I got a strange summons from Magda, to meet her at ’The Ship’ for a drink one lunchtime. There was something very furtive and secret squirrel about this summons, and so Misty said he would stay at home (even though it was a foregone certainty that I would tell him everything that happened when I got back). I found Magda already waiting for me (with the drinks in) at one of the tables at the back of the car-park. I was a bit dismayed by this because, although it was beautiful sunny day, there was still a perishing nip in the air and I didn’t fancy sitting outside in it for too long with my back in the state it was still in. I hoped the meeting would be a short one.
“Magda, what’s up?” I said, as it was pretty obvious that something was.
“My relationship’s in trouble”, she said “It’s been under strain ages now, and I really think it’s on its last legs”.
“Now let’s not be hasty here”, I said “You’ve been under a lot of stress since buying that damn bungalow, it’s bound to put a strain on things …”
“It’s the age difference”, she interrupted “I stupidly thought that it wouldn’t be a problem for us, but it is, and it’s getting worse. I feel like his Mum, not his partner - and people, when we’re out and about - keep thinking I am his Mum!”
“Well what does it matter what they think?” I said “People have been baffled all through the years about me and Misty!”
“Yes, but they don’t go around thinking you’re his Mum do they!” she said.
(Interesting idea!).
“You’re surely not going to let what strangers think affect you?” I said.
“It’s not just that”, she went on “He’s young, he wants to do young things, like staying up half the night talking with the lads and drinking, and I just want to go to bed”.
“Well go to bed then!” I said “Just because you’re in a relationship doesn’t mean you always have to go to bed at the same time! I sometimes work late at night, and Misty goes to bed”.
“It’s also that I feel I don’t get his full support”, said Magda “He thinks I worry about things unnecessarily. Young people are like that, they don’t see all the problems that we do. Sometimes I get the impression that I’m boring him, and that’s horrible. And I feel dreadful because I’ve started wishing I was with someone more my own age … someone like you”.
By this stage alarm bells were ringing all over the place. I had had a feeling lately that there had been a sea-change in Magda and her attitude towards me, but I had stupidly thought that she knows the score, she knows there’s no point pursuing it. I had been wandering along casually thinking that at least nothing would ever come to a head about it. I now had a panic-stricken sensation that she was going to approach me, and I wished I was anywhere but there! In my head I was yelling frantically “please don’t say anything, Magda, not ANYTHING!” To be propositioned by somebody who you simply are not interested in (not in that way I mean) is hideous, and if it‘s an old friend it‘s even worse. How the fuck am I going to handle this?!
I was suddenly aware of how quiet everything had gone around us, as though the whole bloody world was holding its breath. I was aware of the birds singing, some traffic noise, and the sea in the distance, but it was as if we were caught up in some awful vacuum. It’s like getting an inkling of just how terrible eternity could be.
“It’s interesting”, she said, breaking into my thoughts, and her voice had an icy edge to it that I had never heard before “Your whole body language shifted just then. You tensed up all over”.
“That was a very eerie moment”, I said, quietly “I don’t think I enjoyed it very much”.
“I know you have problems of your own at the moment”, she said “But apart from your work, are there any other problems, with Misty?”
(Oh ye gods, woman, STOP!).
“No”, I said.
I could have told her that our sex life was going from strength to strength, but quite frankly I didn’t think it was any of her business. I then had the stupid thought of why the heck did Al have to go and die? His timing was totally off-kilter. He had fancied Magda for ages, and now would have been his big chance. He could have invited her round to his caravan so that she could cry on his shoulder. Instead the old bugger was dead, and I was getting it!!! Verily, God has a bloody strange sense of humour sometimes.
“Xanthe’s stomach problems aren’t clearing up at all”, Magda suddenly said “She’s on some medication which is making her sleep a lot”.
“Well at least that’ll give her a respite from it”, I said, as though somebody had turned over several pages of the cosmic script and we were now in another scene entirely.
“Are you taking anything for your back?” she asked.
“Cuprofen mainly”, I said.
