“It’s nice having pictures, though,” said Fran.
“Not that sort.”
In Liz’s hospital room, Jane was looking at her passport photos again. She compared her blurry, unformed self with Liz, who was so still and perfect. I’m jealous of a woman who’s half-dead, she thought. No wonder I need a holiday.
Then she took out Leaves and Angels and started to read aloud at Chapter Forty-Two. Romance novels were something she and Liz shared a passion for. This was the new one by Iris Makepeace and it was all right. Not too much sex. A bit was all right, but nothing that rubbed your nose in it. Jane would have been embarrassed reading anything too sexy in a hospital.
The book was about travelling abroad, to Africa, for a romance. It made her feet itch to think of it. Listening to her own voice tell the story, it seemed as if she wasn’t reading at all. When she finished she said goodbye to Liz and left for a coffee.
She knew that Tom was the next visitor in. He had put himself on the Liz rota, though Jane knew that he didn’t know Liz at all. Funny old bloke. Jane felt a bit sorry for him — beaten up in front of everyone by his own stepson. They said he was a bit daft.
She bumped into him in the waiting room.
“You’re Jane, aren’t you?” Tom asked. “You know Elsie.”
Jane nodded. “There’s no change in Liz. It’s a bit boring in there.”
He looked like a shabby old gent, someone who had seen better days. “It gets me out of the house, visiting,” he said. “Otherwise it’s the same four walls.”
Jane smiled and hurried on her way. Funny to hear him talking like a woman. But what sort of a man would live with Elsie, anyway? It would have to be someone pliable, who would listen to all the old rubbish Elsie came out with. Jane could take Elsie only in small doses. For some reason Elsie supposed that made them best buddies. If only the old woman would see that it meant nothing, that Jane, out of politeness, would spend the time of day with almost anyone who asked for it.
Jane hated the way Elsie sometimes swanned about, thinking herself a great social success. It was ridiculous. That night of Nesta’s burning her belongings, the night that had seen Tom knocked almost unconscious by the bad lads from over the way, Elsie had thought she was a drama queen. She swore vengeance and damnation on the heads of the perpetrators. She tagged along, shouting her mouth off, as the men hauled Tom home to check him over and see he was all right. Elsie was too busy being self-righteous to do anything but gabble on. But Jane didn’t hear her call her own son names. As far as Jane could see, Craig had been the worst one. He’d held Tom still for the other one to kick him. Craig was the worst of the bunch.
Once back in Phoenix Court, Jane walked straight into Penny. “Well, you had a narrow escape, didn’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“From that Craig lad. Now we’ve all seen what a vicious pig he is.”
“I don’t want to talk about this, Jane.”
“Did he ever hit you, Penny?”
“Jane, stop it! I’m not seeing him now. It’s all history.”
“He’s still a vicious pig. I’ve just seen Tom, visiting your mam. He looks like a scared old man.”
“What’s Tom doing visiting my mam?”
Jane tutted. “Just doing his neighbourly duty, that’s all.”
“I’ve never liked the look of him,” Penny said.
Tom was an expert in visiting people. His mum had taught him how you went round houses that weren’t your own, and how you put people at their ease. Then and now he felt safer in other people’s houses than his own.
Here he was settling himself in a chair by Liz. He sat quite still and stared at her. He clasped his knees.
When he ran the Rainbow Club he visited people’s houses with Elsie. They went to see anyone — Elsie’s friends and friends of friends. He knew they weren’t always welcome. He knew that often they were forcing their company on people. Sometimes Elsie complained, “Why are we going to see people we hardly know? Sometimes can’t we stay at home?”
Tom would say grimly, “We’re spreading the word.”
It was a crude way of putting it, of course. But he didn’t think it hurt, going into homes and bringing up the subject of the divine. At one time he would have simply said ‘God’, but now he preferred to say ‘the divine’. Just mentioning the spiritual life would keep it alive. Some of these people round here never gave it a moment’s thought. Besides, at that time he never liked spending nights indoors with Elsie. What were those nights? Catchphrase, Strike It Lucky, The Ruth Rendell Mystery.
“It reminds you that we live in a world with other people,” he would tell Elsie. “That we are social beings.”
Here they would go, traipsing the dark tarmac of the estates, past the lit windows. How much you could see inside! Each window was a busy screen. Elsie, following Tom into other people’s rooms, was enthralled.
Those days and nights were over, though. Tom felt safer indoors, even if it meant watching ITV with Elsie. See how contented she looked, in of a night, tucked up on the settee, drinking.
He still had the need to visit, even if he didn’t want to walk the streets. So he came here. Liz would fulfil this need.
“Well, Liz,” he said, “I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, but I’ve put myself on your rota. Elsie reckons they’ve got it so there’s almost always someone with you. And I’m glad
