Page 145 of The Hallmarked Man
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41
Creep into thy narrow bed,
Creep, and let no more be said!
Vain thy onset! all stands fast.
Thou thyself must break at last.
Matthew Arnold
The Last Word
Everything had gone badly wrong at the Bay Horse. It was closing time, and Robin was now extremely drunk (‘we’ll sort ourselves out for food’, the departing pub-goers had told Linda, but nobody had consumed any food at the pub, and Robin had ill-advisedly drunk even more neat whisky since meeting Matthew outside).
She’d returned from the bathroom to see Martin and Carmen still arguing, and then Jonathan, who’d met two old footballing friends at the bar, had wanted her to carry pints back from the bar to Stephen and Murphy. Murphy had looked odd as he passed her the phone she’d left lying on the table and she saw she’d received a text, but she didn’t read it, because she was concentrating on not spilling the pints in her hand, and as she’d handed Murphy the glass, she’d said, ‘Is that non-alcoholic?’, thinking he’d be able to tell which beer was which by smelling them, but suddenly, out of nowhere, had come the same, sudden outburst of rage he’d displayed on the night of their worst row.
‘The fuck’sthatsupposed to mean?’
She saw Stephen’s look of shock as Murphy turned his back. Robin tried to answer, but her mouth appeared to be wadded with invisible cotton wool.
‘I din’ – I jus’—’
Her vision had become a constantly sticking film. So much whisky. So many pregnant women. Matthew. Sarah. ‘Not Tonight Santa’.
And then it was closing time. It was a relief to get back out into the cold night air again, although Robin’s surroundings were still behaving like a flick book; Silver Street, and the sky, and her companions, appeared in a jerky set of still images. Murphy was walking ahead with Jonathan, and she wasn’t sure where Martin and Carmen had gone. So much whisky…
‘What did he bite your head off for?’ said Stephen, in a low voice.
‘Nutt – nothing,’ said Robin. ‘Just a – he thought I meant – accusin’ him… I’m very drunk, Button…’
Stephen put his arm around her. Her older brother, who was the land manager of a large estate twenty miles from Masham, was the biggest of the Ellacott brothers, nearly as big as Strike, but this didn’t feel anything like Strike holding her up at the Ritz, on the night when he’d nearly kissed her.Don’t think about that.
The stars were moving jerkily as well, and you’d think stars, at least, would stay still… they said, if you were seasick, you should stare at the horizon, but she couldn’t see the horizon, only hazy street lights, and Murphy’s hunched, angry back…
Then they were home, with the empty kitchen smelling of whatever Linda, Jenny and Annabel had eaten for dinner. Betty, woken inside her dog crate, began whining and whimpering to be let out. Murphy proceeded wordlessly upstairs. Jonathan called a cheery good night and Robin managed to make a reciprocal noise through the invisible cotton wadding in her mouth, and it seemed to her that it might be a good idea to visit the downstairs bathroom.
‘You all right, Bobbin?’
‘Yeah’m fine, g’ t’ bed, Button…’
Unlike the small boy down in Bromley she didn’t know existed, Robin managed to reach the toilet bowl before vomiting. A cruel, remorseless, giant hand squeezed her innards repeatedly; finally, utterly spent, trembling and doused in sweat, she lay on the hard tiled floor, weak and tired, and thinking what a terrible mess she’d made of Christmas Eve. After what might have been ten minutes or half an hour, when the small, dark room was no longer spinning, she got gingerly to her feet.
She re-entered the kitchen as Martin and Carmen came in through the back door, both of them clearly the worse for drink.
‘Who’s in my room?’ Martin demanded, and Robin had to struggle to remember.
‘Annabel,’ she said.
Martin and Carmen had been expected to stay in their own flat tonight, which was only a twenty-minute drive away.
‘Fuck,’ said Martin angrily, as though this was Robin’s fault, and she almost felt as though it was, and she nearly offered them her room, before remembering that Murphy was in there. ‘We’ll have to sleep in the fucking sitting room,’ said Martin, and he strode off in that direction.
‘You look nearly as fucked up as I feel,’ said Carmen, peering at Robin, who tried to smile at her before heading upstairs.
She opened her bedroom door very quietly, hoping Murphy would already be asleep, but of course, he wasn’t. Lying on his back, bare-chested, illuminated by his bedside lamp, he watched her, stony-faced, as she closed the door quietly behind her.
