The Long and Spectacular Life of Agnes Magnusdottir 20

1967

 

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you."

    The reemergence of the main in the bowler hat happened at a particularly troubling time. 

    "Don't worry," said Edmund, "Vickers will be here tomorrow. That will put her in a better mood."

    "What's wrong with her?" asked Vickers as he came back down the stairs from saying hello. "She went bright red as soon as she saw me, put her head under the pillow and not a peep from her could I get."

    "She wants to go to Edinburgh on her own," said Mary. "To see some exhibition about Robert Louis Stevenson. We’ve said it’s not allowed."

    "She said," said Edmund, the ghost of a painful smile on his lips, "’What do you think will happen to me, I'm going to get ’Kidnapped’?’" 

    "The thing is," said Mary. "We rather think she might be."

    It was the week before Christmas and the lovers, Vickers and Edmund, were going out for a rare meal alone. There was a small restaurant recently opened in town run by an Italian couple and Edmund had booked a table there.

    "How long is it since we’ve been together now?" asked Vickers. 

    Edmund looked down at his fingers and attempted to add up the years. When was it exactly that they had got together? And did what happened at school count? 

    "To operations!" said Vickers all of a sudden, holding his glass aloft.

    "Keep it down," said Edmund looking quickly around. "The love that dare not speak its name and all that."

    "Well I will speak it," said Vickers. He had only so far emptied half his glass but apparently it had gone to his head. "And who in this little godforsaken place will know the true meaning of ’operations’ anyway? The truth is I love you Edmund. I love you from the bottom of my heart and to the bottom of your bottom." Then he went serious, the vivacious look suddenly completely disappearing from his face, and leant across the table. He spoke in a low whisper. "There's something I need to tell you," he said. 

    "It's not about the man with the bowler hat, is it?" said Edmund. He darted his eyes around the restaurant as if he might be sitting right there. What he feared most in the world was his reappearance.

    "It's Agnes," said Vickers. "I was lying when I said she didn't say anything when I went up to her room. Not totally lying. She did go red and she did put her head under the duvet but before that she made quite a dramatic announcement."

    "What was it?" said Edmund. "It wasn't about that blasted Robert Louis Stevenson exhibition, was it? She's got a right bee in her bonnet about it."

    "Listen," said Vickers. Then he said, "She said that now she was sixteen she could tell me how she felt." He took a deep breath. Edmund had rarely seen him so out of sorts. "She said that she loved me and that one day she hoped we could get married and have children."

    "Oh Vickers," said Edmund. 

    "Exactly," said Vickers. "It's probably just a childish crush. It'll probably all blow over and next time I come up she'll be as embarrassed as all hell but I thought you should know." He raised his glass again and spoke at a normal level again. "Come on, let’s not let it spoil our evening. And on the plus side it shows what a handsome cad you are dating." He puckered his lips. "Oh lucky lucky you."     

    The evening was mostly a success after that. The food was wonderful and they talked about films they had seen recently, The Graduate, Bonnie and Clyde, Casino Royale and Cool Hand Luke. When they were away from each other they liked to try and see the same films. In that way, although they were far apart, they were connected. On getting home and having crept as quietly as possible up the stairs Vickers fell backwards onto the bed laughing. 

    "You know what?" he said. "I think I have drunk too much to do the deed tonight but don't worry," he sat up on one elbow and pointed a finger towards Edmund, "tomorrow I will give it to you with spades on. I promise you. Now, help me take my trousers off. The whole room seems to be spinning. Have you had the house affixed to a merry-go-round? That would be just the sort of thing you would do, you always are such fun. Such fun indeed!"

    The following morning when he woke instinctively before his early morning alarm Edmund’s head was banging. He had hardly slept a wink. His daughter was in love with his lover. How had such a thing happened and why hadn't he seen the signs? He would have to speak to Mary about it. She would know what to do. What a mess. 

    Taking a final glance towards Vickers, his mouth was open and he was snoring loudly, Edmund hauled his complaining body out of bed. He prided himself on never having missed a day’s fishing. If the other fishermen always turned out then why couldn't he? He didn't want them to think he was just doing it for fun, some English pansy playing at a tough life.  

    When he returned later to the stone terraced house, an actual fisherman’s cottage that he and Mary rented for a paltry fee compared to the prices they had been forced to pay in London, he found Vickers in the kitchen, dressed only in his underpants, nursing a hangover. 

    "Why did you let me drink so much?" Vickers grimaced at him and stuck out his tongue. "Is it green? It feels green. You can be honest with me old chap, I won't be put out."

    "You'll catch your death," said Edmund, suppressing a smile as he bent to pick up the poker to poke some life into the diminishing fire. "You need to put some clothes on. What if somebody should come?"

    "Who is going to come? Your wife is at work and your daughter at school. We have the house to ourselves and I believe I am on a promise."

    "I think it is me who is on the promise," said Edmund. 

    He was still holding the poker and tending to the fire as Vickers came up behind him but as Vickers bent him further over he dropped it with a clatter onto the hearth and put his palms flat on the chimney breast to steady himself. 

    "We should go upstairs," he said, "what if the postman or one of the neighbours should peer through the window?" but it was a half-hearted objection and he didn't resist as Vickers undid his belt and then forced down his trousers and his underpants as one. 

    The warmth from the fire in front was now added to by a warmth from behind. He never got over how good this felt. He closed his eyes and gave himself up to the moment or moments, one after the other. 

    "Oh Vickers," he said. 

    As Vickers gave the final thrust that meant he was done there was a shriek behind them. They both turned to see Agnes standing at the bottom of the staircase with her hands up to her face.

    "Shouldn’t you be at school?" said Edmund uselessly for school was obviously the last place where Agnes was.  There was no way he could explain away the situation. It was what it was. 

    "And to think that I loved you," she said. It wasn't clear who her words were directed to but when she had said them, as if that was all she had to say on the matter, she spun around on her heels, her arms flying dramatically, and the next sound they heard was that of the front door slamming. 

    "Oh fuck," said Vickers. "Oh fuck fuck fuck."

    Agnes didn't come home that night or the next. There was no word from her. None of her friends had any idea where she might be and even questions at the bus station, the train station and all the local guest houses turned up a blank. 

    Mary was beside herself. Edmund was full of self hatred. He blamed himself. If he hadn't been born the way he was then none of this would have happened. Mary, to her credit, tried to make Edmund feel better. Blame was not going to help. Hadn’t she accepted Edmund for what he was and so wasn't she also to blame? They had been together a long time and the disaster of their missing daughter they would face up to together. She would come home. She was sure of it. 

    But she didn't come home. 

    It was seven long days later when the letter arrived. The only thing in it was a single photograph. It had been taken in a bar somewhere. There was nothing to indicate where this bar might be. In the centre of the photograph was Agnes. She was holding up a glass and smiling towards whoever was taking the picture. She looked happy. But this was not the thing that caused the most pain, that their daughter could be happy without them. Sitting next to Agnes was a man. His arm was half around her and he was leaning in close, whispering in her ear perhaps. It was difficult to make out his features. The bowler hat he was wearing cast deep shadows across his face.

 

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