Untouchable Things Read online

  “Let’s have a drink. I was thinking hot chocolate and marshmallows.”

  The suggestion divided the room. “Think I’d rather go for a beer, old chap. We can pretend it’s ginger beer if that makes you feel better.”

  “Well, for real men like yourself, Charles, I was going to lace the hot chocolate with brandy.”

  Charles raised his eyebrows. “Brandy, you say? Go on, you’ve never let me down yet.”

  Rebecca took the first opportunity she had to go over to Anna. “You okay, love?” She touched her arm.

  “Yeah, it’s all been a bit heavy, this childhood stuff.”

  “I know what you mean. Saves on the therapy bill, though.”

  Anna smiled, not her usual smile. “Tell me about it. I’ve just yelled at Seth for trying to be my therapist.” There was a slight pause. “Anyway, it’s my turn for the couch now. Wish me luck.”

  Anna clutched an orange Sainsbury’s carrier bag. “This is the first time I’ve ever joined in properly with the group. Now I know how nerve-wracking it is.” Her hands shook slightly as she pulled out a furry bundle and opened it out. It looked like some sort of dog costume.

  “I was going to make a surprise entrance in this, but I’ve spared you.” Smiles all round. “School play, 1974. Even then I acted the bitch.” Her joke sounded rehearsed, forced. She fingered the floppy ears. “We love dressing up in our family. Me and my brothers would try to outdo each other. Pa too, sometimes. I was going to show you a load of cracking photos.” A pause and no sign of photographs. “I wanted to make you laugh.” She looked down and tugged at the costume on her knee. “My mam made this one. She died thirteen years ago. I suppose I was nearly an adult by then but – I didn’t feel like it. At the time I said I wished it had been a Dalmatian costume. I remember that. I don’t even think I said thank you.” Her voice climbed. “Now I look and I see all these tiny, perfect stitches and all the hours Mam put into it. But it’s too late to say thank you.” She started to cry, burying her face in the costume. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”

  José put his arms over her and rested his dark head on Anna’s shoulder. Rebecca caught Catherine’s eye and saw a film of tears that matched her own.

  “I just can’t bear it that she died. I can’t bear it. We hardly noticed her and she did all these things for us and I wanted to show you how creative she was, making this costume…” It was hard to pick out the words. “I just miss her so much, I miss her and I’ll never get her back.”

  There was a crescendo of sobbing that gradually started to ease. José kissed Anna’s hair and wiped his eyes. Seth sat silently watching Anna. She lifted her head and looked for him; he held out his arms then and she went to him, sobbing again. Jake left the room and came back holding a glass of amber spirit. “Fuck the hot chocolate.” Catherine frowned; for once Rebecca was with her. A glass of water would help more.

  Anna gulped it down in one, gasped and giggled. “Hey, are you trying to get me pissed?”

  He winked. “Not me. Though I have to admit there was a trace of vodka in the orange squash.”

  “Now you tell me!” A collective relieved laugh ran round the room.

  Seth patted Anna’s knee. “Well, by my calculation there’s only Charles and myself left. Unless you’ve got another surprise for us, Jake?”

  “I have actually. But it will come out a bit later.”

  “What, after the watershed?” Anna grinned. She seemed to be loosening up towards Jake.

  “In your dreams, love.”

  “Easy now, you two. Charles, shall we toss for it? No, Anna, don’t even think about it.”

  “Just a minute.” Catherine had sat forward on her chair. “I was – well, I’d like to do something else if that’s okay.” She twisted her hands. “After seeing what other people have shared – well, I’d like to share something too.” She looked for a second at Anna, then at Seth.

  “Of course.”

  She walked to the piano stool and sat on the edge. “I haven’t played this for fifteen years and I’m not even sure I can remember it. It was my dad’s favourite piece. I mean, that makes him sound like he’s dead.” She swallowed. “In some ways it feels like he is. This was his favourite, before he stopped playing and everything went… bad in our house.”

