Twenty

Hortense

He woke me rude, this man, shaking on my shoulder. ‘Come,’ he said, ‘I make you a cup of tea.’ It was not the rousing that most alarmed me but the white smoke that came puffing from his mouth like he was the devil himself. ‘I must get to work now,’ he said, as smoke wafted from him as sure as if his inside was fire. I seized the cover to me. ‘I no touch you. I am going to work.’ As I raised my head from the pillow I saw breath come as a curtain of vapour from my own mouth. Only as I felt the pinching of the cold on my exposed cheek, sharp as acid, did I remember that I was in England.

‘Cold today, eh?’ he said. Awake now, the covers too flimsy, my body began to shiver. ‘Come, drink the tea – warm you up. I must get to work now.’ He put the cup on to the table. A glance to the window told me it was still night time. This man never said he worked during the night. He pulled back the ragged curtain but it made no difference to the light – only excite a draught of chill to nibble on my other cheek. ‘It’s morning,’ he told me.

‘Morning?’ I said.

‘Yes, it is nearly seven o’clock.’

But there was no sun – not even a feeblest shadow. How the birds wake in this country and know when to sing? Gilbert rouse them with a cup of tea? ‘It’s too dark,’ I said.

‘It is winter. Always dark on winter morning,’ he told me. The man sat heavy in the armchair to lace up his shoe. ‘It get dark early too,’ he said, although he was not addressing me but thinking loud. ‘Most of the day dark. Sometimes if you blink you can miss the whole day.’ I stretched out my arm for the tea but the cold threatened to take the skin from it, so I replaced it quickly back under the cover.

‘I put on the fire for you,’ he said, wrapping himself in this big dark coat. ‘But if it go out you must put money in the meter. You think you can do that?’ I did not give the man an answer, merely turned my head from him. It was not I who was the fool. ‘I will be back at six o’clock. You think you can fix me up a little something to eat? There are some eggs and potatoes in that cupboard by the sink. You can make some chips for me?’

He said it so plaintive I almost felt sorrow for him. ‘Of course,’ I told him. Then he was gone.