me? That was you, wasn’t it?’

‘I’ve been getting nearer you,’ he said, ‘sir. It took a long time to get so close as to be – in my own flesh again, or something like my own, I don’t know whether it is or not.’

I stopped, and thought.

‘How did you get nearer?’ I asked.

He nodded his head at the bag. I pulled out the book.

‘You’re James?’ I asked

‘One James of many, yes I am,’ he answered. ‘And so are you in your way. The better side of any James.’

‘I’m not sure I’m really getting you.’ I said. Now I was warm – I had kicked off my shoes and torn off my socks and stuck my feet on the dashboard, nearest the heat – I thought I was getting sleepy. This was more and more a dream. My eyes were flickering over. I had seen his face in a painting, or I had seen it through an open window while passing. I didn’t remember who it belonged to.

‘Do you dream of his deeds? Your hand on the knife holding his neck and all?’ he was saying. Soothing voice, sweet voice. I woke up at a knock on my window.

‘Are you all right?’ said a woman standing there, in weak white daylight. She had a parka on; a torch in her hand. She looked alarmed. My bare feet were still up on the dashboard. I wound down the window. She was a policewoman.

‘You can die of hypothermia you know. With wet hair too, goodness me.’

‘Yes, fine, I’ll be off,’ I said, wiping my face. ‘Sorry to have scared you, just pulled over for some rest and fell asleep.’

Fed

I came home – evening again, like I had been just out at work, hadn’t been gone the whole day. Órla was there waiting with Daniel. I waved at them. All I wanted was to crash into my bed, to not have to think any longer. But they were there, wanted to talk. I sat down at the kitchen table – the book was on it. Had I taken it in with me or had it always been there?

‘Hi guys,’ I said. Then, ‘I’m off to bed I think. Wow, long day. Lots going on at the office. We’ve got this big – big client – project in. Breathing down our necks. All the time.’

‘Tom, do you remember what happened last night?’ Órla said.

‘Yeah, of course I do!’ I said, ‘I had some trouble sleeping, and you woke up and got out of bed. And you got Daniel.’

As soon as the words were out, I knew they were true. But I also knew that my drive into the mountains was true – that I had met someone who had Daniel’s face, who I’d given the clothes I’d found – back – because they were his clothes. My head started to itch. The skull behind the forehead. I couldn’t dig down to it – I had to work hard to keep a calm look on my face. Some things are true and not true at once and it’s just sorting out what point in time they are true and actually happened, what day of the week you had what for dinner, for example. Or if something is yet to happen, or will happen in a different form. We can calculate trends, you know. We can foresee any number of possible outcomes.

‘Do you want some coffee?’ said Daniel, ‘I’m just putting the kettle on. Having a fry-up, too.’

There’s a feeling children get when they know their carers are hiding something or lying, but also know that they are lying out of kindness, and so decide not to press or uncover the lie – helpless white grubs on the underside of rocks, squirming – but can’t quite work out why they don’t – why they go along with it, like a game – like a game is better than not having a game, I suppose. It happens loads in adult relationships because we want to be both carer and child to each other. Or I should say: we want to move our pieces around and have them accepted by the people we are playing for.

‘Yes, please,’ I said. I pulled back from the table – loud scraping chair legs, just horrid – to look at the soles of my shoes. I was wearing shoes, but they were clean. It was damp, though, I remembered. Any muck might have washed off in the river. I wondered where my bag was – not here – but Órla was talking to me, so I didn’t get up.

‘Yes, I’m fine, did you get back to sleep?’ I was saying. There was hot food in front of me and I ate it like a beast. Like a man. Bacon and eggs and fried toast and mushrooms – even though I hate mushrooms, I always eat them when they are put in front of me, flinching but firm with myself – and beans, soupy cheap tinned beans. This was Daniel’s food. He couldn’t afford to get the good stuff on his salary. I think it also did not occur to him to buy himself nice food.

‘I’ll pay you back for this,’ I said.

‘Oh, don’t worry about it. You can make dinner some time,’ he said.

Then he and Órla were gone, and I was sitting in an empty room. The dishes looked like they had been washed.

Bedding

I showered and staggered into bed; into the bed where I had – had I slept there? – I couldn’t remember. I was ruined with tiredness. I pulled covers over me – a small cry, a small, shifting weight: the cat.

‘Are you looking out for me?’ I asked her. ‘Do you know if I went? Did you know I’d gone?’ I had my eyes closed.