  Rebecca felt a flash of curiosity as she watched the fragile-looking figure at the piano. When she started it was strangely tentative, childlike and unpolished. She made a couple of mistakes, but Rebecca had never felt more touched by her playing. As Catherine went back to the sofa, Anna stood up to hug her, then pulled her down next to her. The unexpected was certainly happening. She saw Seth watching them, leaning back with a cigarette. Perhaps this was something to do with his experiment.

  Scene 20

  So Mr Gardner succeeded in bringing you all closer, would you say, Miss Laurence?

  Yes, by stripping away the layers, the stuff we hide under. He did a beautiful thing. Charles told us about his sister.

  His sister?

  “Forgive my amateur drawing skills.” Charles put a pastel sketch on the coffee table. It showed an emaciated girl looking at her obese, distorted reflection in the mirror. The title was Sarah x 2.

  “My sister. You’ve probably heard about her. She developed anorexia when I was twelve.” His voice sounded as though it was coming from far away. “She still struggles.”

  The famous sister.

  “She was in and out of hospital for years. I knew she needed to eat more but I didn’t really understand. I used to make her sandwiches when we got in from school.” He looked down at his hands, opened his palms in a gesture of helplessness. “I still do it. Try to feed her up.”

  Did Mr Gardner comment at all?

  Seth? I don’t really remember. I think he put a hand on his shoulder or something but I don’t think Charles wanted that. He’s a private person. It probably cost him quite a lot to tell us what he did.

  “She’s lucky to have a brother like you.” Catherine echoed Rebecca’s thoughts.

  “Is she? I try my best. I try to make it all better, but I can’t.” He shook his head. “She’s a perfectionist, that’s what the doctors say. Apparently it’s really common in high achievers. She was always twice as talented as me. And then this illness comes and strips it all away.” His eyes were wells of sadness.

  “Is she getting professional help?”

  He cleared his throat. “She’s had a fair bit. But I’d rather not talk about it because you’ll probably all meet her at some point. And she’s lovely, a bit shy at first but interesting and clever.”

  “She certainly is.”

  Charles jerked his head up at Seth’s words and searched his face. Then he looked back at the picture.

  “Anyway, the theme – childhood cut short – seemed so appropriate to her, to our family, and it was good to get out the pastels after so many years. I’ve been an architect for so long now it feels funny to draw anything that isn’t in straight lines.”

  There was gentle laughter as people realised that Charles was drawing another type of line under the conversation and wanted the attention moved away from him. Seth stood up.

  “Well, I wish I could say we’ve saved the best until last but I feel so moved and humbled by what you’ve all brought tonight that I’m strangely reticent about my own contribution, which I assure you is not a familiar feeling.” He laughed dryly. “But here it is. It’s a poem but not my normal type of thing. It’s called “Endgame”.” He cleared his throat.

  “Orphaned in the lockjaw of

  Elongated evening smiles

  Dreaming of a death, the boy

  Is watching his mother’s slender hand

  Peel away from the soap-smooth rock

  Unable to scream as he

  Sips bilberry juice.”

  No one seemed sure what to say.

  “Can you read it again?” asked Anna.

  “Sure. Or can you, Rebecca? I’d like to hear it read.”

&nbs
p; “Me? Okay.” She felt his gaze as she lingered over the words, trying to make sense of them for herself and the others. She felt he was expecting something, but didn’t know what.

  Anna leaned to look at the printed paper. “Is the boy you?”

  Seth smiled. “Ooh, what a question. I’ll leave that up to reader interpretation. Anyway, now we’re all finished with our childhoods, shall we crack open the Glenmorangie?”

  It wasn’t his smoothest segue but, barring a couple of raised eyebrows, no one challenged him.

  “Hang on a minute. I have one more slice of childhood to serve you.” Jake leapt up towards the kitchen and returned bearing an enormous two-tiered cake flickering with candles, an intricately iced Magic Roundabout.

  “Happy birthday, buddy.”

