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THE TAXI WAITED FIFTEEN minutes while Valérie and Phillip completed the last, difficult ten per cent of their packing. The front door was wide open and Phillip kept tramping mud into the house. It was dusk. The sky was crammed with fat brown clouds the colour of soil and little flurries of snow appeared out of nothing and melted when they hit the ground.
Thanongsak came out of the house and stopped Valérie as she was on her way to the car. “There is one thing before you go away. A favour.”
She laughed. “Good God, Thanongsak, I think I’ve done my fair share of favours for you, don’t you? I’ve just swung your future wife for you and booked your wedding ceremony. What have you got me for Christmas?”
“I think that’s everything,” Phillip said, as he passed Valérie and Thanongsak. He hugged a large white suitcase then lowered it into the boot. The driver got into his seat and secured his seatbelt. Phillip got into the back.
“What do you want, Thanongsak? Speak up.”
“I know Appleton’s got a key to the house. To be blunt, I’d like you tell him he’s no longer welcome here. He’s a bad influence on Noonie.”
“For goodness sake, Thanongsak, you’ve got to learn to control this jealous streak of yours. Appleton’s a fudge-packer, he’s not interested in Noonie. It’s taken me all my time to persuade Phillip not to throw him out of the house. You know how homophobic Phillip is, bless him. “‘It’s unnatural’, to quote Michel Foucault”. Poor, ignorant Phillip: a Toy and a Wallet ... but not, unfortunately, much of a Brain. No, sorry, I can’t give Appleton his marching orders and that’s all there is to it.”
“But why not?”
“Do I really have to give a reason? This is my house.”
“Please.”
“Because I need Appleton here to show that Charles was properly looked after during his final days and hours. When Charles dies, just about everything’s going to go to Susan. I’ll contest that, of course. To do so, I need to be able to show that I was a good daughter. Going away to Switzerland doesn’t look that good, but on the other hand it is Christmas and if I’ve put Appleton on twenty-four hour alert, with Noonie as prime carer, it’ll look as if I’ve done more than my duty. So Appleton stays, understand? He may be mad as a hatter but he’s a bloody good GP. If you do anything to upset him, Thanongsak, so help me God, you’ll be sorry.”
“Understood. I - I just wanted to know.”
“Now remember, you’re getting married on the twentieth of January. That’s a Thursday. We’ll be back about a week beforehand and we expect to come back to a happy atmosphere. Be nice to her. She’s a bit wet, in my view, but you’re from the Third World so you probably like your women like that. Otherwise, she’s not a bad girl. And do something about that jealousy. As one friend to another, I’m telling you: it’s not attractive.”
Three days later, Noonie awoke at three in the afternoon to the sound of another blazing row. Thanongsak and Appleton were in the kitchen, on the opposite side of the house. It was a measure of how completely they had lost their tempers that she could hear them at all.
She was surprised by how quickly she was coming to terms with the fact that she was about to become Mrs Thanongsak. It was as if, on Valérie’s signal, she’d passed from the last, agonising throes of a poisoned life to the bleak, indifferent peace of death. Not even the imminent prospect of going home to Tasanee and Georgina was sufficient to console her for what had been done to her in England. She was alive now solely as a biological lump. In everything spiritual – warmth, ambition, hope, charity – she was dead.
Despite this, she couldn’t help wanting to know what could be driving the two men downstairs to such rage. She had a strong feeling it concerned her in some way. She hadn’t ventured to the ground floor for some time but perhaps it was time to make the effort.
She retrieved yesterday’s tights, jeans, T-shirt and sweater, put them on quickly then left her room and crept downstairs. It wasn’t as difficult as she’d imagined. It probably helped that Valérie and Phillip were no longer around.
The banister felt icy and her breath emerged as white vapour. Her bedroom had been warm which presumably meant the heating was on selectively. She began to shiver. She couldn’t stand around eavesdropping for long.
She reached the ground floor and stopped. She couldn’t let go of the banister. Her hyper-anxiety had made some concessions to her curiosity but it drew the line at allowing her to clear the stairway.
From what she could make out, Appleton had visited someone in prison and Thanongsak was making furious denials about something, punctuated by attacks on Appleton’s honesty. The name of the prisoner was never supplied: she guessed they’d passed the point where it was necessary to repeat it. Something was suddenly said – she wasn’t sure by whom - about Charles’s will. Appleton began to laugh. Then silence.
She realised the fight was over and her heart jumped. She went back upstairs as quickly and quietly as she could and stole into Charles’s room and sat down, trying to catch her breath. Downstairs the kitchen door slammed.
She’d been wrong. Whatever they’d been fighting about, it was nothing to do with her.
She used the time she was in Charles’s room to wash him and turn him on his side. He was developing bed sores on his torso so she rubbed in some antiseptic cream and some Vaseline. She applied a dressing.
