The Trouble with Goats and Sheep. Joanna Cannon
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Forbes was hypnotized, and she wrapped the duster around her fingers until they became mottled with white.
‘To lend …’ Mrs Forbes repeated the words.
Mr Forbes continued to stare. I could hear his dentures click against the roof of his mouth.
‘A hand,’ said Tilly.
‘That’s right. A hand. They’re here to lend a hand.’
She unwound the duster, and I heard the air leave her lungs in little pieces.
Mr Forbes grunted.
He said as long as that’s all it is, and does Sylve know she’s here, and Mrs Forbes nodded so vigorously the crucifix around her neck did a little dance on her collarbone.
‘I’m going to post my letter,’ said Mr Forbes. ‘If we wait for you to do it, I’ll miss the second collection. I just need to find out where you’ve hidden my shoes.’
Mrs Forbes nodded again, and the crucifix nodded along with her, even though Mr Forbes had long since disappeared from the doorway.
‘My teachers do that to me all the time,’ said Tilly.
‘Do what, dear?’
‘Throw words at me until I get confused.’ Tilly picked garibaldi crumbs from the carpet and lifted them on to the plate. ‘It always makes me feel stupid.’
‘It does?’ said Mrs Forbes.
‘I’m not, though.’ Tilly smiled.
Mrs Forbes smiled back. ‘Do you enjoy school, Tilly?’ she said.
‘Not really. A lot of the girls don’t like us very much. Sometimes we’re bullied.’
‘They hit you?’ Mrs Forbes’ hand flew to her mouth.
‘Oh no, they don’t hit us, Mrs Forbes.’
‘You don’t always have to hit people,’ I said, ‘to bully them.’
Mrs Forbes reached for the nearest chair and lowered herself into it. ‘I expect you’re right,’ she said.
I was about to speak when Mr Forbes came back into the room. He was still wearing his shorts, but he had added a flat cap and a pair of sunglasses, and he was carrying a letter. He reminded me of my father. Whenever it became hot, he swapped his trousers for shorts, but everything else he kept exactly the same.
Mr Forbes placed his letter on the sideboard, and sat on the sofa with such force, the aftershock almost suspended Tilly in mid-air. He began tying his shoes, tugging at the laces until little fibres of fabric hovered in the space above his fingers. I stood up to give his legs more privacy.
‘So you can cross this off your list for a start, Dorothy,’ he was saying. ‘Although there’s plenty more to be getting on with.’
He looked over at me. ‘Will you be staying long?’ he said.
‘Oh no, Mr Forbes. Not long at all. We’ll be gone as soon as we’ve lent a hand.’
He looked back at his feet and grunted again. I wasn’t sure if he was approving of me or the tightness of his shoelaces.
‘She gets very easily distracted, you see.’ He nodded at Mrs Forbes with the brim of his cap. ‘It’s her age. Isn’t it, Dorothy?’ He made a winding motion at the side of his temple.
Mrs Forbes smiled, but it sat on her mouth at half-mast.
‘Can’t keep a thing in her head for more than five minutes.’ He spoke behind the back of his hand, like a whisper, but the volume of his voice remained exactly the same. ‘Losing her marbles, I’m afraid.’
He stood, and then bent very theatrically to adjust his socks. Tilly edged to safety at the far end of the settee.
‘I’m off to the post box.’ He marched towards the hall. ‘I shall be back in thirty minutes. Try not to get yourself in a muddle whilst I’m gone.’
He had vanished from the doorway before I realized.
‘Mr Forbes.’ I had to shout to make him hear.
He reappeared. He didn’t look like the kind of person who was used to being shouted at.
I handed him the envelope. ‘You’ve forgotten your letter,’ I said.
Mrs Forbes waited until the front door clicked shut, and then she began to laugh. Her laughing made me and Tilly laugh as well, and the rest of the world seemed to creep back into the room again, as if it wasn’t quite as far away as I thought.
Whilst we were laughing, I looked at Mrs Forbes, and I looked over at the girl on the mantelpiece, who laughed with us through a corridor of time, and I realized that they were a perfect match after all.
*
‘I didn’t know we’d actually have to do actual housework,’ said Tilly.
Mrs Forbes had left us tied into aprons up to our armpits. Tilly stood on the far side of the room, rubbing Brasso into a sleeping West Highland white terrier.
‘It’s important that we don’t arouse suspicion,’ I said, and took the last garibaldi back to the settee.
‘But do you think God is here?’ Tilly peered at the dog and ran the duster over its ears. ‘If God keeps everyone safe, do you think he’s keeping Mrs Forbes safe as well?’
I thought about the cross around Mrs Forbes’ neck. ‘I hope so,’ I said.
Mrs Forbes returned to the room with a new packet of garibaldis. ‘What do you hope, dear?’
I watched her empty them on to the plate. ‘Do you believe in God, Mrs Forbes?’ I said.
‘Of course.’
She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t look at the sky or at me, or even repeat the question back again. She just carried on rearranging biscuits.
‘How can you be so sure?’ said Tilly.
‘Because that’s what you do. God brings people together. He makes sense of everything.’
‘Even the bad things?’ I said.
‘Of course.’ She looked at me for a moment, and then returned to the plate.
I could see Tilly beyond Mrs Forbes’ shoulder. Her polishing had become slow and deliberate, and she willed a whole conversation at me with her eyes.
‘How can God make sense of Mrs Creasy disappearing?’ I said. ‘For example.’
Mrs Forbes stepped back, and a mist of crumbs fell to the carpet.
‘I’ve no idea.’ She folded the empty packet between her hands, even though it refused to become smaller. ‘I’ve never even spoken to the woman.’
‘Didn’t you meet her?’ I said.
‘No.’ Mrs Forbes twisted the packet around her ring finger. ‘They only moved into the house a little while ago, after John’s mother died. I never had the chance.’
‘I just wonder why she vanished?’ I edged the sentence towards her, like a dare.
‘Well, it was nothing to do with me, I didn’t say a word.’ Her voice had become spiked and feverish, and the sentence rushed from her mouth in order to escape.
‘What do you mean, Mrs Forbes?’ I looked at Tilly, and Tilly looked at me and we both frowned.
Mrs Forbes sank on to the settee.
‘Ignore me, I’m getting muddled.’ She patted the back of her neck, as if she was checking to see that her head was still firmly attached. ‘It’s my age.’
‘We just can’t understand where she’s gone,’ I said.
Mrs