If This Is Home Read online

  I never gave him the chance. And wouldn’t you have been angry if I’d have told you how I reacted with the baby? How I ruined everything for them?

  An eleven-year-old does not break up a marriage, honey. Even you must realize that. You’re the easiest to blame. The one who’s not around to take account. He knows he’s wrong.

  I can’t believe it about Hannah and your dad.

  Yes, you can. Of course you can. We never trusted her, did we?

  She was our friend.

  But now she’s married to my father, what kind of friend is that?

  One who’s alone and frightened.

  Are you excusing her?

  Has she done anything wrong?

  Bethany stopped by the gates of a small paper factory that had been there for as long as I had been alive. She kicked at an errant piece of cardboard and sat down by the railings.

  Honey, I don’t know. I don’t know anything any more. I blame myself for dragging you back.

  I made the decision: not you. I should have expected all this.

  But you didn’t, she said, getting up and dusting herself off, though she was still dirty all up her back and down her arms. You’re as lost now as you ever were.

  ‘What do you want from me!’ I shouted, the words echoing down the road. I put my head in my hands and squatted down. ‘Just leave me alone, okay? I need to do this by myself. Just please, please, leave me alone.’

  A man was walking his dog, a dirty-coated collie. He was smoking a thin cigar and watching me with his weasel face. He threw a stick for the dog and kept his eyes on me.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ I said. ‘Fuck off.’

  He increased his speed and looked back over his shoulder once with hurried, angry eyes. ‘That’s it, fuck off,’ I shouted as they disappeared into the gloom.

  It took over half an hour to get back to the Coach, the town listless and quiet. It was past eleven and the pubs were shut. I decided to walk past Mike and Hannah’s home and was surprised to see the living-room lights still on and the shape of two people arguing. Hannah came to the window to draw the curtains and I saw her for a moment, illuminated. She seemed wiry, her hair closely cropped to her head, her lips still in that cupid’s bow that so many had found attractive. She pulled the curtains with irritated tugs. I ducked behind the wall of the church to make sure she couldn’t see me. Then she was gone.

  I sat there for some time. It seemed unlikely that I would get to speak to her now. So? Bethany said. What happens now?

  Down the road and through the town she kept on with her questioning. Answer me. What are you going to do? What happens next? Are you going back to O’Neil? Are you going back to New York? Tell me, what the hell are you going to do with yourself?

  O’Neil had asked the same question when my papers had come through. He was concerned about me, about my plans.

  ‘Son, you’ve got to have a plan. This is America. People have plans. They don’t have a plan, how they going to see it fail?’ He’d smiled about that, but he was deadly serious.

  ‘I’m going to make a shit load of money, then spend it,’ I said. It was what he wanted to hear.

  ‘I’ll help you with that, Josef Novak,’ he said. ‘Believe me, you’ve got a friend for life.’

  *

  He picked up on the fourth ring. I had no idea what time it was there, or whether he was alone or with Edith.

  ‘It’s me,’ I said.

  ‘Thank God. Jesus, son, you’ve had me fucking all ends up here. Where the hell are you?’

  ‘Home,’ I said. ‘Been here a little while.’

  ‘We almost called the cops, you know. You know that, you dumb fuck? Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?’

  ‘I just needed to get away, sort some things out.’

  ‘After you knocked out Brooks, you mean? You know what we’ve been through with that cock-sucker? We sorted it out, though. You don’t have to worry, it’s all sorted out. Taken care of.’

  ‘He’s not swimming with the fishes, is he?’

  ‘Don’t fuck with me, Joe, it was serious. We had to get Mac involved. I smoothed it over with him, but I don’t think you should show your face for a while. Maybe it’s best that you took a holiday.’

  ‘I saw my dad.’

  There was a buzzing silence on the line. I heard him switch the phone to his other ear.

  ‘Was it okay?’

  ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know.’

  There was a noise in the background, the play of sheets over a body.

  ‘So what you going to do now. You staying for a while?’

