I met my mother alone on the harbour wall. There were some fishermen there, and the smell of wood-smoke and weed in the air. The sky was clear and chill. We walked to the end of the pier, stood together and stared. Mother wore a thick overcoat. She took my arm and I felt her body shiver against me. There was an awful inevitability in her touch, a cold, pale and final thing, like a bone on ice. The swell was still running, waves were still breaking, and gulls were soaring and drifting over the sea. She sighed and said, ‘Did you have a good day?’
‘Yeah.’ I said, ‘brilliant. It was perfect; as good as it’s ever been. And you?’
‘Quiet,’ she said. ‘There was a very odd atmosphere at the hotel, but I don’t suppose that surprises you?’ Her voice rose and fell with the sea.
‘No...’
‘So we spent the day on the cliffs. We walked miles.’
‘Nice?’
‘It was beautiful.’
‘And how’s Estelle’s old man?’
‘I saw him this afternoon. He didn’t look too happy.’
‘Oh dear,’ I said.
‘Why do I think you don’t mean that?’
‘Because I don’t.’
She shook her head at me, I laughed, and then we stood in silence for a minute and watched the sea beat against the foot of the harbour wall. It slapped and foamed and uncurled in a bubbling line from one end to the other. I coughed and said, ‘So...’
‘So?’
‘Yesterday,’ I said, ‘in the cave...’
‘Yes?’
‘You said you knew what you were going to do.’
‘Oh dear...’
‘You did...’
‘And you want to know?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to be left in the lurch again. I want to know where you’ll be.’
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘you will.’
‘But where’s that going to be? Canada?’
She looked away. ‘Canada...’
‘You were so sure...’
‘Yes.’ Her voice turned hard. ‘But I’m not now. Can you understand that?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘of course I can. I’m not hassling, but...’
‘Hassling’s exactly what you’re doing.’
‘Don’t you think I’m entitled to?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘but you obviously do.’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘But you do it anyway.’
‘Mother,’ I said, ‘I’m tired of all this.’
‘All what?’
‘This beating around the fucking bush.’
‘Duncan! Please!’
‘What?’
‘That word,’ she said.
‘What word?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘And it’s what I mean.’
‘I’m sure it’s not.
‘Just tell me!’
‘Look,’ she said, and she raised her voice. ‘How can I?’
‘But you said you knew!’ The words cracked in my throat; I grabbed them before they fell, put them on some shelf in my head and said, ‘You told both of us.’
‘I did,’ she said, and the voice was quiet again, ‘but that was last night. All I think I know is that I’m not ready.’
‘Not ready for what?’
‘Either of you.’
‘Why do you have to be ready? It’s not a prerequisite for anything. In fact,’ I said, ‘I think it’s better if you’re not.’
‘Why do you think that?’
‘Because then it can only get better.’
‘It takes two to tango, Duncan…’
‘What’s dancing got to do with it?’
‘... But if one’s got a bad foot, even if she wants to dance, she can’t.’
‘She can try.’
‘Oh yes, she can try, but if she knows she’s only going to make it worse if she does, then what’s the point?’
‘Maybe her partner would appreciate the effort.’
‘Maybe,’ said my mother, ‘but maybe not.’ She looked straight into my eyes for a moment, then looked away, out to sea. The sun was slipping, and the sky was striped with pink and red, like a scar. Each stripe bled the dark that hid behind the light, and each beat of my heart echoed in my chest. I shivered, Mother shivered, and she sighed again.
‘You won’t...’ I started, but failed.
‘I won’t what?’
‘Nothing.’
‘No!’ she snapped, ‘What?’
‘Really. Nothing.’
‘Duncan! What were you going to say?’
‘Please, Mum.’
‘Mum again, is it?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Tell me.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s difficult.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ she said.
‘Don’t you think it is?’
‘I wouldn’t like to say.’
‘You’re not...’ I failed again.
‘I’m not what?’
‘You’re not going...’ my thoughts stumbled, and the words tripped out after them, ‘to Clapham Junction again, are you?’
‘Ah,’ she said, and now she put her arm around my shoulder. ‘Clapham Junction…’
‘Yes, Mother. Clapham Junction.’
‘And it’s back to Mother again…’
‘Mum...’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ she said, and she forced a smile. ‘It’s not a particularly nice spot.’
‘You know what I mean!’
‘And I think you know what I mean.’
‘A straight answer?’
‘No,’ she said.
‘That’s it?’
‘Yes.’
I ached, but there was nothing I could do about it. I wanted to know exactly what she was going to do, but I didn’t want to go round in circles again. Straight lines are the thing, circles are useless. ‘I meant what I said about Exeter,’ I said. ‘You could come and live with me. I’ve got a place sorted; I’d love it.’
‘And I’d love it too,’ she said, ‘but I have to know I could cope with it. I’ve still got this sadness in me, this madness, and while I’ve got it, I don’t trust myself. And if I don’t trust myself, how can I expect anyone else to?’
‘Excuses,’ I said. ‘You don’t have to expect anything, just believe that other people trust you.’
