The Green Flash (2 page)

The boy picked at a tooth and then sucked his finger. He gave the psychiatrist an assaying look that seemed too old for his years.

‘I'd like you to tell me about Nigeria,' he said.

II

The afternoon had darkened. A steady rain had set in and low clouds crouched over the street.

Dr Meiss said: ‘Tell me about your mother.'

‘She's my father's wife, isn't she. Was.'

‘Do you talk to her?'

‘Oh-yes.'

‘You are fond of her?'

‘Oh yes.' This casually.

‘I know in some quarters it is not done to express affection, but do you not love her?'

‘I've just said so.'

‘Good. And does she love you?'

‘I think so.'

‘You only think so?'

‘No, I'm sure she does.'

‘You have no brothers or sisters?'

‘No.'

‘But was it a happy home? Was it? Just your mother and your father?'

There was a long silence.

The boy said: ‘ You couldn't help but wonder, could you, when he came in drunk.'

‘Wonder what?'

‘You couldn't help thinking of it. My father and my mother. Could you. It's not natural, is it?'

‘Isn't it? I would have thought so.'

‘They should have had separate rooms. She wanted it but he never would. He was – pretty awful to her at times. And I couldn't do anything right when he was in that mood. I'm not …'

‘What were you going to say?'

‘It doesn't matter.'

‘It's good to be able to say exactly how you feel.'

For the first time the boy had flushed. ‘Of course I didn't mean to do him any
harm
! Not really. He was the sort of man who'll get you in a corner … It was just the way it happened, wasn't it?'

‘Yes. Just the way it happened.'

There was another long silence. Somewhere a clock chimed.

‘Can I go now?'

‘Of course. You are never compelled to stay here. I will see your mother before you leave. But is there anything else you wanted to say?'

‘About what?'

‘About anything that comes into your mind. For instance, did you
never
like your father? Did you not ever have any companionship with him?'

‘Oh, sometimes. He
could
be quite jolly. You know. He was a great one for fast cars. He used to take me out sometimes and drive like the wind. We had an open Alvis. He was fun then.'

Meiss watched his patient, but there was no moisture, no evidence of sentiment in the boy's candid eyes.

‘But even then you could never quite rely on him, trust his mood.'

‘How do you mean?'

‘You'd be giggling with him and maybe say the wrong thing – there'd be a close-down, a freeze-up, finish to the fun. So that after a while being with him was scary.'

The boy swallowed the rest of his words, as if aware that he had said more than he had intended.

‘Your father was often away, though?'

‘Sometimes.'

‘Did you enjoy the times when he was away?'

‘I suppose so.'

‘Wasn't there a suggestion that you might be sent away to school – to what is called a preparatory school?'

‘Oh, yes. They argued about it.'

‘Your mother and father did? How did they argue?'

‘He wanted it. She didn't.'

‘Why did your mother not want it?'

‘I don't know'

‘And how did you feel?'

‘Oh.' Another shrug. ‘ Not too keen.'

‘Any reason?'

‘It would have been the same as day school, wouldn't it? Only more so. At least, that's what I should expect.'

‘So you were comfortable at home?'

‘More or less. More comfortable than going away.'

Meiss nodded understanding.

‘Did your father say he wanted you to go away?'

‘Yes, sir. They were the schools he'd been to. He thought I ought to go to the same ones.'

Meiss tapped his teeth with a pencil. ‘Are you fond of flowers, David?'

‘What? I don't know. Why?'

‘Your buttonhole.'

‘Oh that.' He peered down. ‘I picked it in the garden.'

‘Today?'

‘Yesterday.'

‘Now it is faded you do not throw it away?'

‘No, it seems a pity.'

‘Are you specially fond of carnations?'

‘‘They're all right. This isn't a real carnation, you know.'

‘Isn't it? What is it, then?'

‘A pink.'

‘Oh. Is that some sort of garden carnation?'

‘Yes.'

