A is for Angelica (6 page)

‘It’s just milk, Gordon.’

‘Janice, it might just be milk to you, but it’s not just milk to me and it’s not just milk to Ina. Remember, you might be next.’

‘Maybe it’s the milkman.’

‘I don’t think the milkman would need to steal someone else’s milk,’ said John. ‘He probably gets it free.’

‘He’s got something wrong about him.’

‘Everyone’s got something wrong about them,’ said Peter. ‘And anyway, why would he keep taking it from the same person? No-one’s that stupid.’

‘Here we go, straight away. My husband thinks I’m stupid.’

‘It’s not the milkman,’ I interrupted. ‘I asked him yesterday. He explained himself and said he knows nothing. And I believe him. We’ve obviously not been watching
well enough. One of us should have noticed something unusual.’

‘Ina can have some of our milk, Gordon,’ said John. ‘We always get an extra bottle.’

‘No, that’s not the point.’

‘It wouldn’t cause a problem. It’s just milk.’

‘Stop saying that. It’s never just milk. Theft is theft.’

I shuffled my papers and tapped the end of my biro on the table. Blank faces stared back at me. I glared at Don. He nodded.

‘Gordon is kind of right, everyone. At the moment it’s just milk, but that could lead to something more serious.’

‘Like what?’ said Peter.

‘I don’t know. Cars? One thing leads to another.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘It’s not ridiculous,’ I said. ‘It’s exactly why we need to take this matter seriously and exactly why we need to work out a shift pattern. We can do that this
evening. Don’s kindly brought some graph paper and I’ve got a packet of felt tips.’

‘What do you mean by shift pattern?’ said Andrea.

‘So we can keep watch.’

‘I object to that.’

‘No objections. We need to work out who’s going to keep watch and when. The best way is to take shifts. So far, the milk’s been stolen at least once every three days and always
between the time it arrives and the time we wake up. If we do our jobs properly, we’ll have our thief in no time. We can begin tomorrow.’

‘I’ll take five until six tomorrow morning,’ said Don.

‘Thank you. That leaves four until five and six until seven. Andrea, which would you like?’

‘I can’t object?’

‘No, you can’t object. Which shift would you like?’

‘It’s bank holiday. Why don’t we start all this next week?’

‘Right, I’ll put you down for the early shift tomorrow.’

‘No. Six until seven. I’ll do six until seven.’

‘Thank you, Andrea.’

‘We’ll do the same shift the day after,’ said Janice.

‘Will we?’ said Peter.

‘Yes, you will.’

‘Gordon?’

‘Yes, John?’ I said.

‘Would you mind if Pamela and I went to see my mother? We were planning to drive up tomorrow and stay there the night, you see. Will that affect the schedule?’

‘So, you’re away from the street on Monday, but you’re here tomorrow morning. How does four until five sound?’

‘Well, that does make it rather a long day. She lives in Glasgow. Could I perhaps do two hours instead of one when we get back?’

‘Well, maybe Andrea could swap her shift with you.’

‘Objection,’ said Andrea.

‘Then I’m afraid it’s going to have to be tomorrow. No-one can do two consecutive shifts. It’s just not practical. It’ll give you more time to pack.’

‘What if we don’t want to take part in this nonsense?’ said Peter.

‘Then someone will steal your milk.’

Don raised his hand, ‘Gordon, when are you keeping watch?’

‘I don’t mind. Of course, one of you may find our thief in the morning. If not, we could do our shift the day after. Georgina, what do you think? We could walk Kipling early and be
back for seven?’

The moment is framed as a painting on a nail in my mind. Our table, six heads all turned towards my wife. Behind them a room full of people. Moving, talking and drinking. And then Georgina,
perfectly still in her chair. Her head cocked slightly to the left, her face lopsided. Her arms lifeless in her lap. A man wearing pleated trousers passed behind her. I remember they were
pinstriped. He spilt some of his drink and brushed the back of her chair. But she didn’t notice. She was busy somewhere else. Somewhere new. And I remember her eyes. Wild and detached.
Searching a whole new world. The old one lost forever.

Don Donald was the first to react. He ran round the table and wrapped his coat around Georgina’s shoulders. Andrea shouted, ‘Can you hear me? Georgina, can you hear
what I’m saying?’ and Peter rushed to the bar to get the landlord to ring for an ambulance. Janice followed him, but the job was done by the time she got there. John Bonsall started
crying. He sat next to me. I could feel him shaking. Within seconds a small crowd had gathered, but Don stood up and asked them all to go away. ‘Please, I have everything under
control,’ he said.

