Homework (27 page)
Authors: Margot Livesey
I put one foot onto the ice, then the other. I did not let go of the barrier for an instant but, holding tightly to the rail, eased my way forward until I was no longer right beside the entrance. I searched the ice for Jenny. Two boys whizzed by, crouched low in racing posture, then a girl in a short skirt and purple tights came looping past. I could see no sign of Jenny. For a moment I wondered if she had run away, was even now hitchhiking towards Paris. I remembered that I was her guardian, the adult in charge of her physical safety; if anything
happened, I would be held accountable and even worse, hold myself to blame.
happened, I would be held accountable and even worse, hold myself to blame.
Then I caught sight of her on the far side of the ice. She was wearing a white pullover and grey trousers; against the whiteness of the ice she seemed shadowy and indistinct, a small succubus, gliding with uncanny ease between the other skaters. She disappeared again behind a man in a black pullover. Suddenly she was beside me. “Come on,” she said. “I'll show you what to do.”
When Stephen joined us, we were skating hand in hand.
I thought of my rapprochement with Jenny as a triumph. By overcoming the timidity that had made me avoid such confrontations in the past, I had brought peace between us. I ought to have spoken to her weeks before, instead of relying on Stephen as a go-between. Although he knew nothing of what had occurred, he seemed to sense that Jenny and I were at ease, and for the remainder of the weekend the three of us were unusually jolly. On Sunday, Suzie and Tim came to lunch; we all laughed so hard at Suzie's stories that we could scarcely eat. Jenny had not met Tim before, and she at once took charge of him. While we grown-ups sat over our coffee, she introduced him to Selina and taught him to play a game called “Haunted House.” In the afternoon we put on jackets and scarves and went for a walk in the botanical garden. Even this late in the year, there were a few flowers. We strolled around admiring the hardy blooms until the cold wind drove us home.
Back at the house, Suzie insisted on making scones for tea, and Jenny volunteered to help. The two of them put on aprons and set about consulting recipes.
“Do you think we should follow the Good Housekeeping one or the health food one?” Suzie asked.
“Good Housekeeping,” said Jenny. “It's quicker.” She climbed onto her stool and began to get out utensils and ingredients. As I listened to Jenny being charming and helpful, I thought Suzie must find my complaints about her even
more absurd now than when I had voiced them. Then I reminded myself that such difficulties were purely historical. I was determined to let bygones be bygones.
more absurd now than when I had voiced them. Then I reminded myself that such difficulties were purely historical. I was determined to let bygones be bygones.
While the scones were baking, Suzie ran to the corner shop to buy cream. Tim and I laid the dining room table. The five of us sat down. We were almost silent with greed as we devoured the scones, straight from the oven, with cream and strawberry jam. From time to time Jenny reached under the table to give Tobias a fingerful of cream.
“These are the best scones I have ever eaten,” said Stephen. He leaned back and patted his stomach appreciatively.
“Yes, they are,” said Tim. “Thank you very much.”
“It was a pleasure,” said Suzie. “We can't tell you the secret of our success, but we'll be happy to oblige again in the near future.” She winked at Jenny.
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Next morning at breakfast I caught Jenny looking critically at her slice of toast. “What's the matter?” I asked.
“I wish we had some scones left,” she said.
“So do I,” said Stephen. “They were delicious.” He turned to me. “I couldn't get over how well behaved Tim was.”
“You sound surprised,” I said.
“Well, one wouldn't necessarily pick Suzie as a model parent.” He was about to say more, when we heard the snap of the letter box. Jenny, as usual, slid from her chair and ran out of the room.
“Why not?” I demanded. I felt an immediate stirring of indignation on Suzie's behalf.
“I suppose she's always struck me as rather scatterbrainedâthe way she talks, how she does her hair. You know what I mean.” He spread marmalade on his toast and pushed the jar in my direction. “Have you noticed how much earlier the post is arriving since we got a younger postman?”
“Oh, is that the reason?” I was about to continue my defence of Suzie when I felt a cold draught and realised that
although Jenny had left the door open, I had not heard the slightest sound from the hall. What was she doing to be so silent? Was she holding the envelope up to the light, hoping to make out the contents; was she squeezing it between her hands, like a shaman attempting divination? Stephen picked up the newspaper. I was on the point of going to see what was happening, when she walked in, holding before her a single letter. “It's from Mummy,” she said, and handed it to Stephen.
although Jenny had left the door open, I had not heard the slightest sound from the hall. What was she doing to be so silent? Was she holding the envelope up to the light, hoping to make out the contents; was she squeezing it between her hands, like a shaman attempting divination? Stephen picked up the newspaper. I was on the point of going to see what was happening, when she walked in, holding before her a single letter. “It's from Mummy,” she said, and handed it to Stephen.