‘Yorkshire is not your county, is it? Are you not Scottish?'

‘My father is – was. I was born in Yorkshire.'

‘Are you fond of Scotland?'

‘I've never been there.'

Dr Meiss looked down at his notes. ‘I see.'

III

Mrs Abden was a pretty, bone-pale, dark woman of thirty-five, with gratuitous lines on her forehead and flared, oval-shaped, dignified nostrils. You could see where the boy got his looks from. She was above average height, willowy, hatless, in a pale fawn frock of impeccable simplicity, stockings a shade darker, tan shoes, the skirt a bit short.

Dr Meiss said: ‘I believe I can be of use to you but it will take perhaps two more meetings to be sure. There are obvious areas of resistance, yet often he has responded willingly and well. He has a directness of gaze which is unusual in such cases. It is a good sign.'

Mrs Abden crossed her legs, carefully pulling down her skirt as she did so. It looked as if she was just beginning to put on weight.

‘When do you wish to see us again?'

‘If I take this case on, I think it will have to be a minimum of three times a week.'

She drew in her breath. ‘ It's so
far
from Leeds. And I have so much to see to. Mr Kingsley has been so kind and helpful but …'

‘When he came to see me he explained the position fully. I think it was his suggestion that David should come to me in the first place.'

‘Yes; his and that children's social worker, or whatever she was.'

‘But I understand there was no pressure applied to you from any other source?'

‘No, no.'

‘I really feel that three times a week is the satisfactory minimum.' Dr Meiss picked up a letter from his desk. ‘This that has happened – this tragedy – has tended to obscure everything else. But it is fairly clear, is it not, that there was something before?'

‘Before?'

‘In your son's – in David's – general behaviour, which was not quite running to a normal pattern.'

‘I'm afraid I don't know what you mean.'

‘Well, this letter from his headmaster. This was with his school report last year. You know what it says, of course?'

‘Oh, that … I do
remember
it.'

Dr Meiss read out: ‘ ‘‘David has a variety of talents, but a clear determination not to make use of them in school time. He refuses discipline whenever he can, makes few friends, and appears to want to live in a world of his own. He seems to have a disregard for proper restraint where his own urges are concerned. I am coming to have grave doubts about his willingness to shoulder the responsibilities of growing up.'' '

‘Oh, yes, that's Mr Cartwright; but I shouldn't pay much attention to him, doctor. He's well known for his prejudices. David will probably tell you all about
him
.'

‘He talks freely about his school, then? I mean, to you?'

‘Yes, yes. When I ask him he tells me. He's always very frank and very honest with me.'

‘I understand from David that there was some disagreement between you and your husband as to whether he should be sent to a normal preparatory school – away from home, I mean.'

Mrs Abden fingered the short pearl necklace around her throat, slowly, individually, like prayer beads.

‘I have never felt David was strong enough for the rough and tumble of boarding-school life.'

‘Why? Is he delicate? He's well developed. Tall for his age. Looks strong.'

‘We nearly lost him with rheumatic fever when he was seven. And he catches cold very easily. And gets quickly tired. Believe me, Dr Meiss, I should know'

The psychiatrist made a note or two. They were of no importance but they helped him to think. One trod delicately.

‘Do you think still to keep David at his day school? I mean, when he restarts next term.'

‘Why not?'

‘He is clearly not very happy there.'

‘Where else would he be more happy? Though in fact Kenneth …'

‘Kenneth?'

‘Mr Kingsley. Our solicitor, as you know, and a great personal friend. I can't imagine how I should have got through this time without him. He has advised on so many things.'

‘And he thinks?'

Mrs Abden blinked. ‘He thinks it might be a good thing if David went away. At least for a time.'

‘Perhaps I shall be able to advise you on this in a month or so.'

‘Kenneth thinks David should go to Loretto, as planned. That's if they will still have him.'

‘Why should they not? After the coroner's verdict no stigma should attach to your son.'

