The Fountain

by Mary Nichols

  ‘We were all in the war.’

  ‘I meant serving as a soldier. Or a sailor.’

  ‘No. Didn’t fancy it.’ He paused. ‘It’s over now, and I meant it about getting a job.’

  She didn’t ask him how he had avoided conscription. ‘You always do.’

  ‘This time I really mean it. I’m done with wandering. I want to settle down.’

  She suppressed her desire to laugh: perhaps he was sincere, or at least as sincere as it was possible for him to be. Honesty had never been one of his virtues. ‘What sort of job?’

  ‘Anything. Labouring in the building trade, I’ve done a bit of that.’

  ‘Then you’d better try Kennett’s. George Kennett has done very well for himself and I heard he’s expanding.’

  ‘OK. I might just do that.’ He smiled to himself. It meant he could stay, that she was taking him back. She didn’t say it in so many words and he was not such a fool as to express gratitude.

  Chapter Four

  Barbara woke on the morning of the tenth of August knowing the day was a milestone in her life, but she was given no time to dwell on it. Five-month-old babies make no allowances for their mother’s twenty-first birthday and Alison was awake at five and demanding attention. Barbara crept wearily from her bed, put on a dressing gown and went into the next room to see to her. She changed her nappy and fed her, sitting in a chair by the window and looking out onto a summer day which promised to be a scorcher. She was reminded of childhood birthdays which, coming as they did in the middle of the school holidays, were always memorable and happily anticipated for days beforehand. Sometimes her parents took her on a picnic to a local beauty spot, or to watch the seabirds on the marshes. Sometimes they went to Cromer or Hunstanton, where she would paddle in the sea and make sandcastles and then eat fish and chips out of the paper. At dusk they would return home, red as lobsters from sun and wind, with sand in their shoes and a bucketful of cockles to boil. The shells were afterwards distributed along the garden path and scrunched underfoot for weeks until they became as fine as dust. She was suddenly filled with longing for her father and the comfortable old farmhouse.

  She would go and suggest a day at the seaside. ‘We’ll paddle in the sea and build you a sandcastle and eat a picnic. You’ll like that, won’t you, my lovely?’ she said, kissing the top of her daughter’s head. ‘It will be like old times.’

  ‘What will?’

  She swung round at the sound of George’s voice. He was standing in the doorway in his pyjamas, watching them. ‘A trip to the sea. I’m going to ask Dad to take us in his car.’ Even her father had succumbed to the advantages of a motor instead of the pony and trap. ‘Would you like to join us?’

  ‘I can’t. After the meeting with Donald, there’s a site visit and I have to see my accountant and the bank manager this afternoon.’ He wandered off towards the bathroom, while she went downstairs to make his breakfast. The postman knocked while she was filling the teapot. He handed her several envelopes and two small parcels, one of which was from Penny and the other from her father. Penny’s parcel contained an expensive perfume and a note. ‘Wear this when you come to my party.’ She smiled as she sprayed a little on her wrists and sniffed appreciatively; it was typical of Penny not to take no for an answer.

  The other package contained an antique silver brooch with a large amethyst in its centre which had belonged to her mother. ‘Your mother always intended you should have this on your twenty-first,’ her father had written on the enclosed card. She held the brooch on the palm of her hand and her mother’s warm presence seemed suddenly very real. Her eyes filled with tears and spilt down her cheeks. ‘Oh, Dad,’ she murmured. ‘You do know how to hurt, don’t you?’ But she knew it was never intended to hurt but to heal, and that made her tears flow faster than ever.

  George came in and put a gift-wrapped package on the table in front of her. ‘I bought this for you.’

  Her genuine cry of pleasure as she opened it was brushed aside. ‘I’m sorry we can’t go out somewhere to celebrate tonight, I’ve got a meeting. I’ll make it up to you another time. I might be late, so don’t wait up for me.’

  She sighed but said nothing. George was always going to meetings of one kind or another.

