State of Emergency

by Hilary Green

  He scanned my face for a moment, then, “Come in here and tell me what happened. Wilcox, bring us some tea, will you?”

  He shepherded me into the inner room and seated me in an armchair near the window while he perched on the sill. “And this is —one of your children?”

  “Yes, this is Tim.”

  “Hallo, Tim. And how old are you?”

  “Eight,” Tim said firmly.

  Gray looked back to me.

  “I thought. . . .” he hesitated, “I thought you spoke of two boys.”

  “Simon’s in hospital,” I told him. “He got kicked by a horse. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Oh dear!” He looked genuinely concerned. “I hope it’s not serious.”

  “He’s got concussion, but the doctor says he hasn’t fractured his skull or anything. They are keeping him in for observation.”

  “How long for? Did they say?”

  “A few days.”

  He nodded pensively. “A few days. . . .”

  The tea arrived. When it was poured out the General said, “So you never got to Dolgelly. What happened?”

  I told him the story, briefly. Even to him I found myself leaving out the exact whereabouts of the farm and the names of the people living there. When I had finished he looked relieved.

  “So things haven’t been too bad for you.”

  I shook my head. “Not until today. I wouldn’t have bothered you with my problems, but I’ve no money to speak of and without money I can’t find anywhere to stay.”

  He began to move around the room. I sensed that he was restless and on edge, that I was perhaps a welcome distraction. After a pause he said, “Tell me, how did you know I was here?”

  I related the story of my conversation with the soldier in the hospital.

  “You see,” I ended, “I’ve no idea, really, what is going on. I —don’t want to be here with the children if. ...”

  “If we’re defeated and the government troops move in.” He finished the sentence for me. He came back to perch again on the window sill. “I don’t think you need to worry about that, Mrs Fairing.”

  There was a kind of excitement about him, like someone on the verge of a great event, carefully controlled but unmistakable now.

  I said, “Can you really defeat the NUP?”

  He smiled. “Not us alone. But what if I were to tell you that by tonight we shall have a new government and the whole nightmare will be over?”

  I stared at him, shaking my head slightly in disbelief, yet finding myself beginning to smile also.

  He gave a short laugh. “Don’t worry. I’m not a Don Quixote tilting at the whole British army—well, what’s left of it —with the few men at my disposal. We’re only a diversion; one more straw on the NUP’s back. Let me explain. ...”

  He moved to his desk and sat down, regarding me for a moment in silence. Then he added, more gravely, “I think you have as much right as anyone to know the truth. In a small way you were instrumental in bringing about the present state of affairs.”

  “I was?” I exclaimed.

  He nodded. “You were the first person to bring us reliable information about how weak the government really was. That was invaluable to me in controlling the more — desperate elements in Ross at that time. Also, it was a great encouragement to me personally. Up to that time I had been seriously considering getting out of the country while I had the chance —like so many other people in positions of authority. After talking to you I came to the conclusion that I might be able to play a useful role where I was — and what is happening now is a direct consequence of that decision.” The General rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, placed his finger tips together and regarded me over them. “As I said, a number of people have found it —expedient to go abroad during the last few months; among them members of Parliament from all parties, several senior Civil Servants, and a handful of senior officers from the armed services. To begin with they were scattered all round Europe and in America but after a while I learnt that many of them were collecting in Brussels, the reason being the presence there of Ralph Johnson.”

  My brain raced through its limited political Who’s Who and, surprisingly, came up with an answer. Ralph Johnson was a moderate, left-of-centre politician who had given up his seat in the Commons to stand as an MEP.

  The General continued, “I understand that a move was made to persuade the Europeans to intervene in the situation over here but, understandably, they were not prepared to interfere with the activities of a government which was, after all, elected by proper democratic processes. Quite apart from the fact that some of them are inclined, after the mess we made of the recent negotiations, to shrug their shoulders and say, 'It's nothing to do with us any more.' However, they did not like the way things were going any more than we did so eventually it was agreed that they would back Ralph Johnson in an attempt to force Emerson to resign, provided that it could be shown that there was massive unrest and dissatisfaction throughout the country.” He paused and added with a wry smile, “You have to appreciate that the government has kept a very tight control over information leaving the country. Also, the various resistance movements have in many cases been suppressed or have burnt themselves out through lack of food and other supplies. It wasn’t that the Europeans did not know how things are here, but they needed a very definite and concrete excuse for their intervention. That’s where we come in.”

  He rose and moved over to a large map of Southern England which was pinned up on the wall. I think it was a reflex action, produced by so many military briefings.

