Distant Voices

by Barbara Erskine

  The door. Of course. The door had caused the draught. Giving him a final push she reached into the packing case on the floor for cereal bowls and headed for the food boxes to find some cornflakes.

  By midday she had scrubbed the kitchen, lined the shelves with clean paper and filled the cupboards, threaded a pair of old curtains onto the wire which served as a curtain rail and hung up an oil painting of scarlet nasturtiums which Joe’s nephew had painted for them last Christmas. She had left the toy soldier on the window sill. He was bright and cheerful and she liked his smile. Some child must be missing him terribly, she thought as she caught herself glancing at him yet again. Or had they merely outgrown him and abandoned him to a lonely life of imprisonment in the cupboard waiting to see if he was going to be passed on to another child or merely thrown away?

  Leaving the kitchen she started on the low-ceilinged, beamed living room, vacuuming, unrolling rugs over the worn patches on the carpet and unpacking the few cherished ornaments and books they had decided to bring with them. She looked in despair at the two armchairs, their covers torn and stained, and the sofa which seemed at some point to have been pulled off a bonfire. It had scorch marks all down one arm (on closer inspection she found several cigarette stubs down behind the cushions). Luckily for whoever had lived here before, the coarse old horsehair had smouldered and gone out. Wrinkling her nose she humped all the cushions outside onto the small front lawn. When Joe found her she was beating the dust out of them, her fists white on the handle of her broom. He watched for several seconds, then he called her. ‘Hey, what did he do?’

  She stopped, pushing the hair out of her eyes with the back of her arm. ‘Joe! What are you doing home?’

  He shrugged apologetically. ‘I suppose I could have taken sandwiches …’

  Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh Joe, I forgot. I’m sorry.’ It was his first day at work. His first lunch break. Before, he had gone to the office, catching the ten past eight train and not returning until five fifty-seven, out of sight, out of mind while she immersed herself in her career, her life, her whole existence, as an advertising executive in their local market town. Today she had prepared nothing for him.

  They shared a can of tomato soup and a cheese sandwich then, dropping a kiss on her head he went back to the farm office. She sat on at the kitchen table over a cup of instant coffee, too depressed and tired to move as she planned vaguely to swop all the furniture for some of their own from the barn. Nicely furnished, the old cottage would actually be very attractive. Behind her the sun moved round at last to the kitchen window and flooded into the room. On the sill the soldier smiled silently into space.

  Finishing the coffee she forced herself to stand up at last, went to the phone and dialled.

  ‘Robert? It’s Sue. I know this is a long shot, but is there any chance I could have my job back?’ After all she could always commute. She disguised the urgency of her request with a small deprecating laugh but her knuckles were white on the receiver. She listened intently to the mellow even tones the other end, hearing the laughter, the rattle of keyboards, the sound of other phones ringing in the background, the sound of a large office in action – her world – and at last she nodded. ‘Oh well. I knew it was a long shot. Keep me in mind, won’t you, if she doesn’t stay the course.’

  She put down the phone and found that she was shaking. Slowly she walked back towards the kitchen and stood in the doorway, staring at the sun-filled room. More coffee? That, of course, would make her feel worse; jumpy; sick. It was only a job. There would be others; other things she could do. Something she could do from deep country. Perhaps she could go freelance? On the window sill the little soldier rocked back and forth, chiming cheerfully. As she watched the rocking slowed and ceased. The window behind him was open a crack. The curtains stirred a little in the draught. She smiled. For a moment she had thought … but that was silly. Reaching for her rubber gloves she went back to her scrubbing.

  When Joe came back that evening she had a small fire lit in the narrow black grate, and a casserole simmering on the cooker. The rooms were fairly straight and she had found enough early spring flowers in the wild garden to deck the house.

  They had saved enough of the screw-topped wine to have a glass each while the potatoes were cooking.

  ‘If you really don’t need the car I thought I might drive into town on Monday and see if there are any temp jobs going locally,’ she said as she sat down near the fire. The cottage was cold now it was dark. She did not look up. She was staring at the burning fir cones she had thrown onto the flames.

