Richard arrived home just before half past six. That was a good signhe rarely turned up before eight. Susan was just finishing the washing up after supper and could hear him fussing in the hallway for longer than usual.
Sue? he called, his tone cautious, as if he were carrying something fragile and hadn’t decided where to place it.
Susan dried her hands on a tea towel and stepped into the hall.
There were two of them. Richard wore the look of a man who had just performed a great actunsure if it was selfless or disastrous. Beside him stood a woman of about fifty, with a travel bag slung over one shoulder and a battered suitcase at her feet.
This is Margaret, Richard said. My cousin. I mentioned her, remember?
Susan didn’t remember preciselymaybe in passing, years ago. Margaret from Birmingham or Norwich, somewhere far away. It didnt really matter.
Shell stay with us for a fortnight or so, Richard added. Shes having a bit of a rough time.
A fortnight or so, Susan repeated privately.
Hello, Susan, Margaret said softly, almost apologetically, hardly above a whisper. Sorry for the intrusion. I do hope Im not a bother. Ill cook, clean, keep out of your way.
Susan looked at Margaret, then at her husband, and back again.
Dont stand on ceremony, Susan said at last. Come in, do.
What else could she say? A woman stood in her hallway with a suitcasehardly fair to send her back out.
Richard breathed an audible sigh of relief, and Susan felt a pang. It was done; shed not even been consulted.
Margaret put her suitcase in the lounge, surveying the room with restrained politeness. Its lovely here, she murmured. She wasnt fishing for complimentsjust stating a fact.
Susan looked at that battered suitcase and wondered what exactly a rough time meant. It was such a slippery phrase.
Margaret truly kept to herself. She rose early, as silently as a cat, drank tea alone in the kitchen before Susan awoke, and always washed her own mug. She never left crumbs. She didnt hog the bathroom. She cooked now and thenno asking, no fussjust left a hearty stew quietly on the hob, then disappeared. The stew was, if she were honest, better than Susans own.
It was almost irksome.
Truth be told, its easier to handle guests who annoy you. At least you have grounds for a complaint. When everything is tidy, quiet, polite and still somehow unsettling, thats altogether trickier. Like a splinter you cant see but still feel.
A week passed. Then a month.
Richard relaxed, pleased with himself. See? hed say. Its turned out all right. Susan nodded. All right. As much as such things ever are.
Yet Margaret always whispered on the phone.
Susan noticed one morning, passing the lounge doorMargaret spoke hurriedly, quietly, almost unintelligibly, but the anxious tone needed no words. Not the tone for chatting about the weather or trading recipes.
Susan paused. She didnt eavesdropstood just a moment, then moved on.
But suspicion lingered. Like the faint whiff of gasbarely there, but enough to bother you.
There was also something odd with the doorbell. Whenever it rangwhether by the postie, a neighbour, or a delivery chapMargaret seemed to freeze, eyes glued to the door as if dreading news.
Susan saw it, again and again, but kept silent.
One day, Susan ventured gently, Maggie, how are things? Is it sorting itself out?
Slowly, yes, Margaret smiledcalm and composed. Dont worry, Sue. Ill be gone soon.
Soon. Another delightfully vague English word.
Susan watched Margaret go and thought: no, theres more to this. Some story untoldsomething behind it all. But what?
No answer came. Until one night, when Susan rose for a glass of water. The lounge door was ajar, and she heard Margarets voicehushed but clear in the silent house.
Im staying with them for now. They dont know anything.
Susan almost dropped her water bottle.
They dont know anything.
She stood frozen a good half-minute. Then padded back to bed, staring at the ceiling, Richard sleeping peacefully beside herlike a man with a clear conscience and a good stew in his belly.
She didnt wake himshe hadnt the words yet. She needed to understand first.
Understanding finally arrived on Saturday, close to midday.
The doorbell rang. A perfectly ordinary chime. Susan answered it.
A woman in her forties, dressed smartly, stood with a clipboard. Behind her, a quiet, younger man.
Good morning. Were looking for Margaret Grayson. We know shes residing at this address.
A chill ran down Susans spine.
And you are?
Crompton Collections, the woman answeredprofessionally, assured, no apologies.
Susan eyed the clipboard, glanced at the man, and felt the word collections settle in the hallway like another uninvited guest.
Please wait a moment, Susan said. She shut the door.
Margaret was already emerging from the lounge, phone in hand, with the look of someone whod long awaited bad news and finally received it.
