Cold to the Touch Read online

  ‘I couldn’t, could I?’

  He was weeping now, big sentimental tears which made Sarah pity him less. Tears were an indulgence she rarely allowed herself: tears muddled things unless they cleared the head. She liked him better for excusing himself and stumbling back out through the door into the garden to cry in private. The rain had stopped.

  ‘It was a black dog, wasn’t it?’ Sarah asked Jeremy. ‘It left a lot of black hair all over the place.’

  Jeremy smiled sadly.

  ‘That’ll be the one. A black dog, with a bit of white. Jess.’

  He sat down at the other side of the table from where Jack Dunn had sat, showing no indication of wishing to leave for a long time. She had the feeling that this was a familiar seat to him and that he had sat there often.

  Sarah tidied the towels, put the kettle on like a good housewife, thought better of making tea, found the plentiful supplies of beer and wine that were always ready for visitors, wherever she lived. Found wine for herself and hunted for the corkscrew. Jack Dunn was welcome to whatever he had eaten but at least he had had the grace to leave the wine alone.

  ‘I think we could all do with a drink,’ she said, wondering at the same time how often she had said those words.

  ‘Good idea. Got any beer? Jack doesn’t drink wine.’

  She longed for a female friend, for the straightforwardness of female company, where there was always the chance that someone would tell the truth.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ve got beer. Get him back indoors, he’ll catch his death. Why was the dog called Jess?’

  Jeremy looked at her in surprise, as if the answer was obvious, seeing her expression and realising it wasn’t. There it was again, this assumption of knowledge that seemed to apply to everyone. It was becoming irritating.

  ‘Why?’ he said, patiently, as if stating the obvious to a slow learner. ‘Because she reminded him of Jessie Hurly. He reckoned she was the one, silly devil, and he went a bit to pieces after that, but it didn’t last and he’s my mate, so can you be nice to him for a bit? Called her Jess because he just liked repeating the name. No harm in him really, only we both used to work at Hurly’s abattoir as was and that’s a bit of a bond, ’cos that stuff drives you nuts, really, unless you’re born to it. He was the one Jessie might have settled down with, as if she was going to settle for anyone, but no one could love her enough and anyway the place was too small for her. Wonder why he’s come back now? Silly arse. He’s the best shot I know. Hope he’s staying.’

  ‘Bring him in and ask him.’

  ‘OK. Don’t worry, I won’t let him stop long, I’ll take him home with me. I’ll take him somewhere. It’s great to see him. We’ve had great fun and games, him and me.’

  Jack Dunn ambled back into the kitchen, apparently recovered. Sarah assessed him as he sat down again and resumed rubbing his hair with the towel. He was either drunk or on something, or one brick short of a load, maybe just autistic. Perhaps a post-nervous-breakdown man, or a sensitive soul who had been dropped on his head sometime earlier in life. Good looks, good hair; stuffed with passive aggression.

  ‘There’s been quite a lot of post for you, Jack,’ she said pleasantly.

  ‘Has there? Sorry about that. Sorry for just coming in like that and eating your stuff, I was a bit off my head.’

  ‘Why-have-you-come-back?’ Jeremy yelled at him, loudly and slowly. ‘It’s been six bloody months.’

  Jack Dunn sat up straight and reached for one of the cans that Sarah had placed on the table, cracked it open and took a long swallow – clearly not the first of the day.

  ‘Got a job, didn’t I? Couldn’t pay the bills so I upped and went. Poxy job, but OK, because I do white-van deliveries, mostly up north. Then I got a delivery near here, put the wind up me, really, ’cos Jessie phoned me the other day, she does that sometimes. It seemed like fate meant I was supposed to call in, sorry about that.’

  Sarah had the absurd notion of a black dog speaking into a mobile phone.

  ‘You left the fucking dog, you bastard,’ Jeremy said.

  ‘No, I fucking didn’t. I gave it to Jessica’s mum and—’

  ‘When did she phone you?’ Sarah interrupted.

  Jack shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Days ago. She always phones me when she’s in the shit. She said she was in the shit, anyway. Said she was coming home.’

