"What do you say to that then, Tom?"
I swallowed hard. "I take it there's more to this than you're telling me. Did you?… I mean,… "
"Did I really kill him, you’re asking? Well, the clever men in court said I did,… so I must have mustn't I?"
"Not necessarily. Did you?"
She seemed to leave me hanging on for a long time. "No," she said at last. "I'm quite sure of that now. But I wasn't clear about it for years, for maybe half of my life."
She spoke calmly. It was the only way she could tell me these things, under the rigid guard of an icy calm.
"How long ago?" I asked, still trying to control the tremor in my voice.
"I was sixteen. Not much older than your Rachel."
"And the father?"
"I was never sure who the father was - sorry Tom, I was a bit wild as a girl. I was in prison for eighteen months. Then they said I hadn't meant to kill him, that I was merely insane, so I was sent to a sort of secure hospital,… only I'd rather have stayed in prison. I was int there for five years,… . and I was really crazy when I came out.
"He was in his cot, do you see? That's where I put him, all safe and sound, and in the morning, he wasn't breathing. So, I can't be around children. It's not that I don't like them, and I do love Stevie and Gemmie but I can't trust myself. I'd be afraid of them going to sleep and not waking up if I was in the same house. It's irrational, I know, but then I'm not a rational person any more. Do you see? Jack understood that, and he was afraid it would be too much for me - being in the same house as them while you were away. He knows me in ways that you dont. That's why I'm here - with you - because there are children in the house."
"But they were there last night."
"That was different. You were there too. You were responsible for them. I didn't have to think about them."
"But Dad's never mentioned a word of this to me."
"I made him promise not to tell anyone, even you, especially you. People have a hard enough time accepting me as it is. If they knew I'd been to prison, for killing a child, my own child, it would only make things worse for Jack."
"But it was a cot death. It's terrible,… and I'm so sorry, Eleanor. But it wasn't your fault. You were as much a victim of that tragedy as your poor child."
"It doesn't really matter. There's enough room for doubt and people will always wonder, won't they, even when they have all the facts? Mud sticks and all that. Do you hate me now?"
"Eleanor,… "
"Do you?"
"Eleanor, don't be daft. I can't believe it,… really, I'm so sorry. What about your parents? I mean,.. I don't know much about you,… about your family."
She gave a thin smile, "My parents? You want to know about them? Okay. They were shopkeepers - fancy goods, that sort of thing. And they were pillars of the church, even though they spent most of their time back biting and pouring scorn on everyone else. It was bad enough I'd disgraced them by getting pregnant in the first place,… but then having the nerve to land myself in prison as well,… "
"Do you ever see them?"
"No. I have no parents. They still live in the same place as far as I know, still pillars of the same church, but they're dead to me. Shall I go on?"
She was looking me now, almost challenging me to take the full story of her life. I hesitated, because what she'd already told me was bad enough. "You mean there's more?"
"Oh yes,… I’ve barely begun. After the secure hospital, I was sent to a sort of asylum, a private place, somewhere out of the way. My parents paid for it, rather than suffer the embarrassment of having me at home. They lived in such a nice part of town you see?… and my father was on the church council. I don't know how long I was there - a year or so maybe. I suppose the bills must have been mounting though and they realised they couldn't afford to keep it up. But before they let me out, they suggested I had an operation."
She became nervous now. "They'd never believed me, never really trusted me from the start, thinking I'd killed my child while I was depressed. I mean it happens doesn't it? A sixteen year old girl and a screaming baby: they just can't cope. They're bound to go crazy. But I wasn't depressed, okay? I was fine, so long as I was alone,.. away from them. But they wouldn't leave me alone,… I would have agreed to anything, Tom. I had to get out of that place."
"What sort of operation, Eleanor?"
"I was sterilised," she said. "You see, they even managed to convince me I was guilty,… that it was for the best if I never had any more children, so I let them do it. And I thought what the hell? I was young and horny and I imagined I could shag my way round the world afterwards without a thought for the consequences,…
"So, anyway,… after they did it, I was in a lot of pain. There was an infection, they said… " She lowered her head to the steering wheel and then I saw the tears. "They say I nearly died. In the end the only thing that saved me was a hysterectomy. You know what that is Tom?"
