Moral Disorder - Margaret Atwood [49]
“He’s in a hurry to get rid of this place,” said Nell. They were standing in the middle of the kitchen floor, which sloped steeply down toward the centre wall: they’d have to jack the floor up from underneath and run in a new crossbeam, sooner or later. The wallpaper – one of many layers, as could be seen by the torn parts – was a faded green, with bulbous pinkish-brown flowers on it. The floor was linoleum-covered, in a pattern of maroon and orange oblongs Nell recognized from the Fifties.
“There’s a hundred acres,” said Tig.
“The house is kind of dark,” said Nell. “It’s not very cheerful.”
“We’ll clean the windows,” said Tig. No one had lived in here for years. Dust and dead flies coated the windowsills. “We’ll paint the wallpaper white.” He’d been out with the farmer, walking over the land. He’d seen a marsh hawk in the back field; he treated it like an omen.
Nell didn’t say it wasn’t the windows, not the wallpaper. But paint would help.
They scraped together the down payment, using Nell’s savings and a sum from a television documentary Tig had recently put together. The weekend after they’d closed the deal, they moved their bed in. Then they sat on the linoleum floor, eating sardines out of the tin, and slices of brown bread and hunks of cheese, and drinking red wine. There was only a single glaring overhead light bulb dangling from a wire, so they turned it off and lit a candle instead. It was like an indoor picnic.
“So, it’s all ours,” said Tig.
“I’ve never owned any real estate before,” said Nell.
“Neither have I,” said Tig.
“It’s a bit scary,” said Nell.
“We’ll go out and see the hawk tomorrow.”
Nell kissed Tig. It wasn’t the best idea because of the sardines, but they’d both been eating them.
“Let’s go to bed,” said Tig.
“I need to brush my teeth,” said Nell.
They lay on Tig’s mattress – their mattress – with their arms around each other. They’d carried the candle upstairs; it flickered in the warm breeze that came in through the open bedroom window. Nell thought about filmy white curtains – she’d always wanted those, when she was young – and about how such curtains would ripple in such a breeze, once they had some.
“You shouldn’t have said I’m your wife,” said Nell after a while. “At the lawyer’s.”
“A lot of women are keeping their own names now,” said Tig.
“But it’s not true. Oona’s your wife. You’re still married to her.”
“Not really,” said Tig.
“Anyway, you put spouse instead of wife. It’s a dead giveaway. Didn’t you catch the way he was looking at me? That lawyer?”
“What way?”
“Just that way.”
“What would you like to be called?” said Tig. Now he sounded hurt.
Nell said nothing. She was spoiling things; she didn’t want to. She’d been put in a false position, and she hated that. But she had no other word to suggest – no word for herself that would be both truthful and acceptable.
Over the next few days, they moved in the rest of their possessions – the bunk beds for Tig’s two children, the ones they slept on when they came to visit; the single bed for the guest room; Nell’s desk; a few chairs; some bookcases and books. Nell’s orange table. She’d left the rest of her furniture behind in the city. They’d have to get some other furniture eventually – the house looked quite empty – but they didn’t have the spare cash for it at the moment.
Tig’s two boys came up the next weekend and slept in their bunk beds in their new room and went for a long walk with Tig, all around the property. They saw the marsh hawk – two marsh hawks. They must be a pair, said Tig; they’d been hunting for mice. The boys were pleased with the tractor in the barn. You didn’t need a licence to drive a tractor, not if you didn’t go out onto the road. Tig said that when he’d got the tractor in running order – or when someone had – the boys could drive it around the fields.
Nell didn’t go on the walk. She stayed in the house and