The Children's Hour

by Marcia Willett

  As she crouched beside the Bosun, drawing comfort from his bulky warmth, she heard the key in the lock and, in one short moment, Liam was in the room. She stared up at him, shocked suddenly out of her numbed condition by his physical presence. Vividly, she became painfully aware of all that she had lost, seeing clearly that nothing could ever be the same again. She stumbled to her feet, still staring at him, and saw too that he was furiously angry. Even in her misery she sensed that the anger was not directed at her; it flowed past her, pouring from him in waves of energy so that his eyes were unnaturally bright and his hands flexed and clenched as he looked at her.

  ‘Why did you not answer the telephone?’ he asked abruptly – and she frowned a little in surprise, rather like a pupil set a totally unexpected question during an examination.

  Speech seemed impossible – there were no words for this situation – so she continued to stare at him, as if she were learning a whole, new person.

  He sighed, his eyes flickering about the room, weighing up what he might say.

  ‘When you didn’t come in for supper, and then you didn’t answer the telephone, I began to get worried.’ He’d decided to get straight to the point. ‘It was Joe who told me. You had coffee with Rosie, I hear?’

  ‘I had rather more than coffee.’ She was thankful that her voice sounded quite normal. ‘She decided that it was time that I should know that I was living a delusion.’

  ‘I love you. That’s no delusion. We’re married. That’s a fact.’

  ‘Yes.’ She couldn’t deny it. ‘My delusion was in imagining that you were being faithful to me.’

  ‘Oh, Mother of God!’ It was a sigh of weary impatience, his anger dissipating into irritation. ‘You have to understand that none of them matter. It’s you I love. Do you not see that? I could have married any of them but I married you . . . What’s amusing you?’

  ‘It’s just that I thought you might be more original. But I’m not really amused. There’s nothing at all funny about being told that your husband is a philandering bastard by his chief mistress.’

  ‘But you had no difficulty in believing her?’

  The brief descent into hurt innocence didn’t sit well on him and Lyddie smiled faintly.

  ‘Oh, but I did,’ she assured him. ‘Tremendous difficulty. I could believe that you and she had had an affair before we were married – after all, why not? But I thought she was getting her own back, you see, for being given the sack. I didn’t realize she’d gone of her own free will.’

  ‘Rosie’s a chancer, always has been.’

  ‘Oh, I can believe that. But it doesn’t mean that she’s a liar.’ There was a silence. ‘So does that mean that you’re denying it?’

  In the longer silence that followed her question, Lyddie felt all that had once been confident and secure in her begin to crumble.

  ‘No,’ he answered at last. ‘There’d be little point in that. I’m saying that it’s unimportant. It needn’t affect what we have together.’

  ‘But it does!’ she cried. ‘Do you really think that I can walk into The Place ever again? That I can sit there calmly eating my supper whilst you slink around the tables mentally screwing whichever female customer takes your fancy and drooling privately over the barmaid you were knocking off earlier up in the storeroom?’

  He made a fastidious grimace and she saw that, fantastically, some puritanical streak deep in him hated her outspokenness. A surge of pure anger, untinged with self-pity, rinsed her clean of any insincere emotion.

  ‘I saw you earlier,’ she told him. ‘I came to The Place at lunch-time and saw your behaviour with Zoë. And her response to you. Do you suggest that I should come along and sit in the snug whilst she laughs behind her hand as Rosie has done for the last year? Do you really think that I’m that strong, Liam? Or that I’m capable of such heroic acts of humiliation on your behalf? Do you actually think you’re worth it?’

  He was silent. She could see that the knowledge of her lunch-time visit to The Place had shaken him and that, behind his bleak expression, he was thinking of what he should do next.

  ‘Do you have any suggestions to make?’ he asked at last.

  ‘I gather you’re not contemplating changing your ways?’ she asked lightly.

  ‘Oh, I might contemplate it,’ he said truthfully, ‘but it wouldn’t last. I did try for a while, after we were married, but . . . well, it didn’t work out.’ He raised his hands, palms outward. ‘No point making promises I mightn’t be able to keep.’

