Surface Tension - Chapter 13

Chapter 13

 

The more I think about it the more it makes sense to me. 

Trust’s a membrane that covers all relationships. It lubricates, lets differences rub together without causing friction.  Stretch it too far though it and it’lll seep through the nooks and crannies.  Right here and now I’m wondering if I’ll ever bother to trust anyone again.

            I’m sure I’d have understood. OK so maybe I wouldn’t have been happy. But maybe I’d have helped, made a difference. But that’s playing what if’s and that gets us nowhere.

 

It’s gone 9 o’clock and I’ve only just left work, such has been the mess this afternoon. The street’s deserted, the odd person risking the cold. I catch a glimpse of myself in a shop window.  In the yellowing street light I look sallow. I feel let down,   deflated and I’m desperate for a drink, something to eat and a chance to talk to Bill.  Right now just to be in her company would be restorative.  We barely had a chance to talk. She kept clear of me all afternoon. She knew it wasn't sensible to be caught in my wake. But the one moment we had, even though it was a hurried corridor conversation, she'd placed her hand gently on mine and looked up with such sorrow and understanding it kept me going. She'd leaned into me and whispered that she'd booked a table at an Italian, a faux trattatoria she knew within easy walking distance.  She'd wait until I got there. She'd hesitantly smiled and let me go..

            The thought of her quickens my step. I’m suddenly grateful to be out in the open, the cold cutting the fug that fills my head.

 

The tour with Mr Healy was going according to plan, as much as I had a plan.  I was appropriately obsequious and he seemed to be buying it. I'd flattered him by stressing the few things we'd improved which might have had something to do with him. 

We’d trekked through the entire library, him humming and hawing as we went, carefully marking his clip board which he studiously made sure I couldn’t see. Finally, all that was left was the basement. Despite it being a warren of corridors, piping and the odd storage room which no-one but the heating engineer ventured into when the radiators went on the fritz past experience taught me that he’d want to scrutinise it all and the outcome could go either way.  So far I reckoned he'd found nothing but a few minor transgressions so he could be on the lookout for that killer infringement. But my hope was that he was losing his enthusiasm and his mind was clearly turning to lunch. He was late for it, which he reminded me pointedly was down to me because I’d not been ready.  So, about to descend the stairs I planned a whistle stop tour in the bowels of the library  and then back out into fresh air, 10 minutes for a ticking off, which was 'de rigour' and then freedom for another 12 months.

            Well, that was the plan.

Until Mary turned up.

            She caught us by the door at the back of the library, near where I’d spied on Liz and Bill before the weekend (walking past the area brought a guilty shiver, and short stab of realisation, so much had happened.)  Mary appeared out of nowhere, taking us by surprise.  She asked if we wanted a coffee or something, which was politely declined.  She then pointed out it was after lunch and Mr Healy had not had anything to eat; this almost distracted Mr Healy but foolishly, given everything that was to come, I insisted we continue.

 

I turn down a side street stopping to check my direction. The wind catches me and that moment breaks over me, the salty taste of hindsight and a glimpse of world that was washed away the moment I opened that door and we started down the stairs. 

            The echo of my footsteps die behind me, the restaurant is up ahead, a white rectangle fighting the darkness that hangs around. A cat skitters across the road pausing to yowl at me.  It makes me shiver. My jacket's undone.  I left the library in a hurry, with a desire to get out that I'd not noticed until now. 

 

Mary had taken up a defensive position in front of the basement door

            “What you doin' Mary?”

            “Tony...” there was a certain beseeching quality.

            “Mary?”

            She sighed and reluctantly let us pass calling out as we lumbered down the steps, “Do you have to go down there now?  Can’t it wait until latter?” 

            Healy's pace quickened. He' got a scent of something. I was a couple of paces behind when Mary brushed past. She rounded on him. For a moment they did this farcical two-step as she tried to block his progress. In exasperation he turned to me:

            “Mr Dafoe, I don't know what your colleague it trying to prove but...” He flicked a look between us.

            “Mary, please?”

            She backed off and flattening herself against the rough brick wall. Healy gave a gruff thank you and pushed past.

            I leant into her and muttered “We'll have words about this after.”

            She grimaced, mouthing 'Sorry, really sorry Tony'.

            Healy’s reached the bottom of the stairs, paused, sniffed the air and then swung into the corridor. He’s disappeared out of view but he’s broken into trot, his shoes slapping on the concrete. There’s a pause and then the sound of a heavy door scrapping across the floor. Then there’s an ominous cry, “I knew it.”

            I look back at Mary, perplexed. She's dropped her head, her hair flopping in front of her face. When she looks up she offers a low, soft apology. There are tears in her eyes.

           

The smell of garlic in the still air announces that I've reached my destination.

There's a moment of trepidation, Bill won't be there, she's stood me up.  The thought makes me nauseous; it's been the one constant in the afternoon that I've been relying on.

