The safe house

have a game some time. But not today.’

‘Definitely not,’ said Finn firmly. ‘I don’t want to be at your mercy. At least not any more than I am already. More tea?’

‘I want to play chest.’

It was Elsie, her drawing finished or abandoned.

‘Chess,’ I said. ‘All right. What is this piece called?’

‘Don’t know.’

‘How can you remember all those moves?’ Finn asked.

‘Because I’m interested in them.’

‘My memory is totally useless.’

‘I doubt that. Let me show you something. Choose seven or eight objects from the room and tell us what they are.’

After Finn had done that, we sent her out of the room for a couple of minutes, then called her back. She squatted back down on the floor with Elsie and me.

‘All right, Elsie, what were they?’

Elsie closed her eyes and wrinkled her forehead and her little round nose.

‘It was a chess piece… and a cup… and a lamp… and a picture of a sheep and a pink felt-tip and a yellow felt-tip… and Fing’s shoes and Mummy’s watch.’

‘Brilliant,’ I said.

‘That’s pretty good for a five-year-old, isn’t it?’ Finn said. ‘How did she do that?’

‘She practises,’ I said. ‘Centuries ago, remembering things was an art that people used to learn. The way you do it is to have a building in your mind, and you put things in different places in the building, and when you want to remember them, you go into the building – in your mind’s eye – and retrieve the objects.’

‘What do you have, Elsie?’ Finn asked.

‘I’ve got my special house,’ Elsie said.

‘So where was the chess piece?’

‘On the front door.’

‘And where was the cup?’

‘On the doormat.’

‘How did anybody ever think of doing that?’ Finn asked.

‘There’s an old story about that,’ I said. ‘A sort of myth. In Ancient Greece a poet was reciting at a banquet. Before the end of the feast, the poet was called away, and a few minutes later the banqueting hall collapsed and everybody was killed. The corpses were so badly damaged that the next of kin couldn’t recognize them and claim them for burial. But the poet was able to remember where everybody had been silting, and because of that he could identify all the bodies. The poet remembered all the guests because he had seen them in a particular location, and he realized that this could be a means of remembering anything.’

Finn’s face was pensive now.

‘Memory and death,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t dare to wander in the house of my own mind. I’d be frightened of what I might find there.’

‘I wouldn’t,’ Elsie said proudly. ‘My house is safe.’

I stayed up till late. No Danny.

Sixteen

The next evening I went to what Michael Daley had called a social occasion when he invited me to accompany him. ‘You wanted me to launch you into local society,’ he said, so I had to be a sport and say yes.

I pulled garments from their hangers and tossed them on to the bed. There was a long maroon woollen dress with a high waist that I liked, but it seemed too sombre. I rejected a couple of black miniskirts, the delicate blue dress with the soft neckline and three-quarter-length sleeves that I never threw away and never wore, the loose silk black trousers that had started to resemble pyjamas, and finally put on a black voile top and calf-length satin skirt. I pulled out my favourite black shoes with no heel (I tower over most men anyway) and a clunky silver buckle, and hung ear-rings on my lobes in a jangle of hot colour. Then I examined myself in the mirror; I didn’t look very respectable. I put on no make-up, except for a slash of red on my lips to match my hair. I pulled Finn’s trilby from the top of the wardrobe and jammed it on my head. I wished it was Danny taking me to this party; without him, I was dressed up and stepping on to the set of the wrong play. Where was Danny now? I had swallowed my pride and tried to telephone him, but there had been no reply, not even his voice on the answering machine telling me he wasn’t there but would ring me back as soon as he could.

Elsie was already asleep in a nest of duvet. I knelt beside her and breathed in her clean fragrance: her breath smelled of hay and her hair of clover. My hat touched her on the shoulder and she grimaced in her sleep and curled up on her side, muttering something which I couldn’t catch. Her paintings were stuck all around her room, more every day. Rainbows; and people with arms and legs coming out of their bulbous heads, eyes askew; animals with five legs; daubs of violent colour. Finn had labelled each picture neatly with Elsie’s name and the date she had drawn it. Sometimes there was a title: one, a scribble of purple with eyes and hands adrift in the chaos of colour, was called ‘Mummy at work’. It occurred to me that if I died now Elsie would have no real memory of me. She’d miss Finn when the time came for her to go, but she’d get over it quickly.

Linda and Finn turned from the sofa as I came into the living room. They were eating microwaved popcorn and drinking Coke in front of the TV. Finn had resolutely opposed all my suggestions that she contact her old friends, but an unlikely friendship had grown up between these two, comradely and consoling.

‘I’m off. What are you watching?’

‘Linda brought round a video of Dances With Wolves. You look nice.’ Finn smiled sweetly and poured a handful of popcorn into her mouth. She seemed completely comfortable; she’d kicked off her shoes and her legs were tucked up under her, a floppy cardigan was wrapped around her; she’d plaited her hair and looked pre-pubescent. I tried to imagine her as fat and found that I couldn’t.

Kevin Costner was dancing around naked, his white buttocks shining cutely.

‘Such an irritating actor,’ I said waspishly. Linda turned to me, shocked.

‘He’s gorgeous.’

Outside, a car horn sounded. I picked up my coat.

‘That’ll be Michael. I won’t be gone long, Linda. Help yourself to anything you want. Finn, see you in the morning.’

And I was gone, into the cold night air, into the warm interior of Michael’s car, meeting his appreciative gaze, sinking into my coat, leaning back in the seat. I love being driven, probably because I almost never am. Michael drove with deliberation, and his big car slipped smoothly along narrow lanes. He was wearing a navy-blue coat over a dark suit and looked rather expensive and less louche than usual. Sensing my eyes upon him he turned, met my gaze, smiled.

‘What are you thinking, Sam?’

I spoke before my brain intercepted me.

‘I was wondering why you’ve never married, had children.’

He frowned.

‘You sound like my mother. My life is the way I want it to be. Here we are’ – we were in Castletown with its stone lions on gate pillars and lawns – ‘we’ll be there in a couple of minutes.’

I sat up a bit straighter in the seat, pushed back a wisp of hair that had escaped the hat.

‘How many people are going to be there?’