  ‘Well, ten out of ten for honesty.’

  He looked as if he might try further persuasion – but changed his mind.

  ‘I’ve got to go back,’ he said – ‘You amaze me!’ she said sarcastically – ‘would you prefer it if I stay the night at The Place? Give you space to decide how you want to play it?’

  ‘Why not?’ She shrugged, part relieved, part oddly disappointed. ‘I understand you’ve got very comfortable accommodation.’

  ‘I’ll be back in the morning,’ he said unemotionally. ‘Around ten.’ And before she could reply he went out quickly, closing the door gently behind him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  ‘Did you remember the car, Nest?’ asked Mina, after Georgie had gone to bed. ‘So odd, finding it after all these years.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Nest, wheeling across the kitchen, paused to look at it where it stood on the dresser. ‘Anything from Timothy was a treat, wasn’t it? Those postcards he sent and the unusual presents. I still have a beautiful Peruvian doll he gave me for a birthday. I think we all envied Timmie having him as a godfather. I probably remember him least because I was youngest but I still have this feeling about him. A sensation of someone special and charismatic that we all loved. Or am I endowing him with childish fantasy?’

  ‘No,’ said Mina. ‘Oh, no. Timothy was very special indeed. I’m glad you can remember him. After all, you can’t have been more than seven when he was killed.’

  ‘It’s more this feeling inside than a clear picture of him.’ Nest screwed her eyes tight shut, as if she were trying to summon Timothy up from the past. ‘He seemed so tall, taller than Papa, and fair. But I suppose everyone seems tall when you’re seven years old. Oh, and I remember Mama writing to him, telling him about Timmie and how he was getting on.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mina, after a moment. ‘She wrote to him often, especially during the war. The letters went to a special BFPO address. Anyway, I just wondered . . . about the car.’

  ‘I don’t remember Timmie losing it.’ Nest’s brow furrowed. ‘He must have had it for some time when it finally went missing otherwise there would have been a frightful row. He mislaid it not long after he first received it and he was quite distraught. Luckily it turned up.’

  Mina, remembering Georgie’s confession, said nothing. Nest, a tray balanced across her knees containing her needs for the night ahead, turned her face up for her goodnight kiss and went wheeling away across the hall. Mina switched off the lights and climbed the stairs; as she reached her bedroom door the telephone began to ring. She hurried into her room and snatched up the extension from its rest.

  ‘Aunt Mina? It’s Lyddie. I’ve only just realized that it’s rather late for you. I’m so sorry. Did I wake you?’

  ‘Gracious, no, child,’ answered Mina cheerfully. ‘I’m about to do my e-mails. Shan’t be in bed for hours yet. How are you?’

  ‘It’s . . . um. I’m OK but there’s a bit of a problem this end.’ A pause. ‘Would it be terribly inconvenient if I came over for a few days?’

  ‘Of course it wouldn’t, my darling,’ said Mina warmly. ‘Do you want to talk now or wait until you get here?’

  ‘It’s just I’ve had a bit of a shock.’

  Mina could hear that she was near to tears and her heart beat fast with anxiety.

  ‘Oh, darling, are you all right? You don’t have to say a word. We shan’t pry, but if we can help you only have to say the word. You know that.’

  ‘Yes, I kno
w.’ Another pause. ‘It seems that Liam’s been sleeping around. You met Rosie when you came down, didn’t you? Well, she told me. They’ve been lovers for the last year and there are others. It was she who told me . . .’

  ‘But have you confronted Liam?’ asked Mina sharply. ‘It might be that she—’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Lyddie miserably. ‘We’ve had it out and he doesn’t deny it and, anyway, I . . . saw him with someone.’

  ‘My poor darling.’ Mina was horrified. ‘Oh, I am so sorry. How perfectly wretched for you. When will you be here?’

  ‘I’m going to try to get some sleep and I shall leave early in the morning. I hope to be with you by about ten o’clock, if that’s not too early?’

  ‘Of course not. Come any time you like. We’ll be waiting.’

  ‘Aunt Mina?’ carefully.

  ‘Yes, my darling?’ gently.

