The year of the virgins (11 page)

garden. Then there is that other room that at one time used to store all the paraphernalia for the conservatory before it was turned into the sun-room. As Joe said, the games-room could be fixed up as a fine bedroom. He's even picked a bed from upstairs, and also pointed out that with a couple of mattresses it will bring it up almost to the hospital height for a bed; you know, to make it easy for lifting the patient. Then the other room can be turned into a sitting-room. And you know how handy he is with wires in rigging up things - he should have been an electrician - well, he said he can fix up an intercom from your room to his along the corridor and another to my room upstairs, so that we'll always be on hand if needed. But only if needed.'

She stopped in her walk and with a touch of bitterness in her voice, she said, 'And what of . . . Mother-in-law? She'll never be out of his room. There won't be any nurses or doctors or sisters to take my side. It's her house.'

'It's my house.'

'Don't split hairs, Dad. I ... I won't be able to stand it. And there's enough warring as it is. And you know how Don feels about her.'

T know. I know, dear. But I promise you I'll lay down laws and that they will be obeyed. One threat will be that if she doesn't keep her place then you can move him to the cottage. Come on, love, try it for a while. It's for Don's benefit. Just think of it that way.'

'No. I can't think of it that way, Dad, because most of his nervous trouble is through her. You've got to admit it.'

'Oh, I admit it. Oh, yes, I do, lass. But at the present moment I can't see any other way out. He's either got to stay where he is or come back to his old home; as I said, at least for a time. Later on, we may be able to get him into a wheelchair. Now, think of that.' He put his arm

around her shoulder again and said, 'Come on. Come on. You've been so brave all along and I want bucking up. I'm very low meself at the moment.'

'Oh, I'm sorry, Dad.'

'By the way, how are you finding things at home?'

'Oh, as usual, Mother's fussing, trying to find the answer to why it all happened. Father's just the same, although he just looks on.'

He brought her round squarely to face him now, asking quietly, 'Are they kind and understanding?'

And she answered as quietly, 'Kind in a way, but not understanding. They never have been and they never will now.' They stared at each other for a moment before he said brightly, 'Oh, well, come on. I'll land you at your door.'

T thought you were going into Newcastle on business?'

'I am, but I can still land you at your door and turn round and come back.'

'I can get a taxi.'

'You'll do no such thing. Come on.' . . .

Five minutes later he dropped her at the gates leading to her home, saying, 'I'll call in at the hospital about eight to pick you up. Will that be all right?'

'Yes, Dad. And thanks.'

He waved to her, turned the car around and drove back into Newcastle and straight to 42 Bowick Road.

Maggie opened the front door for him as if she had been standing behind it waiting, which in a way, she had. Once it was closed they put their arms about each other and kissed long and hard. Then in a matter of fact way she said, 'You look frozen. I've got some hot soup ready.' And to this he answered, 'We could have snow for Christmas, it's cold enough.'

'Here, give me your coat.' She took his outdoor things,

went into the passage and hung them on an expanding hat rack. When she returned to the room it was to be enfolded in his arms again. But now they just held each other closely for a moment until she said, 'Sit yourself down,' and pointed to a two-seater sofa set at an angle to the open fireplace, in which a coal fire was blazing. And he sat down and stretched out his legs, then looked at the fire, and when his body slumped he leant his head on the back of the couch and his escaping breath took on the form of a long sigh. Presently, without moving, he called, 'What time did you leave?'

And her voice came from the kitchen, saying, 'Near twelve.'

'What!' He brought his head up. 'You were ready first thing before I went to the yard.'

'Yes, I know, but there was a bit to do with Stephen. You know what he's like on my day off, or at any time when he knows I'm going out. Well, he came down in his dressing-gown. I was in my room when he entered the kitchen, but I heard him. You know how his voice cracks high when he's going to have a tantrum. When I went in it was the usual: he wanted to come with me or go and see Don. They should never have promised to take him to see Don; he remembers these things. It was decided long ago you know, not to promise him things he couldn't have or do. Well, who should give us a surprise visit at that time but herself, and at this he started one of his tantrums. He just wouldn't stop, throwing himself about, you know, in this three-year-old fashion. And so she slapped him.'

