The Night Following Read online

  If I had happened to sleep through until the evening, I could tell as soon as I woke that they had been in the house. From the top of the stairs, the eddying of Arthur’s lately unheeded protests tautened the air; I would follow the wraith of his spent distress wafting from room to room. The wrong doors would be hanging ajar, chairs disarranged. I could also tell at once where in the house Arthur had chosen to lie to recover from their invasions. He didn’t make any noise; I knew his whereabouts from waves of silent keening, as if from someone contemplating his wounds after the aggressor has moved casually on. This was when he would be at his quietest and most elusive. Not until I had got to work and begun to wash the memory of the intrusion out of the place would he be able to stir. Then I would hear him come back to life, creaking along the landing to the bathroom in his slippers, dropping papers, whistling birdcalls above the noise of running taps.

  The nurses also kept leaving letters and forms and leaflets to do with evaluations and qualifying for things such as transport and home care. There was no end to it. On most of them they had already done the filling-in except on the line awaiting Arthur’s signature, which they fenced at each side with bright red crosses. Arthur left these out for me, next to his letters, and after I’d read them I tore them up and threw them away, as he clearly intended I should.

  27 Cardigan Avenue

  Dear Ruth

  Was caught going down for drink of juice around 4 pm. Mrs. M hovering at the front and she sees me through the door. She’s got a saucepan in one hand, MAD look on face, frantic bitch. I’d ignore her as usual, only she starts calling out and banging till I fear for the glass, pays no attention when I shout at her to go away. So I open door to shout again and make sure she hears. Doesn’t even look at me, barges past to the kitchen, she’s says she’s got something hot for me and she has to put it down before it burns her hands. Transparent ruse to get in and nosy around.

  Anyway once there-oh, transformation, face lights up. Sniffs. Sticks bosoms out, actually wiggles them (sorry you have to hear this dear, but you ought to know the kind of woman she is). Then she says, Well, you ARE full of surprises! I’m impressed!

  She says, Obviously you’re getting somebody in! and then, smirky smirky-Naughty of you keeping it dark, I haven’t seen anybody coming or going.

  And does she have to remind me-finger wag wag-all I had to do was ask her for a hand, I needn’t have gone to the length of paying someone. I don’t answer, just look in her saucepan.

  Brought you some soup, she says.

  Some soup. Smells of sausages boiled in grass. I make no comment. Wait for her to leave, but no, hands go on hips and speech coming, I can tell. She just wants to help and Ruth wouldn’t like to see me like this and no good just giving up and just makes you more miserable hiding yourself away etc.

  Still, she says, looking round again, she won’t scold anymore, as this is a VERY GOOD START.

  I tell her yes, I have got somebody coming in. And I’ve told you that till I’m blue in the face, I add. And I’ve told the nurse, I’ve told all of them including the foreign one, what’s her name, something like Clinger but it can’t be that. I’ve been telling you all for weeks somebody’s coming in and none of you listen to a word I say.

  SHE’S coming in. RUTH’S coming in.

  All I get is her Oh-we’ve-been-here-before face.

  Now look, she says. Don’t undo all this good work (waves hand around kitchen like she’d done it herself). Don’t keep on with this silly talk. She moves in close and her voice goes quiet (I think it’s because she thinks you might hear). Arthur, I’m speaking frankly now. You know this is silly, I know this is silly. But these people are trying to help you and they’re getting the idea you’re mentally ill. Arthur, you are your own worst enemy.

  Ruth, if her and her ilk won’t listen, why should I care? It’s none of their business. So I tell her that, but does this have desired effect? Oh no, we’re off again.

  She wants to get off the silly talk and back to sensible talk. If I won’t tell her who I’ve got coming in, how much, may she ask, am I paying her, my mystery cleaner? She says, probably over the odds, because people have no qualms about asking what they think they’ll get away with, it’s criminal, there are people round here who get away with mur- oh, pardon me, she says. Oh, dear, poor Ruth… I didn’t mean…

  Well? Didn’t mean WHAT? Get away with MUR??? HAH!! You tripped yourself up there, Mrs. M!