  ‘I see.’ He sounded bleak; she was rubbing in his failure, adding to his guilt. ‘Are you sure that is what you want?’

  She nodded. ‘Just for a few months – to keep me occupied. And it would help to tide us over.’ She straightened up. ‘We’re lucky to have this place, Joe, and we’d survive here even if I didn’t work. It was brilliant of you to land this job’ – the sop to his ego at last – ‘but,’ she hesitated, ‘I’d go mad, here, on my own. I’d be better working.’

  He sat down, rolling his glass between his palms. He looked defeated. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

  ‘I know I’m right.’ She came to sit on the floor at his feet, leaning against his knees. ‘We’ll make a fortune yet, Joe, you see if we don’t,’ she said softly. ‘You see if we don’t.’

  She awoke suddenly. The cottage was silent. Beside her Joe was sleeping flat on his back, breathing steadily, one arm thrown up across the pillow, the other hanging down to the floor.

  She lay still, staring up at the ceiling. A half moon hung outside the window, throwing a wash of pale light across the floor. Then she heard it. From downstairs – a gentle chiming sound. She waited, her eyes on the moon, listening drowsily, then slowly she sat up. Glancing at Joe’s sleeping face she pushed her feet into her slippers and padded towards the door.

  Opening it silently she stood on the landing and listened.

  There it was again. The quiet musical chime. She ran down the stairs and tiptoed across the cold boards to the kitchen door. Quietly she pushed it open.

  The kitchen was completely silent. Moonlight shone through the thin curtain casting a bluish glow into the darkness. On the sill she could see the silhouette of the little soldier. The toy sat unmoving, staring at her with large unblinking eyes.

  She stood for several minutes waiting, watching the plump plastic outline, then with a sigh she turned and closing the door quietly behind her she went back upstairs. When she reached the top she was smiling. A dream; that’s what it was. A charming, silly dream.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Joe was awake as she slid back into bed.

  She nodded. ‘Very all right.’ To her surprise she found that she meant it.

  ‘Good.’ He moved towards her and gently he began to remove her nightdress. What with all the stress and worry it had been weeks since they had made love.

  All the next day she found that when she walked into the kitchen her eyes went first to the window where the little soldier sat on his sunny sill. Each time he stared back, his eyes bland and expressionless, his eyelashes black cowlicks against his brow, his red plastic cap set at a jaunty angle.

  After lunch she wedged open the back door and set to work on the flower bed just outside, pulling up the rampant weeds, exposing the poor smothered daffodils and finding to her delight lavender and marjoram and a clump of newly shooting chives. Every now and then she straightened her back and stood staring out across the field. Behind her the toy stared solemnly inwards, his back to the garden, his stance rigid, immobile as the curtain danced gaily around him in the afternoon breeze.

  When Joe came home at dusk he had a box of groceries in the back of the car. Included was another bottle of screw-top. ‘To think I used to worry about vintages,’ he said cheerfully as he undid the bottle and slopped some into the two glasses she had put ready on the table.

  ‘Joe.’ She turned to stir the pan on the stove. ‘Who lived here befo
re us, do you know?’ Her hand tightened on the wooden spoon. Please, don’t let it have been a child who died. She closed her eyes for a moment, then she turned and took her glass.

  ‘Funnily enough I was talking about it to one of the farm workers in the office today,’ Joe said. He opened the back door and stood staring out at the sky. A band of black cloud bisected the colour of today’s sunset which was a stormy scarlet damask. ‘The same couple lived here for forty years. They stayed on a few months after he retired, and then went off to live with their daughter down on the south coast somewhere.’

  ‘Forty years!’ Sue echoed. ‘Perhaps he belonged to their grandchildren then.’

  ‘Who?’ Joe shut the door. Taking the lid off he peered in and sniffed appreciatively.

  ‘My soldier,’ she said.

  ‘Him?’ Joe pushed the toy and watched as it rocked to and fro, the chime ringing around the room. ‘Must have done. How long will supper be?’

