Beth didn’t move for some time. She kept seeing James’s face, grey and vulnerable, and the shake in his hand as he’d held his glasses up to the light. She’d never liked Olive, but there was precious little comfort in that. Maybe they’d patch it up; even the worst of rows seemed to dissolve between couples married as long as they were. That, or people just learned to put their differences away, hiding them from view. They shelved the issues quietly, wrapped in tacit agreement, and continued their pursuit of a quiet life. Then they’d dust them off again and again as the same old conflicts repeated themselves, year in, year out. That had been her pattern, anyway, hers and Tony’s, until she’d finally felt: enough. She was glad it had all been a long time ago. It had hurt then, and it hurt again now, seeing her own failures reflected in her brother’s sad, wounded face.
She reached for Alice’s hand, whispering to her.
‘I wish you could hear me, Alice. I really need to talk to you about James. We have to help him.’
There was no answering pressure on her hand, no murmuring. Beth’s need to hear and be heard was becoming desperate; she could feel the tears stinging the insides of her eyelids. She delayed reaching into the locker, although the suspense was becoming unbearable. She was terrified that James would come back into the room and catch her reading one of Alice’s letters. He would see it as yet another betrayal of his trust. It wasn’t fair: surely her mother wouldn’t have wanted James’s exclusion at a time like this? She, Beth, had promised to do as Alice had asked, but surely her own instinct as a sister, a daughter, a mother, an adult must count for something? As she glanced nervously from Alice’s face to the locker door, Beth felt a sudden ripple of shock, a sharp twist of revelation, a new and profound understanding: she had never before felt like an adult in her mother’s company. Alice and James had always been the grown-ups, the competent, reliable ones: she had been the badly behaved little girl, the troublesome child that everyone else had had to keep under control. The past twenty-four hours now felt like the last stages of an induction into adulthood. Like it or lump it, she was here, close to being an orphan, her brother’s life in the sort of chaos she’d thought was reserved only for her own. She felt all the emotion of the previous few hours hardening suddenly into resolve.
Reaching into the locker, she let go of Alice’s hand, placing it on the bedspread within easy reach of hers. Her fingers trembled a little as she pulled out her bundle of letters and undid the ribbon. She took out the next envelope. It was heavier than the first one had been, fatter. On a sudden impulse, she tucked the remaining envelope into the waistband of her jeans, shoving the piece of red ribbon into her back pocket.
‘I’m sorry, Alice,’ she whispered. ‘I’m not going against you just for the sake of it. Right now, James needs all the help he can get.’
Then she pulled the drawstrings tight over the remaining bundle of letters, placed the silk bag as close to the edge of the locker shelf as possible, and pushed the door to. She left it unlocked, and left the little key there as a sign for James. He was, she knew, the least curious of men: there was no possibility of his coming upon these letters by chance. She would have to try and create a moment to send him off looking for lip-balm, handcream, a hairbrush – anything to make him stoop and search until he found what was meant for him. Okay, so it was cheating; but sometimes people needed a push in the right direction. She didn’t want Alice to die before James had had the chance to read her last words to him. She knew that that was important, now more than ever.
She sat back finally, relieved. She opened her own envelope carefully, not wanting to disturb the silence that had descended everywhere, once James’s door had clicked to. Quickly, she skimmed the neat lines of her mother’s handwriting, words and phrases here and there making her heart speed up. Ten pages. Somehow, she knew that this was going to be significant in a way that the first letter hadn’t been. She glanced at her watch. Almost two. She pulled the bedside light closer.
FOUR
Abbotsford
‘AUNTIE BETH?’
She jumped, startled by the sudden, deep voice. Keith poked his head round the kitchen door.
‘Sorry – didn’t mean to give you a fright.’
‘Keith – come on in! It’s good to see you. Sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk the other day. How are you?’