            The door shudders open, catching on the mat revealing a small scrubbed room decked out in red check and tourist posters. It's empty bar one couple and there, on the far left out of the draft, is Bill.  She stands to welcome me. Before I can take my coat off she's hugged me.

            “You look exhausted Tony.  Sit down.”  She helps me out of my overcoat.  “What a day. You OK?”

 

The afternoon had become one head long rush through a deluge of people, calls, accusations and recriminations.  Within minutes Healy had security guards in the room.  Two escorted Liz and Mary away to be ‘interrogated’ before I had a chance to speak to them.  I was pushed from the room before I could ‘contaminate any evidence’, frog marched up the corridor, through the main library, with everyone gawping, out into the cold, and me only in my shirt sleeves, across the car park and escorted to a dingy room in a building across from the library where I was interrogated and told in no uncertain terms how serious my crime was.

As I'd left the basement I'd turned to see Healy stringing tape across the room's door as if it was a murder scene, which in a funny kind of way it was: my career had just been killed.

 

We eat. Scalding hot minestrone followed my spaghetti caked in pesto. We say little. I'm glad. I'm grateful for the respite.

            Bill excuses herself from the table and whilst I lap at the soup I scan the room. The couple are sipping their post meal coffees, a couple of bags at their feet betraying the fact that this is the tail end of a shopping trip. Neither speak but rarely do their eyes stray from each others.  Lazily one hand touches the other; his caressing hers. 

            Bill returns, leaning into me as she works her way round the table she whispers; “They’ve hardly spoken all night it’s so sweet,” she smiles supportively at me. 

            Wordlessly the pay their bill, then weave through the tables to the door in such a way that they don’t lose physical contact with the other.  The door opens. There's a brief tussle between the warm and cold air and they're gone.  They cross the picture window. She's tucked herself tight into him whilst he wraps his arm round her.

            “It's amazing how much someone can communicate being in love by not saying anything,”

Bill says this wistfully which surprises. Her gaze lingers momentarily. 

“We, Jonah and me used to come here.”  She turns to register my astonishment.  “No, Tony it is fine.  I found it before I met him, this is mine, my place.  I’m claiming it, this is not about memory lane. This is my special place. And “You’ve had one hell of a day.”

 

When I got to the room in the basement it was empty except for Healy and Liz, which struck me as odd because I couldn’t think on any reason for Liz to be down here.

Liz was standing in the middle of the space with a large box by her feet. It was full of stuff, a bed side lamp, alarm clock, books, the kind of thing's you'd find in a bedroom.

            It took me a moment.

            To say that the room was empty wasn't strictly accurate.  It was empty of people apart from the three of us.  But someone else had been there before us. Rather than a jumble of boxes, discarded equipment or even just pipes and heating ducts, the room was more like a bed-sit. 

            It was carpeted for a start with four ‘put-me-up’ type of beds fitting comfortably around the walls.  At the head of each bed was a neat bookshelf come bedside table.  The personal artefacts that had decorated these were now in a card board box which Liz was holding. I peered into it, nothing particularly special, just what you’d expect to find; alarm clocks, pictures of family and so on. 

In the middle of the room, next to Liz were three tables pushed together to form a rectangle.  I recognised them as the type we had in the library.  There were three chairs neatly tucked under the tables.  On the table were books and papers all neatly stacked.  I turned, by the door was a make shift wash stand and bowel, with plates and cutlery neatly stacked. There were posters on the wall, local views that type of thing. I couldn’t quite make sense of it all.

“Liz?”

            Healy was pacing slowly round the room rubbing his hands, I’d swear in glee.  He was studying everything, taking in the signs.

“Liz, what is this? Is someone living here?”

“Tony, I’m sorry.” 

            I knew the typhoon was coming. Healy was savouring the moment. For the petty bureaucrat that he was this was his Mona Lisa, his Sistine Chapel, his moment of glory on which he’d make his name.

            “Mr Dafoe, it would seem to me,” he spoke with cold, calculated relish, “that the library has lodgers.” He stared at me and I wondered whether his little black eyes were shrewish or more porcine. A thin smile spread from this centre of his lips bunching up his cheeks.

Definitely rodent.  

“Would you care to explain? Mr Dafoe”

 

“Did you know?”

            Bill wriggles in her chair, pauses and picks up the cappuccino. “You know the Italians think this,” she nods at the cup, “should only be drunk before breakfast.”

            “Did you know Bill?”

            “Did I know?”

            “Bill...”

            “Did I know that Liz and Mary were secretly hiding students in the basement because they couldn't find anywhere to live?

            “Yes.”

            “Sort of,”

            “Bill, sort of, what does that mean?”

            “We'll, I'd sorted of guessed.  Liz had hinted, sounded my out but...” She’s hiding behind the cup; it’s raised in front of her face.

            “But Bill?” I'm not sure what I should be, angry? I'm certainly confused. I need to see clearly before I can work out how to respond.

            “Yeah but Tony, me and Jonah and everything. Liz knew and so she didn't push it.”

