Now we are forgiven, p.21
Now We Are Forgiven, page 21
‘What was that noise?’
‘I accidentally knocked something off the table. Go back to bed.’
China registers that he is holding the picture frame.
‘You haven’t broken that, have you?’
Softly, catlike, she starts make her way down the stairs.
‘It’s fine. Go back to bed.’
But China continues into the living room as Frankie cautiously replaces the damaged picture on the sideboard. China takes a few quick steps towards the door, takes the frame from the sideboard and examines it. She is wearing no slippers.
‘Careful, there are bits of glass on the floor. The photo isn’t damaged. I’ll fix the frame, don’t worry.’
China carefully scrutinizes the photo, which is now lopsided on the other side of the cracked glass.
‘You look so much younger.’
‘It was ten or so years ago. You look younger too.’
China looks momentarily sad.
‘Mum actually looks happy. Haven’t seen that for a while.’
‘We were happy. Sometimes.’
China looks up sharply from the photo and sniffs the air.
‘What’s that smell?’
‘What smell?’
‘Like woodsmoke.’
‘Aftershave.’
‘Are you going out somewhere?’
‘I was bored. I found it in my cupboard, thought I’d give myself a little spray.’
‘Smells familiar.’
‘Why wouldn’t it?’
He hears a floorboard creak from above. Roxy must be moving in the bedroom, but China doesn’t seem to notice.
‘It’s not too bad actually,’ says China, still inhaling the smell of Roxy’s perfume.
‘Glad it meets with your approval. Now can you… ’
‘Can I try a bit?’
Frankie gets on his knees and starts picking up the scraps of glass.
‘It’s aftershave, not perfume. You don’t shave, do you? Except… ’ He has the sense not to finish the sentence.
‘What does it matter? A smell is a smell.’
He locates five shards in all, rises and drops them in the battered wire mesh bin that the office was throwing out and which he reclaimed.
‘It’s very expensive.’
‘You won’t let me try a bit of your leftover aftershave?’
‘I’d rather you didn’t. I’ve only got a tiny bit left.’
He examines the other contents of the bin. A tax demand. Three pizza flyers. A milkshake cup with liquid leaking from it. A Coke can which conceals an old roach of China’s last joint.
‘God – and I thought Silas was tight. What’s it called, then?’
Frankie, once again, feels himself in a panic. Turning away from the bin, he notices a painting behind China’s head – an art sauvage portrait of a green forest bought when he and Veronica were in Costa Rica on their honeymoon.
‘Tropical… no… Forest Green.’
‘ “Tropical” or “Forest Green?”’
‘Tropical Forest Green.’
‘Never heard of it.’
‘That’s something you don’t know, then.’
China catches sight of her reflection in the wall mirror. Her hair is tangled and matted.
‘Fuck. I look like Medusa.’
‘You look fine,’ says Frankie automatically.
‘I think I left my hairbrush in your room,’ says China brightly. ‘Do you mind if I…?’
‘I’ll get it for you,’ Frankie says quickly, darting up the stairs ahead of China.
When he reaches his room, Roxy is on the bed, already in her underwear. She gives him a seductive smile. He puts his finger urgently to his lips and makes a shhh-ing sound. He sees, to his consternation, that she is brushing her hair with China’s hairbrush.
‘Give it to me,’ Frankie hisses. Roxy frowns, but holds on to the brush.
‘Nearly finished,’ she whispers back.
‘Now.’
Frankie is trying desperately to control the volume of his voice. He looks back at the door, terrified that China will open it. Roxy shrugs and hands him the brush. He swivels and heads out the door, closing it behind him, and back down the stairs into the living room. China is standing where Frankie left her.
‘That smell gets everywhere,’ she says, holding the brush up to her nose. ‘Tropical Forest Green, eh?’
‘Forest what?’ says Frankie.
‘The aftershave?’
‘It’s a bit too pungent for me, I think.’
China narrows her eyes. Frankie tenses. Then, to his relief, she turns and heads briskly back up the stairs.
‘Night, Dad.’
‘Night, China.’
Just before she reaches the landing she turns again.
‘Just one more thing.’
‘What?’
Frankie is now following her, making his way up the stairs.
‘Someone asked me if I want to go on the Black Lives Matter march tomorrow.’
‘Why are you telling me? Why do you care what I think about it? Do you want to go?’ says Frankie. He is only half-listening, distracted by the presence of Roxy a few yards away behind a thin wooden partition.
‘Yes, I really, really want to go. I’m very excited about it.’
‘Okay, then.’
He stops and checks the paintwork on the banister. Disappointingly, there are drip marks showing on the fresh coat.
‘But I’m not going to.’
‘Right.’
Frankie hears another faint clatter from his bedroom. Now his concentration is shot completely. China’s words come to him as if through a lengthy tunnel. However, she doesn’t seem to register the noise.
‘Do you want to know why?’ says China. Her face, puzzlingly to Frankie, shows irritation. He nods absently, eyes fixed on his bedroom door.
‘Because I don’t want to put you into danger of Covid from my making close contact with other people.’
‘Okay.’
