A Line of Blood. Ben McPherson

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СКАЧАТЬ and that way I wouldn’t have to leave Max; and I said sure; I mean, why not? Guy got stood up, I thought. He’s lonely. He doesn’t do women. He bought a $100 bottle of wine. Where’s the harm?’

      I turned over and lay on my back, looked up at our bedroom window. Even from here you could see the paint was peeling from the frame. Other people – my father – would notice that window and do something about it. Me, I noticed it and forgot it again. We would do nothing about it, and in five years we would have to replace the whole thing.

      ‘So,’ said Millicent, ‘so we drank the wine and ate the food, and then he said he had a heater in his garden, and it was getting a little cold, so why didn’t we go there and drink some more wine. And I said no, but he was really persistent. And I guess I kind of thought maybe he wanted more than company, but I was just a little drunk and I was missing you and he was kind of funny and sharp, and I still pretty much thought he was gay. And I figured if I left Max’s door open, and opened the bathroom window that I would pretty much hear if anything was wrong.’

      ‘You left Max on his own?’

      ‘Please, Alex. Let me get to the end, and then if you want to hate me you can.’

      ‘OK,’ I said. ‘Deal.’

      ‘So I was sitting there in his garden, and he starts to say some nice things to me, about how he thinks I’m pretty and kind, and about the way I dress, and how he’s always liked Americans more than English people, and how I seem like so much more to him than just a wife and mother; and I still haven’t figured out that he’s interested, which makes me a klutz, I know. Because as soon as I say it out loud I can see it’s a pretty obvious come-on.

      ‘And then he goes indoors and comes out with a bottle of Calvados and I ask him why he hasn’t brought glasses and he says we can drink it from the bottle, and I know then that it’s really time to leave. And I get up, and he tries to kiss me, and I step back, and I trip over, and he puts his hand out and grabs my wrist, and pulls me back to my feet. And then he tries to kiss me again, and I let him.’

      I turned to look at her. She uprooted a small handful of grass. She didn’t want to look at me, but I could tell she expected me to say something. I watched her pull up another handful of grass, then I turned away.

      ‘I kissed him. Not for long. But I kissed him. That’s the bad thing that I did, and for that I’m so very sorry, Alex. But I did no more. I did nothing more than kiss him. And then he touched me and I broke away from him.’

      ‘So what sort of signal was he getting from you before this happened?’

      ‘Alex, I don’t know what sort of signal he was getting from me. I was drunk, and confused, and he was drunk too. If I told you nothing happened, I’d be lying to you.’

      I went upstairs and peed. Washed and dried my hands very precisely, trying to still the thoughts that arced across my mind. I looked out through the open bathroom window.

      Bryce’s bedroom and bathroom faced the back too. If he’d wanted to, he could have seen a lot of Millicent from his freshly painted windows. I wondered darkly if he had coveted his neighbour’s wife, or more specifically his neighbour’s wife’s ass.

      When I came down Millicent was sitting in exactly the same position. It looked for all the world as if nothing was wrong. She was telling me the truth: I saw that now. I wanted to take her in my arms, hold her and tell her just how much I loved her. We could get through this. A drunken kiss and a flash of flesh on flesh were tiny pricks of light in the cosmic chart of infidelity.

      After some time, I said, ‘You have an alibi.’

      ‘I mean, I was at the radio station. Is that an alibi? Why would they even be thinking that way, Alex? They never once used the word alibi.’

      ‘They asked me not to leave the country.’

      ‘You’re not serious.’

      I took out the police photograph of the bracelet.

      ‘Right there. Look. A little tag with a number on it. Looks to me like an evidence tag. I’m guessing the reason they gave you the picture and not the bracelet itself is that the bracelet is evidence in case they decide that they want to bring someone to trial. And given that they’ve asked me not to leave the country, I suspect the person they would be thinking of bringing to trial would be me.’

      ‘Oh Jesus, Alex.’

      ‘Isn’t that what they call reasonable suspicion or just cause in American TV series? What do they call it here?’

      ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘No, neither do I. So, what are you thinking right now, Millicent? Because right now I’m thinking things aren’t good. Because I seem to be implicated in our next-door neighbour’s suicide. How did your bracelet get there?’

      She shook her head. That same sad look again.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I need to get a lawyer, don’t I?’

      ‘Seems weird that you can’t leave the country. I guess a lawyer would be a good idea.’

      I searched the bare patch in the grass. The ladybird had disappeared, and a few ants could be seen ambling around.

      She moved towards me, took my hand and placed it on her thigh. I let it rest there. ‘The truth is,’ she said, ‘the truth is I get lonely when you go away, Alex.’ I let her put her head on my shoulder, reached up and rubbed the nape of her neck. ‘It’s like since Sarah you sublimated something,’ she said, ‘like your energy’s all in your work.’

      We went inside, climbed the stairs, failed to fuck. Millicent fell asleep nestled against my chest. I lay on my back and cradled her to me like a child, but knew that I would not find sleep.

      Sarah, the little girl we almost had; Millicent, the wife who would not discuss losing Sarah.

      At three fifteen someone rang the doorbell and knocked on the door. I stayed where I was; I didn’t want to disturb Millicent.

      We love each other: of that there is no doubt. It isn’t love that’s the problem here.

       7

      Millicent’s phone rang. After four rings it stopped. I went downstairs, found the phone on the kitchen table and checked the screen. A missed call from Aileen Mercer. A bolt of guilt. Why hadn’t I called my mother? I found my own phone. It was lying face down on the living-room sofa, hidden against the black leather. Two missed calls. I rang her back.

      ‘Alexander, it’s about your father.’ My mother was one of those women who still had a telephone voice; her staccato formality made it hard to know how she was.

      ‘What’s happened, Mum?’

      ‘Ach, it’ll turn out to be nothing, I’m sure.’

      ‘Mum?’

      ‘I’ve some concerns about him. He’s been hospitalised. Mainly tests.’

      ‘What СКАЧАТЬ