Page 17 of We All Live Here
Celie gazes at him, and then at Lila, who cannot speak and whose mouth is hanging very slightly open. “Mum?” she says, turning toward Lila uncertainly.
“Gene?” says Lila. And Truant comes streaking out of the French windows, like a large hairy bullet, and, without a moment’s hesitation, sinks his teeth determinedly into the man’sleg.
Chapter Six
Celie
Celie stands in the corner of the kitchen while the gardener dresses the old man’s wound, kneeling at his feet like some kind of medieval serf. He has a bandage between his teeth and is liberally spraying the old man’s leg with some kind of antiseptic spray. “Dog bites can be full of bacteria,” he is saying. “I’ve flushed it with saline, but you’re going to want to keep an eye on it and head straight for A and E if it doesn’t look like it’s healing.”
The old man is leaning back in the kitchen chair looking weirdly cheerful. Celie guesses he’s the kind of man who likes to be the center of attention, even if it comes at the expense of a dog bite. “Cats are worse,” he’s saying, with a broad American accent. “I worked with a guy in Tennessee once who got scratched by a feral on set between takes. His wholearm blew up and he was knocked out of the production for weeks. Director gave all his lines to an extra. Mind you, he was an asshole. If I’d known I would have filled his trailer with cats. Would have saved me a whole load of grief.”
While the old man rattles on, Celie’s mum is standing by the kettle, her face like stone. But it’s a positive welcome mat compared to Bill’s. Celie thinks she has never seen Bill like this. He is standing with his arms crossed firmly over his chest, his legs in power stance, like a second-rate politician. He has not taken his eyes off the American since he walked in, as if he’s half expecting him to get up and run away with what’s left of the family jewels.
Meena keeps texting, asking her when she’s coming, but Celie ignores the buzzing in her jeans pocket. Meena is blowing hot and cold just now and she’s not sure whether to trust her.
“I think that’s it,” says the gardener, getting to his feet. He’s the only person smiling in the room, apart from the old man. Even Violet is unusually silent. “Like I said, you might want to head to A and E anyway. It went pretty deep for a puncture wound.”
“That’s quite the guard dog you have there, Lila,” says the old man, examining the bandage.
“He’s never bitten anyone before,” says Violet, quickly.
“The dog has immaculate taste,” mutters Bill, and Violet’s head spins round. Bill never says anything mean about anyone.
“Good to see you, Bill,” says the old man.
“Wish I could say the same, Gene,” says Bill.
Gene seems not to hear that. He turns to the gardener man and holds out a broad, tanned hand. His veins pop out of his skin like worm casts. “I’m obliged to you, young man. Thank you for your attentions.”
“No problem.”
Celie glances at her mum, who is still stony-faced.
“Are you part of our family?” Celie says, finally.
“I am! And you must be Celia. The last time I saw you you were knee high to a—”
“A baby,” interrupts Lila. “She was a baby when you last saw her. And it’s Celie. Always has been.”
Bill is the only old man left in Celie’s family. She has another grandfather, her dad’s dad, but Granny and Granddad Brewer live up in Derby in a small, terrifyingly neat house that they rarely visit because Granny Brewer doesn’t like mess or chaos and their house is too small for guests, especially children, who mess up the net curtains and tread dirt into the carpet. The last time they went Violet was small and did a wee on the guest bed, which didn’t have a mattress protector, and they were told that next time they would have to stay in a Premier Inn. Not like this big, vibrant man with a shock of dark hair and movie-star creases at the corners of his eyes and a…is that a Nirvana T-shirt?
“So you’re little Violet! Bring it in, honey!” he says, holding his arms wide, and Violet, as if she’s on autopilot, steps into them for a huge hug. “It’s so great to finally meet you!”
Celie watches her mother’s face remain completely immobile as this happens. Bill adjusts his position and lets out a small grunt, as if it’s all he can do not to intervene.
“I’ll—I’ll be off then,” says the gardener man, who is reaching for his jacket.
“No,” says Bill. “Stay for a cup of tea, Jensen.”
“You’re all right, Bill. I’ll just—”
“Stay,” says Bill, really firmly. After a moment, Jensen glances behind him for a kitchen chair and sits down awkwardly. Bill turns and fills the kettle, his stiff old back radiating displeasure.
“Well, aren’t you gorgeous?” Gene is saying to Violet. “You look just like your grandma. She had those big blue eyes when she was young.” He turns toward Celie. “And you too! Aren’t you just a long glass of cool water! Look at the pair of you!”
“What are you doing here, Gene?” says Mum, her voice cold.
“Sweetheart! I’m doing a short run at one of the London theaters so I thought I’d come and see the family! I can’t believe how they’ve grown!”
