Her Living Image (17 page)

Meg gave lots of good advice down the phone. It was she who suggested feeding drinks by the spoonful, and bathing his poor red eyes in a weak solution of bicarb. of soda. She offered to come
down for the weekend to help, and Carolyn wanted her badly enough to hesitate before putting her off. There wasn’t a spare bed, for a start – but the main thing was that she knew it
would annoy Alan. He was working hard to complete a special project for Friday, and had already told her he would give her a hand at the weekend. He would be angry if she preferred her
mother’s help to his.

On Thursday night Chris came out in dark red blotches. Carolyn, appalled, called Alan to look. After a moment’s shocked silence, he said triumphantly – “Measles!” Of
course it was, she realized. Measles, nothing worse. All children caught it. He didn’t have meningitis, or scarlet fever. He wouldn’t die. She felt light-headed with relief.

“Of course!” cried her mother, on the phone. “I should have realized when you told me about his eyes.
I am a fool. I was lucky with you, you didn’t get it till
you were at school, so you were that much older. But you were bad with your eyes all the same, I remember you were in a darkened room for days. Eh –
”
she laughed “–
I remember, I put a headscarf over the lamp, and your Dad gave me such a telling off. It was singed – you know, scorched, when he took it off. Could have had the whole place up in
flames.”

When they had finished talking, Carolyn crept into Chrissy’s room with two kitchen chairs, and draped her shawl over them like a tent, and put the lamp underneath.

On Friday night Alan had met his project deadline, and spent the evening in the pub, celebrating with a few others from his course. When he went to bed he fell into a dead sleep. He woke in
the small hours, feeling cold, and moved over to be closer to Carolyn’s warm body. But she wasn’t there. He groaned, and curled himself into a ball. Then he poked his head out from
the
covers to listen. He couldn’t hear anything. He recurled and waited, for what seemed ages. There was still no sound. Perhaps she’d fallen asleep in Christopher’s room.
She’d begetting cold. He reached for his watch. Quarter to four. He put on his dressing gown and opened the bedroom door. He could hear her voice talking softly now, from inside
Chrissy’s room. He moved to stand by the door, his head an inch from the wood. Her voice was clear and light, its pitch was always a shock to him, when he heard her without seeing her. She
was crooning to the child. “Chrissy, Chrissy love, bumble-face, listen – just have a spoonful my sweet, just a little taste – open wide, come on love, open wide. . . . Good boy,
good boy. That was nice, wasn’t it? Oh my lovely, look at your little eyes, they look like bee-stings. Sweetest bird, my sweetest love, oh, oh, it’ll soon be better. D’you want a
drink? Chrissy? Here, try it, just a little, come on.” The child coughed and began to cry half-heartedly. “All right, never mind, hush, hush – listen Chrissy, what sort of a noise
does a bee make, hmmn?”

There was a silence, then she laughed. “That’s what he does, that’s what he does, bzz, bzz. Ooops-a-daisy, up he comes, bzz, bzz, he’scorning, he’s coming
–” The child made a noise which sounded like a mixture of laugh and cry. “Here he comes, no, no Chrissy, hush – listen, what does he do then? Mmmn? Off he goes, bzz, bzz,
look
–
till becomes to the dog’s house. And he knocks on the door, tap tap tap with his little feet and he says, Bzz bzz, Mr Dog, have you got any flowers for me to eat? And the
dog says
–
?”

After a pause Chrissy’s high voice sounded pathetically, “Woo, woo.”

“Very good! and oh! up jumps the bee and goes buzzing over to the other side – to – to Max’s book, and he says to Max, bzz, bzz Mr Max, have you got any flowers for
me to eat? and Max says – ssh, can you hear him . . . ?” Her voice trailed off and started up again after a minute, in a whisper. “So the bee picked up his flowers and flew back
home to his friend Christopher, and said, night night, Christopher.” There was silence.