  That night she awoke again. She lay in the dark, her ears straining as in the distance she heard a rumble of thunder. Joe lay on his side, his head cushioned on his arm. They had made love again that night and she was glowing with happiness. It had never been quite so good when they were both exhausted after work. A flicker of lightning showed outside the window. Smiling to herself she snuggled down under the covers, feeling Joe’s warm heaviness comforting beside her.

  The chime was so quiet she barely heard it. Her eyes flew open again and she held her breath. Beside her Joe groaned and turned over.

  For a moment she was tempted to wake him, then slowly she pushed back the covers and stood up. As she reached the foot of the stairs she heard it again – quietly plaintive as if the toy were rocking to and fro slowly, pushed by a methodical hand.

  The kitchen door was shut. She turned the knob as silently as she could and eased open the door. She was groping for the light switch when a flicker of lightning illuminated the kitchen and she saw the toy on its sill clearly outlined against the window. There was no sign of movement. Not now, but she had the distinct impression that the expression in the soldier’s usually bland eyes was one of guilt.

  Clicking on the light she went over to him and after a second’s hesitation she picked him up.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’ Joe’s voice was so unexpected in the silence she nearly dropped the toy.

  Putting it down hurriedly she turned to face him. ‘I’m sorry. Did I wake you? I couldn’t sleep because of the storm.’

  ‘Are you sure it was the storm? You’re not still worried are you?’ Avoiding her eye Joe went over to the kettle and plugged it in. ‘We’re not so badly off, you know, Sue. We have a roof and enough money to live. I know it’s not what we’re used to, but things could be worse. In fact you know,’ he paused, and then went on, still not looking at her, ‘now that you’re not working, or not full-time, wouldn’t this be the perfect time to think about starting a family –’

  ‘No, Joe!’ She cut him off firmly.

  ‘Please, Sue, can’t we at least discuss it?’

  ‘No, Joe. We’ve discussed it a thousand times. You know I don’t want a baby. I don’t want children! You know it!’ She swung to face him. ‘I need a job, Joe. I need people. I’d go mad stuck at home with a baby, I know I would.’

  ‘Lots of people do both, Sue. They work as well!’ He took down two mugs from the shelf.

  ‘No, Joe. I’m sorry.’

  He nodded sadly. ‘I know. I know. I just hoped.’ He looked down at the empty mugs. ‘I suppose with us both losing our jobs’ (I didn’t lose mine, Sue thought, anguished, I gave it up, for you) ‘and the house going and everything, suddenly my priorities have changed. I’ve stopped being acquisitive.’ He gave an apologetic shrug. ‘It’s as if money doesn’t matter any more. We lost so much, but we still have what is important. We have each other; we have a home, however small. Any home is enough as long as you are there. That’s important. That sunset the other night. That was important. And when I saw you standing there with that child’s toy –’ He shook his head and when he spoke again it was very quietly. ‘For me, that was important too.’

  There was a short silence. She looked up at last and he smiled. ‘Sorry. Deep stuff. Philosophy lecture over.’

  She grinned uncomfortably. ‘You were being a bit pompous.’ Taking the mugs out of his hands she put them on the table, then she threw her arms round his neck and held him close.

  It was later – much later as she fell asleep – that she heard the chime of the little soldier again. This time she didn’t go down.

  ‘I cleared these cupboards out myself, my dear.’ Julia Somerskill, from the end cottage, was staring at the toy soldier, perplexed. ‘They were empty. And there’s been no one else here since. No one at all.’

  ‘So, where could he have come from?’ Sue leaned forward and filled up the other woman’s coffee mug. Joe had needed the car after all this morning, so she had not been able to drive in to see the job agencies.

  Julia shrugged. ‘There weren’t any toys in the cottage. There haven’t been any kids here for about thirty years.’

  ‘None that died?’ Sue bit her lip, wondering why that uncomfortable thought kept surfacing.

  ‘Good Lord, no, my dear. They’re a healthy bunch round here. It’s the good air. Besides,’ Julia reached for the toy, ‘this is modern.’ She shook it and the cheerful chime rang round the kitchen. ‘I suggest you keep it for your little one.’

  ‘I haven’t got any children,’ Sue put in quickly.

  ‘No, but you’re expecting, aren’t you?’ Julia reached across and spooned some sugar into her coffee. ‘I can always tell.’

