Surface Tension - Chapter 6

Chapter 6

 

I'm balanced precariously between two worlds.

            As a kid on camping holidays I’d be captivated by the pond skaters. At the end of each day, having spent it running round the beach, we’d come back to the tent. My parents would start the evening chores and I’d slip away with a book and go and sit by the stream, dangling my feet in the cold water as the rest of me was warmed by the late afternoon sun.  When my attention drifted I’d gaze into the water, watching the eddies and flows, following a leaf or a twig as it crashed through the pebbles and rocks. Gradually my eyes would become accustomed to the shifting patterns of light until I could pick out sticklebacks leisurely beating their tales to maintain their position in the current.  Where the water ran deeper and slower you wouldn't find the fish but in the stillness you’d find all kinds of life. It was the water boatmen and the pond skaters that fascinated me.

            Water boatman clinging to the underside of the water, deftly hanging from the glass ceiling, seeing a distorted view of the world above. I’d try and scoop the boatmen out of their world. Most of the time they would let go of their ceiling and paddle frantically away from my cupped hands but on one or two occasions I’d catch one, only to be disappointed as all it would do was desperately thrash around in my hands.

            What fascinated me about pond skaters was how effortlessly they moved around on the surface.  I’d done the usual school trips ice skating and as I would crash and collide I would think of these minute insects and how effortlessly they moved around. They never created a ripple; they just sat on top of the water. By looking closely I could see the indents in the water where each leg came into contact with the surface. They never broke the surface tension, to do so would have meant drowning.

            I’d try to sink them; dropping stones in the water to create tidal waves, thrashing my legs in the still waters or, more cunningly, I’d slide a twig into the water next to the skater in an attempt to drown in by stealth. I never did, they’d sense the danger and scatter, skating away, riding the ripples.

            Did the pond skaters look down into the water and wonder at the world beneath them?  Were they suddenly shocked to see a water boatman looking up at them? Their lives were a delicate balance between two states, prey to both fish and birds. They needed the water to live but they could only ever dwell on the outside, looking in. If the surface tension was broken they couldn’t survive.

            So I skate on looking at another world, fascinated but not prepared to break the surface and enter.

 

I was up early on Saturday. I didn't sleep well. Though I chose not to admit it I was excited about the prospect of what the day might bring. It was along time since I’d spent the entire day with Bill.

            On my own.

           

She arrives late. I’d asked if I should come and pick her up but she’d resisted, arguing that she wanted time to herself. I was disappointed. And there was this ripple disturbing my equilibrium; what if changed her mind?

            Then the door bell rang.

            She’s simply dressed, jeans, a black jumper, the great coat, her hair scrapped back into a short pony tail, emphasising her cheekbones. She’s wearing a maroon velveteen peaked cap, which is pulled low, hiding her face.

            She brushes wordlessly past me and I see her eyes are puffy, I assume from crying.

            “Coffee?”  I'm ready to go but I don't want to rush her.

            Bill nods.  She stands, just like earlier in the week, resting against the sink, mug cupped beneath her face, drawing in the aroma.  This time though she's quiet. I pretend to be busy.  Finally I break the silence

            “OK Bill are you ready for this?” I’m standing in the kitchen door kitted out and set to go. She looks up and across at me and then back down to her boots. There's a pause while she contemplates what to do.

            “Do you think we should do this?”

            Does she honestly expect me to answer? There are no clues in her face. It is uncomfortably blank, poker faced. Am I meant to bluff or fold? 

            “Would you like some more coffee or something?” Not exactly the supportive, caring words I was hoping for. “We don't have to do this you know.” Bill doesn't look up. “Do you think he's got someone else?” My heart cramps.  What crass, stupid, insensitive, doltish, idiot thing to blurt.  But it had been there at the back of mind, ticking away and it needed to be out there.

            Coolly Bill raises her face until she is looking me straight in the eyes.  “Tony,” she says calmly running, “Yeah, let’s go Tony, let’s go.”

            We troop silently out of the flat, I hold the door for her. As I grapple with the exterior door (two locks plus safety catch) Bill’s gaze alights on the mail boxes. She traces her finger along the names until she comes to mine. She gives the draw a gentle pull and it swings open.

            “Don’t you ever empty this?” She says taking a sheaf of envelopes in her hand.

            “Aw, it will mostly be junk mail,” I reply heaving on the door to swing it open. “Leave it.”

            “No, I’m intrigued, there is more than junk mail here.” And with that she stuffs the handful of papers into the top of her rucksack. I offer no protests, I’m pleased she’s taking an interest in me.

            The light in the stair well is grey almost blending into the concrete walls and steps, so it is surprise to find that the sun is outside. It may be diluted by the cloudy haze and the cold that grips the air, but it is present, a pale sickly orb. As we walk to my car I try to make small talk, Bill doesn't respond but makes little encouraging noises to show that she’s listening.

            “You OK with this?” the car keys are in my hand and I’m busily demisting the windscreen. Bill’s making herself comfortable in the passenger seat.

            “Yeah, of course,” there’s a decisiveness in her tone that pleases me. “You got a plan Tony?”