  She says, Well, clearly I’ve caught you at an inconvenient time. I’ll call for the pan tomorrow.

  I go to front door and open it.

  I’ll say good afternoon then, she says. Good afternoon!

  And I’ll say fuck off then, I say. Fuck off!

  She pretends not to hear.

  I know you heard me, though. You were pretending it wasn’t funny. You were trying not to laugh. You never liked the woman, did you?

  Still, you might have left a word. On the letter. I’m going to leave all the letters out so you can’t miss them. Just add. a little note, then we’ll really show her.

  Arthur

  Later: That window cleaner turns up right outside kitchen window, radio on, blaring. That lump of rag he uses is filthy, how’s that supposed to get anything clean? Looks like he’s wiping the windows with a drowned squirrel.

  He’s very cheery. Thinks I’ve forgotten about last time. Shouts at me, am I keeping well? Say nothing, no point wasting words on the likes of him. I walk into conservatory so he gets full view, raincoat plus legs-I point down to my bandages. He says something, makes some gesture I don’t get. So I open the door and tell him to fuck off, too. Leave him in no doubt.

  PS Should have stayed in bed, going back there now.

  PPS Leave me a sign.

  THE COLD AND THE BEAUTY AND THE DARK

  1956

  Chapter 14: A Month in the Country

  “Hurry up, Grace!” Evelyn cried, patting her hands over the surface of the eiderdown, trying to locate her other glove. She had just heard the honk of a car horn from the street outside. “Are you ready, love? It’s here, the car’s here!”

  She found the glove and pulled it on. Her new summer gloves, bought for this special day, were made of some new stretchy fabric, non-wrinkle, fully washable, and, or at least as they had promised her in the shop, gleaming white. Today, Uncle Les was sending a car right to the door that would convey them to the convalescent home where, as he had written in his postcard, he was settling in fine after just a week and already feeling the benefit.

  It was so long since Evelyn had been out anywhere that she was as excited as a young girl. When had she last gone for a spin through the countryside? It was years, and that was by bus. The thought of being taken in a private car was almost more excitement than she could bear. She was vague about where exactly Uncle Les’s convalescent place was, but that didn’t matter. In fact she liked the mystery. It was an extra thrill to feel that only the driver had to know the route. She could just sit back and be taken to her destination, like a duchess! It didn’t do any harm to feel like a bit of a swell, once in a blue moon. It was only pretending, and life was ordinary enough the rest of the time for it not to turn her head.

  Evelyn’s good spirits survived, even when Grace refused to describe the car to her. Was it big and black and shiny, she asked, but Grace would say only that yes it was a car, yes it was big and black, just about all cars were, and as to shiny she hadn’t noticed. Inside the car smelled leathery and expensive. When she leaned across and asked Grace in a whisper if the driver was in a uniform, Grace shooshed her impatiently.

  They drove in silence. When the sounds of other traffic died away and she knew they were out of town, Evelyn wound down the window for some country air. But she enjoyed it for only a few minutes before Grace complained of the draught.

  It was getting on for dinnertime when the car left the road and made its way slowly along gravel and finally came to a stop. The driver jumped out and crunched round to open the pass
enger door.

  “Here you are, ladies, the Maud Braddock Memorial Home for Invalids,” he said, handing Evelyn out so gallantly that she felt certain he was in uniform, complete with cap.

  The air was certainly bracing, just what you would want at a place of convalescence, Evelyn said to herself, breathing it in. It was cool and mossy, and somehow watery, and there seemed to be a lot of it, more than you got in an ordinary lungful of town air. She could hear a fast-flowing stream not far away, and birds high in the sky. But Grace was tramping ahead over the gravel now, and Evelyn followed.

  The place seemed half hospital, half hotel, hushed and smelling of floor polish rather than disinfectant. They were greeted in the hall and told that Mr. Hibbert was expecting them, and then they were led into a room so warm Evelyn felt she had stepped into a greenhouse. Indeed she almost had, as Uncle Les, who was waiting there, explained. They had entered a marvellous, newly built glass sun lounge, the last word in luxury, that stretched across one side of the front of the old Edwardian building, originally used as a hunting lodge.

