Surface Tension - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 

It’s cold. Not so much that ice is beginning to form but cold enough to know that it’s heading that way. It's reached the point where your breath hangs in front of you not wanting to disperse. I could take out the plastic bag in my pocket, capture the breath, take it home and interrogate it. Cars grind past on the freshly salted road, head lights glowering. The street lamps cast a yellow pallor across the road, turning the first fingers of frost into fool’s gold.

            “Come on Bill, whatever we are waiting for ain’t coming.”  I'm speaking to the other person in the bus shelter. We’ve spent the last two hours not getting on buses.

            “Bill it's getting colder, whatever you want to happen…”  My voice trails off as Bill gets up, the first time I’ve seen her move for a good 45 minutes. Whilst I’ve tramped and shuffled she’s been watching, waiting. I don’t know why. I’ve tried to talk but our words freeze at a higher temperature than water.

            Bill and I work at the library. I’ve known her for over ten years. She's   got the most winning smile. That’s why I’m here; her smile.

            “Anthony” she said, pronouncing it with a ‘th’ because she knows this annoys me. “Are you doing anything tonight, ‘cos if not, I could do with company?”

            We’re putting books away, tidying up the day’s reading matter. The library has closed regaining the solemnity that haunts anywhere with books. I try and act nonchalantly. The truth is I’d drop whatever; I’d dump the Queen to be with her.

            “Where’s Jonah tonight?”

            “Away, on business,”

            Clearly all is not well in paradise.

            “Please Tony.”  And this time there is the smile. I am putting books on the bottom shelf and I look up. She brushes her black bobbed hair from her eyes and turns up the voltage. I know, I know it’s a feminine wile, but hey, it is something to behold and it works every time for me.

            So here I am freezing for the sake of a smile, together apart. What I'd intended to be a cosy twosome has turned into a silent vigil for I don’t know what. I glance across to her huddled form; you can see she’s pretty even buried in the heavy coat and hat. I am getting so cold, the numbness is creeping up my legs and I know that I can’t keep this up much longer. I want to be warm.

            “Come on Bill. My feet are blocks of ice. Look, there’s a pub round the corner let’s go there”

            “I won’t be able to see.”  It clicks, it’s the building opposite that she’s been watching, checking people off as they leave. There are three or four offices lit up now. Hardly anyone has left the building in the last half hour.

            “It’s one of these modern pubs, you know, with a large window. It’s only sevenish now so we’ll get a seat in the window. If you’re looking for someone from over there,” I jab a hand in the direction of the offices, “they’re bound to walk past. Anyway, almost everyone’s gone.”

            Bill looks at me and to my surprise nods a reluctant assent. I take her by the elbow and guide her out. We walk along the gritted path, our footsteps crunching, making a sound like we’re eating raw vegetables. She pauses and slips her arm through mine as we round the corner where the pub is and I wish there were five miles to go. I don’t feel cold anymore.

            I push hard on the heavy plate glass door. There's a sudden rush of warm, moist air. The bar is quiet. It's been refurbished, a ‘designer’ styled pub with a musical theme; a few 78s glued to the wall, pictures of jazz singers and a trombone and saxophone hanging from exposed rafters. The jukebox throbs dissonantly playing the latest chart songs. Nobody looks at us as we struggle out of our coats and throw them over the asymmetrically patterned sofa that sits in front of the picture window. Bill struggles with her buttons, her fingers are so cold. And like a parent I wish I could help her.

            “What'll you have?”

            “Do you think they’ll have coffee?” She slumps into the chair, “I really do want something hot.”  And there’s that smile again, broad, wide and inviting.

            Despite there being no-one else at the bar, it takes a few moments before the barman condescends to serve me.

            “A couple of coffees please, in mugs if you’ve got’em.” 

            Reluctantly he turns and stokes the coffee machine. I turn. Bill, (properly Sybil, a name bestowed by an ardent classicist of a father), is fussing with her charcoal hair, flicking it and trying to get it back into shape now it is freed from the prison of her hat. She finally shakes her head in a way that means she’s reached a decision. I know, I’ve seen her do it before.

            “Here you are.”  Two mugs stand on the bar. They are barely warm, let alone hot, but I hand over the money, collect the change, and allow the barman to go back to staring vacantly.

            “Come on Bill, what’s this all about?  I thought you wanted to talk something over, not spend two hours freezing watching the buses go by. Why did you want me with you?”  I ask negotiating the hill of coats we’ve piled on the end of the sofa.

            “Company.”

            “It's more than that isn't it?  Is it something to do with Jonah?”