She laughed. ‘Do you?’
‘I think so.’
‘I think so’s not enough.’ She reached out her bony fingers and held my hand. ‘If you want your mother to live with you, you’ve got to know so.’
‘Why can’t we just take a chance?’
‘You might be able to do that, but I can’t. I have to have my life mapped out, if I don’t, I go to pieces. It happened once before, it could happen again. Give me time, Duncan, and I promise I’ll be your mother again.’
‘You never stopped being that.’
‘Maybe not in name, but in every other way. I can’t expect you to forgive me…’
I didn’t argue with that, but when she took her hand from mine I grabbed it back, held tight and would not let go. ‘I don’t want to lose you again,’ I said.
She said, ‘You’re not going to,’ but her voice cracked, and all its edges fell apart.
‘I am. I know it. Tonight, tomorrow morning, whenever; you’re going to go away again and not come back.’ I squeezed her hand, and she winced. ‘Aren’t you?’
She shook her head.
‘Aren’t you?’ I raised my voice.
She looked away. I took her chin and turned her face towards me. ‘Mother?’
‘No,’ she whispered.
‘I don’t believe you.’ Her skin was cold, and I could feel her wrinkles quivering in my palms. Tears began to fill her eyes and they ran into the cracks between my fingers.
‘I might go away,’ she croaked, ‘but I’ll be back.’
‘Will you?’
‘How could I stay away?’
‘You’ve done it once before…’
‘Don’t be cruel...’
‘... You could do it again.’
‘... I can’t. I couldn’t. You’re my son, you’re the image of your father, you’re the only one I’ve got.’
‘What about Clive?’
‘Clive’s too good for me.’ She sniffed, deeply. She sounded like a broken engine. ‘I don’t want to hold him back.’
‘Don’t give me that self-pity. It doesn’t suit you.’
‘It’s not self-pity, it’s the truth.’
‘Like hell it is!’
Now she twisted her head away from my hands, rummaged for a tissue, dabbed her eyes and blew her nose. She took a couple of heaving breaths and said, ‘All this because of that.’
‘What?’
‘Your Dad didn’t have to die...’
‘But he did,’ I said, ‘and it’s time you knew it.’
‘Is it?’
‘Yeah.’
She sighed and said, ‘I’m close, I suppose, very close,’ and she gently patted my knee. ‘And I promise. You’ll be the first to know when I do.’
I tried to believe her, but it was hard. The sun had set, the sky was creased with slashes of orange and red, lonely seabirds cried along the shore. Below us, the water looked black and dead as it slapped against the harbour wall. The breaking waves curled and roared across the reef, their lips shooting lines of foam from west to east. One died and another was born, all virgins running together. My mother’s face glistened, her eyes were sunk in their sockets, and as she wept, she took laboured breaths, and her lips curled back. I held her again hugging her as tight as I could without doing damage. I felt as though I was walking on eggshells, carrying sacks of orphaned kittens in a snowstorm. The moon rose behind us, the smell of wood-smoke still hung over the town. ‘You promise?’ I said.
‘As long as I live,’ she whispered, and the five words lodged in me and never let go. I felt an awful touch in the air, a certainty that brushed my face and left a mark there. Fate was drifting around us, and though we both knew it, there were no more words we could ever say to each other, no more half-thoughts or double meanings. I knew what she wanted to say, and though she didn’t, I nodded to her as if she had. There was nothing I could do, and nowhere I could take her. Nobody could take her anywhere, only she had the means and the ticket. It wasn’t born of cowardice and it didn’t stink of self-pity; necessity is what she thought. Born from pain and kept in agony. I let her hold my hand for as long as she wanted and I let her go without trying to hold her back. Everyone has this journey to make, and we make it alone.
I killed my knowledge in a bottle of wine, and then, as I surfed inside the drink, Estelle and I made love in the high bedroom of Mrs Kertész’s house. We made the beast with two backs, and as her back arched and mine straightened, the light of the moon smashed through the window and fell upon our bodies. A flighty wind bashed against the glass, the sky flew with violence, we were shining, we were absorbed, we were moving fast, smashing off our lips, I struggled to forget, and I did. I held her around the waist, she gripped the headboard, the bedstead rattled and shook and the moon would not let go. It clung to us, washing us with a blue light that played on our skins, dived into our hearts and paddled around. Her flesh smelt of sugar and sweat, and when I leant forward and buried my nose in her hair, I breathed sand and air. I lost myself in her, I paced myself but my paces ran ahead and I gasped to catch up. I pushed and I pushed and she pushed back at me, and we pushed together and fell off the bed.
I was lying on my back and she was lying on her back, on me. I wrapped my arms around her, she pinched me, sat up on my chest and said, ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Ask another stupid question.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Go on,’ I said.
‘What’s the difference between a banana?’
‘That’s a question?’
‘Yeah,’ she said, and she started to eat me.
‘Turkey, turkey!’ I cried.
‘Slurp, slurp.’
‘Gobble...’
‘Gobble...’