            My face is taught. Part of me wants to explode. She puts the cup down and runs her fore-finger round the inside collecting the chocolaty foam. She stares at it for a moment and then pops it in her mouth. She shrugs and rolls her head in a way that suggests shame.

            “Was that an apology?”

            “I can remember a couple of conversations several months ago.  Liz was clearly upset.  I know she’d always been prepared to help the foreign students, the welcoming committee and so on. I know she’d done meals at home for some of them and she’d got to know a few quite well.  I remember her getting quite annoyed when the fees were upped without much warning a year or so ago.”

            I remembered the protest. They'd picketed the library and other university buildings. It hadn't made a difference.

            “A couple of the students just couldn’t afford to keep going.” She runs the finger round the top of the cup now, licking it clean. “I think Derek and Liz actually helped a couple of the students out financially.”

            “I had no idea.”

            “Yeah, well it’s their big thing.  Liz got really annoyed when she visited one of the students she knew.  She said that the place he was staying was a dump, a real dump.  One of the houses that the council couldn’t find a local buyer for but some developer had taken over.  It was always a bit garbled.  I knew that Mary was up in arms about it.  I think they both felt that the foreign students were being used.  The developer, landlord or whoever he was got them in to duff accommodation, fleeced them knowing they couldn’t afford anything better. No place to stay, no place to learn and they weren’t going to give up, not when it had cost some so much.”

            “So Liz and Mary were running an accommodation bureau, bed and breakfast for foreign students and they were using the library?”

            She pulls a face, “Well if that’s what it looks like.”

            “And you knew?”

            “Tony, I’ve explained, no, well sort off, but I couldn’t, could I”

            And I knew she was right,  “And why didn’t they tell me?”

            She shrugs again. I let out a long sigh.

            “I suppose they didn't want you to be compromised.”

            I take a shot of the coffee. It’s cold. “So you think that if they’d involved me they'd be worried I'd have to tell.”

            “Reckon that would be it Tony.”

            Lamely I place my mug down, rocking back in my chair as the whole thing sinks in.  I feel betrayed and angry.  Angry with myself for not realising what was going on, angry with Liz and Mary (but particularly Liz) that they excluded me.  These were people I trusted.  They weren't just employees, subordinates or colleagues, they were friends.  I'm angry because they didn't come to me for help. I'm angry because what they've done was right. And that’s bad enough.

But I know there’s something else there too. I'm angry because they were right. If I'd known I'd have told, I couldn’t have kept it secret. And that galls me most.

I slump down into the chair, scrunching up my eyes so tight that I see coloured stars and patterns.

            “You OK?”.

            “This afternoon has been a bit of a roller coaster Bill. I’ve not had the  chance to sit and think until now.  I can see that this is a big, big mess and boy, we..., I, me, is going to be lucky to get out of this.”

            Bill looks across at me and gently reaches out her hand so that it touches mine.  It’s comforting, much like this afternoon. She says nothing and that makes it even better. No glib ‘it’ll work out.’  She knows that won’t be the case.

I'm under no illusions, the authorities will go to town on this, they'll need a scapegoat and I'm ideally placed.

            Bill looks at her cup. “Do you want another Tony, you've hardly touched it.”

            I look down at the cold coffee. “Nah, leave it.

            “You don’t have to be a martyr Tony, it’s not what’s expected.”

            “Am I so transparent?”

            “Yes,” she smiles, “But that’s you. Why we love you Tony, we all do. You take it personally for us all.”

            “Just want to do the right thing I suppose.  This time it seems a bit more real.”

            “You're feeling guilty. You're caught, you angry because it is the type of thing you'd have done. So your angry at Mary and Liz. You're angry because you know they were right not to tell you and you are angry because you know that...”

            “All right Freud, you've got it and yes I'm angry that it's my job on the line”.

            She reaches out and swats me hard on the shoulder. “You know what I mean and you know I'm right Tony.   You’re jealous because you feel it ought to have been us that had done this. You’re angry that somehow you were blind to some injustice that was on your door step and you resent Liz and Mary for not involving you.”

            We lapse into silence, I spin my mug on it’s saucer so the cold liquid swells and splashes over the lip.

            “So what now?” I ask more out of a need to speak than with any expectation of an answer.  Our silence was teetering on becoming awkward.  I want the reassurance of sound.

            “Let's go.”

            “OK,” It’s plan. The deflated feelings back.

            I sort out the bill, returning to the table to find Bill pulling on her red coat. “I've always liked that coat. My favourite colour on you.”

            “Yeah, I know Tony.” She reaches to pick up her bag.  “Tony?”
            “Hmmm,” I'm sorting out things in my wallet.

            “What if we could start over?” 

            I look blankly at her. She's got hear head to one side, coyly looking up at me. Her hair slants across her face.

            “I mean what if could walk away from this and start again?”

            “How?  What? I’m sorry Bill I don’t follow.”

            With casual precision, almost spelling the word out she simply replies: “The money.”