She then asked me what Cuprofen was, and eventually the whole dismal little scene came to an end.
I was irritated by this whole scene, and not a little depressed by it. Not for the first time I wished that people would stop playing games. But I had little time to really dwell upon it, as the news was full of reports that a massive storm was heading for Britain. From the gloomy predictions of it I was reminded of some of Henry’s old evangelical stuff about the end of the world. Hurricane-force winds, hailstorms, and torrential rain were all scheduled to hit us. They were even giving out warnings on the radio that everybody should stay indoors come nightfall.
Misty told me of all this when I got back from the pub, and we spent the afternoon clearing the garden of some of the rubbish and bits of old furniture that had accumulated there recently. We also had to do such mundane things as making sure our phones were charged up, and buying packets of spare batteries in case the power lines came down, as everyone was predicting.
It turned out to be every bit as grim as everyone had been expecting. The storm came in during the early hours of the morning. We heard on the radio that sea wall defences had been breached in the West Country, which wasn’t exactly news to gladden the heart. Our roof began to leak, and ’Barnacles’ was once more a dismal clutter of buckets and old towels, and flickering lights.
In the midst of all this dark, apocalyptic chaos there was the bizarre sight of a party of ramblers marching grimly down our lane, hoods pulled up over their heads and rucksacks on their backs. The whole thing was so surreal that for a moment I just stood there watching them, going “what the …?” I couldn’t help being reminded of an old ’Goodies’ sketch, in which the old cricketing buffers of the MCC survive an all-out war, marching determinedly through the gunfire, with bombs going off all around them, chanting “we are the boys of the MCC”. I couldn’t help thinking you could do the same with the Ramblers!
This country.
The gales lasted for several days, but by some miracle our power supply held out, so I was able to try and escape from it by doing some work. At other times we ate toast and marmalade and drank Jack Daniels, and I caught up on the news. Once again, I couldn’t help thinking that Jason must be in his element with all the strange stories that were abounding everywhere, most particularly the spate of leading police officers who were turning up mysteriously dead at the foot of mountains or on beaches.
One day Xanthe drove down through the maelstrom to see us. She was getting nervous, convinced that at any moment her caravan was going to get blown over the cliff. I pointed out that things were scarcely much calmer down here in Shinglesea, but we still ended up with the pleasure of her company for the night. She even got nervous in the living-room, and we ended up sleeping with her in the middle of the bed, like a skinny bolster. Not exactly my idea of a threesome, but never mind.
Easter week we were invited to spend the night up at the bungalow, for what I suppose the poshies would call “a dine and sleep”. This held about as much appeal for me as listening to one of Heather Mills’ hysterical, self-pitying rants. Ordinarily I would have politely refused, but it was the only way we could get Xanthe to go home! It turned out to be the most frightening experience of my life so far.
The meal itself (macaroni cheese) was a pretty grim affair, enlivened only by meeting Jason’s new girlfriend, Katy Bradshaw, for the first time. Katy sports an impressive head of glorious red hair, but other than that I can’t remember much about her, as the evening was entirely overshadowed by what came afterwards.
Conversation during the meal had been overly-sentimental, as it had focussed almost entirely on Al, which got Xanthe emotional. Not just because of Al’s passing, but because she was convinced our group was breaking up. This was reinforced by the fact that Robbie still hadn’t returned from his parents’ house, and after all these weeks we were starting to think he was never likely to do so. There was also a brief mention of Tara Mitchell, as the rumour had it that she was planning to convert to Catholicism.
It was a very cold evening (we had been promised sleet over the Easter weekend), and so I used that as an excuse to suggest we all turn in (before Xanthe got onto one of her “why-is-all-this-dreadful-stuff-happening” speeches). Magda (who had been giving me resentful looks all evening) then confessed that she had nowhere to put us all.
“Jason and Katy are sleeping in here”, she said, gesturing round the living-room “There’s room for you and Misty as well”.
I don’t think either Misty or I were inclined to act as gooseberries to the lovebirds, and I asked why Jason wasn’t sleeping in his own room.