  Seth shook his head as Jake conducted the rest of them into a raucous “Happy Birthday”. He had eight candles to blow out.

  He looked at Jake. “How did you know?”

  “I didn’t. This was the cake that no one ever made me as a child. But seeing as it turned out to be your birthday…”

  “You gave up your cake again.” Seth waggled a finger. “Well, we can’t have that. We’ll share it. Which of little Jake’s birthdays would this cake have been celebrating?”

  Jake ran a hand through his hair. “Dunno really. Quite young, maybe my sixth.”

  “Right.” Seth removed two of the candles and took out a silver lighter. “Sit there.”

  Jake half protested as Seth picked up the cake and rounded everyone else out of the room. They filed back in, singing as Seth led the way. Jake’s hands looked huge and helpless and his face was a child’s, lit by candle flame and wonder.

  * * * * *

  It won’t come as a surprise to you that I didn’t exactly have a silver spoon childhood. Bit of a correlation in your line of work, I would have thought.

  Quite right, Mr Etheridge. It almost sounds like you’re incriminating yourself.

  I wouldn’t go to the trouble when there are so many people happy to do it for me.

  The other group members?

  You’re the expert, you tell me.

  Let’s go back to this particular Friday Folly. The childhood theme. What do you think Mr Gardner was doing?

  Well, I’m no psychologist but I get the feeling that Seth didn’t have a great time as a child either. Despite the fact that he did have a silver spoon. Shoved out to boarding school, then losing his folks so young. Maybe he wanted to hear about other people’s childhoods because his was pretty shit. And maybe he just wanted a laugh, have you thought of that? Why are you lot always looking for ulterior motives?

  * * * * *

  They were ending with party games. Rebecca voted for Murder in the Dark. She’d always loved it as a child; that frisson you get somewhere between fun and real fear. Seth took them all into the spare room and made them stare at the light before plunging it into darkness. She’d had a D on her card, a dancer, not that she was doing much of that. She hugged the wall, giggling like others around her. Anna swore at someone across the room. It really was pitch black. Shadows and jostling noises. The murderer was biding their time. A movement to her left sent her creeping in the other direction along the wall, heart racing. Suddenly a squeeze on the bum, causing her to whirl.

  “Oi!”

  “Shhhh”

  Silence again. She tiptoed towards the door and didn’t see the large body next to her until she’d bumped into it. She was screaming already before the hands went to her throat.

  I was pretty freaked. But that’s the idea, isn’t it?

  I wouldn’t know, Miss Laurence. Not something I play for fun, really.

  No, I suppose not.

  It was Jake Etheridge, the murderer?

  I think so.

  You think so?

  He admitted to it. When the lights came on there were a few people close enough to me to have done it. He said it was him.

  Was that it, then? You all went home?

  A few more games first. Blind man’s buff. Seth said it was his favourite but he was so good at finding us that we all decided he must be able to see under his blindfold. Things probably broke up soon after that. Oh…

  Yes?

  He gave me something. As I was leaving.

  Another present.

  Yes… a vintage brooch. Gold, an ornate rose design. It was his mother’s. He said she was an elegant woman. He said… that I’d wear it well.

  May I see it, Miss Laurence?

  Well, that’s the problem. I didn’t wear it well at all. In fact, I lost it almost as soon as he gave it to me. Now it seems like a sign of what was to come.

  Scene 21

  José propped himself up with one arm and pulled the covers over both of them. The figure beside him stirred and snuggled and slept on. It was like a miracle to see him there, his beautiful face naked with sleep. He wanted to lace his fingers into the thick, black hair but made do with running his palm over it as lightly as he could. Why now, after so long?

  He brushed the sleeping head with his lips. Feelings so long dammed began to burst and trickle out as tears, one plopping onto the shoulder below, making it twitch. He lay back and wiped them away with his wrists, then burrowed into the warm body next to him. He would have to stay awake to savour every heartbeat.

