The Country Life (12 page)

Presendy I heard the approach of footsteps from beyond the kitchen door, and Pamela came breezing into the room.

‘Morning!' she cried, her waving hair bouncing on top of her head and her face alight with a genial smile.

‘Morning!' I replied.

She drew to the other woman's side. I wondered if her cheerful greeting had been directed not at me but at my nemesis; and indeed if Pamela had noticed that I was there at all.

‘Now, Mrs Barker,' she said. She lay her slender arm along the other woman's broad shoulders. ‘I've cleared the way for you upstairs so you can just
forge
through.' She gestured dramatically with her hands and then replaced her arm, as if she were resting it on the back of a sofa. ‘Martin has promised to evacuate that room of his by ten o'clock. I've told him that you are mounting a campaign and he's promised to keep out of your way.' She laughed lightly. ‘He offered to be your standard-bearer and roll about the house ahead of you. He's a great fan of yours,' she said confidentially.

Mrs Barker made a peculiar noise which I took to be a laugh. It was in fact more of a snuffling smirk.

‘He's quite a character, that young man,' she snuffled. ‘Do you want me to do the windows, Pam?'

‘Oh – let me think, do I?' Pamela put her head to one side, apparently not affronted by Mrs Barker's free use of a nickname. ‘No, I don't think so. I think we can just about still see through them. We'll tackle those another day.'

‘Right,' said Mrs Barker. ‘I'll get on, then.'

‘I'll bring you your coffee in a few minutes,' said Pamela. ‘I just need to have a word with Stella.' I had, then, been detected. ‘Have you met Stella, Mrs Barker?'

‘I met her just now,' said Mrs Barker. ‘Although she didn't introduce herself. I guessed who she was, though.'

‘Jolly good,' said Pamela.

When she had gone, Pamela turned to me and heaved a sigh, as if she were already exhausted.

‘And how are you today?' she said. Something in her failure to pronounce my name made the enquiry seem hostile. ‘You've been sunbathing, I see.'

‘I fell asleep in the garden by mistake,' I confessed. ‘I didn't realize how hot it was.'

‘I know, wasn't it glorious?' said Pamela. ‘You really should have come over for that swim, you know.'

Seeing that she still bore a grudge over this matter, I felt a sense of opportunity, as if I had pinned down the source of her unfriendliness and could now tackle it.

‘I didn't bring a swimming costume with me,' I said. ‘I didn't know you had a pool. Otherwise, I'd have loved to have come.'

‘Why didn't you
say
!' cried Pamela. ‘Oh, silly girl! I've got
stacks
of them upstairs, I could easily have lent you one.' It was, I saw, touch and go as to whether she would think me stupid for not confessing earlier, or would be moved to pity by the thought of my shyness. ‘And there you were roasting away all afternoon on your own and probably dying for a swim!'

I nodded.

‘Oh, poor Stella! We're not ogres here, you know – you must just
shout
the minute you need anything. Look, I'll go and
root one out for you later this morning and then we can all go for a swim at lunchtime.'

‘Thank you,' I said.

I wondered if I should broach the small matter of breakfast, and then decided against it. A pause ensued. The subject of my duties, over which we had quarrelled so bitterly, was once again with us. There was, indeed, no way of my avoiding the question of what exactly I was supposed to do next; for there was no further business for me in the kitchen.

‘Now, shall we just run through today? Have you got a moment?' said Pamela; for all the world as if I might not.

‘OK,' I said.

She looked at me closely.

‘Are you all right?' she said, as if concerned. I had thought that I had answered her quite cheerfully. I often have to be on my guard against morosity. ‘You do look most dreadfully burnt.'

‘Oh, I'm fine,' I said, gallantly brushing the subject away with my hand. ‘It looks a lot worse than it is.'

‘Shall I make coffee while we have our briefing?' she said, apparently having forgotten my sunburn instantly. ‘Mrs Barker will be gasping by now.'

‘I'll do it,' I said, getting up.

‘You're a love,' said Pamela. My heart swelled absurdly at the words. ‘You mustn't be afraid of Mrs Barker. She's a dear old thing.'