  “I’ve been in contact with Brussels for some weeks now. Also, over the last month or two increasing numbers of men have deserted from units in the South West and come to join us. Our biggest stroke of luck was when a complete unit which had been recalled from Northern Ireland diverted to Cardiff and came to join us. They had armoured cars, even a couple of tanks, which have been invaluable. The plan which they concocted in Brussels was this. At dawn yesterday we began a diversionary movement by attacking Hereford, hoping to draw off units which were holding down Oxford, Reading and Bristol. It succeeded very well —almost too well. Our lads are taking quite a pasting down there. However, what matters is that as soon as the units were withdrawn the resistance organizations in those areas staged massive anti-government demonstrations. Brussels was in touch with leaders in a number of areas and there were co-ordinated plans for marches and sit-ins all over the country. Meanwhile, the Scottish Regiments who declared for an independent Scotland at the beginning of all this should have marched over the border to encourage the resistance in places like Newcastle and Liverpool. By now, if everything has gone according to plan, the whole country should be in uproar. At that point the Europeans can step in and force Emerson to resign on the pretext of preventing a civil war. Johnson is standing by at a NATO airfield and as soon as Emerson steps down he will fly over with a number of other leading politicians and form an interim government. By tonight it should all be over.”

  I said slowly, “I can’t take it in. It sounds too good to be true.” Then, with sudden embarrassment, “And here I am bothering you because I’ve got nowhere to stay!”

  He laughed, sounding suddenly youthful and excited again. “My dear Mrs Fairing, I can’t tell you what a relief it has been to talk to you! You see, I’ve done all I can now, and there’s nothing left to do but wait —and waiting can be the hardest part, you know. However,” he moved towards the door, “we must get you fixed up. We’ve taken over a couple of hotels, so you’ve no need to worry. There will be compensation of some sort to be paid, no doubt, when this is all over. Your bill will be covered in that.”

  He took me back to the outer office and called Lieutenant Wilcox. As he was giving him instructions to see that we were accommodated a young soldier entered, saluted smartly and handed the General some papers. I felt the stir of excitement that went through the room and understood why my arrival had occasioned such interest. Th
ese men, too, had nothing much to do but wait.

  The General held out his hand to me. “Goodbye, Mrs Fairing. I’ll keep in touch and let you know when something happens.”

  I could see that his mind was really on the contents of the papers and as soon as he had spoken he turned and went back into his room. The little stir of interest which had freshened the room like a breeze died away again.

  The Lieutenant said, “Right, Mrs Fairing. Let’s get your hotel fixed up.”

  He lifted the telephone but before he could dial the inner door opened again and the General strode back into the room.

  “Gentlemen, we’ve done it! The Government resigned at noon and Ralph Johnson is already in Downing Street!”

  Everyone had come to his feet. There was an outcry of triumph and delight. In the babel of orders and congratulations that followed Tim and I were momentarily forgotten. He pressed close to me. “What’s happened, Mummy?”

  I hugged him. “It’s going to be all right, Tim. We shan’t have to hide any more!”

  Miraculously someone produced a bottle of champagne and a moment later a glass was pressed into my hand. I said, laughing with the excitement which had infected me as much as the rest, “I shouldn’t drink your champagne! I’ve no earthly right to be here at all, especially at this moment.”

  No-one would hear of us leaving however, and I found myself a guest at an impromptu party which went on for the rest of the afternoon. The General and his officers came and went but the room was never empty and the supply of champagne and fizzy lemonade for Tim was apparently unlimited. Eventually I realized that it was time to go and visit Simon and summoned the will-power to drag myself away, but only after promising the General that I would join him for dinner at the hotel later.

  I do not know why I had thought that the rejoicing was confined to that one room. The streets were full of people laughing and shouting ‘Up with Mr Johnson’ and ‘Long live the Queen’ but the most prevalent chant was ‘Down with the KBG1’ Soldiers of General Gray’s force, distinctive in their blue berets, were being embraced and fêted. In one street a huge bonfire was already being built. Nearby stood two crude effigies waiting to be burnt. One was unmistakeably Martin Emerson. The other, I recognized with a jolt, was Jocelyn Wentworth. Where, I wondered, was he now, in reality? And where was Clare?

  At the hospital we found Simon wide awake and sporting the beginnings of a spectacular black eye. The nurses and doctors were celebrating, like everyone else, and the festive atmosphere had quite banished any fears Simon might have had about his situation. We stayed for about an hour but when his supper came along I took the opportunity to slip away.

  At the hotel I got Tim a light meal and put him to bed and then went down to join the General and his staff. At the door of the dining room I realized that I was still wearing the loose cotton robe, borrowed from Jinny, which I had been wearing in the kitchen of Brynwcws that morning, in another world. Well, it was all I had, and it seemed oddly fitting that I should finish my journey totally without possessions, not even owning the clothes I stood up in.

  I learnt later that for many people that night was a night of long knives, but thoughts like that were far from my mind at the time and if any of the others dining with me guessed at it they did not say so. For that one night, seated beside the General, I was guest of honour at a victory banquet.

  Towards the end of the evening he said, “What will you do now, when your son is well enough to leave hospital? Will you go on to Dolgelly, or will you go home?”

  I did not answer at once. The idea that we could now go home if we wished had not occurred to me. At length I said, “I think I shall go on to Dolgelly, for the time being at any rate. I want to see my parents and let them know we’re all right. I suppose we shall go home, sooner or later. Quite honestly, I can’t imagine living there under normal circumstances without. ...”