After a long while Alan opened the door a crack. The room was very dim, he saw that she had suspended a shawl over the light, so that it shone dappled on walls and ceiling above. Although it
was so dark, it reminded him of summer, being under thick leafy forest trees in sunlight. She was sitting in the armchair with the baby curled over her left shoulder, his head buried in her neck,
and both his hands clasped around her head. Alan saw that her eyes were closed. She had not heard the door as it softly brushed the carpet. Christopher’s outstretched right hand was running
slowly through her hair, touching her head at the roots and pulling the hair outwards so that it fell back like a fan. Alan saw that she herself stroked the back of the child’s head
rhythmically with her right hand. Her face was relaxed. He stepped forward, then stopped uselessly. He wanted to tell her to come back to bed, to put the child down now he was quiet. Something in
the syncopated rhythmic movement of their two stroking hands stopped him though. In the uneven forest-dappled light, the mother and child were quite self-contained. He stood staring for another
minute, then turned and, shutting the door silently behind him, went back to the cold bed.

Alan was having his breakfast when Carolyn came into the kitchen in her dressing gown.

“Want some tea? I was just going to bring you some.”

“Please. He’s asleep, I don’t know how long for.” She slumped in a chair and folded her arms across her chest.

“You look awful,” Alan observed, pouring boiling water on to a tea-bag.

“So does he. It’s horrible – it’s really pathetic. His little eyes are completely raw, he can hardly open them.” She paused. “Thanks. It’s not just
the spots, he’s all puffed up and swollen with it. I just feel as if there’s nothing I can do. He won’t drink, hardly at all.” She fell silent, sipping at her tea. Alan
watched her, noticing the pallor of her face and deep rings under her eyes.

“When did you last go out of the house?” he asked suddenly.

“What?”

“When did you last go out?”

“I don’t know.”

“You didn’t go out yesterday or the day before, I know. Or Wednesday. Did you go out on Tuesday?”

“Alan, I don’t know. I don’t even know what day it is. Of course I can’t go out while he’s got a temperature.”

“You’ll make yourself ill.”

“I’m all right. I’m just tired. I wish it was over, that’s all.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“When?”

“Last night. When he woke up.”

“Alan –” she looked up at him, laughing disbelievingly. “What’s the point? He’s not sleeping for more than two hours at a time at the moment. I know what
he needs. I know where his medicine and his drink are, when I last changed him, everything. There’s no point in both of us being awake all night, it’s not going to make him get better
any quicker.”

“In other words, you can do without me.”

“Oh for God’s sake, Alan. You have to go to college don’t you? What am I supposed to do?”

There was silence while Alan turned the pages of the paper mechanically.

“Well I’m at home today. What needs doing?”

“I don’t know. Do what you want.”

Speechless with weary anger, she cut herself two crooked slices of bread and put them under the grill.

“Why are you so angry?”

“Because – because it’s just so unfair. I’m up all night for nights and you don’t thank me, you act as if I’m trying to exclude you from something. All
you think about is yourself. It’s incredible.”

“All right!” he shouted, jumping up and slapping the paper down on the table.

“Sssh – shut up, don’t wake him!”

Alan sat down again, knotting his legs around one another so that he made a dangerously tight parcel. “All right,” he said quietly. “I’m selfish. I go out all day to
college having a lovely time while you stay at home making yourself ill. I don’t have to go. I don’t have to pass exams or get a job, we don’t need the money – oh no, I do
all this purely for my own amusement.”

“I’m not talking to you.” She stood by the oven, rubbing one barefoot against the other, glaring at the toast which was already burnt.

“Carolyn! It’s on fire!” He jumped up and tipped the flaming toast into the sink. “Sit down. I’ll make you some.”

When she was eating her toast he said, “What d’you want me to do today, then? Why don’t you go and have a sleep for a couple of hours while I keep an eye on
Chris?”

“I – no, he’s – I want to – can you go to the chemist’s for me? He needs some more fruit juice. Delrosa, get the orange and the rose-hip, and some
disposable nappies? I’m not – they’re all dirty, I didn’t do them yesterday, they won’t be dry. And something for dinner –”

“OK.”

Alan went into the bathroom. Carolyn sat with her eyes closed listening to the water running and the traffic outside. Alan came in again. “No. You go.”

She looked up blankly.

“Look Carolyn, this is ridiculous. You haven’t been outside that door for days. Ever since he got ill – for nearly a week, I bet. If I can’t look after my own son for
a couple of hours while you go shopping, heaven help us.”

“But Alan, he’ll wake up soon.”