            Big round saucer eyes look up. To my surprise I see a tear. She wipes it away with her hand, smudging her make-up. Silently she digs into her rucksack. (I’ve never seen her use a conventional handbag.) She pulls out an envelope, lays it on the table and smoothes it. She adjusts it carefully so that it lays parallel to the edge. With that she leans back into the sofa, bringing her hands up to her face as if she was washing herself or hiding. Something inside says this must be about Jonah. They’ve been together for over five, six years now. An odd couple but very much a couple.

            “It's Jonah. It happened about three weeks ago. I’m usually home before Jo. I like to sit and wait for him to come round the top of the road.  I watch from our bedroom. I've been worried, not that he's said anything, he just looks so sad. Through the door he's fine, but I know he's not. I've asked but he insists he's fine.”  The words come slowly but as she talks, they thaw and flood out. “This evening he was late, later than usual. I was angry with him for it. He hadn’t said anything that morning; he hadn’t rung like I do when I’m late. I met him in the hall.”

   She pauses, and swallows.  The words have iced over again.

            “I don’t think either of us meant it to, it just escalated into a full bang-on argument, you know?”

            Not being with Bill I don't.

            She looks up at me from beneath her fringe.   “Jo dropped his bag and coat and skulked off to the study and I stormed off upstairs.” 

            Bill pauses, wincing at the thought of the fight. “When I’m angry I tidy,  so after about 20 minutes as Jo’s stuff was still where he'd left it. I made a big show of putting it away.”  And now sheepishly:  “I’ve never done this before, honest, but as I hung his coat up I reached into his pocket and I found this.”  She picks up the envelope, running her fingers round the edge, as if checking to see if the seal still holds. She swallows hard, gulps from her mug of coffee and hands the envelope over. I look at her face tracing my reflection in her eyes. This will be a confidence between the two of us, a secret. Is this what she wants?

            “Open it,” she flicks her head back, but doesn’t hold my gaze.

            I slide a finger under the gummed edge and tilt the envelop. A small brass key slides into my hand, not a house key, probably a locker or maybe a pass key. I turn it in my fingers. I don’t understand, and clearly I’ve made a face like I’ve just sucked a lemon because Bill looks anxious and thinks I am about to dismiss her.

            “I’d never seen it before. We’d had a fight the week before. Jo had wanted to join some expensive club at work. I told him exactly what I thought, that he was becoming one of them. He'd want the big car and expensive suits nextand I wasn't with him because of that. He's better than that. Besides he knew we couldn't afford it, what with the new flat and we'd agreed that we'd get a new sofa.

            “Finding the key, well,  I accused him of taking out the membership. He swore blind that he didn’t know where it came from. Someone must have slipped it into his pocket or something. I left it for a couple of days, I think I forgot about it until  one morning I found it on the table in the study and I got to wondering why Jonah should have it and what it could be the key to.  And that’s what I’ve been trying to find out.”

            “So?” I ask.

            “I don’t believe him.”

            “You don’t believe him?”

            “No, I think he lied to me”

            “So…”

            “That’s not helpful”

            “So, why is it a big issue? 

            “You know him Tony. He's odd, acting different. It's like something else has happened and the key’s got something to do with it. Besides  I've    checked the bank statement and there's money missing”

            “He’s joined a club, wants to keep fit and rather than do it down the local gym with all the sweaty oiks he’s chosen to do it in what’s no doubt the cool marbled halls of Elysium, where fellow Adonis may flex their muscle it in order to impress their masters.”

            Bill wrinkles her nose at this. I can’t deny, it’s cute.

            “Let’s face it Bill, not everyone works in such egalitarian places as ours; where the noble pursuit of learning is sufficient satisfaction to sate our desire for worldly wealth and promotion.” 

            Bill smiles, “Pompous ass.”

“Hey, what am I here for.”

She looks relieved for the first time this evening. She takes the key from my hand, brushing her fingers along my sleeve. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. She slips the key back into the envelope.

            “You think I’m over reacting”

            “Yup.”

            “You sure?  What about the money?”

            “Hmm, present?  You said you needed a new sofa, maybe he's going to surprise you.”

            “You think Jonah’s got hooked into work and he feels the need to stay competitive. He needs this to prove he’s on the team,” she bites a finger nail, “and he feels threatened because he did something which really was for us both, but ‘cos I’d made such a show he felt he couldn't tell me?”

            “Uh-huh.”

            She rocks back into the sofa. The ice has gone, but she is still cautious. She's sees the plausibility of what I've said but the dots don't quite join up.

            “Drink?”

            “Sure, I'll pay.”   She roots through her rucksack to find her purse and she stretches out  £10, which I ignore.

            As I walk to the bar I realise the implications of what I’ve done. If my aim was to engineer more time with Bill then I’ve just kicked myself. I’ve placated her, soothed her fears rather than sown discord.  I sigh a 'typical' to myself. I have always thought of myself as the gentleman; principled if not exactly perfect.