  He patted my arm. “Well, you go to Dolgelly and have a good rest. It’s what you need. I have to go to London tomorrow but my staff will remain here until everything is sorted out and the men have rejoined their proper units. I’ll leave instructions that you’re to be given transport. I may be back before you go, but if not just let Wilcox know when you want to travel and he’ll arrange it.”

  So it was that we eventually arrived at my parents’ home in an army Landrover with a corporal at the wheel. I did not see General Gray again, but I read in the paper some time later that he had been knighted for his services.

  Before I left Hereford I wrote to Hal, assuming that the postal service would now return to normal and that eventually the postman would pedal up the long lane to the farm. It was not a long letter; just a few lines to tell him what had happened and what the current situation was —but I suppose Alexis and Paul and Jinny must have found that out when they performed in Hay;—if they ever got Bruno between the shafts of the caravan.

  SIX - RECONSTRUCTION

  It was mid-summer when we finally returned home. All through the long summer days I had sat in the garden of my parents’ home, looking out over the estuary or across to the slopes of Cader Idris. I had been spoilt and pampered and my mother begged me to stay permanently with them, but slowly the realisation had grown that I could not start to rebuild my life until we were in our own home again. Cautiously, like a rider with a frightened horse, I brought my brain round to face the barrier of the future.

  It was late afternoon when we got out at our little country/suburban station. Like so many of its kind it lay a short distance from the village it was intended to serve, that being the closest point on the line. No-one else got off with us. The evening commuter rush, if it still existed, would not begin for another hour. We walked up the quiet, tree-lined road. The houses here were well set back behind high hedges. There was no way of telling how much they had suffered since we left. We passed the builder’s yard. The blackened timbers still stretched, untouched, towards the sky. Next our way lay through a more recent and very expensive development. Here the story became at once clearer, because more visible, and more confused. Some houses were obviously deserted, their windows broken or boarded up, gardens tall with weeds. Others were occupied, but broken panes, littered gardens and collapsing fences made it clear that the occupants had no sense of permanency. Still others maintained defiantly the standards of the original owners, with gleaming paint and vivid flower beds, though even here one could see evidence of the constant struggle to keep out the tide of vandalism and neglect.

  We turned into our own road. The boys, who had chattered happily when we first got off the train, clearly delighted to be back, had fallen silent. The houses here were older, more discreet, with tree shaded front gardens, but the story was the same; some untouched, others neglected and in disrepair; one a burnt out shell. I quickened my step.

  We reached the house and stood at the gate, looking at it. The windows were intact; someone had mowed the lawn; on the doorstep stood a bottle of milk. My fingers trembled as I fumbled for my latch-key, saying, “I’m afraid someone may be living in our house.”

  “Who?” demanded Simon.

  The key turned easily. I let myself in. For an instant the sheer familiarity of the house overwhelmed me. The carpets, the wallpaper, just as I had left them. It even smelt the same! I stood still in the hall, listening. There was no movement. Slowly I went through to the lounge.

  In the doorway I stopped with a sudden sick jolt. At first I could not quite make out what was wrong with the room. Then I realized that it had been brutally vandalized but that someone had, as far as possible, repaired the damage. Chair covers had been ripped and then roughly patched or covered. The carpet had been pulled up and tacked down again. Mike’s desk had been broken open but had been mended.

  It was the same story all over the house. All my clothes had been taken out of cupboards and drawers and pushed back in the wrong places. Some favourite pictures and ornaments had disappeared; books had been ripped. Yet everywhere was evidence that someone had tried
to make good the damage and that whoever it was still lived here. Eventually I called the boys in.

  “Someone has spoilt a lot of our things,” I told them, “but someone else has tried to put it right.”

  “Who can it be?” Simon asked.

  I shook my head. “I expect someone who needs a home has moved in here while we’ve been away. They will probably come back soon, then we shall see.”

  Downstairs the front door closed softly. The boys looked up at me without speaking.

  “Stay here,” I whispered and went out onto the landing. Alan stood in the hall. For a moment I almost failed to recognize him. My image of him was still the smooth, well-tailored young executive. Now he was dressed in jeans and carried a greasy boiler suit. He must have lost a stone in weight and his face, once no more than fashionably lean and bronzed, was full of new lines and hollows.

  He looked up at me and said, “Nell! Thank God!”

  I ran downstairs and threw myself into his arms. The boys clattered after me, shouting,

  “It’s Uncle Alan! Uncle Alan!”

  We clung to each other and he said huskily against my ear, “I knew you’d come back, sooner or later.”

  Then he let me go and turned to tousle the heads of the boys and quiet their questions with, “Later. I’ll tell you all about it later.”

  We looked at each other. He said, “God, you look marvellous!”

  I knew that I, too, had lost weight but to advantage, and the last months in the open air had bronzed my skin and bleached highlights in my hair; but the change went deeper than that and I was only now beginning to realise it.

  “You look —tired,” I answered.

  He gave me a brief flicker of the old, ironic smile. “Like worn out, you mean. But where have you been? When did you get back?”

  I said suddenly, “Alan, you know about —Mike?”

  He reached out and pulled me to him. “Yes, I heard. Poor Nell.”