  He sniggered nervously. ‘She e-mails, too.’

  ‘What, Jack? You doing e-mails and stuff, you clever bugger,’Jeremy said. ‘Since when? You got one of them laptops?’

  ‘Yeah, they lend me one with the job, so I can check in. Keep it in the van, only someone pinched it.’

  Sarah slapped a hand to her forehead. Shit, bugger and damn. Jessica would have e-mailed, of course she would. If she couldn’t phone, she would e-mail, the next resort if the phone was broken. She thought of her own laptop, currently residing under her bed, reserved for limited use. She had been determined to rely on the spoken word – she had actually forgotten about her machine and could have kicked herself.

  ‘I want one of them,’ Jeremy was saying, ‘so’s I can look at pictures of lovely girls I’ll never meet. Better than the real thing, I reckon. Anyway, come on, Jack, drink up. Got to get up and get going. Things to do, people to see. You’ve scared this nice woman half out of her wits, time to get out of her hair. Shame about the laptop – I want to learn.’

  ‘You’re welcome to stay.’

  Jeremy shook his head and grinned.

  ‘No, we’re not. You’d be mad to let us stay, you’d never get rid of us. Jack’s behaved badly enough already, haven’t you, Jack? It can only get worse, and besides you wouldn’t like us smoking in here. Give her back her house keys, will you,

  Jack?’

  Jack was looking round for his damp coat, looking foolish and furtive and more than ready to leave. He pointed towards the back door.

  ‘I left them out there,’ he said. ‘Thanks for the beer and everything.’

  Sarah glanced through the glass of the kitchen door and saw that the rain had begun again, and the wind was up. Where would they go in this? Back to sit in a van?

  ‘No, don’t go just yet,’ she said. ‘Wait until it stops. I don’t care what you do in here unless you set the place on fire. I’m only a tenant and I’d have to pay. As long as you go eventually.’

  Jack Dunn relaxed and laughed. It was an attractive laugh, made him look like a pirate, so that at once she could see the native good looks.

  ‘Yup. Mrs Hurly would get her pound of flesh. Thank you, missus. I’d like to stay a bit. Got things to talk about.’

  It was early yet but deadly dark after the rain.

  Jeremy was relieved and only slightly uncomfortable. They were both graceless louts, but sensitive about overstaying a welcome.

  ‘There’s plenty more beer in the fridge. The ashtray’s somewhere around.’

  There would always be more wine, more beer, more emergency food, like crisps and nuts and pasta and bread and cheese. No cook herself, but always sufficiently supplied with the wherewithal to stave off hunger, Sarah had not wanted or courted visitors but was always ready for them, consistently prepared for lovers, friends, and a rogue brother, the whole ersatz family she had in London, although as far as the lovers were concerned it was as often their place rather than hers. That was her eccentric living, after all, until she had fallen into need. Sarah produced her own version of rations.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ she said. ‘You’ve got catching up to do.’

  And a few joints to smoke. Her only fastidiousness was hating that particular smell, but this was not really her house any more. They had more claim to it than she did.

  She went upstairs and straightened the rumpled bedspread. From the side of the bed she lifted the laptop she had forced herself to ignore at least most of the time since she had come here. I want to rely on the spoken word, that was what she had told Jessica, meaning that she wanted to rely only on what she saw
with her own eyes and heard with her own ears in order to decide if she could live this way, without needing to read words, although now the existence of the laptop, which she had promised herself to access no more than once a week, was a terrible reproach. If Jessica had been parted from her mobile phone, she would have tried that. But surely not before she had gone to Sarah’s flat, which she had permission to use in dire necessity: she would have gone there, used the phone.

  Hell. There was an e-mail that had been resting there since the early hours of Sunday morning.

  S,

  Well, I know you don’t like this any more than my mother, but you might just get it . . . I’ll send it this time, not like last time, because I know what you said, only I like this thing late at night, it’s the only chance to talk when everyone else has gone to bed. You know me, can’t stop talking.

  I did it, went back to his posh joint, confronted him again, only extra, extra quiet this time, no flowers, no touching, only talking.