And I just sat there. I said nothing. I did nothing. I watched the paramedics arrive and lift my wife into a wheelchair. They checked her pulse and spoke to her. They told her exactly what they
were doing. Behind them, people continued with their talking and their drinking. They turned around every so often to look at the table with the paralysed woman and the man in tears. ‘Oh,
that’s awful,’ they said. ‘Such a tragedy.’ Don asked Andrea to take John outside. Peter and Janice were already there. Everyone had their role. They’d been to flag
down the ambulance. Don waved his hand in front of my face and said, ‘Gordon, they’re taking her now. You should go with her.’

‘Are you going?’

‘I can if you want me too.’

‘That would be nice.’

‘Give me your car keys. I’ll follow the ambulance.’

The hospital waiting room was full of people like me. Dumbstruck husbands, wives and lovers. And people like Don, there to provide the transport home. We sat together on cheap plastic seats,
drank tea and waited for updates. I listened to the women on reception. The way they switched their conversations and changed their tone of voice. Soft and understanding with the in-patients.
Laughs and jokes with each other. Don tried to speak to me, attempted conversation. He put his hand on my shoulder. ‘She’ll be okay,’ he kept saying. ‘They’ll have her
right in no time.’ And I didn’t mind him saying it, even though I knew it wasn’t true.

Eventually, a doctor came to speak to us. He was tall and under thirty. His spectacles hung from a chain around his neck. He told us he was sorry about the wait. He said Georgina was stable but
sleeping, and that I could see her if I wanted. I followed him down a long corridor and into a tiny room. They’d moved her to a bed and hooked her up to wires, tubes and machines, like an
extra in a film or one of the people wheeled past us in the waiting room. She didn’t look like my wife. I turned around and walked away. The doctor followed me.

‘Mr Kingdom, are you all right?’

‘Fine, thank you.’ He was chasing me down the corridor. I tried to speed up.

‘You’re wife’s going to need to stay here tonight. Have you got any clothes for her?’

‘Don picked them up. He gave them to the nurse. I’ll come and get her tomorrow.’

‘She may be here a little longer than that, I’m afraid. She won’t be able to leave tomorrow. She’s had a very serious stroke.’ I was back in the waiting room. I
grabbed Don by the arm and ushered him out the door.

‘Mr Kingdom?’

‘I think they’re calling you, Gordon.’

‘It’s fine, everything’s going to be fine. Like you said.’

I got in the car and started the engine. Don climbed in beside me. I pulled out the car park, looked in the rear view mirror. The doctor and the receptionist were stood in the entrance waving
their arms. The automatic doors opened and closed behind them. I kept driving. Don sat fidgeting nervously in the passenger seat. After a few minutes silence, I pulled into Cressington Vale. It was
half past midnight. I parked up and undid my seatbelt. Don did the same. I continued to say nothing. I sat, and I stared.

‘So, what happened? I mean, she must be okay. You spoke to her, I take it?’

‘I wasn’t able to speak to her.’

‘They wouldn’t let you speak to her?’

‘She was sleeping.’

‘Well, that’s understandable. How long will she be in for?’

‘They didn’t say. It could take a while.’

‘Would you like me to go with you in the morning?’

‘I’ll ring the hospital first.’

‘You know, Gordon, if there’s anything I can do, you just need to ask. She’s going to need some looking after when she gets home.’

‘They’ll send someone out, I expect.’

‘Yes, but anything you need. I’m only over the road.’

‘Thank you, Don.’

He nodded at me and smiled with his mouth closed. It was a helpless smile. I pressed the button on the dashboard that unlocks the doors. He stepped out of the car and into the street. He kicked
his heels on the kerb, tapped his fingers on the bonnet. I wanted to say thank you.

‘Don,’ I said.

‘Yes, Gordon?’

‘Don’t forget your shift in the morning.’