  ‘You can tell Aunt Nest, if you like, but not . . .’ waveringly.

  ‘I quite understand. Don’t worry,’ firmly.

  ‘Bless you. See you in the morning.’

  ‘Drive carefully, Lyddie.’

  Mina replaced the receiver and stood for some while staring at nothing in particular, her face anxious. Nogood Boyo scuffed his plastic toy around her feet, growling at it with pleasurable fierceness, whilst Captain Cat watched with a certain disdain. ‘Give me a real, live rat, any day,’ his contemptuous look implied. ‘We didn’t have silly toys in my day . . .’ Polly Garter was already turning round and round on her beanbag, stretching luxuriously before curling into a ball.

  ‘On your beds,’ said Mina. ‘Go on, boys. Beds.’

  They obeyed reluctantly; Captain Cat implying that he was going, anyway, of his own accord; Nogood Boyo dragging the toy with him, still shaking it excitedly. Captain Cat turned his back pointedly on his offspring but Nogood Boyo was enjoying himself far too much to notice.

  In her alcove, Mina read her e-mails: one from Helena, thanking her for a lovely weekend, which made her grimace, and one from Jack, which made her chuckle. At last she opened Elyot’s offering, settling more comfortably, ready for a session.

  From: Elyot

  To: Mina

  Your account of the weekend was very amusing. And also touching. I have no experience of sibling friendship or rivalry but I was moved by the way you and Nest are planning to stand firmly by Georgie in spite of the threat she holds over you. At least it’s not for too much longer.

  After a period of peace here, we’ve had another setback. Lavinia has unaccountably taken against our GP, a thoroughly decent fellow, and I am at my wits’ end. She seems to suffer from quite horrid delusions about him which, though I sympathize with how distressed she must feel, I try to dispel by explaining that she’s imagining things. This upsets her even more and she accuses me of siding against her, etc., etc. On top of this, I’ve had my eye test. Ever since that accident, I’ve felt quite nervous when driving and now the dreaded word ‘cataract’ has been used. The foolish thing is that, in losing my confidence, I’m more likely than ever to have another accident. Lavinia, however, hates to be left alone for very long, even with friends, so long journeys by public transport aren’t really an option. I really fear that the day is approaching when we shall have to give up this place and move into the town, or even into sheltered accommodation. It’s the uncertainty that is so exhausting. And as Lavinia’s confusion and mistrust grows, so the circle of help I can call on shrinks. Today I might leave her quite happily with a friend whom, within five minutes of my departure, Lavinia is unable to recognize. I return to a scene of real drama: Lavinia sobbing, angry with me, frightened: the friend, affronted, indignant, even cross.

  It’s interesting to see how soon friendship cracks in the face of rejection – even when the one who rejects is so clearly not in her right mind. Sympathy, compassion, attempts to understand, vanish very quickly indeed. It is all taken very personally and there is not enough love to make allowances. What an indictment that is! And I am just as bad as the others. I want to shout at her – even, in the worst moments, to strike her – simply in order to make her listen to me. Lavinia was always strong-minded, draconian in her views, hot-tempered, and it’s rather as if all her other gentler qualities are being squeezed out by these more dominant traits, which grow and multiply now there is no longer the thin veneer of civilized behaviour to restrain them.

  My dear old friend, I shouldn’t be saying these things, even to you. I spend too much time alone trying to understand this terrible thing that is happening to us, to analyse it, in an attempt to deal with it more adequately. I can’t tell you how much the thought of you soldiering on at Ottercombe sustains me. I feel, from your descriptions of the house and the cleave, not to mention Nest and Georgie, that I know you all, that you are friends to whom I could come in the ultimate despair. But the Super-Skunk hasn’t got me yet, never fear! William will be home in a week or so – oh! how much comfort that thought brings! – although he has worries of his own.

  Anyway, enough of us! Let me know how you are. Fully recovered, I hope, from the weekend?