  ‘There’s nothing for me here.’ It sounded like a lie.

  ‘You need help? Money, whatever?’

  ‘No, I’m good. Just need some time, that’s all.’

  ‘You want me to come over? I will you know. I’ll get the next flight.’

  I smiled.

  ‘No. You stay where you are, I’ll be back soon enough.’

  ‘You know I’m here, right. You know where I am.’

  ‘I know, O’Neil.’

  ‘And I want you to call me every day. Doesn’t matter when, okay?’

  I reached for the cigarettes and lit one.

  ‘Why do you care, O’Neil?’ I said. ‘Why do you care so much about me? Why is it that you see me so differently?’

  ‘What’s this shit? You high or something? I don’t have to answer that.’

  ‘I’m interested. It’s just something my father said earlier on.’

  ‘Why do I care?’ he said after a time. ‘I care because sometimes two people need each other at a point in time, and if you find that person, you’d best take care of them.’

  ‘Like you and Edith?’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘Yeah, Joe, like me and Edith.’

  *

  I called room service just before midnight and ordered a hamburger and fries and a bottle of red wine. I took a bath and washed my hair. Bethany looked more bruised, sitting in the easy chair flicking through my notes. I looked at my suitcase.

  You’re giving up, Bethany said, just when you’re so close?

  There’s nothing to see, nothing more to find out, Beth. You’re dead. He’s dead. Nothing’s changed.

  You need to see Hannah. You need to talk to her.

  She isn’t going to talk to me. Why would she? I’ve done what I need to do, I’ve done what I came here for. Can’t I just go now?

  Just go and see her. You can scope out the place like in those shitty movies you used to watch with O’Neil. You can play detective. She stood and took a step towards me. There was a knock at the door.

  Go eat. You need the energy.

  I got the tray and poured the wine. The burger was surprisingly good. I’d had a couple of mouthfuls when the door went again. It was Ferne. She looked a little drunk, her hair up and her sloppy Joe clothes on.

  ‘I heard the trolley. Was hoping you had some wine.’

  I nodded and let her in. She had been crying and had spilled something on the front of her T-shirt. Her toenails were painted and her sweatpants hung low on her hips. She sat on the easy chair and I offered her a glass of wine and a bite of the burger. She took both, cheese and sauce bunching at the corner of her mouth.

  ‘I called my ex,’ she said eventually. ‘I haven’t done that in months. He’s seeing someone else. He thought I knew. A friend of mine saw them together about a month ago and he assumed that she’d told me. I don’t know her. I don’t know if that’s better or worse.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I really am.’

  We stayed like that, quietly drinking and smoking. I wanted to tell her about my dad, but it was already late and the thought of us talking long into the night made me nauseous. I looked at the clock on the television.

  ‘I know it’s late,’ Ferne said, ‘but I’m not sleepy. Not at all. Can we just watch television for a while? Just for an hour or so. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want t
o.’

  I handed her the remote and we both lay on the bed. She flicked through the channels until she came to an old movie O’Neil and I had watched once on cable. She propped the pillows behind her. ‘Jane Fonda is incredible in this film. I saw it at college for a course I was on. I wanted to be her so much.’

  By the time the dance marathon MC told us that it just keeps going, no one ever knowing when it will ever end, Ferne was asleep on my arm, her shallow breaths on my shoulder. I kissed her on the forehead and then on the cheek. On and on it goes, the man said, when will it ever end?

  Saturday, 7th July 1990, 4.46 pm

  Bethany feels him approaching at the very last moment before he grabs her by the hair. He has her caught with her neck turned slightly. She can see his face. He is a normal-looking man in a jumper and jeans and dirty trainers. She doesn’t know him. He drags her up the bank by her hair, cursing and muttering to himself. She catches the odd word – bitch, slag, whore – and then he punches her with his right fist. Her feet are cold from the water. She cannot feel them. She is numb. He kneels on her arms and she tries to thrash away from under him, but he punches her again and then she really can feel nothing at all. She is half awake, looking at the sky. She does not feel him enter her. She does not feel the punches alternating with the thrusts. She does not hear him call her those names. She feels nothing. Bethany feels nothing at all.

