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AFTER A DINNER of cod that somehow managed to be dry and watery at the same time, instead of going straight down to the cellar, John came into the living room and sat down on the sofa next to Marion. He was in an odd mood, as though he wanted to tell her something but didn’t know how.
They watched a documentary about a volcano that wiped out a whole city in Roman times. It was not Marion’s sort of thing, but it made her happy just to have company and for him to find something interesting even if she did not. Usually when they watched something that was her choice, he would make little huffing noises or remarks about how stupid it was; even if he didn’t say anything at all, she could somehow feel his boredom and annoyance, so she would be unable to relax.
“The volcano erupted without warning,” said the presenter, “and many people were killed by falling ash while going about their everyday business.”
“Is everything all right, John?” she asked him after the program had finished.
He hesitated before replying, as if running several answers through his mind. Then he nodded cautiously. “Yes, Mar, everything is fine. Better than ever.”
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WHILE MARION WAS getting ready for bed she heard a strange noise, a low humming followed by a few musical notes. After a few moments, she realized it was her phone that she kept beside her bed. It rang so rarely that she had forgotten what it sounded like, and was surprised that it still even had enough battery left. She picked it up and fumbled with the keys for a while before managing to read the text:
hi M hope you well am home from uni this week and wondered if could pop in say hi tomorrow 2pmish xxx Lydia
Marion trembled with happiness. “At last something good has happened. This is a sign that things are going to change for the better!” She said it out loud, even though she had spoken to both John and the shop woman that day and would be talking to Lydia the next, so she hardly needed to exercise her tongue in private at all.
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THE FOLLOWING MORNING, when she returned from shopping to buy things for Lydia’s visit, Marion found Mr. Weinberg waiting by the gate.
“Did you find your little dog, then?” asked Marion, trying to maneuver her shopping trolley around him. Of course she knew he hadn’t, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say. The old man squinted at Marion as if he had no idea who she was. She was about to go into the house when he spoke.
“Who is the gurl?”
Marion felt as if she had been poked in the chest by an icy finger.
“What girl?”
“I saw her going into your house last week.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I know I saw it last week late at night. Going into the house with you and your brother. Young with black hair. She is your relative maybe? I don’t think because she does not look English, this gurl. Maybe some Eastern European. Hungarian, I think, or Romanian, from the look of her. Maybe she comes to verk for you as housekeeper? I haven’t seen gurl since.” He leaned towards her as he said “gurl” in that strange, northern way. “But I saw your brother with pink suitcase. Putting in rubbish bin.”
Marion could smell his dirty odor of rotten vegetables and stale sweat. Could he tell that she was shaking? She leaned against the gatepost to steady herself. The best thing to do was to just ignore him. He is a very old man, she reminded herself. He must be over ninety; he lives alone; no one will listen to what he says.
She smiled and then said in a cheery tone: “No, no, Mr. Weinberg, I haven’t seen your little dog, but I will check in the garden one more time just to make sure.” Then she turned away and put her key in the lock. While she was struggling to open the door she felt sure that he was still standing there, staring at her with those gray watery eyes, but when she turned around to look, the old man had gone.
Marion unlocked the door and went into the house; she immediately noticed several large white packages stacked up against the wall. There were so many of them, she could hardly get past. John suddenly appeared and loaded several of them into his arms.
“What in heaven’s name are all those, love?”
John avoided her eyes.
“Nothing that you need to worry yourself about, Marion.”
Then he carried the packages back through the house towards the cellar.
Marion was too busy getting things ready for Lydia’s visit to think about Mr. Weinberg or John’s mysterious packages. She filled around a dozen soup bowls from Mother’s Royal Crown Derby dinner service with crisps and sweets. The bowls, with their regal red-and-gold design, perhaps did look rather too grand for snacks, but they were the only matching ones that Marion could find. Cheese-and-pickle sandwiches, the crusts cut off rather clumsily, had been placed on the huge platter that must have been intended for use at some formal dinner party with a roast suckling pig or large fish in aspic laid out on it. Much of the junk that had previously cluttered the kitchen she had hastily shoved into the dining room. John had gone to the Royal Oak public house and wouldn’t, she hoped, be back until early evening.
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MARION KEPT CHECKING the text on her phone to make sure she had got the right day, and each time she read it, she felt a little rush of anxious excitement. She made sure to keep her phone in her pocket just in case there was another message. For the visit she had bought all of Lydia’s favorite things: Haribo gummy bears, Cheesy Wotsits, Pringles, and a family-size tin of Quality Street. While she was waiting for Lydia to arrive, she was so nervous that she ate a whole bowl of salt-and-vinegar Hula Hoops and had to replace them.
When Marion opened the door, she was surprised at how tall Lydia had grown. And she looked so beautiful, with those big blue eyes, glowing skin, and long red hair tied back in a ponytail. Dressed in a crisp white shirt over jeans, she could have easily been a model in one of those fancy magazines. She had brought a bunch of the most perfect tulips Marion had ever seen, each flower bright and alert without a tinge of brown. The girl hugged her and they went into the kitchen together, just like old friends.
“Oh, Em, you really shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble,” said Lydia, looking at all the sandwiches, bowls of crisps, and sweets laid out on the table.
Marion’s glow dimmed when she saw Lydia’s face. It had been a mistake putting out all that food. These were the kind of things children liked to eat, not sophisticated young women. Lydia would have no doubt preferred sushi or those little plates of Spanish food. Of course Marion mustn’t let it show that her feelings were hurt.