"Erm,… I think so,… "
"I have no womb."
I had only the vaguest idea of what that meant for a woman, for a young woman - no more children obviously, but there were other effects, physical and emotional I could barely imagine.
"I went through the menopause before most girls have even had their first babies," she went on. "They can treat the physical effects but I always found the drugs made me feel either lethargic, or,… well like a bit of a nympho,… which might sound fun to you, but believe me it's not.
"Anyway, the bottom line is, I'm not like other women. I haven't had a man inside of me for over ten years now. I've tried girls, and that can be fun if you take all the gender politics out of it, but I've discovered celibacy is the best option for my peace of mind."
She looked at me then, one corner of her lips turning up into a wry sort of smile. I don't know if I'd gone pale or my mouth was agape but I think she felt the measure of my bewilderment. "Poor Tom," she said. "You're such a nice, ordinary man, you're not ready for any of this, are you?"
I suppose she was right. After her opening sentence, I had thought there was nothing else she could possibly have said that would shock me any more, but she had kept on doing it, a relentlessly shocking confession that had pushed me through ever deeper layers of trauma. "Well,… I'm not completely naive," I said, and even as I spoke I was still adjusting to the fact that Eleanor, my father's wife, was not only half his age,… but also, apparently a Lesbian.
"I didn't say you were naive, Tom. You're,… just so admirably, wonderfully,… nice. Like your dad. I treasure what I have with him, you know?"
"I know. But,… has there ever been anyone else, anyone special, I mean in the past?"
"Not really. I was up and down so much you see?… my hormones all over the place? There are times when I do want physical love,… and there are times when the thought of it leaves me cold. You can't build a sexual relationship on that sort of foundation can you?
"No. And anyway, I've been in and out of loony bins for years which doesn't exactly boost your chances of meeting someone special - or so I thought. But in the end, that's where I met your dad, and the last three years with him are the longest I've ever felt free of my past. I've spent a lifetime propped up on antidepressants, but I'm not taking the pills now - just relaxing, meditating - that seems to be enough. It has to be good,… doesn't it?"
"A miracle, I'd say, after what you've just told me."
"It must be hard for people to understand,… me and your father."
It was hard, I thought - and getting harder. "You both feel better when you're together," I said. "Where's the harm in that?"
She smiled. "No harm at all."
It was another hour and a half to Cambridge, then half an hour along narrow lanes, heading east across the bare, flat fens in search of Lipton. We found it tucked away and seemingly deserted, a row of low cottages, a church and a pub - The Dog and Gun. "This looks like it," I said, pulling up on the car park.
"But we can't just sit here for five hours
," said Eleanor. "And there doesn't appear to be much else to do."
"I know,… Look, Ely's not far. There's a cathedral. There'll be a tea shop or something. We'll have a look around there and come back later."
"Sound nice. By the way Tom?"
"Hmn?.. "
"You meant it didn't you? When you said earlier that knowing what you know about me hasn't changed anything - I mean between us,… the way you see me? "
Of course it had changed things, and to be honest right then I couldn't say how, only that it wasn't in a bad way. "Sure, I meant it. Look, you and me,… well, it's a bit unusual isn't it? For a long time I didn't know how to treat you. I mean, I can't think of you as my mother, or even a sister and I don't know for sure that I'll ever work it out except to say,… ." I hesitated but she leaned closer, encouraging me to go on.
"What?"
"Well,… only that my life's the better for having you in it - especially now."
Eleanor sat back, blushing. "Tom, that's lovely. Thank you." Her eyes were wet. I'd touched her, and I was amazed because it had seemed like nothing. No one had ever touched me like that, not so easily with words. Oh, there had been many a tender word offered to me over the years, but I fear they had not meant half so much as they might have done, had they been spoken by someone else,… had they been spoken by Rachel. But Rachel was a dream, an unreliable memory of times long gone, and after what Eleanor had told me I felt ashamed by the insignificance of my problems. My marriage was being dismantled and my time at Derby's was coming to an end. So what? I thought. At least my mind and body were still mostly intact.