  As soon as he had gone, she packed a picnic and filled a couple of flasks, one with coffee and the other with Alison’s midday feed, and set off for the farm. She found her father drinking coffee in the kitchen in stockinged feet, wearing corduroy trousers and an old check shirt. The wellington boots he wore when working on the farm stood on the doorstep. He looked up with a smile of pleasure as she brought the pram into the kitchen.

  ‘Barbara, what brings you here so early in the morning?’

  She laughed. ‘What a greeting! I wanted to see you, that’s all, and to thank you for the brooch. It’s the best present ever.’ She put her arms round his neck and kissed his cheek.

  ‘I always liked it on Mum.’ She fetched a mug and sat opposite him to pour herself a coffee from the percolator on the table. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine. How’s that granddaughter of mine?’

  He rose stiffly to go over to the pram and it was then that she realised how painfully thin he had become. His cheeks seemed to have sunk, darkening his eyes, and his clothes hung on him as if they had been made for a much larger man, which indeed they had. She was shocked. He was ill and had been for some time, judging by his appearance. Why had no one told her? She tried to remember when she had last seen him and realised it had been over a month.

  ‘You’ve lost weight,’ she said.

  ‘I was getting too fat anyway.’ He was bending over the pram and she could not see his expression. ‘She’s a beauty, isn’t she? May I pick her up?’

  ‘Of course.’

  He lifted the child and took her back to his chair to sit with her on his knee. ‘Babies grow so fast, it seems only five minutes since you were this size. Now look at you, twenty-one and a wife and mother. No longer my little girl.’

  She caught the note of wistfulness in his voice. ‘I’ll always be that, Dad.’

  ‘Yes.’ He tickled Alison under the chin and was rewarded with a broad smile. ‘Who’s a good girl, then? Who’s going to grow up just like her mother?’ He turned to Alison. ‘I don’t see nearly enough of her. Or of you.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad, I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ve packed a picnic. I thought perhaps you would take us to the sea for the day. If you can spare the time, that is.’

  His eyes lit with pleasure. ‘Capital idea. I’ll leave a note for Virginia, just in case we’re late back.’

  The alacrity with which he agreed pleased her. She would have him all to herself for a few hours and maybe she could find out what was wrong with him.

  It took a great deal of gentle prodding, while they sat on the beach building a sandcastle for Alison’s benefit, though she was much too young to appreciate it. He had a heart condition, he told her, nothing to worry about so long as he took things easy, which was why he had rid himself of his herd of Jersey cows and the two big horses and bought a tractor. ‘It’s an uphill job making a decent living out of farming these days,’ he told her. ‘I’ve rented out the far fields and just look after the fifty acres near the house. It’s enough.’

  ‘And Virginia?’

  ‘Oh, she’s a tower of strength. I don’t know what I’d have done without her.’ He paused before going on. ‘Enough of me, what about you?’

  She told him what he wanted to hear, the little details of her day, that George was busy and successful, that she loved her little house; she could not tell him that her husband’s business methods worried her to death, that the house was a standing accusation of malpractice, that she was bored to tears. And her father’s obvious happiness in his marriage made her realise there were flaws in her own. She brushed a strand of hair from her face, angry at herself for even entertaining such negative thoughts.

  ‘Penny has a part in a new play
,’ she said, to change the subject. ‘She’s asked me to a party to celebrate.’

  ‘Will you go?’

  ‘I don’t know. There’s Alison, you see, and I know George won’t want to go. I don’t blame him,’ she added quickly in case he thought she was complaining. ‘He has nothing in common with Penny.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but there’s nothing to stop you going, is there? You mustn’t cut yourself off from all your old friends. Friends are too precious to cast aside, you never know when you may need them.’

  She looked up at him. Had he read between the words she had actually spoken and perceived her unease? Did he understand her longing to break out of the rut and find something to talk about other than babies and household matters, and the guilt for entertaining such rebellious thoughts at all? ‘I’ll think about it. Perhaps George’s mother will have Alison.’