“Good. Why can’t I give him his breakfast? Get dressed and go, go on.”

Carolyn went slowly to the bedroom. When she came back, tears were running down her face.

“What’s the matter?”

“I don’t want to go. Alan, you go.”

“Carolyn, you’re becoming unhinged. You know what you want to buy better than I do anyway. What d’you think’s going to happen? D’you think I’ll let him
die? Come on lass, pull yourself together.” Kindly, he dried her face on a tea-towel, helped her on with her coat and shepherded her down the stairs.

“I haven’t looked at him,” she wailed.

“Carolyn, I’ll go and look at him as soon as I shut the door on you. Go on. I’ll see you soon.”

He stood for a moment listening to her standing still on the other side of the door, then heard her footsteps moving slowly away. Running upstairs to the sitting-room window, he was in time
to see her cross the road, staring up and down vaguely like a blind person. It was ridiculous. She was a nervous wreck, and all that was wrong with the child was measles.

He went quietly into Chrissy’s room, stopping inside the door for a minute until his eyes adjusted to the dimness. She had rigged up an old green bedspread over the thin cotton
curtains, so the room was very dim with a murky greenish light. Chrissy’s breathing was fast and rasping in his throat. He slept with his mouth open, lips pouting like a pig’s snout.
His face was puffy and covered in dark blotches. It looked mishapen in this light, almost as if something was eating away at it. His hair was like streaks of dirt on his head. Alan put his
fingertips close, touched the top of the head lightly. Heat was radiating off it.

He crept back into the kitchen and made himself another cup of tea. As he was stirring it he heard Christopher cough and start to cry. Quickly he went to pick him up. “Hello
Christopher, hello old mate. Well, what’s up then? Would you like a drink, eh?”

He lifted the child gently from the cot. Christopher’s feeble complaining cry continued. Alan wrapped one of his cot blankets round his shoulders and took him to the kitchen to make a
drink. As they entered the kitchen Christopher let out a wail, ducking his head in towards Alan’s body. “What’s up? What’s the matter?”

The next scream was louder, Christopher’s fist gouging at his eye sockets.

“Oh God, the light. I’m sorry Chris, I’m sorry. All right, come on, let’s go back.”

Alan took him back into his bedroom and walked up and down with him mechanically, trying to soothe him. The crying diminished to a monotonous weary complaining level. Alan sat in the
armchair, setting Chrissy on his knees. “Would you like a drink, Christopher, eh?”

“Dink! dink!” The crying stopped a moment.

“Good boy. Good boy. I’ll get you one. Look, you’ll have to sit here and wait for me, all right? You wait here while Daddy gets you a drink.”

“Dink –
DINK
!”

As Alan sat him in his cot and left the room, Christopher began to howl in earnest again, interrupted by spasms of coughing which left him breathless. Frantically, Alan searched the kitchen
for the feeder cup. It wasn’t in the cupboard, the sink, on the draining board – was it in his room? “Hush, Christopher, drink’s coming, coming in a minute.” He found
it on the floor by the armchair, rinsed it, poured it half full of milk. “All right Chrissy, here we are, here we are, it’s coming now.” The child was still crying as Alan sat
down with him, but he grasped greedily for the milk.

“Here you are then. Hold it yourself. Steady – steady now –”

Christopher gulped at it and started to choke, spluttering milk all over both of them.

“Oh Christopher! Here, give it to me. Come on, hey, hey, steady now.” He patted the little boy gently on the back. Chris started to cry again for the drink. Alan gave it back to
him, but when he had had two mouthfuls he let it drop.

“Christopher? Come on, drink up. Don’t you like it? Come on old boy.”

With a peevish cry Christopher pushed it away.

“Well what do you want? What are you going to drink, Chrissy? D’you want some juice?” Christopher wriggled around on his lap, rubbing fiercely at his eyes. Alan remembered
that Carolyn had mentioned bathing them.

“Shall we wash your eyes – hmmn?” The blanket was useless, as Christopher wriggled and threshed. “Stop it – look, you’ll get chilled. Better put a jumper
on – here, come on.” It was a fight to get Christopher into the jumper. He struggled and cried, his arms as bendy as rubber. Alan left him howling in the cot again while he went for a
bowl of water.