  He went on to tell them that the Maud Braddock Memorial Home for Wounded Servicemen had been set up here during the War. Now there was no further use for it in that capacity, and it was now catering to a different clientele altogether, convalescents and invalids who would pay for the best and insist on getting it.

  “Like your sun lounge, for instance,” Uncle Les said, waving his arm.“Deluxe. No expense spared.”

  A proper sun trap it was, apparently, where most of the patients lay on reclining chairs surrounded by potted palms for much of the day, basking in the warmth.

  “Blowing a gale outside and you could be on the Riviera, lying here,” Uncle Les said.

  “Don’t you want to get out, though, into the fresh air?” Evelyn asked. Uncle Les explained that half an hour out of doors twice a day, morning and afternoon, was as much as he was allowed. Well wrapped up in blankets, he was wheeled along by a nurse and encouraged to walk for five minutes at the beginning and the end of each session. Next week he was going to walk for ten minutes each time, and he was also planning to try the steam bath in the Home’s brand-new hydro facilities.

  Perhaps once they’d stayed for lunch (and the food was excellent, he assured them), and he’d had his afternoon nap, Grace would be so kind as to do the honours and push him along in his wicker chair for his afternoon constitutional? That’s if, Uncle Les said rather tightly, she would deign to honour them with her presence? He’d only glimpsed her at the door, and then she’d disappeared. Where had she got to?

  Uncle Les called a nurse and asked if Grace had been seen wandering about anywhere, and might she be informed that her uncle was ready to be her host at luncheon. Evelyn said nothing. She hoped Grace might just have taken herself off outside to explore and go for a walk, since the opportunity to enjoy country air was a rare one for Grace as much as for herself, but still she felt uneasy. Once the nurse had been dispatched to find Mr. Hibbert’s mislaid visitor, Uncle Les began telling her, in a low whisper, about some of his fellow patients and Evelyn tried to concentrate, frowning.

  Half an hour later, Grace still had not been found. The nurse reported back to them that she thought the lady must have gone for a longer walk, and she would ask the kitchen to keep aside something for her luncheon, which was now about to be served.

  But when the meal, braised liver and onions with cabbage, with a glass of milk stout for Les, followed by ginger pudding, was over, there was still no sign of Grace. After coffee, Les was wheeled away for his hour’s rest, and Evelyn was invited to sit in the sun lounge.

  It was while she was there, feeling the sun on her face through the glass, that the commotion began. The same nurse who had looked for Grace came running in.

  “Oh, excuse me, madam!” she began. She seemed not to know what to say next. “Oh, madam, your daughter, she is your daughter, isn’t she? Oh, thank goodness you’re here. Oh, what a shock! We need to contact her husband at once! Matron doesn’t think it’s going to be very long!”

  Evelyn was mystified. “Why, whatever is the matter? Where is she? She’s all right, isn’t she? What isn’t going to be very long?”

  “Oh, madam! She’s doing fine, it’s all going to be fine, though Matron says it’s early. The gardener found her in the little summerhouse, we got her indoors at once, of course, lucky there was a room vacant. And Matron’s a qualified midwife, thank goodness! Though she’s rusty, she says. Of course we’ve rung for the doctor. But we need to contact her husband to let him know!”

  Evelyn sat silent for a moment. “I understand. I see. Yes. Yes, now I understand,” she said quietly. “Let’s not get hysterical.” She paused, thinking. “Her husband can’t possibly get here in time. He isn’t available,” she said firmly, “but we’ll deal with that in due course. The main thing is that she’s all right. I’m very sorry for this inconvenience, but yes, it is lucky she’s here. Take me to her, please. It won’t be long, you say?”

  They walked swiftly into the hall and the nurse began to lead her upstairs. She was nervous and seemed unable to stop talking.