  Anyway, he saw the point. He saw that I can’t stop loving him, and he can’t stop loving me. I’m still coming home. But I wanted him to come with me, you see. I’m not strong enough to come back alone. I wanted to come back with someone who loves me. Make things right. Dream on.

  We were supposed to be going out tonight, and I was going to be his girl. He told me to dress up, told me where to meet. JK Sheekey’s for the fish. We love that place. Then he stood me up.

  He left me sitting on my own where no one sits alone and me in my best dress. They stared at me. I tried not to cry. Don’t cry in public.

  He wanted to make a point. I waited and waited. Then this internet café on the way home, with a few lonely souls like me. What do I do, Sarah? Shall I come home? Shall I be angry or sad?

  All I know is that I can’t bear to feel as worthless as this.

  Love, J.

  Nothing else, except a message from Mike, saying ANYTIME! ANYWHERE! The message from Jessica filled Sarah with dread. She wrote one back.

  Where are you, dearest idiot?

  You’re here, you’re everywhere here, like a ghost. Talk of you has filled my life. Last I heard from you, you might have been coming home to hear the seagulls, and for all I know, you did. There have been sightings, although I don’t know if that was you or Jack’s dog. The neglected beast that bit the so-called enemy? Was that you, too? Anyway, your Jack Dunn is back, he’s gone off with Jeremy. Like everyone else, they’d just be pleased to see you.

  Will you phone and tell me about the old vicar? The new one’s great and rather tasty.

  Don’t ever think you’d be cast out here. You did what you did, and get this straight, nobody cares about anything for very long, especially sex.

  There’s something to explain. I know you want to be loved so badly it hurts, but you can’t grab it, it doesn’t work. It doesn’t bring its own reward. You have to let it grow, or not. I know you wanted to copy me and get objective about it. You thought I had the perfect life as the kind-hearted hooker who could take them and leave them, but that would never have suited you. Get on with what you’re good at, develop the other skills, and maybe one day someone will see what you are and love you for daftness and goodness, a touch of madness, and blue nails, as long as you don’t spike his chariot wheels and stop him winning the race. The secret with men is to be undemanding. You can’t make them need you.

  If I don’t hear from you tomorrow I’m coming to find you. I know you’re reluctant to use my flat, but you’re welcome.

  Love, S

  It took a while: it always took time to be careful with words, even words into the wilderness.

  Jessica would have gone back. She might have waited a while, but she would have gone back. The anger would have won and she would have gone back because fury was easier to live with than sadness.

  Sarah took off her shoes and wiggled her toes in their thick socks. She could hear the steady drone of indecipherable conversation below, interrupted with guffaws of laughter which drew her downstairs again and away from her own sense of dread. Again she lingered at the kitchen door, then sat down and joined them. They nodded towards her and continued as if she was not there. She felt like an indifferent but trusted relative, enjoyed it for what it was.

  ‘Truth is,’ Jack Dunn was saying, ‘I got sacked. Pranged the white van and got laid off, the bastards. Didn’t like it anyway. Always in strange territory. Don’t like the fucking north and I miss the sea. I thought I’d come back, maybe get a job back at the abattoir.’

  ‘Back to working in the Ab?’ Jeremy asked incredulously. ‘Never.’

  ‘Best job I ever had,’ Jack said, defensively. ‘Professional, and treated like one, too, when Hurly owned it anyway, before it was sold and when we were kids. Remember the Ab, Jerry?’

  He nodded at Sarah, including her, albeit remotely. There was a number of empty beer bottles. She stocked Belgian beer, eleven per cent proof, a little went far. The air was thick. She opened the back door and got herself white wine, sat quietly.

  ‘Regular hours, afternoons off, good pay. Clean.’

  Jeremy nodded. ‘Yup, there was that. I liked the beef chain best.’

  Jack turned back to Sarah, to share the enthusiasm.