I held two handfuls of her flesh, lifted her up and pulled her down, moved her around, twisted and ground her down. All her waves flapped around me, and her wet dripped on to my face. I opened my mouth, sucked her into it and banged my head on the side of the bed. When I tried to sit up, she sat down and would not let go. She did not let go until she had finished with me, and refused to let me get up until I had done her. There was no escape but I did not want it; I wanted years of this, stretching over me like a wall of water, tumbling and speeding, flailing and toppling. I wanted rolls of flesh and curls of hair filling my mouth, and every wail Estelle could give me. I wanted a tongue as big as a Scotch pancake, and a grip as tight as a tight hat. Did we come or did we go, where was the sun and where was the sea? My nose was running and there were tears in my eyes, though I couldn’t remember starting to cry. It was hot; we got off the floor, she lay on the bed and I fetched another bottle.
We sat up together with glasses resting on our stomachs, the moon framed in the window. The smell of cabbage and beef drifted up from the kitchen, and the wailing sound of a Hungarian folk song. I wiped my eyes and said, ‘Are you going to go away and never come back?’
‘No.’ She poured some more wine. ‘Why?’
I blew my nose. ‘Nothing.’
‘Tell me,’ she said.
I stared at my glass, swilled the wine around and shook my head. ‘My mother,’ I whispered. ‘She’s going to, and there’s nothing I can do about it.’
She cuddled up to me and said, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You don’t have to say that. It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault; not unless you count my Dad, but nobody’s counting him.’
She traced the outline of my left ear and said, ‘Do you want to tell me what happened?’
‘When?’
‘To your Dad. How he died…’
‘Estelle,’ I said, and I turned on to my side and looked into her big eyes, ‘that’s what I love about you.’
‘What?’
‘You cut the crap. It’s straight to the heart...’
‘There’s no point frigging around the edge.’
‘Too true,’ I said.
‘So?’
‘So,’ I said, and I took a big mouthful of wine, ‘he worked in a meat factory. He was the manager. He was a good one too, he liked to get down on the shop floor, mix with the workers. Everyone said he was the best, that he really cared about the people there. Mother and I were one family, they were another.’
‘Did that make you feel jealous?’
‘Hey!’ I said, ‘what are you; a fucking psychiatrist?’
‘No.’
‘You want to hear this?’
‘Yes...’
‘Then just listen, OK?’
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s alright,’ I said, and I kissed her. ‘But it’s difficult, this.’ I drank more wine, poured some more and said, ‘There was trouble with a mincer. It kept jamming, and every time it did, half the factory had to stop work. If they didn’t have enough meat to put in the pies, well...’
‘They’d had the repairmen in, but as soon as they left, it broke down again. So Dad went down to the shop floor, and tried to do it himself. Like I said; he was that sort of bloke.’
‘Did you say that?’
‘Maybe not those words, but I meant it. You know.’
‘Sorry.’
‘He wasn’t a mechanic, he only had to look at a spanner and he’d bleed, but he was the type of bloke who always wanted to have a go. Nothing held him back...’
‘That’s where you get it from.’
‘Maybe,’ I said, and I flicked some fluff off the bed and stared at the ceiling. There was a water-mark there, shaped like Africa. ‘So,’ I said, ‘there he was, up a ladder, poking around inside the mincer, trying to get it to work. Everyone was standing around, waiting to get back to work. There were these big grinders. I suppose when they’d jammed somebody had forgotten to turn the power off, so they were straining against each other, ready to start up as soon as whatever was blocking them was freed. I think to start with he was poking around with a stick or something, trying to force them apart, but when that didn’t work, he leant into the thing and used his hands...’
‘Oh God.’
‘It was stupid of him, but that’s what he did...’ I blew my nose again. ‘Dead stupid.’
‘I don’t want to hear the rest.’
‘I’m not sure I want to tell you.’
‘Don’t, please.’
‘I think you’ve got the message, and I think I did...’ I poured some more wine in both our glasses. ‘I haven’t eaten a pork pie for over eight years.’
‘I’m never going to eat one again.’
‘Of course,’ I said, ‘the chances of finding a finger in the average...’
‘Duncan!’
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘I know,’ and I got up, walked to the window and looked out. ‘Yeah.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It wasn’t your fault.’
‘No, but you know what I mean.’
As the moon crossed that night sky, it surfed through the clouds. The gulls that followed it glowed luminous, flying silent and fast. The harbour was lit silver and blue, and the lines of waves stretched in pale, disappearing lines. The tide was low, and the sand was flat and washed. A car passed slowly along the road beneath me, and its headlights caught the figure of a single woman walking along the beach. She had her hands in her pockets and wore a headscarf; she picked up a stone and tossed it into the sea. The splash rippled in the moonlight, the circles spread and spread, the headlights turned and the figure was plunged into the shadows. The shadows were fat and dangerous, and every one stretched from its source like a warning. I was tired of warnings, I was tired of talking, I was tired. I turned to look at Estelle and she was looking at me. ‘Come back to bed,’ she said, and as every one of my tears burnt my face, I did.