Beneath The Skin Episode 17

The table had been cleared, apart from the single place setting at the end. This was Alys’s place, Mouse had warned him. It was always set for whatever meal she might turn up for. The tablemat was a plastic child’s mat, with an orange cartoon fish, and her mug sat empty and waiting. The mug bore the slogan: “Taxidermists don’t give a stuff ”.

Mouse had a friend over for tea; they were sitting opposite each other, a white cardboard bakery box between them, and fat ginger crumbs on their plates, smears of butter cream.

Walt recognised the girl from the pharmacy, the one with the geeky glasses. She smiled when he came in, the turn of her head quick, like a bird. Don’t stay too long in this place, he thought, it’s not a great place for birds.

Her skin was pale and unwrinkled, like double cream, her hair blacker and shorter than he remembered. She was very animated when she talked, her nose wrinkling, dislodging the Buddy Holly frames.

Mouse looked relaxed for once, her eyes picking up a spark from this girl. She’d melted a little, like her crisp shell was only sugar frosting and there was something luscious inside.

“Hi, I’m Fee,” said the girl. “I saw you at the pharmacy.” “Loofahs.” He went over and shook her hand. She had a good, strong shake for the size of her.

“Sorry, we ate all the cake but you can come and have a coffee with us,” said Mouse. He couldn’t work out if that was the good mood talking or her usual need to do the right thing. They resumed their conversation as Walt filled the kettle and found a mug.

“I think you should go, Maura.”

“I’m not sure. It would be awkward.”

“It’s only a meal, you don’t have to sleep with him!”

“Ugh, thank God!”

Walt swung into a spare seat, looked from one to the other. Mouse stared at her plate, but Fee laughed and said: “Galen has asked her out!”

“What, the old chemist guy in the bad suit?”

Mouse rolled her eyes. “He dresses very well, for his age.” really

“For his age,” Walt repeated. “What are you thinking?” It was none of his business, obviously. You’d have to laugh, really, at the thought of those two together, Church Mouse and a guy old enough to be her father, jangling his money in front of her. She’d be lucky if that was all he jangled.

“He’s sent her a friend request on Facebook and he has a house in the Dordogne.” Fee made big eyes, like this was the clincher. Mouse let out an embarrassed huff of a laugh.

“That’s the worst possible reason to sleep with a guy, because you think he’s got money,” Walt said.

“I would never do that!” Mouse’s nose went pink around the edges. “I wasn’t even thinking of it!”

“I bet you were.”

“I wasn’t!”

“You were. You were thinking, I’ll latch onto this old bloke with money and a house in the Dordogne and all my worries will be over.”

He was teasing her, but she’d turned angry; she couldn’t meet his eye and when she did, eventually, he saw a sort of quiet desperation that he recognised. He felt sorry and didn’t know how to tell her, but Fee had turned it all into a big joke. “Galen’s fancied her for ages!” “How would you know? You’ve only worked there five minutes,” Mouse said.

“I do two days a week,” said Fee, sticking her tongue out. “I’m a psychology student,” she added, in case Walt thought she was stuck in that shop, like Mouse, with no chance of anything better.

That explained the spark. She was doing what Mouse longed to do. She had the life that Mouse had given up.

“And anyway,” continued Mouse, “I’m not accepting his friend request. This is why I hate Facebook – it’s creepy, everyone seeing what you’re up to.”

Fee laughed and turned to Walt. “You know she relies on William to help her with Facebook!”

“So?” He felt a pang of sympathy. “She’s right. She’s got better things to do than post pictures of her sandwich on social media.”

Fee looked vaguely disappointed. William wandered in, still in his uniform, shirt untucked and carrying an enormous Lego spacecraft.

He set it carefully on Alys’s place mat and pulled out the chair with both hands. No one said anything when he sat down but Walt could see Mouse begin to fidget, with her teaspoon, her bracelet.

He felt it himself, an indefinable uneasiness. He imagined Alys appearing, sweeping the Lego to the ground.

“Are you speaking about Galen?” said William. “I went on the laptop, Mum, and checked your Facebook for you.”

“William!” cried Mouse in mock exasperation. “If I knew how to do it, I’d change my password!”

The boy giggled. “I made you and Galen friends. Is he still an old lech?”

Strong Man

So he arrives home without Tom. They should have been together, as always, anticipating the moment of touchdown, of coming down the aircraft steps and seeing their families waiting to greet them.

Tom’s wife would have been there, his little kids running to meet Daddy; and Tom lifting them, the Strong Man, one on each arm as they kissed his sunburned cheeks.

But there is none of that. The lads are subdued. There are funerals to go to, relatives to be phoned, respects to be paid. Walt knows he will go to Sara’s first of all, they live near the base now, to tell her the things she wants to hear.

No, he hadn’t suffered. You don’t feel the pain; your body goes into shock. Yes, he was joking around right up to the end. Same old Tom.

He catches the train back to Newcastle, slumped in the seat, angled away from the curious stares of the other passengers.

There’s something about the uniform that brings out extremes in people. They either want to shake your hand or give you a pasting.

As the flat landscape speeds by, he rests his temple against the cold window and tries not to see Sara’s tear-stained face in the ghost of his reflection.

That explained the spark. She was doing what Mouse longed to do. She was living the life that Mouse had given up

More tomorrow.

Beneath The Skin, by Sandra Ireland, is published by Polygon, £8.99. Her latest book, Sight Unseen, is out now.