  ‘If she doesn’t, we will. You deserve a break.’

  ‘You have references?’ George said, leaning back in his office chair, twisting a pencil in his fingers, and surveying the man who sat opposite him. On the desk between them was a pile of papers on which he had been working, a glass containing whisky, a telephone and a photograph of Barbara with Alison on her lap. The baby was a delight, with dark hair and blue eyes which would probably become darker as she grew older. She had chubby cheeks and a winning smile and he loved her beyond reason. He wished he could have gone to the coast with them today, but business had to come first. For the past year there had been something of a housing boom. George couldn’t build houses fast enough and he needed good men, which was why he had agreed to see Younger.

  ‘No. I’ve been out of the country,’ Colin told him. ‘But you know how it is, home and family draw you back in the end, so here I am. I’m an experienced brickie but I can turn my hand to most things, carpentry, painting, plumbing.’ Colin smiled easily, taking the measure of the man before him. He’d lay odds he wouldn’t be averse to bending a few rules if it served his purpose. ‘I do what I’m asked to do,’ he said meaningfully. ‘So long as I’m paid for it.’

  They understood each other and George needed men who didn’t stand about arguing, but got on with what they had been told to do, especially if what they had been told to do was a bit shady. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you a month’s trial. Report to Mr Browning on Monday, he’ll fill you in on the details.’

  Colin stood up. ‘Thanks, Mr Kennett.’

  He left the office with a broad grin on his face and George returned to the plans which lay on his desk and which he had hastily covered when his secretary showed Younger into the room.

  Before he left the council, Donald had told him of a scheme to develop the old airfield site just outside the town, which had not been used since the war. ‘The idea is to build an industrial park,’ Donald had said. ‘Large and small units, to be let out and bring employment to the area. Once the units are filled, there’ll be a need for houses for the workers. Expansion is the name of the game.’ It was a policy that suited George down to the ground. ‘Of course, the new bypass will have to come before any building starts.’

  George knew that. Melsham’s narrow streets and marketplace, good enough in the days of horses pulling carts and carriages, were becoming more and more clogged by cars and vans, and the bypass would have to come first, because the road onto the park must go off that and not pass through the town, which would only exacerbate the traffic problem.

  He had secretly acquired a sizeable chunk of the airfield with borrowed money and was simply biding his time. But times were difficult, inflation and unemployment had risen to unprecedented levels and Melsham, being a rural community, was affected by a strike of agricultural workers. They had been earning as much as two pounds ten shillings a week during the war and immediately afterwards, but when the guaranteed prices for corn were abolished their pay had been halved. In Norfolk the farmers had tried to bring it down to a pound a week, resulting in the strike of ten thousand men. And that was affecting everyone including George and the council plans.

  There was controversy over the bypass and the use of the derelict airfield, which was reported in the Melsham Gazette and debated hotly in the letters’ page. Those who were for it said it would wake the town up and drag it into the new Industrial Age. Those against it maintained that the felling of a belt of trees in a countryside with fewer trees than anywhere else in the country was a desecration, to which their opponents argued that the old airfield was an eyesore and a properly landscaped industrial site with carefully planted trees and shrubs would enhance rather than detract from the area. The nature lovers countered with the statement that they were not against an industrial site, simply against the felling of mature trees to build a road to it.

  Without the bypass there would be no industrial site. George was beginning to feel a sense of panic. The interest on the money he had borrowed was horrendous and he had to push the project through before he bankrupted himself. Tonight he had arranged to meet Ron Harrison, the leader of the town council, to try and enlist his support.

  Penny’s drawing room was packed and buzzing with conversation and laughter and the sound of music played very loudly on the gramophone. Barbara paused on the threshold, wondering why she had come. A couple of years before she would have been joining in the chat about parties and who was going out with whom; who had done well in exams and who had flopped; holidays abroad and career prospects; drinking too much, laughing too loudly; having fun. Now she felt out of it and so much older than her contemporaries. Wife and mother. What could she possibly have in common with these beautiful young people? She had no exams or job prospects to worry about, no youthful love, requited or unrequited, intruding into every waking thought, no plans which could be abandoned the moment a better offer came along. No plans at all, in fact.