  ‘Beast gets stunned first, see ? Feels nothing, though it still moves. Has to. You get the thing hung up by the leg on the gurney, that’s the hard-work bit. Gravity, you’ve got to have gravity. Then you put the knife in the neck, gotta be a sharp, sharp knife, you have to sharpen them all the time. Heart’s still pumping, so the beast’s still thrashing about which helps plenty, ’cos all that movement gets the blood out double quick, it’s like a geyser. Gets most of it out, anyway, and that’s the way it should be, because if it’s still losing blood when you butcher it, it hasn’t been killed as well as it should be. It’s a real challenge, that.’

  Jeremy shook his head, not really disagreeing.

  ‘I like the piggies best. More polish to it, more to do.’

  Again he turned to Sarah, vaguely including her in his happy reminiscence. Any audience would do.

  ‘Same killing method as the cattle, really. Stun, chain up, still alive, but out of it, really. Only after the killing and the bleeding you have to move ’em on. They get dipped and tumbled in scalding water, that gets rid of most of the hair, see, you have to stand back a bit. And then there they are, back on the rack, and you shave them with a big broad knife. They’re all soft and supple and clean, like babies. When we get them in the shop they’re stiff and solid, but never as solid as beef, though.’

  ‘Christ, it was hot in there, though,’Jack said.

  ‘Would be, wouldn’t it? All those warm bodies. All those steaming entrails. I’d never have had the vet’s job, would you? Looking at the entrails for liver fluke and that. Silly sheep eat anything. Don’t never eat anything not washed. Yes, it was hot. Fucking uniform didn’t help. Nylon overalls down to the ground, like a shower curtain, with wellies and hairnets.’

  ‘That John was the best at skinning sheep, put his whole weight into it, remember? Start at the feet and haul the whole thing off.’

  ‘Barry was best at breaking necks and finding the joint at the knuckle. He could get a knuckle off in a second, skilled man.’

  ‘Naaa, Mary was better at that, she really was.’

  Sarah raised a hand. ‘Enough,’ she said. ‘Enough. Time to go. If it was all so much fun, why did you leave?’

  They squinted at one another, puzzled by the question. While she was imagining that work such as this might have scarred them for life, Jeremy shrugged and answered.

  ‘Dunno. Got a bit boring. Got a bit boring, didn’t it, Jack? Same thing every day, day in, day out. And girls don’t want to go out with boys who work up there. They don’t like you talking about guts. Don’t believe the blood washes off.’

  Jack nodded back. They were not half as drunk or as stoned as they were going to be.

  ‘I think it was something to boast about, Jerry. At least it was
an honest job. Better than being unemployed. Why did we stop? I think it was them bloody hairnets that did it.’

  They collapsed into helpless giggles. Jack Dunn was not a man with a broken heart.

  Jeremy was one of those who never wore enough clothes. He was ill-equipped for a night, grabbed Jack’s damp coat and led him out, both of them laughing.

  ‘We could go fishing. We could go shooting rabbits. Maybe go drinking. Man in the pub says we’re welcome.’

  Jack gave Sarah a thumbs-up sign, and then they were gone.

  Later, she went back out into the yard and recovered her keys. No one needed keys for this house; you only had to push open the door. Alongside the keys was J. Dunn’s mobile phone, dropped out of his pocket, ready to be returned. Such trust people had, such carelessness.

  She came back into the kitchen, aware of the mess men made. It looked bombstruck.

  Sarah would return the phone in the morning via the butcher’s shop, first thing, and resist the urge to eavesdrop in the meantime because she did not want to hear. Instead, she charged the phone for him.

  No call from the vicar. She would get up early, go the butcher soonest and find out where Jeremy lived so she could return Jack’s phone. Jack would need his phone.

  Then, maybe, she would paint walls, and listen, and after that she would go to London. She could not live with worry: she would have to go and find Jessica. The idyll was over. Jessica was not the only one who was homesick.

  Sleep. Get up early.

  One more call. Number unavailable.

  No more e-mails, either.

  Andrew Sullivan, vicar of the parish, continued painting undercoat onto the walls until three in the morning, arrived at the hour, dizzy and tired.

  He looked forward to the morning, when he could make a difference, to his own life and to others.

  Went to his laptop and composed a poem about female beauty.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The sky was fresh and the air was clean. The white van started OK, and there was nothing nasty along his route from the next town to here.