Occasionally Helen included notes to Stephen in her letters to Jenny, but this was the first time that she had written directly to him. “I expect it's to both of us,” he said, putting down the newspaper and picking up the letter. Jenny stood beside him, watching intently.
At such moments, when I saw how desperately she missed her mother, I could understand any extremity of bad behaviour. I tried to pretend to be absorbed in my toast. From the bulky envelope Stephen drew out several pages. He scanned them quickly. “It's just to me,” he said. “But she's writing to you soon.”
Slowly Jenny sat down. She inched her chair closer to Stephen's end of the table. As he read the first page of the letter, his mouth twitched in a smile. His eyes reached the bottom of the page, and he began to read it again. Then, without finishing, he folded the pages in half and put them down beside his plate.
“What is it, Daddy? Aren't you going to read what Mummy says?” The letter lay within her reach; I thought I saw her hand quiver with the effort of restraint.
“I'll read it later.” He looked up, and then, as if realising for the first time how much all this mattered to Jenny, offered some additional information. “It's about her job.”
“What about her job?”
I tried to create a diversion by standing up and asking Jenny if today wasn't the day when she needed her swimming
things. I could have been silent, invisible, for all the attention she paid me.
things. I could have been silent, invisible, for all the attention she paid me.
“She wanted to tell me about some difficulties at work,” Stephen said. “She's fine. She sends you lots of love and says she'll write very soon. Come on, we have to get ready to leave.”
I knew that he was lying and that Jenny also knew but, as an adult, for once I had the advantage. I could demand to be told the contents of the letter, even perhaps to read it for myself, whereas she must make do with whatever Stephen cared to divulge. She stood staring at her father as he stuffed the letter into the pocket of his trousers, then turned aside to carry her plate into the kitchen.
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I was in the middle of a conversation with the marketing manager, when Stephen telephoned to ask if we could meet for lunch. For the remainder of the morning, ideas of what Helen might have said sprouted, avid and resilient as the weeds that spring up in the cracks between crazy paving. She missed her daughter too much and had decided that she wanted Jenny to come and live with her. At the end of term we would pack up all Jenny's belongings and put her on a plane to Paris. Or, I improvised further, Jenny would spend Christmas with us, to keep the balance, and on Boxing Day we would drive her, with her newly opened presents, to the airport. Maybe at Easter, Stephen and I could visit her in Paris. I had not been there since a school trip when I was seventeen. Periodically I chided myselfâthe letter could be about any number of topicsâbut after drawing a couple of deep breaths of the cool air of reason, I dove back into my hothouse fantasies.
I arrived at the café before Stephen. While I waited I looked around the shop at the front, where they sold books, cards, and crafts. The brightly coloured merchandise reminded me of the knitwear shop on Saint Stephen Street. I had that
morning put on what I still thought of as the replacement pullover. Suddenly I found myself wondering if Jenny really had taken a pair of scissors to the original pullover. Since the idea first occurred to me, I had gone back and forth so many times that I no longer knew what to believe. I walked over to look at the display of dolls' house furniture. There was a bookcase filled with dummy books, a miniature telephone, a fridge, a stove, a cradle, as well as the more conventional tables, chairs and beds with which I had played during my childhood.
morning put on what I still thought of as the replacement pullover. Suddenly I found myself wondering if Jenny really had taken a pair of scissors to the original pullover. Since the idea first occurred to me, I had gone back and forth so many times that I no longer knew what to believe. I walked over to look at the display of dolls' house furniture. There was a bookcase filled with dummy books, a miniature telephone, a fridge, a stove, a cradle, as well as the more conventional tables, chairs and beds with which I had played during my childhood.
I heard the bell on the door chime and looked up to see Stephen. “Sorry I'm late,” he said. “I couldn't find a place to park.”
“I've only been here a few minutes. Isn't this sweet?” I held out my hand to show him a tiny bed.
Stephen joined the queue for food, and I went to find us a table. The café was housed in what I thought of as a rotunda, a circular room with the tables arranged around the perimeter. I sat down next to two middle-aged women, both wearing hats. “It's not as if I don't have plenty to complain about,” the one sitting next to me remarked, “but I do try to look on the bright side, whereas Linda, you'd think she was in the poorhouse.”
