A Passionate Man (24 page)

It was Sally who took the call from Pinemount. She had put Imogen and Mikey to bed and was coming downstairs with her arms efficiently full of the next morning's dirty laundry, when the telephone rang. A pleasant man's voice asked to speak to Dr or Mrs Logan and, when Sally said neither of them were back yet, the man said his name was George Barnes, from Pinemount, and that he would ring later. Sally wrote the message down and left it where she usually left messages, and cleared up the kitchen until Liza, bright eyed from the cold and a most enigmatic and exciting encounter, came in from school.

Liza did not look at the messages. Recently she had felt reluctant to, as if they represented in some measure the ordinary shackles of life that part of her at least had managed to shed. She felt a strong disinclination to discover, each evening, that the garage could not service her car the day she wanted; that Chrissie Jenkins had put her on the new Sunday School rota for the third Sunday of each month until the summer and that Mikey's school runs would be disrupted for six weeks because of parental skiing holidays.

Her inclination instead, that evening, was to go upstairs and look at herself in the mirror in the bathroom where the light was bright and truthful. She wanted to see if she looked different, now that Blaise had kissed her. Or, to be absolutely accurate, now that she had kissed Blaise. She had, at last, after many of the most delicate manoeuvrings, found Blaise alone in his classroom after school, and had attempted to return the pin to him. He had said no. He had been very flustered.

‘No,' he said. ‘No. Really. It was for you. You must have it.'

She put the box down on his desk. His evident confusion excited her and made her feel both strong and controlling.

‘I can't take it. It was absolutely sweet of you, but it's out of the question.'

His face darkened. He looked away from her, at the poster of the Battle of the Boyne where the ragged Irish troops had the faces of gypsy angels.

‘Blaise—'

‘You don't understand—'

‘Oh, but I do,' Liza said. ‘I do. Look. I'll show you that I do.'

And then she had put her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

‘There,' said Liza, smiling. ‘There.'

And she had walked out of the room and the school and left him standing there with the little box lying before him. She had climbed into her car, and laughed, simply laughed out loud at the adventure she was having, at her power. Hadn't Blaise said she had power? And now, looking at herself in the bathroom mirror, she wanted to laugh again.

Downstairs, a door banged and Nelson barked, too late as always. There was a pause and Liza began, without hurry, to brush her hair. Archie came upstairs, holding the list of telephone messages.

‘Did you see this?'

Liza watched him in the mirror. She waited for him to kiss her.

‘No. What is it?'

‘George Barnes rang from Pinemount. Why didn't you ring back?'

‘Because I didn't see it.'

‘But you were back before me.'

‘Only just. I haven't done anything yet. I haven't even been in to see the children.'

Archie said, ‘I'll ring. I'll ring now.'

‘He's probably got flu, poor boy.'

‘Do you want to ring, then?'

‘No,' Liza said. ‘No. You do it.'

She put down her hairbrush. A tiny shame nibbled at the corner of her pleasure.

‘Thomas—'

‘You go and kiss the little ones,' Archie said. ‘I'll telephone.'

Imogen lay asleep on her back in a welter of stuffed animals and open books, illuminated by the dim glow from her toadstool nightlight. She never woke at night except if her toadstool was switched off, when she would wake instantly and roar with rage. Liza piled the toys and books at the foot of the bed, and settled the quilt around Imogen's stout small body. Imogen opened her eyes.

‘Hello, lady.'

Liza stooped to kiss her.

‘Night night, darling. Go back to sleep.'

But Imogen had never left it. Mikey, on the other hand, lay full of ploys to keep Liza upstairs. He put an arm like a clamp about her neck.

‘I hurt myself at school and I didn't cry.'

‘Oh, Mikey. What kind of hurt?'

‘My head. On the locker door. Can you write a note saying I musn't have school fish? Please, Please, please, please. Donovan doesn't have to have fish—'

‘No. No, I couldn't.'

She began to disengage herself.

‘I'm sick of Sally putting me to bed,' Mikey said. ‘Why does she have to? It's so boring, always Sally. I'll never learn to read with Sally, only with you.'