Valérie had left a pile of magazines by her chair. Intentionally or not, it gave the room something of the feel of a hospital. They were an odd mixture of the banal – Heat, Reveal, Closer – and the serious – The Economist, The Spectator, The New Statesman. She picked one up at random.
The door opened, and Appleton walked into the room. He showed no signs of anger nor even of agitation. He went over to the CD player, switched it on and pressed play. Madama Butterfly filled the room. He sat down in his usual place without looking at her.
“Do you like Madama Butterfly, Madame Butterfly?”
She nodded. “I suppose it grows on you.”
“Some people find it difficult to listen to. Most of the melodies are pentatonic, you see. Before he composed it, Puccini listened to hundreds of far eastern melodies and tried to imitate them here. That’s why I asked you if you like it. You come from the far east so you might have an ear for it.”
“How many times have I listened to it now?”
“This is our thirteenth. After Mr Thanongsak threw my last copy away, I bought a copy of the Renata Tebaldi version. I thought I might as well treat us. What do you think?”
“I suppose it’s accurate.”
He looked enquiringly at her. She looked back. He settled back into his chair and closed his eyes.
For the next hour they remained motionless. Then Appleton said:
“I understand you’re getting married, Madame Butterfly?”
“Yes.”
“To Mr Thanongsak?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to marry him?”
She tried to parrot her usual affirmative but it wouldn’t come out. This was Appleton. She had no need to lie to him.
“When’s the wedding?” he said.
“The twentieth of January.”
He looked horror-stricken. “What if Charles isn’t dead by then?”
Again, her answer wouldn’t come out. There was another long silence. It was only when she heard a sharp intake of breath that she realised Appleton was crying. He wiped his eyes with his fists.
“They’re going to kill him, aren’t they?” he said.
“I’ll insist on putting it off.”
“He will be dead by then, though. He’s nearly there now. Look at him.”
She had the odd sensation of connecting with Appleton’s state of mind. Something beyond value was about to depart the world, never to return, anywhere.
“But I won’t let them kill him,” he said. “I’ll stand guard over him night and day.”
“We’ll take it in turns.”
They fell into repose.
“When you go back to Thailand,” he said, “can I come and see you?”
“Whenever you want.”
“Do you know, Madame Butterfly, when you first came to this house I thought, like everyone else here, you were just a little gold-digger. Since then, I’ve realised I was wrong. You did love Charles, didn’t you? It wasn’t just the money?”
“I did love him. I thought I did. He deceived me. But yes, I did.”
“I think Charles must have loved you. If I’d been in Charles’s shoes, I think I’d have loved you.”
“Thank you,” she said emotionally.
“Can I come to your wedding?”
“I expect you to.”
“Mr Thanongsak won’t be very pleased.”
“I don’t care about Mr Thanongsak.”
“Yes, I know.”
She couldn’t believe she was having a normal conversation with him. She wasn’t used to extended conversations any more, having developed a habit of declining them. But he’d broken his habit of tangential oddness and that enabled her to transcend her own habit for once.
“I like Phuket,” he said. “I went there once, just after homosexuality was decriminalised in Thailand. There are gay pride marches in Phuket, did you know that?”
“I’ve never actually been to one. I’ve read about them, in the papers.”
“One day, I’m going to take you to Phuket. Just you and me. Will that be nice?”
She smiled. She could think of worse things.
“I’m going to stand guard over you, Madame Butterfly.”
“You can’t. No one can.”
“First you found you couldn’t go outside the house then you found you couldn’t go downstairs. Accurate diagnosis, yes? The physical boundaries of your life are shrinking. Soon, you’ll end up in here” - he tapped his left temple - “unable to come out. And then I’ll stand guard over you.”
She smiled. His oddness had returned.
“I’ll be a good guard. I’ll only let you out when you’re good and ready.”
They said nothing more. Madama Butterfly came to an end. He got up, switched the CD player off and left the room without a farewell.
It was Christmas Day. Charles awoke to a Christmas wash and change. Appleton paid him a Christmas visit. At nine o’clock, Noonie went into the bathroom for a Christmas urination, followed by a Christmas shower and a Christmas hair-dry. Then she had a Christmas lie down and look at the ceiling of her four-poster.
It was ten now and Thanongsak sat by her bed giving her a Christmas explanation of how he had put The Golden Wave on the market and brought details of some restaurants he was looking at in Phuket. Otherwise, the day had been no different to any other.
“Then there’s this one.” he said.
He handed her the print-out. She took it listlessly.
“I’d like you to choose,” he said. “All my life, I’ve put off expanding. I love cooking food, you see, and expanding would have put me in a more supervisory role, overseeing the however-many restaurants I’d have built up. But now things will be different. I want us to be a team. I want you to be in charge. That’s why I want you to choose where we’re going.”