  In the sky she sees clouds from above, the view from an aeroplane cabin window. She is slightly drunk and the clouds are below her and they are descending. Mark is beside her and they are both craning to see their first glimpse of New York City. They see Liberty, swathed in scaffolding, her lamp covered and her gold shrouded. They see the skyline and the pilot says that they need to buckle up. They land perfectly. The captain welcomes them to America. Outside there is heat haze on the runways, the sky blue and smoggy. Mark and Bethany kiss for a long time and take their bags from the overhead lockers when almost everyone has disembarked. They kiss again as they queue through immigration.

  In the sky she sees the clouds from below, looking out of a car window. They are in a yellow cab and they are driving across Newark to The Knight’s Inn Motel. The traffic is slow and it takes a time to get there. It is perfect. It is God’s own American motel. They check in and the man behind the counter asks them if they have quarters for the television and Bethany changes a ten-dollar bill into shiny coins from a roll. The room is cool and smells of lighter fluid. It is perfect. They flick through the channels, eventually falling asleep while watching a baseball game. When they wake they will have pancakes and sausage and proper coffee.

  In the sky she sees the clouds so close she can touch them. They are at the top of the Empire State Building looking out over Manhattan Island. The buildings are bigger than they’d both expected, yet after a few minutes they seem to settle. Looking down they see the gridline and the traffic, the stink and hunger of the place. They hold each other, amazed that this has happened, that this is happening.

  In the sky, she sees a darkening, the neon lights of Times Square. It is as dirty and corrupt as she had ever hoped. She tells Mark she loves him.

  In the sky it is getting hard to see anything at all. They are walking on the Bowery. They have a drink at CBGBs and tell each other jokes. There’s a joke she remembers from school, she tells it to Mark: there’s a little girl lost in the woods. She’s petrified of wolves and all those other creatures. Then she sees a little cottage. She knocks on the door. An old man answers. She tells him that she has lost her parents and she is cold and alone and scared. The man opens the door fully. He unzips his fly. ‘Well, I guess today isn’t your lucky day, is it?’ Mark does not laugh, but she does. He tells her that he thinks the joke is sick.

  In the sky she can see nothing. She is on the Brooklyn Bridge, she knows that. She can’t see anything, but she can feel the wind and the sound of the East River below her. Bethany’s hand is in Mark’s. They are standing still.

  ‘Is this where we say goodbye?’ she says.

  Mark is crying. She can no longer feel his hand. She calls for him, but she can no longer hear what he is saying, just the rush of the East River and the sound of the wind.

  The man picks up a rock and hits her hard on the temple. He smears his mess on her now exposed breasts. He lies next to her, looking up at the same sky. He waits for them to come. He knows that they will. He looks at Bethany and holds her in his arms. He has her blood on his face.

  The man is still holding her when they find them. He is rocking her back and forth, saying over and over: ‘What have I done? What have I done?’

  TWENTY-ONE

  Ferne had gone by the time I woke. She’d left a note on the dresser apologizing for falling asleep. She had attractive handwriting, the kind that looks better in ink, but still retains a flourish when using a biro. For a moment I had a stark image of waking late to find a note like that on the fridge, a magnet holding it in place. ‘Gone to the gym, back in an hour’, two kisses below.

  Give the girl a break, Bethany said. You’ve not even fucked her yet.

  You have a delightful way with words.

  It’s the truth, honey. You know it and so does the whole world. She smiled weakly and pointed at the notes. So, detective, are we heading out?

  No. I need. No.

  He’ll be out all day. You know that. At least you’ll have tried. Isn’t that what you want?

  I want some coffee, is what I want. And then I want to be out of here. Out of this place. It’s driving me crazy.

