Surface Tension - Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Ellen left, the kiss lingering. I collapsed on the bed and woke what seemed moments later but must have been an hour plus as it was inky black outside.

I lay still. Sounds seep through. I gradually realise that the party’s in full swing. My heart sinks, I don’t want to make a grand entrance.

The landing’s dark and quiet as I creep from my room.  I pause at the head of the stairs, the hall below is gently lit, muffled voices rising.  There's music, jazz, the stuff we discovered whilst we were at Uni.  The music slips from the sublime Duke Ellington, early swing Cotton Club era to Glen Miller, (which the purists would frown disdainfully at but was excellent to dance to).  I could stay here between two worlds, happy to listen.  Quite, quite happy,

            A door opens downstairs. Words are spoken. I get a waft of something baking. The smell’s enticing, I take a couple of steps. The door to the reception room swings open, voices come clattering out, the music raises a notch.

            “Tony!”

I start. Somehow Richard’s materialised at the bottom of the stairs.

“You skulking?  Thought we’d lost you.  If it wasn’t for Ellen we’d have sent out a search party.”

            Ellen, that's a comforting thought.

            “Come on, come on – they’re all waiting for you.” I trudge down the stairs. “What'll you have?” Richard asks as he pushes me through the door into the room. 

It's surprisingly full and hot.  The roaring fire doesn't help.  There are constellations of people, some sit using the variety of chairs, seats, bean bags and cushions that have been strewn about; others stand. 

            Richard thrusts a beer into my hand; “Trust you’re still drinking this?  You’ll know everyone.  Enjoy.”  He pushes my forward into the centre of the room, a space ship released from the mother vessel to explore the outer reaches of the universe. 

            With a sinking feeling I realise why I wouldn’t have chosen to come here but for the circumstances; there's barely a face I recognise; none of these are friends, at best acquaintances, the type you’d end up buying a round with simply because they were with a friend of a friend.  Oh, this is going to be a long night. 

Ellen’s nowhere in sight, I sigh, and neither is Bill. 

            I flop into a chair almost colliding with the previous occupant as they vacate it.  Night and Day’s playing, big band rather than a more intimate set up but the clarinet bobs beautifully and I close my eyes and let the music work.  I can’t help but smile.  There are thirty plus people spread out across two rooms split by a set of stripped antique pine folding doors have been pinned back as far as they go. They open into the dining room which has a heavily food-laden table at its centre.  This is where Richard take his place to do his host bit.

            Nobody seems to have acknowledged my presence, no sudden rush, no joyful reunion or glad-handing. I gaze around the room, half hearted memories surface, faces coalesce.  There's the drip, drip of catch-up talk, facts relayed, information traded, sympathy expressed, surprise registered.  Occasionally, rising above the rolling murmur are shrieks of recognition followed by an embrace. 

A heavily pregnant lass hovers and I reluctantly clamber from the armchair. I move around listening as a lives are dissected, bored spouses are given the low down; there’s surprise at the relative failure/success of so and so; didn’t they just predict that x and y, who were so right for each other wouldn't stand a week/month/year together; can you believe that Tim has aged so much, whilst who have guessed that fat Samantha would be so svelte.  They dance nimbly round glittering careers, sizeable mortgages, three car set up, the terrifically handsome partner and children who are positively cherubic.  All that’s lacking is the knighthood or Nobel Prize.

And what have I got? (“Well my career is in a bit of a down cycle at present and I have decided to take more time to focus on myself as I need to revitalise and re-engage.  After all it is not what you have it is how you use it that matters.  Given this I just feel it would be so selfish to have a partner at present because, well, the focus has to be me at present.  Don’t you feel the same?”) But what do I care.  I've got £500 grand upstairs and the chance to start all over.

            It makes it bearable.

            As does Richard’s whiskey – a decent 12 year old single malt that I'm gradually working my way through. I find it tucked at the back of the drinks whilst Richard is busy greeting someone. I purloin the bottle.

Then there’s Ellen. I don’t know where she comes from but she skitters through the room, avoiding contact and disappearing into the hall.  Richard's back standing by the food. I catch the look of disapproval.  I realise I've not seen Josie. Richard shakes his head, downs his pint and disappears after Ellen.

            There’s pause and then more noise. Even above the music and conversation I can hear Richard doing his heavy duty greeting bit. Then the door lurches open. Richard reappears, he's got a broad smile and an arm round a shoulder whilst the other pumps a hand. He steps back.

It's Jonah he's holding.

            I'm holding my breath. I shudder with cold, despite the roaring fire.  Richard's still going through his greeting. Jonah disappears inside a bear hug. Then there's the question I've been dreading.  I can hear every syllable; for me the rest of the room has become mute except for this one conversation.

            “And where is Bill?”

            I'm willing the answer:  “She’s not here.  She didn't want to come.  We’ve split up.”  Anything along those lines will do. 

            Jonah rocks backward. Richard, his arm around his shoulder, is guides Jonah towards the food and drink.  Jonah glances over his shoulder, scanning the room.  He doesn’t falter as he sees me; no change of expression, no flicker or response. Richard forces Jonah into a chair and begins to pile a plate with food.  There's one small flick back to the door and a lingering half smile on Jonah’s face, as if he's caught a look from someone, someone without whom he wouldn't be here,  someone that even though they aren't in the room, standing next to him, holding his hand or causally resting next to him, is there and they are bound together. 

            Bill.

The seconds tick by. 

            I catch a wisp of a laugh. It's Bill.

            I don’t want to be here anymore, that’s definite.