“I know what you mean.” The woman facing me nodded. “I'm sick to death of her doing nothing but grumble.”
I was watching Stephen as he waited to be served. He had taken off his glasses and was polishing them on his handkerchief. He did not seem especially happy, but then few of my daydreams of the morning would be cause for rejoicing on his part. In a few minutes he carried over our plates of food. He sat down and gave me a quick smile. There was a pause while he seemed engrossed in shaking out his napkin, rearranging his cutlery. I could not fathom his expression.
Finally I said, “So tell me what Helen's letter was about. I'm dying to know.”
“Do you remember a month ago Jenny announced that Helen had a new boyfriend?”
“Jean-Paul?”
“Jean-Pierre. Last week Helen found out that she's pregnant. Of course it was an accident.”
I felt envy so strong that I could not speak. Helen had everything, and now this too. The expectations which I had nurtured in the course of the morning seemed unbearably pathetic. Beneath the table I clenched my fists. “Is she going to keep it?” I asked.
Stephen stared at me, initially as if he had no idea what I meant, and then as if I had said something shocking. “Yes, they're both delighted. Helen says this is her chance to repeat her life and do everything right.” He shrugged at this unflattering view of their marriage, but I was in no mood to offer consolation.
“So Jenny is going to have a sibling,” I said slowly.
“I nearly blurted it out at breakfast. She'll be thrilled. She's always wanted a brother or sister.” He smiled in anticipation of Jenny's pleasure, picked up his knife and fork, and began to eat.
It seemed useless to suggest alternative scenarios. Our companions had dispensed with Linda. The more soft-spoken of the two was recommending a gallery in Aberfeldy where she had bought some lovely gifts. “What's going to happen about Christmas?” I asked. I too picked up my knife and fork, but I could not bring myself to eat.
“That's what the letter is mostly about. They're spending Christmas with Jean-Pierre's family, and Helen doesn't think that it would be a very good idea for Jenny to come. She says it'll be hard enough to meet her new in-laws without bringing one and a half children along. She suggests that Jenny go over on the twenty-seventh, and fly back on the third. It means we'll be able to spend Christmas together.”
Above my mushroom quiche the steam trembled. I thought
of the difference in our vocabularies, that for him the word “we” embraced one more person than it ever did for me. “But then Jenny will only be going for a week.”
of the difference in our vocabularies, that for him the word “we” embraced one more person than it ever did for me. “But then Jenny will only be going for a week.”
Stephen nodded. He chewed and swallowed. “She starts school again on the fourth. I suppose she could miss a couple of days, but given that Helen would be at work, there doesn't seem much point. I can't wait to tell Joyce and Edward. They'll be delighted.”
Even as he spoke, my mind had leapt from the immediate disappointment of Christmas to the much more crucial question of Helen's long-range plans. Everything I had taken for granted was suddenly in doubt. “What about later?” I demanded.
“Later?”
“Is Helen coming back from Paris? Will she ever want her daughter back? Or are Jean-Pierre and his baby the perfect replacement?”
Stephen stared at me. “Of course Helen isn't replacing Jenny. All we're discussing is a slight change in the dates of Jenny's Christmas holiday.”
“But what's going to happen?” I persisted. “Where are they going to live, and is Jenny going to live with them?”
“Helen didn't go into much detail. The baby is due in June. She plans to come back with Jean-Pierre at the end of April to look for a house to buy. She doesn't mention arrangements about Jenny, but I imagine that she might be amenable to something more like joint custody.” He reached out and touched my cheek. “Celia, tell me what's bothering you. Is it the change of plan, or is there something else?”
I looked at him and saw the anxious, eager expression with which he waited for my answer. How could I voice my fears when what I was most afraid of, that Jenny would live with us forever, was something that he would welcome. To cover my confusion, I began at last to eat. Beside us the two women pushed back their chairs and rose to their feet. As they
straightened their hats, they kept their eyes fixed on each other for guidance.
straightened their hats, they kept their eyes fixed on each other for guidance.
Trying to sound calm, I said, “We seem to be entirely at Helen's mercy. When we first met, she would only let you see Jenny between ten and six on Saturdays; even taking her to Abernethy for a weekend was problematic. Then she got a job in Paris, and suddenly Jenny was living with us. What would she have done if we hadn't had the flat? Now she's having a baby, and who knows what she'll want next. I feel our preferences, your preferences, count for nothing.” By the final sentence a note of urgent bitterness had crept into my voice. I could not blame Jenny, and so I laid upon the mother all the sins of the daughter.
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