'She what!'

'She slapped him. And she was right. Oh yes, on this occasion she was right. And it stopped him in his tracks. But he started to howl, so I took him upstairs, told him

to have his bath then get dressed. And I went down again and saw her.'

Her voice stopped, and he pulled himself up to the end of the couch, calling, 'Well, what happened next?'

She came into the room now carrying a tray on which were two plates of soup and, laying them on a small cloth-covered table set against the wall opposite the fire, she said, 'I went to her room. She was looking out of the window, with her hair hanging down. I'd never seen her with her hair hanging down, you know. She turned and looked at me. She had been crying, Daniel. She had been crying.'

He rose to his feet and walked towards her, saying, 'Well, she had been crying. She's got a good right to cry; it would be because she was sorry for herself, knowing she can't have all her own way and her son to herself.'

Maggie looked away from him, then continued, 'When I asked if she would mind if I took him out for a little run, she said, "It's your day off." And I said, "I know that, but it doesn't matter, I've nothing special to do." And you know what she said?' Maggie was looking at him now, and in a low voice she went on, 'She said, "This used to be a happy house at one time, didn't it, Maggie?" '

'Happy house be damned! It was never a happy house; never from the beginning. She wanted it to show off, and it was a large enough place to push Stephen out of sight.'

'I know. I know. But I think she was making comparisons with then and now. And when next she said, "Life isn't fair, is it?" I answered her truthfully, "No, ma'am, it isn't fair." And when she said to me, "Are you happy?" what could I say? But I answered truthfully, "Only at odd times, ma'am, at very odd times." Daniel, for the first time in my life I felt sorry for her. In a way she has a side, she can't help feeling as she does about Don no more than I

can help feeling as I do about you or you about me.' She put her hands upon his shoulders now, saying, 'Be civil to her, Daniel. You know, Lily tells me she hates to go in and serve the meals. You speak to Joe or she speaks to Joe; Joe speaks to you, or Joe speaks to her. She said that the other day the conversation was so stilted it was just like a puppet show. And it's better when you don't go in at all, because then Joe talks to her freely. It's not so bad when Annette's there, either, but better still when Mrs Jackson and Mr Rochester happen to pop down; he even makes her laugh at times.'

He took her hands from his shoulders and pressed them together, saying, 'It's odd that you should say you're sorry for her.'

'Well, I am, and feeling guilty an' all.'

'Oh my God! don't do that, Maggie. Don't be a hypocrite.'

She withdrew her hands from his, saying, 'I'm no hypocrite and you know that, but I'm in the house with her all day. I'm a looker-on, as it were, and I generally see most of the game. I don't like her, I never have, and not only because I've loved you; I don't like her as a woman. She's an upstart, she's selfish. She's all those things, but at the same time, because she's got this love; no, not love, but passion or mania for her son, I can understand in a way because, dear God, how many times have I wished I had a son that I could go mad over? Your son.'

'Oh! Maggie. Maggie.' His arms went about her again and he rested her head on his shoulder. But it was there for only a moment before she sniffed and said, 'This soup'll be clay cold. Come on, sit down, you must be starved.'

'Yes, I am Maggie, I am starved, but not for food.'

'Well -' she smiled at him, then patted him on the shoulder gently as she said, 'we'll have to see about that, won't we? But first things first. Sit yourself down.'

At about six o'clock he was ready to leave and, standing at the unopened door, he said, 'Maggie, not being the allocator of time, just like everybody else, I don't know how long I've got, but I can say this to you: I'd gamble away the rest of my life for just a few weeks in this house with you.' Then on a smile he added, 'Well, perhaps not exactly in this one, because I couldn't deal with Helen too. Give her my love, will you?'

'I'll do no such thing; I'll give her your kind regards. Good night, my dear. Mind how you go; it's freezing, the roads will be slippery.' . . .

He had hardly entered the house when Joe approached him from across the hall. It was as if he, like Maggie, had been waiting for him.