Get over it, I thought, but sitting there on that car park, outside the barred and shuttered Dog and Gun, my heart ached. I gazed up and down the street at the forlorn little houses and at the dreary plain beyond the gaps in the rooftops, and I felt the emptiness of the place dissolving me. Rather than offer some perspective, the horror of what Eleanor had told me had only served to make things worse. I ached for her loss, for her pain and I ached for myself, for my ruined life, for everything that seemed to be slipping away. But most of all I ached, wondering what my life would have been like, if only Rachel had loved me.
Chapter 14
The Dog and Gun was packed when we returned. It was an old place, and obviously the only show in town for miles around, so it was something of a focus. Inside, it was small and dimly lit, the air thick with cigarette smoke, the atmosphere rowdy. We had to wait a while before we spied a table and I felt conspicuous, nursing a half-pint glass as inevitably everyone's eyes were drawn to Eleanor.
"You're not from round here then?" observed the landlord. He was a big man with a badly set nose and a gruff manner. "You and your lady passing through?"
"Meeting an old school friend here actually. I haven't seen him since we were kids. I was hoping you might know him - I probably wouldn't recognise him now - John Ogilvy?"
The landlord gave a smile, then winked at some old guy who was slumped over a pint at the bar beside us. "This gentleman's lookin' for John."
The old timer looked up at me. He was wrinkled and toothless, and smelled of beer and urine in equal measure. "Owe you money?"
"No, nothing like that."
"Good, 'cos you'd be buggered if he did."
"Will he be in tonight, do you know? Only he said he would be and I've driven a long way."
The landlord gave my arm a conspiratorial pat, without actually letting me in on whatever the secret was. "He'll be along all right. Star attraction is our John. I'll tip you the wink, though you're not likely to miss him."
We ordered a meal and huddled down at a rickety table, elbows and eyes and pint glasses all around us, the noise and the conspicuous dance beat coming from the juke box making us lean close so we could hear one another in case one of us spoke, but neither of us did. Some of the younger lads were downing lager at an alarming rate and it made me nervous, the way they looked at us. We waited it out for three hours, eating and drinking slowly, Eleanor bearing the discomfort in silence. At one point I reached out and drew my sleeve back to reveal the dial of my watch. Instead of shouting over the music and the din, I raised my eyebrows to her and motioned to the time with my eyes but at once, she covered the dial with her hand and shook her head. "Give it a bit longer," she mouthed.
Then there came a rousing cheer as a wiry little chap bumbled in through the door. He had a great shock of white hair and a bright red nose set in a horribly scarred and wrinkled face. The landlord came over to take away our plates. He was clearly amused. "There's your man," he said.
Eleanor looked at me. "But he must be ninety."
The landlord laughed. "Who? John? He's no more than forty five, I'd say."
John seemed to relish the attention and his hand shot up in appreciation. He walked poorly, hardly able to lift his feet from the floor which gave him a strange shuffling gait. Under his arm he carried an opaque Tupperware box tied with string. He made straight for the bar, the crush of drinkers parting at once to let him through.
"Well go on then," said Eleanor. "Go and introduce yourself."
"It's a mistake," I said. " It must be,… "
"Only one way to find out. Go on, then we can get out of here!"
I'd plotted deviously and travelled all day to put myself in the same room as John Ogilvy but now I found myself wanting. I couldn't believe this was the man I'd spoken to on the telephone. I approached warily and offered to buy him a drink.
"Who the bloody hell are you?" he said.
I extended my hand in greeting. "I'm Tom,… Tom Norton. We spoke on the 'phone."
"Who?"
He ignored my hand. It seemed I was dealing with an ignorant, and already very drunk old man.
"Tom Norton," I repeated. "I rang you."