            She floats across to Jonah and in a moment there’s a cluster of people round them. I skirt the room working my way to the door. Not once does she look up and seem me and then I’m out of the furnace of the room into the cool, refreshingly Jonah- and- Bill empty hall.  I pull the door closed and round the stairs, climbing two steps at a time, one eye on the door below. It cracks open.  I press myself into the darkness. There's a gust of laughter but before I can see who it is I'm turning towards the landing, out of sight of downstairs.

            I stop. A moon-white face is looking down at me through the bars of the landing.  It backs away startled to see me. I falter, neither of us sure who should be the guiltiest.

            “Hello. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”  Two owlish eyes stare back with no response. “I used to do the same you know, I’d look down on my parents parties, wanting to be down there because it looked so much fun.  It isn't, yours are infinitely better.” 

            I softly brush past the little watcher and into the bedroom pushing the door closed, just in case the light causes a distraction.  I begin to ferret out my stuff and shove it into my bag.  It doesn’t take long.

            “What you doing?”  The watcher’s at the door.  She’s the middle child, Daisy. She has bed hair, a couple of strands that refuse to sit properly left hand keeps flicking up and stroking her head in an attempt to get them to lay flat.  She's wearing pink pyjamas with two teddy bears hugging and a pink dressing gown which is undone, its belt snakes to the floor.

            “What are you doing?”

            “I’m leaving.”

            “Why?”

            “Because I am.”

            “ Mummy would say that's not an answer. Why you leaving?”

            “Because,” I turn from my, “ Because, Daisy,”  and I do what all adults do, I lie, “Because Daisy I’ve got to go to an important meeting.”

            “Now?”

            I turn and with as much patient sincerity as I can muster reply: “Well, it’s early tomorrow.”  I drag a couple of other things from the cupboard; begin to fold them and then give up, stuffing them into the open bag. 

            “What’s in that bag?”  Daisy is pointing to the duffel bag which is sitting at the foot of the bed. 

            “Stuff,” I finish zipping up my holdall, check the room again and am about to heft the bag off the bed when I remember the notes I'd kicked under the bed. I pause wondering what the best tactic is, should I dismiss the child?  A quick glance at her, head askance, watching me intently, suggests that she wouldn't budge even if I called down winds and thunderstorms.  I decide it's not worth the hassle, so I drop to my knees and begin to root around under the bed.

            “What you doing?”

            “Think I dropped something earlier and it ended up under the bed.”

            “Oh, what?”

            “Stuff,” my fingers grip a small bundle and I smile to myself.  I pull it out, grasping it with both hands as I turn and rest my back against the bed.  I clasp the notes in both hands so that they can’t be seen.

            “Do you think my Mummy and Daddy will stay together?” 

            The question catches my off kilter.

            “What?”

            “Do you think my Mummy and Daddy will stay together?”  Her eyes are bigger and rounder and there’s water welling.

            I've got the two bags in my hand, I'm ready to go. I lie:  “Yes, of course they love each other very much.”

            “Why do they shout at each other?”

            “Do they?”  She’s standing directly in the way. I’d push her over I tried to get out.

            “Sometimes I think it would be good ‘cos I would have two rooms, one in Daddy’s house and one in Mummy’s house. And that would be fun.   But then I think that I wouldn’t like it, because I like us being a family here because it’s all new.” 

            I'm at a loss. “Do you like it here?” I squat down.

            “Yes,” without hesitation, “I like the animals; it’s like having lots of pets.  I couldn’t have a pet when we were in London but I do miss my friends but I do like playing outside here.  Mummy doesn’t, she seems to be sad most of the time.  Is that money in your hand?” 

            My hands are out in front of me.  I stare at the bundle.

            “That is what you were looking for under the bed, isn’t it?”  I nod.  “Well, you ought to put it somewhere safe and save it ‘cos you don’t want to lose it.”

            “That’s good advice,” I stand stiffly and pick up the duffle bag with the rest of the money in.  Turning away from Daisy I push the notes back in, so they are snuggled safely next to their compatriots.  “Where is you Mum this evening?”

            “She’s been in the kitchen all night with a lady with yellow hair.”

            “Ellen?” This would explain her absence.

            “Dunno her name.  They’ve been talking about how sad Mummy is and what she wants to do.”

            “How do you know?”

            Daisy leans conspiratorially over the threshold of the door and in a loud stage whisper says:  “I tip-toed downstairs and listened at the door.”  She smiles knowingly; proud she's broken the rules.  “Mummy was crying.   Then I had to run upstairs very fast ‘cos someone was at the door and my Daddy nearly saw me when I was running upstairs. Daddy let in those people. I was watching from the stairs, but he didn't see me.” 

I look at my bags and think about those downstairs.  I shrug, time to leave.

            “'Scuse me Daisy.” I step round her, lifting the bags over her head, then pause: “Daisy can you do me a favour?” she nods.  “Could you give a note to Ellen, the blonde lady?”

            She nods her head furiously, pleased to have a mission. I drop the bags and go back. On the bedside table there’s a note pad and pen, I scribble my name and mobile number down and then cross the room to Daisy, “Give her this and tell nobody else, OK?”  By the time I’ve picked my bags up I’ve changed my mind.  “No, Daisy – I’ll have it back, please.” 

            She looks askance at me, but hands the paper over without comment.  I rip it up.

            “Why’d you do that?”

            “Because… well, just because.  Isn’t it time you were in bed,” the clock by the bed glows quarter to 11.  “Off you go.” To my surprise she turns away heading back on the landing. She stops as if something’s occurred to her and retraces her steps. .

            “Bend down.”  Slightly nonplussed I do as I’m told. She places a kiss on my check.  “Thank you.  I think my Mummy and Daddy will