  Mina read this several times with a growing and quite irrational resentment for the unknown Lavinia. She brooded on her reaction for a while. Clearly her sympathy must be with Elyot whom she ‘knew’ – as it were – rather than with his tiresome wife. It was much easier to side with Elyot, who always came over as sane, rational, cheerful in the face of adversity, rather than with Lavinia, who, let’s face it – even in her heyday – hadn’t sounded particularly attractive, unless, of course, you had a thing about pigheaded, narrow-minded, intolerant bigots . . .

  Mina pulled herself up sharply. It was extraordinarily stupid, she reminded herself, to start getting possessive about a man she’d never met and was unlikely to meet. Of course he would show his best side to her, of course he would gain sympathy where he could. Yet – a tiny voice murmured – he spoke of shouting at Lavinia and even wanting to strike her. That was surely a natural reaction about which he’d written openly and without guile.

  ‘A good slap would probably do her the world of good,’ muttered Mina crossly – and then burst into a fit of giggles. For goodness’ sake! Here she was at the age of seventy-four behaving like a jealous teenager.

  ‘And remember,’ she told herself, ‘you’ve never even seen him. Oh, I know you have your mental picture of him: military bearing, thick grey hair, distinguished. Rather sexy, twinkly eyes. Well, dream on, as Jack would say. He’s probably four foot two and as bald as a coot. “Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything”,’ and, having pulled herself together, Mina began to compose her reply.

  From: Mina

  To: Elyot

  Hello, Elyot

  Oh dear, things sound a bit grim at your end. Not so much the cataracts – beastly, but can be dealt with relatively painlessly, I understand – but more about poor Lavinia. It is utterly wretched for both of you but I wonder if it’s wise to try to make her see the truth about her GP and so on. It might well go against the grain to go along with these fantasies but, in opposing her, you might well a) make her even more determined to insist upon them and b) undermine her confidence in you. It’s important that she feels that you are on her side and, after all, does it matter if you pretend a little? Your GP sounds as if he would quite understand – I expect he sees and hears the most outrageous things – and I wonder if you should have a talk with him about it. You don’t have to go into every small detail but I doubt you’ll shock him. A situation – which might well get worse – where you are on opposing sides can do no good for either of you. I fear that you might already be in a no-win situation and the important thing is to keep hold of the love and confidence which is between you.

  Oh dear, Elyot! I’ve just reread this and feel that I sound like a rather second-rate cross between Mother Teresa and Mary Whitehouse. Have you noticed how terribly easy it is to moralize about other people’s dilemmas? Well, the shoe might well be on the other foot soon. I’ve just had a te
lephone call from Lyddie who is coming home for a few days.

  Her husband, it seems, has been playing the field and she’s clearly in need of a little TLC. The timing couldn’t be worse and poor Nest will be in a terrible state. It’s the unpredictability of it all. All I can say is, watch this space.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ‘The timing couldn’t be worse,’ said Nest, her face drawn and strained. ‘And Helena and Rupert about to go on a week’s holiday.’

  ‘Try not to anticipate trouble,’ said Mina gently. ‘Lyddie is only here for three days. Just a breathing space.’

  ‘That bloody man,’ cried Nest. ‘I never liked him. He’s so smooth and charming. Always smiling. One shouldn’t trust people who smile all the time.’

  ‘Oh, Nest.’ Mina couldn’t help chuckling. ‘It’s too late to do the “I always said his eyes were too close together” thing now, I’m afraid.’

  Nest stared at her for a moment and then burst out laughing. ‘Mama used to say that,’ she said, ‘do you remember?’ – and they laughed again until Georgie came upon them, looking for her breakfast.

  ‘What’s the joke?’ she asked amiably.

  Once again, Nest found herself making the effort not to answer ‘Nothing’, thereby excluding her sister. Instead she said, ‘We were remembering how Mama used to say that you couldn’t trust people whose eyes were too close together. So silly, really.’

  ‘But probably true,’ said Georgie. ‘There’s always a grain of truth in the old saws. Is it porridge this morning, Mina?’

  Nest and Mina exchanged a glance of relief at this apparently sane approach and prayed that it might last.

  ‘If you like,’ said Mina cheerfully. ‘Oh, and Lyddie’s coming later on this morning. She’s staying for a day or two. Just a little break between books.’