“I don’t know anything about business.”
“You’ll learn. Listen, Noonie, I’m not one of those men who just expects his wife to cook, clean and warm the bed. I’m going to put the business in your name. You need something to energise you. Look at this one.” He handed her another print-out. “Quite expensive. It’s on the edge of Phuket town but we can soon whip up business. After we’ve sold The Golden Wave, even if we don’t get the asking price, we’ll only need a minimal bank loan. We’ll pay it off pronto then we’ll start looking to branch out.”
“If I’m supervising your restaurants - ”
“Our restaurants.”
“ – I don’t suppose we’ll be spending much time together.”
“We’ll be busy at the start. But we’ll soon be able to start a family if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“It hadn’t really occurred to me.”
“For God’s sake, pull yourself together! I’m doing my best. This isn’t easy, but I love you. I wouldn’t put myself at your mercy if I didn’t. I’ve just said, I’m going to put the business in your name.”
She smiled. “That’s not going to be easy for you, is it?”
“That’s precisely the point. That’s how much I love you.”
“In the end, I’ll be very surprised if you don’t find some excuse not to.”
“Will you.”
“You don’t actually love me.”
“That seems to be your mantra.”
“Have you ever been in love before?”
“Yes, of course,” he said. “I’m thirty five.”
“‘Of course’? You make it sound like it comes along every day.”
“Haven’t you been in love before? Sorry, I forgot. Edward Grant. Edward the fraudster Grant. You must have been in love before Edward Grant, though?”
“There was Charles. But that was different.”
“And before Charles?”
“No.”
“Did you and Charles ... you know ... have sex?”
“No.”
“So Edward Grant was your first time?”
“Yes.”
His face filled with disgust and anger. He took a breath and expelled it slowly.
She looked out of the window. “I can already see what’s coming. You’re going to get over Edward and I for a while, but not for ever. The images in your head right now will keep returning. Eventually, you’re going to find ways to make me pay. Obviously, that will be more difficult if you put your business in my name. Once we’re married you’ll find ways not to do that. But I can’t lie to you. It’s what happened.”
“The important thing is that you regret it.”
“Important for who? For you or for me?”
“For both of us.”
“I don’t regret having come to life for a week.”
“Do you actually want to marry me? I don’t understand this. A week ago, I asked you if you wanted to marry me and you said yes. You’re not talking like someone who wants to get married. What’s going on?”
“I - I’m sorry.”
“We both know my view on this. I’m a great believer in the healing properties of time. I happen to know your best interests are at stake here. You can only serve them if we get married. I’m not being selfish. The reverse.”
“I know.”
He nodded. “Look at the print-outs. I’ll bring you some more later. We’ll get past this. Once we’re back in Thailand everything will be different, you’ll see. What would you like for lunch?”
“What is there?”
“What do you want?”
“It’s Christmas Day.”
“I didn’t know you were in the mood for celebrating. I’ve got lots of friends in the trade. I’ll drive down to the village. I know the landlord of The Greyhound. I’ll bring you something.”
“Thank you. And I’d like to ring my family.”
He smiled, pulled a face and shook his head. “The phones are out at the moment. Something wrong with the mast. They’re on to it. I’ll see what I can do.”
She suddenly realised he had of intention of letting her phone home. She wondered why.
Christmas Day he made no progress with her, but at least he stopped her ringing home. Next morning, he showered and dressed and came downstairs to make himself some breakfast and take Noonie something. He went into the living room with a bowl of muesli and switched the TV on. A report on the snowfall in Scotland. He picked up the remote and switched channels. A game show. He switched again. A huge wave, apparently the same one filmed from lots of different angles. Then water, running down a street, burying cars as it came.
It took him a moment to register the sound.
“Following a gigantic earthquake in the Indian Ocean, huge tidal waves have devastated the coasts of Sri Lanka, Thailand, Bangladesh and the Indonesian Island of Sumatra. It is not yet known how many people have died but casualties are thought to be in their thousands. On the Andaman island of Phuket, many British holidaymakers ...”
An animation showed the affected areas being pummelled by the sea. He put his breakfast down and ran upstairs. Noonie wasn’t in her room. He went into the bathroom: no sign of her there. Bloody hell, where was she?
He caught up with her in Charles’s room, stirring some pureed fruit. She was still in her nightdress.
“I – I know you don’t like to come downstairs,” he said. “But you’re going to have to. Something’s happened.”
She opened her mouth. She put the food down. She got up.
Ten seconds later they stood in front of the television. Her elbows gripped her sides, both hands covered her jaws and mouth and she shook. He put his arm around her. He shook too.
“Wh - what are we going to do?” she said.
“I’d better ring the airport. Get dressed. Pack us both a suitcase.”
She ran off obediently.