Is it for me? she whispered.
Susan just nodded.
Ill explain.
Talk to them first, Susan replied. She stepped aside.
Richard was at the familys old cottage. Susan dialled his number.
Rich, can you come home? We need to talk.
Whats happened? His voice instantly tense.
Nothing dire. Just come.
It was quiet behind the door. The visitors left. Margaret didnt appear.
Susan sat at the kitchen table, pondering how a rough time was not only ambiguousit was barely her business, yet suddenly had a residence in her house.
And she, Susan, nodded along. Put up with it. Told herself it was fine.
No. It wasnt.
Richard returned three hours later. One look at his wife told him something serious was afoot.
Whats the matter? he asked, all lightness gone.
Come in. Margaret, too.
Margaret sat in the loungerigid, hands on her knees, the look of a condemned woman bracing for what she long feared.
Richard sat.
Will someone please explain? he said.
Maggie, Susan spoke steadily, please tell Richard who came today.
Margaret kept her eyes down, then met their gaze.
Debt collectors, she said softly. They were debt collectors.
Richard stared at her, confusion plain, as if encountering a word his mind refused to process.
Debt collectors? he repeated. Why?
Because I owe money, Margaret admitted. A lot. I took out a loan two years ago. Thought it would work outstart a business. It didnt. Tried to get another loan, got nowhere. Lost my flatstill owe them.
She stopped, then continued, weary and broken:
Thats why I was hiding. From them.
Richard was silent. He looked like a man who found solid ground missing where it should be.
Maggie, do you realise what youve done?
Yes.
You used our address. Without asking.
I know.
I never knew, Sue, Richard said quickly. I honestly didnt.
I know you didn’t, Susan replied.
Margaret stared at her glass of water.
Maggie, Susan said softly, understand this. Helping people is one thingwe likely would have helped if wed known. But Ill not have my own home be a nest of lies.
Margarets eyes met hers.
Youre right, she whispered. Of course you are. I was frightened. Nowhere else to go. My daughters family has a tiny flat. My friends house is being renovated. You always said, Rich, come if you need to. So I did.
With a suitcase. And with debts, Susan finished.
Richard fixed his gaze on the carpet, then asked quietly, Maggie, how much do you owe?
She hesitated. A lot. Eighty thousand pounds. More with interest.
Richard exhaled softly.
Look, I cant give you that money. We simply don’t have it.
Im not asking, Margaret said quickly. Thats not why I came. I just needed somewhere to hide. Until until they stopped looking.
Maggie, Susan interrupted gently, theyve already found you. They were at this door at midday.
Silence.
Margaret closed her eyes.
Yes. I know.
Hiding wont work, Susan said. You have to sort it out.
I dont know how.
Well, I do, Susan replied.
Richard turned, surprisedhed not expected this from Susan.
Listen, Im no solicitor. But our neighbour went through this three years backrestructured her debt. It was slow, stressful, but she pulled through. Ill give you her number. Are you working at the moment?
Margaret shook her head. No.
My friend is looking for a part-time sales assistant in her shop. Its not much, but its a wage, and official employment, which will help if it goes to court. There are rooms to let down the streetsaw a notice last week. Its not expensive; the landladys an elderly lady, quite kind.
Margaret looked at Susan, something shifting in her facelike dawn finally breaking through.
Why are you helping me? she asked. After all this?
Because youre in trouble, Susan answered simply. And because youre Richards cousin.
Richard looked at his wife for a long time, then saidquietly, matter-of-factly, Thank you, Sue.
Susan said nothing. She rose and put the kettle on, because after a talk like that, everyone needs a cuppa. That, Susan knew for certain.
Margaret left four days later.
It wasnt rushedshe called the neighbour, went to a meeting, Susan rang her friend with the shop, who agreed to a trial week. They found the roomfive bus stops away, not dear, landlady warm and made a nice apple crumble on Sundays.
All this took three days. On the fourth, Margaret packed up her suitcase.
She lingered in the hallway longer than necessary, as if searching for words she couldnt find.
Sue, she said, I dont know how to
No need, Susan cut her off.
Margaret picked up her suitcase. Richard walked her to the waiting taxi. Susan remained in the hallway.
A month later, Margaret phoned. Shed started her job, paid her first instalment under the new agreement; the room was fine, her landlady kindly, baked pies on Sundays.
Susan gave a wry smile.
It was a good, short call. No fussjust right.