Beth stood up to hug her nephew. He towered over her. She was glad to see him, relieved at the interruption. She’d been sitting at the kitchen table, the remains of a late breakfast all around her. The whole house seemed to have acquired a new stillness, the calm after the storm of James’s late-night revelations. He had slept little, it seemed, and gone out as soon as Keith arrived. She’d heard his early step on the creaky floorboard just outside her bedroom door, and had woken instantly, holding her breath, expecting the worst. But there was nothing: he hadn’t even come in. They’d passed each other briefly on the stairs a couple of hours ago.
‘I went out for some fresh air,’ he’d said, and handed her Saturday’s Irish Times. ‘Keith is with Alice. I’m going to lie down for an hour.’
The newspaper was now propped up against the coffee-pot. But Beth couldn’t concentrate. Her mind was restless; it kept jumping from James and Olive and their bitterness, to the real tenderness between Arthur Boyd and Alice – a tenderness that had been easy to discern between the careful lines of her mother’s handwriting. Ever since she’d read the letter, she’d been filled with images of Arthur, his dead wife and his almost love affair with her mother. In the early morning, she’d even dreamt about them during the few hours of fitful sleep she’d had after her night by Alice’s bedside. Her mother’s face had been real, vivid, but Arthur’s presence had kept melting into Jack, then into James, finally becoming Tony. Beth had brushed the memory aside. She wasn’t yet ready to meet that vision head-on: she needed time to revisit herself and Tony. Even her dream-self had refused to confront him: as soon as he had appeared before her, she had awoken hot and confused. Her eyes still felt tired and sandy, but she was nevertheless fully alert, all of her senses finely tuned, ready for whatever the day was to ask of them. She was beginning to wonder now was there any other way to live: she felt so completely taken over by this new routine. Even trying to do very ordinary things, like stoking the range or glancing at the newspaper headlines, had been useless: the secrets of Alice’s hidden life were much more absorbing.
‘My God,’ she laughed, looking up into her nephew’s face. ‘You’ve grown – again! What are you now, six one, six two?’
He returned her hug.
‘Six three, actually,’ and he grinned down at her.
‘You look great,’ she said, stepping back to look at him. ‘Fancy a cup of tea?’
‘Yeah, and I could eat somethin’, too. I’m starvin’.’
Beth smiled back at him as she went over to the sink to fill the kettle.
‘Some things never change.’
‘Well, it is midday – a long time since breakfast.’
‘So, how’s College treating you these days?’
‘All right.’ He buttered a slice of cold toast, and folded it over. ‘But I’m thinkin’ of changin’ courses.’
She looked at him in surprise. ‘Can you do that, so soon?’
‘Yeah. I’ve applied to transfer, through my tutor. I really don’t like what I’m doin’.’
‘Economics, isn’t it?’
Beth took a large sliced loaf out of the freezer compartment.
He nodded.
‘Mum wanted me to do Business Studies, Dad was kinda hopin’ I’d do History, I think, so . . .’ he shrugged. ‘Economics seemed to be a good compromise. But it was a mistake. I hate it.’
Beth put two slices of bread into the toaster.
‘So what are you transferring to?’
‘To what I wanted to do in the first place – pure English.’
‘Do your mum and dad know about this?’
‘Yeah. I’ve discussed it with Dad. He’s c
ool. Haven’t told Mum yet, though.’
‘Well, good for you. Changing to what you really want, I mean.’ Beth moved on, hurriedly. It sounded as though she approved of his lack of discussion with his mother. ‘You’ve always been a reader.’
‘Yeah – should’ve stuck to my guns in the first place. Mum’ll come round, I’m sure.’
Beth smiled to herself. She wouldn’t feel so sure. She was constantly surprised at how each of the young people she knew took their parents’ approval for granted, how they assumed that that was what parents were for. Maybe that was why they stayed at home so much longer these days, hanging around for bed and board well into their twenties. She knew several harassed mothers of her own age, all longing for a bit of peace and quiet after the hard years of child-rearing. Instead, they seemed doomed to step over long legs, endure loud music and satisfy enormous appetites well into their fifties. At Keith’s age, she had already fled the nest, couldn’t wait to be gone. She’d left in the midst of recriminations, disapproval, even outrage. But parents now, including herself, it seemed, tried to please their children. On balance, she supposed it was a good thing. Remembering James’s face last night, she wondered now if all that were about to change for Keith and Gemma.