  Why had she come? George hadn’t wanted her to, telling her it was a daft idea to go all that way just for a party. It wasn’t as if she would know anyone except Penny, and those theatre and film people were all a bit weird…

  ‘I know some of them. They are my friends.’ Evening after evening spent alone reading and knitting had made her want to scream and she didn’t seem to be able to paint. The prospect of a night in town had suddenly become irresistible. She had tried to explain she hadn’t had a night out since Alison had been born and she wasn’t going to run off with an actor, she simply wanted a break. Grudgingly he had given in, but he couldn’t go himself, even if he wanted to: he had a meeting to attend.

  Now, surrounded by glamorous women in sack-like dresses which, for all their shapelessness had cost their wearers the earth, and handsome, self-assured men, her confidence ebbed away and she felt like turning tail.

  ‘Darling, you’re here, at last!’ Penny, in a dress of lime-green silk which had more material in the sleeves than in the skirt, hurried over to hug her. ‘I’d almost given you up.’

  ‘The crowd was so thick outside the theatre I couldn’t get a cab.’

  ‘Yes, I had no idea there would be so many. What did you think of it?’

  ‘Very good. I am sure you will get lots more offers after this.’

  ‘Come and meet everyone.’ She took her arm and pulled her forward.

  Bemused, Barbara found herself being hauled in front of actors and actresses, producers, stagehands and newspaper reporters, together with a sprinkling of students and ex-students, one or two of whom she already knew. Penny left her with a young man called Justin. ‘He’s a producer,’ she said. ‘So be nice to him.’

  Barbara stood sipping champagne, trying to think of something bright and intelligent to say but all she could think of was, ‘Do you produce plays?’

  ‘Films. I’m hoping to recruit Penny. Home Close could be the making of her.’

  ‘What’s it about?’

  He smiled and sipped his drink. ‘You must wait and see. Let’s just say it’s a comedy with a serious side to it, something for the actors to get their teeth into.’

  ‘I shall look f
orward to seeing it.’

  ‘Are you an actress, Barbara?’

  She laughed. ‘Good heavens, no!’

  ‘Barbara is an artist,’ said a familiar voice at her elbow. She turned to see Simon at her side, casually dressed in slacks and open-necked shirt. He was smiling in that odd way he had, which made her want to smile back. ‘But sadly she has forsworn her talent to be a wife and mother.’ He sighed melodramatically. ‘Such a terrible waste!’

  ‘Simon, don’t exaggerate,’ she said, unaccountably pleased to see him. ‘I only dabble.’

  ‘But you wanted to be a famous artist.’

  ‘Dreams,’ she said. ‘Childish dreams.’

  ‘And now you have put aside childish things in favour of motherhood.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Too soon,’ he said. ‘Much too soon. A flower bud cut off before it had time to blossom.’

  ‘You are being silly. I’m not cut off. Just because I’m married, doesn’t mean I don’t live life to the full.’

  Justin, realising the conversation was becoming personal, drifted away. Simon took her arm and guided her to a sofa which had been pushed into the corner of the spacious apartment, now so crammed with people it seemed box-like. ‘Come and sit down and tell me all about it.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About this full life of yours. Do you realise we haven’t seen each other for…how long is it?’

  ‘You came to my wedding.’

  ‘So I did, but only to take a look at the man who had the power to make you abandon everything you had set your heart on. I’m afraid I took an instant dislike to him.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked in surprise.

  ‘He had you. The little green god got the better of me.’ He laughed but she detected a hollowness in it which startled her. ‘And now you are here, looking stunning. That colour suits you.’

  She looked down at the hyacinth-blue dress. ‘Why, thank you, kind sir.’

  ‘Your glass is empty. Shall I fetch you another?’

  ‘Yes, please.’