            “What do you want?”  The truculent barman is staring at me. The bar has filled, mainly with people who seem to believe that the temperature outside is sub-tropical. The noise level has risen, it ebbs and flows round the room against the hard dance music emanating from the jukebox.

            “Well”

            “Two Talisker – doubles.”  One of the many things I’ve appreciated over the years is Bill’s enjoyment of a whiskey, something the barman clearly has no understanding of as almost on automatic pilot he goes for the ice. My stern ‘no’ stops him. He calmly takes my £10 and gives me coppers back.

            Then it hits me: this does not make sense, me and Bill – we’ve spent a couple of hours testing the limits of how our bodies can survive in the cold and it’s been over some juvenile argument. This does not make sense – to watch a building for no apparent reason, a strange key being the only factor, it doesn't add up. There's got to be something more.

            Having shuffled to the bar, my walk back to Bill is jaunty. I may be skating on ice but I’ve not fallen over yet. I pass the jukebox as I slalom round the various huddles and groups, I catch the play list,  and weirdly, in a dim recollection of the pub's theme there is a  jazz selection, pretty mainstream but it is jazz. Balancing the drinks carefully I drop I some coins into the machine and make the selection. There are two other songs in the play list before mine.

            Bill catches my eye, I smile and raise the glasses. She's not dressed right for this place, flat shoes, black trousers, red jumper it doesn't fit with the tone. Even so a couple of blokes are eyeing her up. Though she isn’t one of the mini-skirt brigade that seems to dominate the room in these waters she's open game. I push my way back to her.

            “What took you so long?  I’ve had to fight to keep this seat,” she pats the place beside her.

            “You’ll see,” as another dance track starts to thud away. I sit down and lean into her to be both conspiratorial and to taste her fragrance. I hand her the whiskey and she gratefully takes a sip.  I take a good swig from my glass and enjoy the burn as the liquid hits the back of my throat. She's smiling softly. Part of me wonders whether I should disturb her newly gained equilibrium.

            “You OK now?” 

            “Yeah”

            “You sure?”

            “Yes.”  Though the response is strong and clear, her shoulders tighten and she looks away and begins to scrape the cuticle on her right thumb with her other thumb. I lean back and glance round the room, noticing that the predators have turned back to their groups.

            “We wouldn’t 've been caught dead in her 5, 10 years ago, would we?”

            “What?”  Bill doesn’t quite catch the line. Then she realises what I’ve said and smiles again, “No – and I wouldn’t now 'cept you’ve dragged me here.”

            I raise my hands in mock surrender.

            “Bill, why did we spend two hours watching a building when all that seemed to have happened is that you’d got in a tizzy over a key?”  The deft smile is switched off and she turns looking me square in the eyes.

With a deliberate, icy calmness she says, “I’m grateful for the time you spent with me Anthony, but this was not a ‘tizzy’. I needed someone to be with, to sound off and I am sorry if you've found that inconvenient…”

            “That is not what I said…”

            “…I value your advice as a friend but…”

            “Thank…

            “I value your advice as a friend and I needed someone who knew both me and Jonah, because this was, is serious to me. Thank you for your advice.”   She looks round and begins to pull on her jacket and then her coat. As she does she makes a show of looking at her watch.

            “I’m sorry, I want to go now. Are you coming?”  She's standing over me looking down. Her seat has been taken by some pretty blonde woman who is being chatted up by two guys, one of whom is working his way round the sofa to my side.

            “Are you going mate?” 

            I shrug a reply and before I’ve got my things together he is pushing his way onto the sofa. As I clamber into my coat the music suddenly changes gear, a descending series of chords from a piano, the soft swish of brushes on a drum and the deep thrum of a double bass, a rich stained, saturated voice swings out.

            “My baby don’t care…”

            “Is this you?” asks Bill, tightening her lips to show disapproval. The bloke who's taken my place feels little better about it.

            “My baby don’t care for high town places...”

            I'm floundering after Bill. I catch our replacements complaining about the music, though the woman just looks bored.

            “Bill wait...”

            “That's it mate, chase after her.”

            “…Liberace’s smile…”

            Bill leads the way. We push through the people towards the door. With a shove the plate glass doors give way. As we stand on the pavement there is that brief moment of adjustment, I take my first breath and the air scrapes against my lungs. The music dies as the doors swing close.  “My baby just cares for…”  The final word is cut off.

            We stand on the pavement, awkward, long enough for the cold to cut through my coat.

            “Thanks,” says Bill, turning, “I’ll be OK. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”  She turns and marches down the road. I stand and watch, following her to the corner so I can watch her disappear.