God almighty

It’s easier to watch Angelica from behind a curtain than it is to go unnoticed when you’re following her down the street. It’s now twenty-four minutes past
nine and I’m on my way to church. Angelica has lived on Cressington Vale for almost a fortnight. Each morning, she leaves the house between nine and half past. She returns with three
newspapers, which are never the same, although at least one of them will have a free CD attached or a picture of a naked woman on the cover. The newsagent is on the main road, fifty yards from the
corner of Cressington Vale. Angelica has dropped her bag and is crouched on the floor, picking up her belongings. She’s wearing the same black fluffy-cuffed coat she wears when she goes to
the doctors, winter gloves and a pair of pink slippers with nothing covering her toes. The slippers must be new, her hands must be warm and her feet must be freezing. I can see this from my
position, also crouched on the floor, twenty yards behind, on the opposite side of the road, under a hedge.

‘Gordon, are you all right down there?’

John Bonsall is towering above me. I stand up quickly and scratch my forehead on a branch. He’s on his way to B&Q. He goes every Sunday to buy food for his plants. The smallest packet
available. So it’s always fresh.

‘Have you lost something?’

‘I thought I saw a hedgehog.’

‘Really?’

‘But I didn’t.’

‘What was it?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You’ve been down there an awfully long time.’

‘Yes. You’re right.’

‘We have a hedgehog that comes into our back garden. Pamela likes to leave a saucer of milk by the gnome. It’s always gone in the morning. The milk, not the saucer. Or the gnome.
Sometimes she leaves food as well. He rather enjoys the odd biscuit. We call him Harry. Harry the hedgehog. Pamela said it had to have a name. I wasn’t so sure, what with the kids and
everything. We don’t want them coming home from school to find poor Harry’s been hit by a car. Squished and squashed.’

I’m barely listening. Angelica has gathered her items and put them back in her bag. She walks away from us and into the newsagent. Mass starts in fifteen minutes. I’m getting
later.

‘When’s that skip going to be moved, John?’

‘Someone’s filled it full of branches. I think it was the same person who vandalised the memorial tree. Pamela said she heard someone in the street the night it happened.’

‘Probably a drunk.’

‘I rang the police.’

‘The police?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘What for?’

‘I told them I was innocent.’

‘What did they say?’

‘Not much. They’ve not even been out to look at it. It’s only a tree, apparently. Try telling that to the children at Diwali.’

‘I really should be going.’

‘How are you anyway, Gordon? How’s Georgina? We’ve not seen her since Christmas. Is she still doing well?’

‘We’re both fine. I’m sorry John, I do need to go or I’ll be late for church.’

I try to get away, but Angelica has left the newsagent and is walking back towards us. She’s carrying her newspapers. One has breasts on the front. Two have CDs. I’ll write it down
when I get home. She’s reading the back of one of the papers. Now she’s looking up and across at us. I think she’s smiling.

‘Do you know that lady, Gordon?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Who is she?’

‘She’s called Angelica.’

‘Like the plant?’

‘What plant?’

‘Angelica is a plant. It means “You are my inspiration”.’

‘Is it a flower?’

‘No. It’s definitely a plant.’

I turn away. John turns with me. We’re headed in the same direction. We’ve finished our conversation and now we’re walking side by side. I can’t speed up because my knees
won’t let me. I can’t slow down because I don’t have time. Ten minutes later we go our separate ways, and I know how to build a conservatory.

Note: Dispose of gloves, coat and balaclava. Bonfire. Note end.

Reverend Benjamin Christopher Gregory moved to Thailand eighteen months ago. He was marrying a young couple when he broke down in tears and had to be escorted from the altar.
He came back minutes later, walked up to the best man and head-butted him square between the eyes. Soon after, someone sprayed graffiti across the side of his house and a picture appeared in the
local newspaper of him sat on his doorstep, smoking a cigar and drinking whiskey from the bottle. He had bright red paint behind him, giant letters on a white pebbledash wall. It read,
‘arsehole’. One word, no hyphen.

He was replaced by Judy. That’s what we call her. If you try to call her anything else she stops you and says, ‘Just call me Judy, that’ll be fine’. Some older members of
the congregation objected to her appointment because she cancelled Reverend Michael’s day trip to the theme park. And because she’s a woman. Some of them stopped attending Mass. One of
them made a leaflet. Jesus not Judy.

Judy says hello to every single person as they enter the church. It’s something she likes to do. Even if it means everyone has to turn and glare disapprovingly at the latecomer. It’s
ten thirty-three, I’m stood outside the church and Judy’s already started. I can hear her through the thick wooden door as I twist the metal handle and step inside, take its weight as I
close it. The door makes no sound. The congregation are facing the other way. Maybe she won’t see me.