‘Has she worked here for long?' I said, unable to concur.

‘Oh,
aeons
,' said Pamela. I put on the kettle. ‘Since the Flood. She was here when I was born. She's very precious and I'd hate to lose her.'

There was something accusatory about this comment, as if I might be liable to take Mrs Barker away and then forget where I'd put her.

‘I'm sure you would,' I said.

‘Shall we start?' said Pamela after a pause.

I wondered what had wrought this change in Pamela's attitude. She was as efficient now as she had been obfuscating before; and I interpreted this, to my satisfaction, as proof that she regretted the harshness with which she had treated me during my first evening in the country.

‘Obviously your priority has got to be Martin,' she continued, enunciating her words clearly. ‘He's a darling, but he does get bored just sitting around the house all day, so you have to take him out or find things to do with him at home. Now, on Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays he goes to the centre for the afternoon. Sometimes Piers or I take him, but usually I'd expect you to do it.'

‘Where is the centre?' I said.

‘Oh, it isn't far – in Buckley. You'll take him there in the car, and then one of the carers drops him back when he's ready. They're terribly nice there. It's such a boon having it, and Martin loves it.'

I calculated that, it being Monday, my downfall might lie only a few short hours away.

‘Actually, on second thoughts I think I'll probably take him down myself this afternoon. I've got some shopping to do,' said Pamela.

My hands, which were bearing the brimming coffee cups to the table, trembled with relief, and some of it slopped to the floor.

‘Careful!' said Pamela.

‘Sorry,' I said. ‘I'll mop it up.'

‘Look, do just sit down for a minute while I finish,' said Pamela wearily. ‘We can mop it up later.'

‘OK,' I said, keen not to aggravate her.

‘Now, there are various things Martin can do for himself, such as go to the lavatory, so you needn't worry about that unless he asks you. You might need to be on hand if he's in the bath and gets stuck. The other difficult thing is getting up and down the stairs. He usually just shuffles down himself, but you
may need to help him up if he's tired, and you'll need to carry his chair. We did think,' she continued, ‘of getting a second chair for downstairs, but they're such beastly things to have about and they do clutter the place up. It's quite light, in any case. Generally, he'll tell you what he wants you to do. He's not shy.' She put her hands around her coffee cup and raised it to her lips. ‘The real thing in the mornings is to get behind him to do his homework. He's a lazy bugger. Always trying to talk his way out of it.'

‘Homework?' I said. ‘What sort of homework does he do?'

‘The same as everybody else,' snapped Pamela, flashing her bright eyes at me. ‘He's not retarded, Stella. He goes to school just like other children. It's very dangerous to assume things about disabled people, let me tell you.'

I could sense that we were in steep decline.

‘I'm sorry,' I said. ‘When you said “centre” I didn't realize you meant that it was a school.'

‘It isn't!' cried Pamela, banging her hand upon the table. ‘It's you who isn't clear, not I! The centre is a day centre for children like Martin to go to during the school holidays,' She punctuated her words with further sharp slaps upon the table. ‘And school is school, just the same as for everybody else.'

I had not, of course, realized that it was the school holidays; nor, if I were to be honest, that Martin even went to school.

‘Right, so I'll help him with his homework,' I continued quickly, in an attempt to stem the tide against me.

‘He won't need help. He just needs to be told to do it.'

‘OK,' I said. ‘I'll do that. And what about when he's at the centre? I mean, what do you expect me to do?'

‘Well!' Pamela gave a sort of snort. ‘Obviously I can't give you a timetable for every spare minute. Personally, I find that I barely have time to catch my breath, but if you think that you're going to be at a loose end then I suppose you can come and find me and I'll give you something to do,'

‘Fine,' I said; and regretted it as soon as I heard the unfortunate way in which it had issued from my mouth. I suppose that I had been feeling quite cross at the way Pamela was speaking to me, and some of this resentment had exited inadvertently with my reply. It was impossible that Pamela should not have noticed my tone, and indeed her head shot up at the sound of it and she met me with a steely eye. In her expression, I could see dawning the memory of our exchange in this very kitchen the other night; a sight which surprised me, for I had of course imagined that she had thought a great deal about the scene and made certain resolutions concerning it. It was now apparent to me that she had not given it a moment's consideration; until now.