‘How’s Gran this morning?’
‘There’s nothing different, Keith, she’s still exactly the same. June comes in to make her comfortable every evening, but there’s no response. Your dad and I just sit with her while she sleeps.’
Keith poured himself a glass of milk.
‘Do you think she’ll ever come round?’
‘No, no I don’t think so.’
Beth was surprised to hear herself say that. She hadn’t known that she felt that, so positively, until now. So where was all her earlier urgency about saying goodbye? She’d been obsessed by it, less than twenty-four hours ago. In some strange way, last night’s letter, written months ago, had had all the immediacy of the intimacy that she’d been craving. It had brought Alice so much closer to her, and that, strangely, was making it easier for Beth to let her go.
‘Is your dad with her now?’
Keith nodded, his eyes suddenly fixed on the table.
‘Here, sit down. Would you like something else with your toast?’
He shook his head, looking away from her.
‘I did the garden with her, all during the summer. She was . . . fine. Always full of stories.’
Beth was shocked to see his eyes fill.
‘I know.’ She rested her hand on his arm, as he shook the tears away. ‘Keith – she really looked forward to your visits. She told me so. She really appreciated you helping out – particularly as you’d much better things to do on a Friday night!’
He wiped his eyes with his sleeve.
‘She insisted I took money for it – I didn’t want to. I feel really bad about that.’
Beth smiled at him.
‘It gave her pleasure to give you something. She wasn’t paying you, as such – it was just her way of giving you a present. Don’t feel bad about it.’
He nodded, recovering himself. He looked embarrassed, ashamed of his tears. Beth poured more coffee for herself, giving him time. Eventually, he was able to look at her again.
‘How’s Laura?’
‘She’s fine. I spoke to her last night. Her dad is with her for this week. She’s anxious to come over soon, but we’ll wait and see what happens.’ Beth paused. She didn’t want to say ‘when Alice dies’.
‘Have you had enough?’ she asked instead.
‘Yeah, thanks. I think I’ll go back up and give Dad a break. Can I help you with these?’
He gestured towards the dishes.
Beth shook her head.
‘No, go on ahead. I’m going to make more toast and coffee. Send your dad down for some, will you? I don’t think he’s had any breakfast.’
‘Okay. I’ll see you later, then. Thanks.’
Beth watched him go. His long body looked suddenly childlike, vulnerable. So wrapped up in her own grief until last night, when James had shocked her out of it, she hadn’t realized the endless ripples caused by Alice’s final illness. James and Olive, herself, Keith, Gemma, Laura – their lives at least temporarily thrown up in the air, nobody knowing how all the pieces would settle when they eventually fell. Maybe her only child should be here, to share this with her cousins. On the other hand, Alice could continue in this stasis for a long time yet. Tony was probably right to keep Laura in her own routine. But still. Beth didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what the right thing was any more – she’d think about it later, after Dr Crowley’s visit. At least it was one decision which could be postponed.
And she had never known time to pass so slowly. It was only Saturday – she’d arrived a mere thirty-six hours ago, and already it seemed like for ever. Trying to measure what was happening in terms of hours or minutes was meaningless; she no longer felt like the same woman who had almost killed herself by behaving stupidly in a hire car on an otherwise normal October evening.
She looked up as James came into the kitchen. He shook his head at her.
‘Nothing. Not even a movement. I’m glad Ellen Crowley is coming tonight, I think Alice’s breathing is becoming wheezy.’
Beth felt suddenly frightened.
‘Pneumonia?’
He shrugged.
‘I’ve no idea, but I think there’s something going on.’
She tried to absorb the impact of his words. What had she expected? Where there’s life, there’s hope, her mother’s voice said to the inside of her head. The voice was so clear, so direct that Beth was startled. She wondered for a mad moment whether James had heard it.