"Who?"
"County High, nineteen seventy seven?"
"Bloody hell. I can't remember that far back. Mine's a double - get me blood up."
Could it be him, I wondered? The quiet, serious lad with all the 'O' levels and the wealthy parents and the brilliant prospects - the quiet, serious lad who had not been afraid to ask Rachel for a date? And was she here, I wondered? In this same village? Would she be coming in later? And would she also be as hideously transformed as this? I had visions of running from the place screaming. Sure, I wanted to lay the past to rest, to stare it calmly in the eye and bid it farewell but I did not expect it to stare back like this and make fun of me. I wanted it to be warm and comforting. I did not expect it to leap at me with its fangs bared.
He dropped his box on the bar-top and snatched the whiskey down. The box puzzled me. There were scratching sounds coming from inside and it appeared to be moving. Then the corner lifted a crack and I drew back at the sight of silvery whiskers and a pair of sharp teeth poking out. It was a rat. Quickly, John thumped the lid back down. "Get back in there you little bugger," he said and then he turned to me.
"Tom, did you say? I don't remember you. How do I know your not pulling my leg? Come on, giz some names, then."
"Well,… let's see. there was Josh Turner,… . Carol Gent,… . Graeme Cardman,… ."
But it was hopeless. He'd was so far gone, I doubt he was even capable of remembering his mother's name, let alone faces from twenty years ago. I was wasting my time! It was late, I was tired and when I glanced over at Eleanor, I could see she was tired too. I turned my back on John, dismissing him from my thoughts and hopes. Instead, I leaned over the bar to the landlord. "Do you have any rooms?"
"Only the one. It's a twin."
I could feel my disappointment at the way the evening had turned out weighing me down and without even stopping to think, I said: "I'll take it."
By this time, John had picked up his box and was sloping off into the thick of the bar. "Hang on," I shouted. "What about Rachel Standish?"
Perhaps he’d not heard, or had chosen not to hear because he carried on as if I hadn't spoken.
The landlord shook his head. "You'll get nothing out of him
tonight. You'd be better catching him at home in the morning. He lives out at Marsh farm. It's on the Ely Road. Remind me at breakfast and I'll draw you a map."
Rejoining Eleanor, I gazed across at this horrible old geezer as he disappeared into a side room with his box. Locals were pressing in behind him, slapping him on the back, and I saw money changing hands in anticipation of some disgusting event the likes of which I shuddered to imagine.
"It's not him," I said. "He can't be the same age as me. Even with a bad haircut, I don't look as knackered as that, surely?"
She smiled sleepily. "He just drinks more than you do. And I'd say he's had an accident,… a bad one. Did you see how he was walking. What's in the box?"
"You don't want to know."
"Aren't you going in there with him?"
"No, he's too drunk. Anyway I know where he lives. We might call in the morning on our way home."
" Might? "
"Depends how I feel - hopefully a lot better than I do right now. I've erm,… got a room,… got you a room."
"A room? You mean there was only one?"
"I'm sorry. I did it without thinking. You take it. I'll see if can find somewhere else."
She looked around in horror. "Forget it, I'm not stopping in this dive on my own."
"No, of course not. It was stupid. I'll say we've changed our minds. We'll go back to Ely. We'll find a hotel."
She thought a moment, then shook her head. "It's too late to go running about looking for somewhere to stay at this time of night. Let's go and look at it. Then we'll decide."
"I should've booked ahead. I don't know why I didn't. "
"That was my fault. You thought you were travelling alone until last night. Don't worry. We'll work something out."
I was following her from the bar when a well dressed old gent stepped between us. He pressed a folded newspaper against my chest like it was the barrel of a gun and then he leaned close. "She send you?"
I was too weary and too disappointed to appear startled. "Eh?"
He was a bit drunk as well, as seemed everyone in the Dog and Gun that night. He was in his seventies and had a neatly clipped moustache, like some former military type. "His ex-wife! She sent you didn't she?"
The Road From Langholm Avenue Page 10