“I don’t know, Julius. Who do you think? Nathan or one of his mates? Rawson or maybe even Ed? You tell me. Who do you think?”
Julius runs his hand through his hair, the lines in his face deepening, and then suddenly gone. “It’s just stuff. Things.” He puts out an arm and at first she resists, leans away from him, but not so far that he can’t get her, and she lets herself be tucked into him, and her body relaxes.
“It’s nearly everything we own.” She’s almost crying.
“Come on, come on,” he says. “I brought some water and a bottle of gas. Let’s make a cup of tea. I’m knackered.”
She pulls away as she sees that the trailer fixed to the back of his bike is loaded with a large water container and an orange gas cylinder, both strapped on with bungee cord.
“I was paid today,” he says.
She knows he wants her to say thank you, but she can’t do it. “There was a mouse nest in a cushion and there’s only a single bed, and no loo. We can’t live in this place, Julius. It’s not possible.” Her pulse beats in her throat.
“It’s just temporary until I sort something else out. It’s better than Bridget and Stu’s, isn’t it?” His voice is cajoling, working on her.
“You’ll always bloody sort something out and now see where we are.”
“I’m trying. For God’s sake, I’m doing my best.”
The thumping anger of her heart makes her bend over, palms on knees again, her breath coming fast.
“I’m sorry.” He rubs her back. “Breathe, just breathe. Slowly.”
When she can stand upright, he says, “Come on, I’ll show you.” And he pushes the bike and trailer towards the caravan and there is nothing else for her to do except follow on behind. She stands in the doorway, trying not to inhale the terrible smell, while Julius manipulates the table and the bench seats. “See,” he says when he’s finished. “Another bed. We’ll have to do something about the cushions, re-cover them. And here’s the sink.” He lifts the counter to show her the sink she’s already found. “I’ll attach the water in a moment.” He’s like a child allowed to camp out overnight and excited by the equipment: the billycans which fit one inside the other, the sporks, and the tin opener you have to lever up and down by hand. But he hasn’t thought about how much more laborious these things are to use for longer than a weekend, and how in the middle of the night he’ll be frightened and want to go back to his proper bed.
“I’ll fix up the gas and we’ll have a cup of tea. And I have another surprise for you—a treat.”
“What happens when the owner of this crappy piece of land finds us living here and chucks us off?” Jeanie says, from outside. “What then?”
“No one owns it.”
“Everywhere is owned by someone.”
“It’s been forgotten, cut off. Why else do you think this beauty is still here?” He slaps the side of a cupboard. “It’s just until we get back on our feet. Save up some money so we can rent somewhere decent. It’ll be fun, living in the woods. Look at Maude, she loves it.” Behind Jeanie the dog is running, stopping to dig through last year’s leaves and running again. Julius comes out and goes to the trailer and lifts up a carrier bag. “Get some water boiling for the tea because here’s your surprise.” He opens the bag and wafts it under Jeanie’s nose. “Fish and chips,” he says in a sing-song. She thinks about Shelley Swift living above the fish and chip shop and wonders whether he bought some for her too, but Jeanie’s empty stomach rumbles and her mouth waters at the smell of fish and vinegar. And once more, she forgives him.
23
Jeanie tucks her knees in tight where she lies on the bed which Julius made from the table and bench seats. She is freezing in her sleeping bag even with a blanket on top. From the other end of the caravan, her brother’s slow, sleepy breaths both reassure and irritate. Under her head the cushions are damp and the stink of them is in her nose. Tomorrow she will find somewhere else to live. Tomorrow she will heat a pot of water on the stove and clean the caravan thoroughly. Tomorrow she will take the cushions outside and air them in a patch of sunshine. The previous evening, before it became too dark to see, they brought the instruments indoors and as many of the boxes and bags as they could fit; the rest they tucked under the caravan. The piano remains where Ed and his mate left it.
She turns on her back and traces the outlines of grimy stains which blotch the ceiling. It is ten past five on her wristwatch when she hears the first drops of rain tapping on the caravan roof. A steady patter and, within a minute, a downpour.
24
In a corner of the lounge bar of the Plough, Jeanie and Julius tune their instruments. They are watched without curiosity by two elderly women sitting under the front window with their coats on. Jeanie can imagine what they’re thinking; what they will whisper to each other later. Two sherry schooners, almost empty, are on the table in front of the women. Behind Jeanie is chatter and the chink of glasses and cutlery from the few people eating in the conservatory, while to her right the counter curves out of sight into the public bar, where conversation and laughter outdo each other in volume. The red swirled carpet, the beaten copper over the fireplace, and the lights reflecting off the bottles and mirrors all press up against Jeanie’s eyes, and the thought that there are only two people in the audience makes her hot with embarrassment, even while the idea that anyone else may come and listen—or worse, watch—makes