‘It's only for a little while—'

She stood up.

‘Where's Daddy? I heard him. Don't go yet, don't go. If I have to have school fish, I'll be sick on the floor—'

Liza fled downstairs.

‘I see,' Archie was saying into the telephone. ‘Yes. Thank you so much. If you're sure—' He listened a little. ‘We'll talk about it and I'll ring you back. Yes. All right then. Good night.'

‘What?' Liza said at once.

Archie turned round and leaned on the back of a kitchen chair.

‘Thomas has been having nightmares. He has walked in his sleep on two or three occasions. They don't seem at all worried. George Barnes said he simply thought we ought to know.'

‘Nightmares!'

‘About his grandfather,' Archie said. ‘George Barnes wanted to know exactly what happened.'

‘Like your insisting he saw the body and went to the funeral.'

‘I told him Thomas had done both.'

‘I bet you didn't tell him you—'

‘Shut up,' Archie said. He took his hands away from the chair. ‘I'm going down to Pinemount.'

‘Why?'

‘I want to see Thomas.'

‘But George said they were coping, that there was no need—'

‘Liza,' Archie said, ‘I need to see Thomas.'

‘You won't help, you can't, you're too emotional. You just want the drama of it; it's all a part of this great drama of yours you won't let go of—'

Archie lunged forward and seized her wrist.

‘No.'

Her eyes were full of alarm.

‘I thought it was going to get better,' she said. ‘Since you wrote to Marina.'

He let her go.

‘That has nothing to do with this. Will you come with me? I'll go tomorrow, I've a half-day.'

‘I can't. I'm teaching.'

‘Cut it.'

‘No,' Liza said. ‘I can't. And anyway, I don't think either of us should go.' She paused and then she said, ‘It isn't fair. Trust the professionals. Your father always said so.'

‘Please yourself,' Archie said. He looked at her. There was something in her he couldn't even recognize. ‘I'll go, all the same. I'll go tomorrow.'

The New Forest struggled patchily through the snow with clumps and tufts of bush and bracken. It looked, Archie thought, driving through it, forlorn and shabby with its snow mantle disintegrating messily into smudged blots, a landscape very suited to his mood. It was a relief to have to concentrate upon driving, with the great lorries on their way to Bournemouth and Poole hurling up filthy plumes of slush that made it sometimes impossible to see. It was even more of a relief to have something to do that satisfied him; to have a proper mission.

He had supposed, after he had written to Marina, that he would feel better. He had supposed that it would release him. It had been a dreadful letter. He had written it after brooding on it for days, and then reread it the next morning, and still sent it. An excited horror filled him at the recollection of it, at the memory of the accusations with which he had crammed it. He had been sure that, if he exorcized himself of all the anger and bitter unhappiness he felt, then he would be free again to return to the Archie he had once been, the one he remembered as being both content and purposeful. The satisfaction of being a doctor would return, as would his delight and comprehension of Liza. His isolation would at last be over.

But it was not. The letter was sent and silence followed its sending. He became absolutely neurotic about the post arriving, wrenched apart by both longing for a reaction and dreading one. And in the midst of his divided feelings was a very strong consciousness that the letter had changed nothing, only added to his confusion and his sense of being paralysed. Rather than set him free, his bonds were even tighter. He, who had always supposed himself to be courageous, was terribly afraid.

The grey road, blurred with greyer slush, bore relentlessly on between the stretches of unremarkable Forest – what a poor thing William Rufus would think his Forest had dwindled to – and bungalows, and petrol stations with red plastic canopies and spinning signs advertising videos. How ugly, how temporary, what an utter, utter waste of being alive, of having chances. Why did people opt for the second rate? Was he doing that? Was he letting his life slide and drift into some decent, dreary stagnation?

The sign for Pinemount's village appeared trimly on the left-hand verge. Thomas. Archie braked sharply and turned down a lane into sudden countryside.