He was pouring coffee, oblivious. He was still withdrawn, silent. They were obviously not going to return to their conversation of the previous night. His face looked less ashen, but his eyes were still dull, tired behind his glasses.
‘Should we book a table for tonight, seeing as it’s Saturday?’
He nodded.
‘I’ll do that in a minute.’
He answered her curtly. Beth let the silence sit for a moment. Then she spoke quietly.
‘I’m going to call Laura, and then I’m going to have a bath. The coffee’s made, and there’s more bread in the toaster.’
‘Thanks. Take your time. Keith will stay as long as we need him.’
Beth stood up and pulled the belt of her dressing gown tighter. She felt suddenly tongue-tied in her brother’s presence.
‘Give Laura my love, won’t you?’ he said.
He barely glanced in Beth’s direction. His evasiveness saddened her. She guessed that he was regretting his confidences of the night before.
‘I’ll do that.’
As she went to leave the kitchen, he picked up the newspaper, and became immediately absorbed. Beth hesitated briefly, feeling there was something more that needed to be said, something other than her awkward offerings of toast and coffee. She felt guilty, leaving him there on his own like that. But he had shut down: Beth knew all the signs. James had always demanded respect for his silences. He would come back to himself again soon; he always did. And she would just have to wait. Besides, last night’s letter was pulling at her insistently, needing to be read again, demanding her full attention. Beth felt that her life had come full circle: Alice’s words were now tugging at the skirts of her memory, goading and prodding until they got a response, the same way she remembered pestering her mother as a small child. As she climbed the stairs to her old room, she decided that she needed to find the time soon to rummage through the boxes of old photographs that her mother had mentioned. It was time to put at least some of the pieces of the jigsaw into their proper place.
She took Alice’s second letter from under her pillow, folding it carefully into the pocket of her dressing gown. On her way to the bathroom, she stepped into her mother’s room for a moment.
‘All right, Keith?’
He nodded.
‘Yeah. See y
ou later.’
And he returned to his book.
She locked the bathroom door, and turned both taps on full, pouring bath salts into the old-fashioned tub, its enamel stained by a swathe of bright green under the cold tap, painted there, patiently, by years and years of leaky washers. As she waited for the bath to fill, she took out Alice’s letter and read it through again in the undisturbed safety of the locked bathroom, one of her old childhood refuges.
Sinking into the warm, scented water, she became aware once more of the aches and pains she hadn’t noticed since her arrival on Thursday night. Across her shoulder blades still hurt, and she winced as she lay back, resting her body against the grainy, sloping surface behind her. She touched the right-hand side of her jaw, gently. It still hurt. She closed her eyes. None of that mattered. All that mattered now was what her mother had written to her. She’d been deeply disturbed by Alice’s direct request that she try again with Tony. It had shocked her, engulfed her in a flood of conflicting emotions, disturbed even her dreams. On waking, she had felt again the huge surge of ambivalence that she had thought long resolved. And now, it seemed that James and Olive’s marriage was beyond repair, too. Everything seemed to be conspiring against her, prodding her to confront the decision which had come so easily, so naturally to her almost a decade ago. She and Alice had never spoken of her separation before, apart from Beth’s announcement of it, some six months after the fact, when she and Laura had paid their usual visit home at Christmas.
She had arrived in full emotional battledress, alert, angry and on the offensive. Her communications with Alice had been abrupt, presenting her new situation as a fait accompli, and inviting no discussion. Even before she saw her, Beth had read her mother’s mind, had sensed her unbending disapproval, or had felt she had. She wondered now, in the light of her new knowledge, what Alice had really thought. She’d probably never know, never understand the complexity of her mother’s real feelings, and that saddened her. Anyway, it was all much too late for reconciliation: both her own and Tony’s lives had moved on. She suspected that he had someone else, although he never said, and she was quite okay as she was. But her mother’s words, and James’s predicament, had stirred up all the old feelings again. Sadness, regret for what she and Tony might have become, and the ever-present sense of failure.
Walled Garden Page 12