  ‘I bloody hope not!’ Sue was shocked out of politeness. She grimaced shame-facedly. ‘Sorry, that slipped out. No, I’m not expecting and don’t intend to be.’

  Julia smiled comfortably, not in the least put out by the outburst. ‘Maybe. Maybe not. You’ve already had a job, haven’t you.’ Did she sound a little bit pitying? ‘Perhaps you never got round to thinking about kids.’

  ‘Oh we thought about them. I just don’t want them.’ Sue scowled.

  ‘And your Joe. Does he feel the same way?’ The gentle voice was probing.

  Sue shook her head. It was none of the woman’s business, but she might as well know the score.

  ‘This house is very special,’ Julia said quietly after a moment’s silence. ‘To you it probably seems small and shabby and not very nice, but there is something about it. It’s over three hundred years old you know, under the linoleum and the patches,’ she grinned. ‘And people in the village have always regarded it as a wishing house. If you spend a night under the roof and wish, you can make your dreams come true.’

  Sue’s mouth fell open. ‘You’re joking. There’s no such thing!’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not.’ Julia, a small twinkle in her eye, gave a mysterious shake of her head. ‘Children are a powerful dream.’

  ‘My husband’s, not mine.’

  Julia met her eye. For a stranger she seemed to have assumed an air of unexpected authority. ‘And you think his dreams are less potent than yours? You need to beware, my dear, lest his dreams are the stronger.’ She smiled.

  Sue stared at her. ‘But we’ve agreed.’

  ‘Then that’s all right then.’ Brushing biscuit crumbs from her skirt Julia stood up. ‘I must go, my dear. Thank you for the coffee, that was nice. I’ll see you soon.’

  She was not pregnant! She would know if she were pregnant. She could not have been so careless. Sue put her hand to her stomach nervously as from the living room window she watched her visitor walk away up the lane.

  When Joe came home she was still worried. ‘She sounded like the village wise woman,’ she said, surprised how much Julia’s comments had unsettled her. ‘I know it’s silly, but it was as though she knew something.’

  ‘Don’t brood on it, Sue.’

  ‘You don’t think she could be right?’ She couldn’t hide the horror in her voic
e.

  He shrugged. ‘I doubt it,’ he sighed. ‘It would be a miracle if you were.’

  She stared at him. The woman was right. Why should Joe’s dreams be less powerful than hers?

  They did not discuss it again, nor did she feel like making love that night and when she heard the little soldier’s chime she turned over and pulled the pillow over her head.

  She wasn’t pregnant. Cursing the stupidity which had allowed her to turn her back on the job agency and instead, when at last she got hold of the car, to waste precious money on the kit from Boots, she binned the offending items and went out to hide her relief in the garden, ripping out nettles and dead thistles until it began to grow dark.

  Pulling her boots off on the back doorstep, she went inside and hung up her jacket, automatically turning to switch on the kettle. It was not until she went to the shelf for the tea caddy that she noticed that the soldier was gone.

  She stared at the spot by the window where he normally stood. It was empty. Turning round slowly on her heel she scanned every work surface and shelf. Then she opened every cupboard. He had been there when she went out, she was absolutely sure of it.

  ‘Joe?’ The second she heard his step in the hall she ran out to meet him. ‘What have you done with my soldier?’

  Joe shook his head. ‘What do you mean? Nothing.’

  ‘But you must have. He’s gone.’

  She searched the house from top to bottom, but there was no trace of him, and that night as she lay in bed the long dark hours, brightened by the moonlight flooding into the cottage windows, were completely silent.

  She tried two temporary jobs and hated them both. When the second came to an end she did not go back to the agency. Instead she went to the garden centre and bought boxes of bedding plants, comforting herself that she and Joe could always forego the fearsome screw-top if they were really short that month. Joe was pleased, the more so when his uncle flew in from Nairobi and, far from warning Joe that his job might come to a premature end, asked him instead to agree to a five-year stay. ‘He’s offered us the tenancy of the farmhouse too.’ Joe took her out to dinner on the strength of the payrise which accompanied all this largesse.