'May I have a word, Dad?'

'Yes, yes, what is it? Come into the study.'

Once in the room Joe said, 'Annette came here this afternoon. She went and had a talk with Mam. I don't know what transpired, not really, except that she made it plain that if she allowed Don to be brought here they would have to have a certain amount of privacy. There would be a day nurse but no night nurse, as she could call upon either you or me, and between us we'd see to him first thing in the morning and last thing at night. In the meantime what needed to be done the nurse herself could see to.

'She didn't say how Mam took that, only that it was settled. But since then, you wouldn't believe it, there's been so much bustle. Mam's had Lily and Peggie scrubbing away, and she even brought Stephen down to help me move

furniture. I suggested that it would be better to wait until you came in, but no, Stephen would do, he was strong, she said. He is, you know, and he can do things when he likes. And of course he was delighted.'

'Well! well! things are moving.'

'Dad.' Joe put his hand out towards Daniel, saying, 'She seemed happy, changed, like her old self . . . well' - he shrugged his shoulders - 'as happy as her old self could be. Dad, try to go along with her, at least until . . .'

Daniel looked into the face of this man who could give him inches and whose whole body was filled with kindness, and he thought it odd that these two people for whom he had love and who were of no blood connection could be pleading for his wife's cause, pointing out that she had a side. Quietly he answered him, saying, 'I'll do my best; I was never a disturber of the peace. But what do you think is going to happen when the bubble bursts, as, knowing her, burst it will? I'm amazed it hasn't been pricked before now. It just needs a prick, you'll see. But all right ... all right, I'll go along, and I promise I'll not be the one to use the pin.'

The bubble burst just five days after Don had been brought home. And it was evident from the start that Winifred intended never to speak to her husband and to ignore Annette.

There had first been a little contretemps over the placing of another single bed in what was to be Don's bedroom, a bed that would have a double purpose: it would not only be a place for Annette to sleep near her husband, but be useful in being some place on which to lay him when his bed was being made. But on the evening before Don was due to arrive, the bed had been taken out and placed in the adjoining sitting-room. Apparently John and Bill had been called in from outside to remove it. But it wasn't Daniel who ordered it to be put back, because as yet he hadn't seen the move, but Joe who, with the assistance of Stephen, himself in a high state of excitement about Don's return, had taken the bed to pieces and then reassembled it where it had been originally. And as soon as Winifred knew of this her temper became evident, for she naturally imagined it had been at her husband's behest.

But when she knew it had been Joe's doing, she had upbraided him with, 'How dare you!' But what else she intended to say was cut off by his speaking to her in a fashion that stilled her tongue. 'You can do nothing about it, Mam,' he had said; 'they are married; she's his wife and her place is by his side. You'll feel better if you admit that to yourself. In fact, things will be better all round.'

She had certainly been, if not amazed, then greatly surprised because of all the members in the house it was he who always spoke civilly to her, and often in a placating tone.

She marched out and the bed remained where it was.

But each morning since, before the nurse came on duty, she had contrived to meet her in the hall and give her unnecessary instructions.

Nurse Pringle was a middle-aged woman. She had been in private nursing for years. She had met Winifred's type before, and so she would smile and say, 'Yes, Mrs Coulson,' the while determined to do things in her own way.

Following the issuing of instructions to the nurse, Winifred would eat her breakfast. No calamity seemed to stop her eating: in fact, the more she was troubled the more she ate. And when the meal was over, and only then, she would visit her son's room. She had to suppress the temptation to go down in her dressing-gown as soon as she awoke, for she couldn't bear the thought of seeing that girl so near to him, even perhaps lying by his side.

During the past weeks she considered that Annette Allison had changed so much there was now no resemblance to the quiet, convent-bred girl who had been engaged to her son. It was as if, having married him, she had, at the same time, grown to maturity.

And there was something else she had to restrain herself

from doing: to kiss her son and fondle him, for since his marriage he seemed to resent her nearness. She would not admit to herself that his stand against her proximity had begun a long time before his marriage.