Thomas said he would like toasted tea cakes and a banana milk shake. The Wimborne tea shop was almost empty, furnished in immemorial tea-shop style of wheelback chairs and dim checked tablecloths and imitation horse brasses hanging on straps against walls of cream embossed paper. It smelled of dust and butter. Thomas, who looked perfectly normal, was mildly excited to be allowed out with his father for an hour and regarded the tea shop as the most appropriate place to be. He said Bristow's parents always gave Bristow tea here which was why he knew banana was the best kind of milk shake to have.

Archie said, ‘Darling. What about these bad dreams?'

Thomas looked embarrassed.

‘Who told you?'

‘Mr Barnes.'

‘Mr Barnes,' Thomas said. ‘He's so interfering.'

‘Not at all. He's kind. He was worried about you.'

Thomas took a bite.

‘Once I woke up on the stairs.' His voice was awed. ‘It was amazing.'

‘Could you tell me about the dreams?'

‘Not really.'

‘Mr Barnes seemed to think they were about Grandpa.'

Thomas looked down.

‘I don't know what they were about.'

‘But you told Mr Barnes that they were about Grandpa.'

‘I told Matron,' Thomas said, chewing. ‘She kept asking and asking.'

‘Darling Thomas. Do try and tell me. So I can help you. Do you think about Grandpa?'

‘A bit.'

‘Does it worry you?'

Thomas put down his tea cake. He said loudly, ‘I don't like Mummy crying. Or you. Why do you?'

‘We're very sad,' Archie said, too quickly. ‘Because of Grandpa.'

Thomas looked at him.

‘No.'

‘Darling—'

Thomas said in the same loud flat voice, ‘Rackenshaw's parents are divorced. So are Harris's. I don't want you to. I don't
want
it.'

Archie put his arms round Thomas.

‘Darling Thomas, don't be an ass. What on earth put such a thing in your mind?'

Thomas was in tears. He put his damp and buttery face into Archie's shoulder.

‘You might. You quarrel. And then Grandpa isn't here now.'

‘You are in a muddle, aren't you?' Archie said, trying to keep his shaking voice light. ‘Such a muddle. It sometimes happens, you know, when something awfully sad happens, like Grandpa dying, that people get a bit short-tempered, because of being so sad, and one of the deeply unfair things about life is that you get crossest with the people you love the most, that's all . . .'

Thomas pulled away and picked up his milk shake.

‘I don't want to talk about it.'

‘But if you don't talk about it, the bad dreams might go on.'

‘No, they won't.'

‘How can you be sure?'

‘They just won't.'

‘Thomas,' Archie said, ‘are you making all this up?'

‘No,' Thomas shouted, going scarlet.

‘I have to ask you things, you see, to try and make it better.'

‘I want to go back to Pinemount.'

Archie leaned forward.

‘Is it better this term? Do you like it now?'

‘I just want to go back,' Thomas said. He turned half away from Archie. ‘Thank you for tea.'

Archie was close to tears.

‘Darling Thomas. Listen just one moment. Mummy and I are not getting a divorce. Absolutely not. And, although Grandpa isn't here with us in body any more, we needn't be afraid of that. We must remember him and enjoy remembering him. He would want that, wouldn't he?'

‘Mr Barnes said you can't see God but He's everywhere,' Thomas said, still turned away. ‘But I don't believe him. If I wasn't here, there'd just be a space.' He got hurriedly off his chair. ‘I'll miss prep, Daddy.'

Archie stood up.

‘But you'll remember what I said. No need for worry. No need at all.'

Thomas glanced at him and then moved towards the door to the street.

When Archie had paid the bill, and joined him there, Thomas said, ‘Why didn't Mummy come?'

June Hampole sat on the end of her brother's bed. He had made himself very comfortable, with an old ponyskin car rug, two of the kitchen cats and a portable wireless. June had rather thought he was sufficiently recovered to get up, but Dan said the convalescent period was the time when one had to be particularly careful and that he was pleased to announce that the idea of two eggs baked with cream, sea salt, black pepper and unsalted butter had become increasingly preoccupying as the afternoon wore on.