“I don’t sleep there anymore”, he said “My mate Dave lasted one night in there, and then he scarpered back home saying ’never again’”.
“Yes but …” I said.
“That room’s cursed”, said Jason “There’s pure evil in it. I won’t subject Katy to it, and I don’t think you should subject Misty to it”.
This kind of talk was hardly going to raise Magda’s hopes about selling the place.
“You can have the corner room”, she said “Although it’s very cold, or in here”.
“This is ridiculous”, I said (I always feel reckless after a few glasses of wine) “It’s only a room for fuck’s sake! How can a room be evil! I’m going to look in there”.
Magda followed me, but I insisted (in spite of my brave words) that Misty stay outside the door. Magda pushed open the door and flicked the light-switch. Nothing happened.
“Bulbs are always going in here”, she said “The one in the bedside lamp exploded on Jason recently. Glass everywhere, completely burnt out the socket”.
So the only light we had was from the passageway. The first thing I noticed was that there were new twin beds in there, with brass bedsteads. But almost immediately I noticed too the atmosphere. It’s extremely hard to describe. The air was heavy, like during the run-up to a thunderstorm. I’m absolutely loathe to describe it as heavy with evil, as it makes it sound like I’ve been too easily influenced by what Jason said, but that was what it felt like.
I walked slowly into the middle of the room, following the line of light thrown by the light in the passage. The further I went into the room the greater became the arthritic pain in my arm, and the lingering pain in my back. In the end it all became unbearable and I knew I’d have to get out of there.
I turned and found Magda looking at me in a very odd way. It was as if she wasn’t Magda anymore. I remember once reading a very disturbing short story by Isaac Singer called ’Black Wedding’, in which a young Jewish girl is about to be married, but when she looks up into the face of her bridegroom she realised he is in fact a demon, and that was the sensation I had at that moment.
“Magda”, I gasped.
She looked down and the spell broke. She gave a scram. I looked down too. I had been sitting with bare feet by the fire in the living-room, and now I saw that there were large blood spots on them.
“Out of here”, I said, as calmly as I could “Now”.
Retracing my steps out of the room was like swimming against a strong tide. When we finally rejoined Misty in the corridor, the bloodspots had gone from my feet, and so had the worst of the pains in my arm and back.
I would dearly like to have gone home after this, but I had drunk too much wine to drive the van. There was nothing else for it but to doss down on the living-room carpet along with the others.
The following morning Magda woke me with at a quarter-to-eight with a steaming hot mug of strong tea. I put my trousers on and followed her back into the kitchen. There I told her, in no uncertain terms, that she was to turn her back on the place completely.
“Sod the money”, I said “You’ve been worrying about that too much”.
“None of us knows what’s going to happen I that department anyway”, she said “An estate agent told me recently that a lot of people have been running scared since the Northern Rock crisis”.
“So just chalk it up to experience”, I said “Put the keys back through the letterbox and let the place go”.
After delivering that little Easter sermon I took Misty back down to Shinglesea, and we spent most of the Easter weekend in bed together. I think it was one of the best Easters I have ever had. When I finally emerged back into the land of the Undead again, and put on Teletext, it was to be greeted with the just-about-says-it-all-really headline: ‘BASIL BRUSH RACISM ROW FINALLY ENDS’.
Well thank gawd for that!
Robbie took us completely by surprise by returning at the end of the month, just when I had come to the conclusion that he never meant to come back. He looked very hale and hearty for someone who had just been to two family funerals in rapid succession. I got the distinct impression that he didn’t think the same about us.
“You both look really peaky”, he said “You need to get outside more”.
“The weather hasn’t been fit enough to go outside!” snapped Misty, who was clearly not keen on Robbie’s new bonny appearance.
“Yeah it’s a bit wild at the moment isn’t it”, he said.
(A bit wild at the moment? I’m struggling to remember a time when it wasn’t a bit wild!).
“Jason’s invited me to some night fishing on the beach at the weekend”, Robbie continued “I hope it warms up a bit by then”.
“Not much chance of that”, said Misty, with grim satisfaction, when he had gone.