  “It’s the little room at the top. Quiet. You know, nice and private, right at the back. Well, Matron says that’s better, in case there’s to be any, you know, commotion…Well, what with the other patients, I mean they’re here to rest, aren’t they, when all’s said and done? There’s a nice little fire lit and it’s got a nice view of one side of the garden, and-”

  Evelyn interrupted her. “Another thing. Please don’t wake Mr. Hibbert. There’s no need to disturb him. When he’s had his rest, would you take him for his walk as usual? I don’t want him upset. I’ll give him the news later. Afterwards.”

  A little over two hours later, Evelyn sat by Grace’s bed holding the almost weightless bundle in her arms. The baby girl was tiny, but healthy. Although about four weeks too soon, it had been a quick and straightforward birth. Just as well, Matron had said tersely to Evelyn, since they weren’t equipped for childbirth. And it was a great pity, in her opinion, that the father was working down south and would have to be informed by telegram once the mother had returned to Aldbury, where she had left his address. Then, with a click of her tongue and a murmur that seemed to indicate she was softening, and was perhaps rather proud of having delivered a baby safely, she had left the mother, new daughter, and grandmother alone.

  Tears flooded down Evelyn’s cheeks as she cradled the new arrival. It was no use, she was never going to know. Grace was too exhausted to be as hostile as usual, but she was refusing point-blank to name the baby’s father.

  A baby out of the blue. A beautiful baby and no father to give her his name, it’s a scandal,” Evelyn said, feeling quite at the end of her tether. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in trouble? Wait till your Uncle Les hears. Or does he know and he didn’t tell me? Maybe everybody on the street knew you were expecting, everybody but me. Why did nobody say?”

  “Nobody knew,” Grace said sullenly. “I made sure of that. I didn’t hardly show and I’m always behind the counter anyway. I thought I’d have it without folk knowing and get it adopted.”

  “Without folk knowing? How were you going to manage that?”

  Grace sighed. “I don’t rightly know,” she said. “I was trying not to think about it. Anyway, folk’ll have to know now, won’t they? Because I’m keeping her. I’m not having her adopted. I’m keeping her and nobody’s going to stop me.”

  There was a silence. “Aye, and I won’t try and stop you, lass,” Evelyn said gently. “It’ll be hard going, mind. And I don’t know what your Uncle Les is going to say. I’m warning you he won’t like it. He’s a respected businessman. He’ll get it out of you, who the father is.”

  “Oh, never you worry. I can handle him,” Grace said stoutly. “You leave him to me. Nobody is going to stop me keeping my baby.”

  Just then there was a soft little mewl and a tiny splutter from the baby. Evelyn wiped her eyes and smiled. “All right, t
hen. We’ll take one day at a time,” she sighed, handing the baby over.“One day at a time.”

  Grace was right. She could and did handle Uncle Les. By the evening, after she had spoken to him alone, he was quite reconciled to the child’s existence and, to Evelyn’s further amazement, he accepted that Grace was never going to divulge the father’s name. They discussed the matter in the sun lounge over tea while Grace and the baby were asleep upstairs. Matron had spoken to the owners of the Maud Braddock Home and had softened even further. Grace would stay on for another few days before going back to Aldbury, but for now, she needed rest. It was unheard of, a newborn baby at the Maud Braddock, but now that they were getting used to it the staff were enjoying the novelty and word had gone round among the patients, too. It seemed to be giving everyone a lift.

  “But, Uncle Les, the fellow’s got to face his responsibilities, whoever he is. He’s fathered a child,” Evelyn said. “Even if he won’t marry her he has to take responsibility. It’s only right he should provide.”

  But Uncle Les was very uncomfortable about pursuing the matter any further. “The child will be provided for, never you mind that. Grace is twenty-three, she’s a grown woman and if she won’t say, she won’t say,” he said with finality. “So we let it drop. You hear me? Bad for the child otherwise. You need to bring her up so it’s natural to her she has her mother’s name and no father. Bring her up believing he’s dead. She won’t know any better. Then she won’t hanker after him.”

  “But-” Evelyn had opened her mouth to protest, thinking how she had never stopped missing the father she barely remembered, but Uncle Les silenced her.

  “Nay, there’s no more to be said. There’s an end to it. It’s not to be discussed again in my hearing, or in the child’s. Have another scone, they’re homemade.”