Frankie continues making his way up the stairs. China looks at him, trying to discern some awareness of the sacrifice she has made for his sake. His face is blank.
‘No need to thank me.’
‘Thank you,’ he says, oblivious to her disdain, and heads into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
China shakes her head forlornly and goes into her room, closing the door behind her. She checks her phone. There is a message from an old friend from her days living in North Kensington.
Are you still not coming? Every1 is going to be there.
China hesitates for some time, trying to decide how to respond.
Maybe she should go after all.
After several seconds considering this possibility, sorely tempted, she texts back.
I can’t put my dad at risk. Even though he doesn’t seem to give a shit.
Is he very old?
No. He had a dodgy heart a few years back, though. Can’t take the risk.
‘Dutiful daughter!’ comes the reply followed by a rolling eyes emoji.
* * *
Frankie, having brushed his teeth and emptied his bladder, the stream weak and partial, emerges from the bathroom and swiftly enters his bedroom. There is a flimsy bolt on the inside of the door, inherited from the last owner. He slides it shut behind him.
‘Won’t she want to know why it’s locked?’ says Roxy. She is wearing a black silk slip and black hold-ups.
‘Better that than she just walks in here.’
‘I thought she never came out of her room after ten o’clock.’
‘Almost never. Then you knocked over the fucking photograph.’
‘You told me to hurry.’
‘I didn’t tell you to break a picture frame.’
Roxy gives a moue and reaches into her handbag.
‘Be nice, Frankie. We’re by ourselves at last. I haven’t seen you for a month. Look.’
She produces a bottle of Hatozaki Japanese whiskey out of her bag.
‘Your favourite. Go and get some glasses.’
‘I’m not going out there again. Too dangerous.’
He takes the bottle and swigs directly from the neck.
‘Very romantic.’
‘Cheers,’ says Frankie, handing the bottle back to Roxy. ‘That hit the spot.’
She takes the bottle from him and takes a swig herself. Then she hands the bottle back to Frankie again, leans back and idly lets her hand linger near the crotch of her panties.
‘I’m lubed.’
Frankie upends the bottle again, then puts it on the bedside table.
‘I need to unwind a bit, Rocks.’
‘I’ll unwind you.’
She licks her lips. Frankie, still glancing furtively at the bolted door, takes off his T-shirt, pants and trousers and climbs into bed beside Roxy. Immediately, she starts kissing him and draws her right hand down towards his cock. Her mouth tastes of whiskey and iron.
‘Not much of a party going on down there, is there?’ says Roxy after several minutes of fruitless exploration.
‘Give me a chance.’
‘I’m giving you a chance.’
She is pumping with her fist at Frankie’s limp penis but getting no results.
‘Sorry,’ said Frankie. ‘I feel like I’m being tested. I’ve got a lot on my mind.’
Roxy pulls back her hand.
‘You’ve got nothing on your mind! You’ve been stuck here for two months doing fuck all.’
Frankie sits up and stares at his limp, drooping member.
‘I’m nervous. What with China being on the other side of that wall. I told you this was a bad idea.’
‘We can try again in a little while. Have you taken some Viagra?’
‘Didn’t think I would need it.’
‘Well – you apparently do.’
Reluctant to leave the room again, he nevertheless unbolts then carefully opens the bedroom door. He returns to the bathroom and finds the blister pack he keeps hidden from China’s view behind a bottle of indigestion medicine. There are two left. He pops one, swallowing it dry. Replacing the blister pack, he stops and regards the cabinet ruefully before closing the door. What was sadder than the middle-aged man’s bathroom cupboard? The tubes of ointment. The muscle strain lotions. The elasticated bandages.
Thirty minutes later, he has managed to achieve enough tumescence for a brief, semi-hard penetration and a swift, unsatisfying orgasm.
‘I’ve had better,’ says Roxy afterwards, still playing idly with herself, trying to finish off.
‘There’s such a thing as the male menopause,’ says Frankie.
‘Yeh. And unicorns,’ says Roxy, giving up, turning over on her stomach and closing her eyes.
* * *
The next morning, Roxy sneaks out successfully at 6 a.m., before even Frankie has woken up. He wakes hours later to an otherwise empty bed. When he goes downstairs and enters the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea, China is already there at the dining table, brushing her hair.
Frankie makes himself some toast and contemplates another day with absolutely nothing to do. His mood is good, feeling that last night he deftly avoided a situation that could have gone badly wrong.
Making his way back into the living room, he notices the unfinished banister again. He can’t face going back to it for some reason. He decides he might start a different job, just to break the monotony. In a flurry of enthusiasm, when lockdown had first started, he had gone to Homebase and bought shelves, brackets, tins of paint, varnish, paintbrushes. Most of them are still sat in the loft where he had stored them, untouched.
He pours himself a cup of tea, then makes his way up the stairs towards the loft. Once on the landing, he pulls down the loft ladder and starts to climb, leaving the half-drunk tea at the bottom. A few moments later he hears footsteps and senses China’s presence at the bottom of the ladder. Ignoring it, he pushes open the hatch and climbs in. Then he hears China’s footsteps on the ladder behind him. Bent low, tiptoeing between the wooden joints, he scrabbles about looking for a Homebase bag. China’s head appears through the hatch. She is still holding her hairbrush out in front of her.