‘I hope we're not going to have trouble with you,' she said; not particularly nastily, although it was not a very pleasant thing to say. ‘We've had problems with girls in the past, and we were very much hoping that you were going to be different.'

It was difficult for me to restrain myself from remarking that the ‘problems' encountered in the past all had one thing in common – Pamela – and that perhaps she should look to herself if she wanted to solve them. This kind of honesty was not available to me. Still, I could see that Pamela's ill temper, rather than a unique occurrence, was to be a central feature of my dealings with her; a fact which demanded, risky and unpleasant though this prospect was, the immediate formulation of some policy with which to confront it.

‘Mrs Madden,' I said boldly. ‘I'm sorry if you've had problems in the past. I don't intend to cause you any trouble, and I very much want things to work out well. This kind of life is very new to me, however, and if you remember that this is only my first proper day, then you will understand why I might need my duties to be spelled out for me clearly. It's obviously very important that things go smoothly with Martin,' I continued; ingeniously, I must admit. ‘And I don't want to learn by making mistakes. I'd rather know everything I have to
know before we start, and that way he will hopefully not be too disrupted.'

This speech was exhausting; and as I delivered it I trembled at what Pamela might be thinking of me. It was impossible to deduce anything from her expression, which was one of openmouthed astonishment. She seemed to be thinking. Finally, to my relief, she began to nod her head energetically.

‘Yes. Yes,' she said. ‘I think I see what you mean. Yes, you're quite right, Stella.' She was still nodding. I wondered when she would stop. ‘Yes, it
is
better this way, isn't it?'

‘I think so,' I said, quite warmly; although I was still panting from my oratory. ‘Now,' I continued, pressing my advantage, ‘shall I take Mrs Barker her coffee? And then perhaps I can go and find Martin and see what he's doing about that homework.'

‘Yes, why don't you?' said Pamela meekly.

‘Where will I find him?'

‘What? Oh, upstairs in his bedroom, I should think. Mrs Barker will show you the way if you get lost.'

You may be surprised by this evidence of my assertiveness. Perhaps you have assumed that because I was inferior to Mrs Madden – in many ways, and not only because of my position in her house – that I would never find it within myself to stand up to her. My story so far could be regarded, indeed, as a history of oppression, one of those old-fashioned stories in which a poor, plain heroine endures all the misfortunes that social and material disadvantage can devise for her, but lives to be triumphantly rewarded at the last moment for her forbearance. Mrs Madden, for example, might finally meet with a terrible accident, falling beneath the wheels of a tractor or being murdered by Mrs Barker, who would be revealed to be an anarchist working under cover; leaving me to be installed at Franchise Farm as Pamela's successor, Mr Madden having confessed that he hated her all along. I will not pretend that I myself have never entertained daydreams of this type; but one's first duty must always be to reality.

To return to the subject of my unexpected act of self-assertion, I had been in the world; and in the course of my twenty-nine years had encountered all manner of people there. I am not stupid; and as I watched Pamela work herself into a fever of ill temper for the second time was able to observe the phenomenon more closely. I did not do this entirely consciously, of course; I am a sensitive person, and in situations of confrontation find it easier to be emotional than scientific. Let us just say that I was not so disconcerted by Pamela on this occasion; and by remaining calm, that I was able to detect several similarities in the two outbursts which pointed at some kind of pathology on the part of my employer. In order to conduct this experiment, I had, obviously, to be sure that my own position was of the utmost rationality; and I believed that it was. Having established, then, that Pamela had no specific cause to be angry at
me
, I could deduce that the source of her irritation lay elsewhere. Who, indeed, could blame Pamela for being touchy? No matter how much she appeared to dote upon Martin, to have a disabled child is to carry one of life's heavier burdens. Among the feelings which it might provoke, I could identify guilt and resentment in a matter of moments; and who knew what else might be found if one dug deeper?