  And it’s this place that’s sending you crazy? Nice theory.

  It’s mine and I’m sticking to it.

  Fine. Have your coffee. You just need to make a move. Sooner you see her, sooner you can go. Unless …

  What?

  You know.

  As you so eloquently put it, we haven’t even fucked yet.

  Drink your coffee. Then we can go and play sleuth.

  Did you ever love me?

  What kind of a question is that?

  I slammed the door to the bathroom and showered. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d fantasized about something real and tangible: usually my mind wandered over all kinds of different subjects and positions, situations and sensations; but the previous night’s glimpse of Ferne’s pubic hair, her breasts against my chest, was enough. I washed myself thoroughly, then sat at the desk and looked at the notebook. I started at the front and ripped out every page, every last line of Joe Novak’s life, then put them in the wastepaper bin. It did not feel cathartic, simply destructive. I could have burnt the pages too, but that would only have set off the fire alarms. It was not that kind of symbolic gesture; it was just a whim.

  In the restaurant, I read a newspaper properly for the first time in many years, endless pages devoted to the Iraq War. I looked at the detailed maps and graphics, the photos of the military and the dusty desert backdrop. Four days it had been going on. I flicked to the sports pages. Liverpool had beaten Leeds. I read the match report having little idea who any of the players were.

  ‘Excuse me, sir.’ A man I’d not seen before stood beside me dressed in the hotel uniform.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, sir, but you have a telephone message.’ He passed me a folded piece of paper.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘When—’

  ‘About ten minutes ago.’

  I opened out the note. It said: ‘12.30. Horse and Groom. I’ll be out the back. Hannah.’

  *

  In the beer garden, two children were playing on a brightly painted milk float. One turned the wheel as the other stood on the back, pretending to give out milk to customers. Hannah was sitting at a nearby picnic bench. She had a cup of coffee steaming in front of her and was checking her make-up in a mirror. I sat down and she continued looking in the compact then snapped it shut.

  Her clothes were well cut, her jewellery expensive yet subtle. She wore a wedding and an engagement ring. They were similarly subtle.

&nb
sp; ‘You got the message, then,’ she said not quite looking at me. ‘For someone who’s disappeared for so long, you were pretty easy to track down.’

  ‘Yes. Thank you. Mike said that—’

  ‘Mike doesn’t know I’m here,’ she said and sipped at her coffee. She looked over her shoulder at the girls and was about to shout something to them, then looked away.

  ‘Are they yours?’

  ‘One of them. The other’s a friend’s. The eldest is at school.’

  I nodded. We sat there in silence.

  ‘You haven’t changed,’ I said. ‘You look just the same.’

  ‘You have,’ she said. ‘It’s to be expected, I suppose.’

  I went to touch her hand. We should have hugged. We should have been relieved to see each other. It should have been more of a reunion.

  ‘Why did you have to come back, Mark?’ she said eventually. ‘Why didn’t you just leave it?’

  She seemed almost reasonable, resigned almost. Bethany was sitting next to her. She said nothing.

  ‘Because it was the right time,’ I said eventually.

  ‘For you, you mean? You left me, remember? You left me all on my own. You never even said goodbye.’

  ‘I wanted to, but …’

  She shook her head and smiled. ‘Yes, I’m sure you wanted to. Wanting to isn’t the same. Wanting to didn’t help me much, I can tell you.’

  ‘You had Mike.’

  ‘Fuck you, Mark. I had Mike? You have any idea how it was after you left? Do you have any clue?’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘That’s all you were ever good for,’ she said and shook her head. The children were screaming and she told them to quieten down. I asked her if she wanted another drink, but she ignored me. I got up and went inside, ordered a coffee.

  She was still there when I got back, checking messages on her phone. The kids ran towards her and she pointed to the slides at the far edge of the beer garden. They trooped off, their Wellington boots gummy and bright.

  ‘How was New York after all?’ she asked. ‘Everything you ever dreamed of?’