            “Well, we can do it one of two ways, we can head out of town and work our way back in or we can do it the other way.” Reaching over to the back seat I drag my bag through the gap between the two front seats. “There’s a list in one of the front pockets and I’ve plotted it out on a map.”

            Bill roots around and finally produces the two sheets of paper; she unfolds them and regards them both, in turn.  “We have been busy, haven’t we?”

            “Of course, we could scrap this, go for a slap up meal instead? Eat too much, maybe drink a bit too much, regret it all tomorrow but at least we’d have a go at putting the world to rights.”

            “I may need that anyway Tony, but before that I want to know what shape the world is in. So let’s do this.”

 

And so we are on our way. The longest journey starts with a single step. Bill
absent-mindedly stares out of her window, watching shops and street lamps, mothers with children, teenagers already locked to their mobile phones; they all flick past. I can see her in profile, her soft face being brushed by her hair, the gentleness of her eyes. She looks calm and relaxed, or so I think until I catch a glimpse of her hands. They are white, tensed; she plays with her thumbs, gripping each one in turn so it turns red under the pressure. She rubs her neck for moment and then returns her hands to her lap. She’s still for a moment and then begins the sequence again. Her discomfort makes me uneasy. If only I knew where Jonah was in all this it would make things so much easier. It's like someone's put a magnet next to my moral compass.

            “Stop!”

            Automatically I brake, jerking the car to a stop.  A horn blares in protest and a blue Astra swivels round us.  I catch an angry face and gesture.

            “What?”  I've been paying too much attention to her and not to the road.     “We need the key”

            “What? Bill, I’ve got the key in my pocket.”

            “No, we need a spare.”

            “Hey?”

            “If we find the place, give the key in, we've lost it.  We'll never know what it unlocks.  So we’ve got to get a spare cut. Do you see?”

            “Oh,” I do see.  For all my preparation it hadn’t occurred to me.

            “We’ve just passed a place, pull in here,” Bill points to a space.”

            I park and begin to unbuckle myself.

            “It is OK Tony, you stay here. Give me the key. I’ll be back in moment.” She opens the door and begins to swivel out. She turns back. “You OK?”

            “You’re not going to do a runner are you?” I want to go with her.

             “Tony, we’re on a yellow line, so best if you stay here.” Her hand is outstretched waiting for the key.

             Reluctantly, I reach into my pocket and pull out a small brown envelope. I tip the contents into Bill’s hand. Before I can say anything she's away. I watch her in the rear view mirror. She’s wrapped her coat tight round her, cradling herself. She reaches the lock smith. She pauses briefly at the door, as if she’s weighing things up. She disappears inside. I’d hoped she’d look back, for reassurance, for help, just to acknowledge me, but she doesn't.

            I’m left in the car.

            Parked, it’s starting to get cold. Without movement the heater only blows cold air. I turn the radio on, more to bide time than for anything else. It takes me a time to focus on the conversation; initially I’m grateful for the voices. Gradually they resolve into familiarity, though I can’t quite place the names. It’s some actress talking about her latest soon to be released film and the fact she's 'fallen' for her co-star.

            “I can’t stand her.” Bill slumps into the seat, an exultant smile on her face. “Why you listening to this dross? She's not been in anything decent since, oh I can't remember.  In fact, I don't think she's ever been in anything decent.  She does a nice trade in taking her clothes off though.  Bet that's what got her the part. Look,” she opens the palm of her hand; two keys nestle next to each other. “Easy, didn't even have to blag too much.  I don't know how she can talk about 'love',” Bill nods at the radio.  “Come on, Tony lets get a move on.”  She taps the steering wheel impatiently.

            I turn the engine over and stall it.

            “Come on Tony.”

            The car coughs into life. I'm straining, looking over my shoulder to catch a space in the traffic.

            “The gossip rags all say she basically sleeps with the director, her co-star or whoever.  I've had enough of that.” She reaches out and switches the radio off as I lurch out into the road.  “Careful Tony!” I feel her swivel towards me. “You asked if there was someone else Tony.” I'm focused on the road. “You know what Liz said to me, love’s a decision. It’s not some commodity that you run out of or that's got to be eked out. It's like a tide, it ebbs and it flows.  You've got to harness its power. It isn’t just a nice warm, fluttery feeling ‘cos if it was I would’ve left Jonah already.”

            She pauses.  I don't know what I supposed to say.  I keep quiet and drive.  It seems the safest thing to do.

            “It doesn’t make sense does it?” Bill is looking out of the car. “It's not because I’m falling out of love with Jonah, I want to keep things going but...”

            “But?”

            “But, I want to understand what's happening.  If this is it I want to know why. I know all this is a bit underhand and I know I should trust him but I want to know what’s going on. You know I might be able to save him if....”

            “If?”

            “If, that's what he wants.”

            “What do you want to do then?” I ask, uncertain of the response.

            “Drive of course, drive Tony.” Bill’s looking straight at me. Her face is set. This is what she wants. She reaches out and holds my hand, squeezing it tight. An electric current shoots through me. “Tony, thank you. I couldn’t do this without you.” She smiles. It's that smile, the one that melts ice-burgs and frees prisoners. She reaches over and kisses me on the cheek, lightly.  I'm shocked and only just stop the car from swerving.

            “What was that for?”

            “To let you know you are appreciated.”