  But he must have slept because he was awoken by kicking feet and pummelling arms. As he tried to sit up a piercing scream sliced through him and he turned to see Seth sitting bolt upright, eyes snapped open like a doll.

  He wouldn’t talk about it. He didn’t touch the tea José made and sat blowing out smoke in silence. José’s hand felt sweaty and unwanted sitting on his thigh, trying to make a connection. He drew it back and curled it round his cup.

  “Do you often get nightmares?”

  Seth continued to smoke, staring ahead. He looked cool and aloof but his hand trembled slightly.

  “Oh, you know. Now and then.” He flicked ash onto a coaster.

  “Is it always the same one?”

  “Usually.”

  José touched his shoulder. “Do you think it would help if you told me about it?”

  For a long time they said nothing.

  “She’s stretching out her arms and slipping away into the water and I can’t move, don’t move.”

  José felt himself unable to move in case he snapped the moment. “Who is?”

  “My mother.” And then José remembered.

  “The poem you read at the group…”

  Seth stubbed out his cigarette and leant back, closed his eyes. José swallowed. “I guess it’s not hard to understand the dream.”

  Seth looked at him. “No?”

  “Well, losing your parents as you did. It must have been terrible.”

  Seth leaned back again. “Yes.”

  That was the extent of the conversation. A peephole into the inner world of the man he loved. José ran it through several times at home. Late at night he allowed himself to imagine Seth opening up properly, making himself vulnerable. Falling in love with him. And then there was the other possibility: that Seth might regret his moment of weakness and shut him out altogether.

  Do you know why Mr Gardner let you get closer to him now?

  No. It’s funny…

  Funny?

  Well, I think some of the others felt they were getting close to him too.

  Such as?

  “I know shit about the acting world but it sounds to me like she’s turning down an amazing opportunity.”

  José stirred his tea, puzzling over Rebecca’s decision. From what he could tell, she’d been offered a fantastic part in some new play that would mean her being away from London for a few months. She’d decided not to take it because there was another part coming up in London that she really wanted.

  Anna shrugged. “I’m sure she knows what she’s doing. Becs is pretty career minded.”

  “Don’t you think there’s more to it?”

  Anna frowned. “Like w
hat?”

  José paused. “I don’t know. She and Seth have been spending a lot of time together. I just wondered if…”

  “If she’s got caught into his web?”

  “Something like that.”

  Anna gave her friend a steady look. “Not jealous, I hope?”

  The tea scalded his tongue as he gulped at it too quickly. “Of course not.”

  Anna exhaled. “Thank God for that. You were a pain in the arse when you used to moon round after him.”

  “Thanks.” They’d rediscovered their equilibrium after all the heavy stuff a couple of weeks ago.

  “He didn’t give much away in that group, did he? While the rest of us were snivelling into tissues. At least in my case.”

  José shrugged. “You know what he’s like.”

  Anna added two sugars to her cup. “Or maybe he did. Maybe it’s all in that poem. Whatever it means.”

  Scene 22

  She is asleep on his bed, amber hair rippling across one white pillow case and caressing the other. He sits on a chair with his hands on his knees, stiff as a soldier. He matches his breathing to hers, except when she snuffles like an anxious animal and he holds his breath until she settles again. Sometimes she twists her body and thrashes her head; once she calls out and her voice is hoarse, trapped in her throat. He has never looked at her like this for so long. He sees freckles dancing along her arms and turquoise veins tracing the backs of her hands. He sees a film of powder dipping and hovering over the faint lines fanning out from the corners of her eyes and around her mouth. His mouth. She is all his. His right hand clenches and stretches but he does not go to her. He watches her breasts rising and falling under the sheet and concentrates on moving his ribcage with hers.

  Some time later, when he is darting across the glass-lined room like a jittery fish, she appears in the doorway swathed in familiar towelling stripes. Sleep has stroked away some of the desperation from her face but her eyes moisten when she sees him and she stretches out a hand. He shakes his head. She starts to plead and he clenches his fists but keeps his voice steady as he tells her no. No. No. No.