‘I’ll be down in a minute. Just looking for a paint roller.’
‘Can you take a look at this hairbrush for me?’
He can’t read the expression on her face but something in her eyes, reflected in the light coming from below on the landing, makes his stomach gripe.
‘Why?’
‘Just have a look, will you?’
‘Is this urgent for some reason?’
‘It could be.’
‘How can a hairbrush be urgent?’
‘Take a look.’
Frankie reluctantly edges towards her and takes the brush out of her hand. The light is weak in the attic, despite the 100-watt bulb in the corner. He glances at it.
‘Looks normal to me.’
‘Take another look.’
Frankie does. This time he sees, quite clearly, three or four strands of bleached blonde hair.
‘Nope. Nothing.’
He hands the brush back to China.
‘Is there anything you want to tell me?’
‘What would I want to tell you? Look – I’ve got to find this roller. I’ve wasted too much time during lockdown. I want to do something constructive for once.’
‘Seems to me you were doing something quite constructive last night.’
‘Meaning?’
China picks out the blonde hairs and holds them up to Frankie.
‘See that?’
‘A few old strands of your hair. So what?’
‘I haven’t had blonde hair for three years. I pulled all the blonde hairs out of the brush when I went back to being natural. And no one else ever uses my brush. So how come it has blonde hair stuck in it this morning?’
‘Maybe you missed a few strands.’
‘I liked that aftershave you were putting on last night. “Tropical Forest Green”, wasn’t it?’
‘I think that’s what it was called.’
‘I went on the internet this morning. There’s no aftershave called Forest Green or Tropical Forest Green or Tropical Green.’
‘Maybe I got the name wrong.’
‘Where’s the bottle?’
‘I threw it away.’
‘Where? I thought you said there was some left?’
‘I was wrong. I took it out with the rubbish this morning. Think the bin men have already been.’
‘They come tomorrow.’
‘I thought it was today. I’m sure it was today.’
China stops picking at the brush. She has several blonde strands in her hand.
‘Roxy has blonde hair.’
Frankie says nothing. China’s head abruptly disappears from the hatch again. Frankie mechanically picks up the bits and pieces he needs to start painting the bathroom. It takes him longer than he expects to locate them all. After twenty minutes, he brings the rolling tray and brush downstairs so he can wash the roller in the sink, and sees China working on a large piece of material laid out on the floor of the living room. She has at least put an old sheet underneath to protect the carpet from paint splashes. She is holding a spray paint can in one hand.
‘What’s that?’
‘This? Oh, it’s called “Tropical Forest Green”.’
‘It looks like a banner.’
Frankie watches as she shakes the paint can and scrawls the legend ‘I CAN’T’ carelessly across the fabric.
‘You can’t what?’
‘Breathe.’
She finishes the banner with these seven letters and turns it over, where he can see the legend ‘ACAB’ sprayed in the same hand.
‘It stands for “All Coppers Are Bastards”.’
‘I’m sure some of them are nice. You’re going on the march?’
China nods without looking up.
‘Isn’t that dangerous?’
‘Not for me, mate. I’m young and healthy.’
‘Is that the point?’
‘What is the point, then? That it’s dangerous for you?’
China stops working on the banner and looks up at her father through narrowed eyes.
‘I suppose so,’ says Frankie. ‘Anyway, you said last night… ’
‘And it’s not dangerous to actually spend the night with someone who could easily be carrying the virus? Who could not only give it to you, but to me as well?’
Her eyes are blazing now. Frankie puts the roller and paint tray down on the dining-room table. His voice, when he speaks again, is low and fractured.
‘I’m sorry. Roxy… she was very insistent.’
‘That’s okay, then,’ says China, giving him a final contemptuous glance.
‘She had a test before she came. She’s negative.’
‘Have you actually seen this test?’
‘No. But she said… ’
‘She’s just been party to an elaborate deception. Why should I think she is any more trustworthy than you? She’s irresponsible and immature. She’s not far off sixty and she still takes drugs and gets blasted every Friday night. At least she did before lockdown. I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could throw her. Which is about as far as where you are now.’
‘Look, China, you’re wrong about Roxy. She’s a good person. She’d never take a risk with my health.’
‘Or with mine.’
‘Look… ’
Now China rises from the floor and faces Frankie directly, gesticulating with the aerosol can as if about to spray him.
‘The point is, you lied. Again. Like you always do.’
Frankie gazes down on the banner which China has also decorated with a red magic marker frame around the borders.
‘Are you really going to go on the march?’
‘Absolutely.’
She shakes the can. Frankie can hear the ball bearing rolling around inside.
‘Wanna come with me? Make a stand for once in your life for something.’
‘For some armed robber three thousand miles away?’
China throws the aerosol at his face. It misses, but only because he instinctively ducks.
‘You really don’t get it, do you? Just go away, will you? Go away and leave me alone.’
Frankie nods but doesn’t move.
‘Why are you still standing there?’