It was in the papers, you know. ‘‘ Baronet's brother dies in kitchen brawl.'' These things stick. People will go on talking.'

Dr Meiss coughed into his hand. Time was overrunning and another patient was almost due.

‘Far more important, Mrs Abden, is to get David into the frame of mind when he will study to pass the Common Entrance. He looks to me the sort of boy who should profit from the education a public school provides. But I will know better after a few more meetings.'

‘I hope it helps. As I say, it was Mr Kingsley's idea. He felt that it had all been a terrible shock for the boy, and that if he came to you it might help to clear up any anxieties or fears …'

‘Is he greatly attached to you?'

‘Who?'

‘David, of course.'

The lines on Mrs Abden's forehead sharply deepened. ‘David and I have always thought the world of each other.'

‘I'm glad of that.'

She hesitated and then went on: ‘Only last year, when my husband was away, I was laid low with tonsillitis. David did everything. He'd – he would even come in and tuck me up before saying goodnight.'

‘So he will co-operate with me more completely if you encourage him to do so, if you let him know that you want him to come.'

Mrs Abden opened her bag, took out a compact, peered at herself, then, reassured, snapped it shut.

‘Where is David now?'

‘In my small sitting-room. With my receptionist.'

Mrs Abden said rapidly: ‘It's difficult for an outsider like you – I don't wish to be impolite, Dr Meiss – but it's hard for someone outside to understand what has happened. We were … a happy family, really. You can't know what I felt for Stewart. I
cared
for him …'

Meiss nodded. ‘Yes, yes.'

‘He was hard to manage at times, I know. My husband, I mean. And when he was worried about money matters he would drink too much. Without that he would have been very different … But then, who hasn't little crosses to bear? Even if a man
is
difficult it does not stop you from caring. Are you married?'

‘Yes.'

‘Well, in this, I've been in hell. I mean! The two people I love most, they do this to each other! How do you feel at the end of it? How
do
you? Whose
fault
was it?'

‘At the inquest, Mrs Abden, you said that your husband bullied David.'

‘That's true.'

‘You said that that evening he even threatened to kill him.'

Rachel Abden fingered her pearls uncertainly. ‘It was nearly true. By then I could do nothing to help Stewart. He was – gone. I could only try to make things easier for David.'

Meiss nodded again. ‘What you tell me will, of course, go no further. The tragedy is over. Your son is in no danger from the law. It is simply that I am trying to find out why this quarrel between them went farther than any had gone before. You – I presume you did not say anything to either of them that might have provoked the quarrel?'

‘For God's sake, why
should
I? What are you accusing me of?'

‘Nothing at all, believe me … Did your
son
say anything to his father especially to provoke his anger on this occasion?'

‘He … well, no.'

She looked at the psychiatrist. Her umber-dark eyes were full of the emotional tears her son's had lacked.

‘You don't want to speak of this?'

She said: ‘David called his father a particularly foul name. His father said: ‘‘I'll have the hide off you for that!'' '

‘He did not actually threaten to kill David?'

‘No … I don't think so.'

‘You added it to help David?'

‘Mr Kingsley advised me to say that.'

‘I see.'

After a minute she said: ‘ I don't think I'll ever forgive David – properly, that is, altogether.'

‘You must try not to think that.'

‘Oh, I know, I know. It's easy to say, but hard …'

‘Did he push his father, as you said at the inquest?'

‘Yes.'

‘Was that not something Mr Kingsley also advised you to say?'

‘Of
course
not! He – he thrust at him hard in the chest and Stewart sort of lost his balance and turned and fell and struck his head on the fender …'

Meiss thought over carefully what Kingsley had told him, but decided not to confront her with it. He said: ‘ You will forgive me for being so persistent. All this you will have been asked before, and you may think my insistence is an impertinence. Believe me, it is not meant so. But if I can begin to find from you any cause of this quarrel this particular night …'