by Susan Sallis
Elisabeth did not argue. ‘Mrs Hardy said the car was faulty, but you still blamed yourself. A bit like Tom and Della.’ She took Viv’s coffee cup from her, and said in a determined voice, ‘These things happen. We have to accept that they happen.’
Viv looked right at her, and said very suddenly, ‘I was pregnant, you see. And I wanted to get rid of the baby. It wasn’t David’s baby. I had to get rid of it. But I got rid of him as well. He said he hated me. He wanted me to stop the car. When I wouldn’t – when I went faster still – he grabbed the wheel . . .’ She looked at Elisabeth with sudden surprise. ‘That’s why he pushed me into the lake. Of course it was. He was angry with me about the baby. And then . . . somehow . . . he wasn’t. Not any more. That’s why he said that all you need is love. And that’s why he won’t be able to see me any more. Because it’s all right. It – it’s settled.’ Both women stared at each other, then Viv smiled properly again and said, ‘Thank you, Elisabeth. Thank you.’
Elisabeth could think of nothing more to say. She gathered up her gloves and fixed the backpack over her padded coat.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow. Please ring if there’s anything . . .’ She could no longer face the smile. Viv heard the door close after her.
More snow fell in the afternoon. Viv watched and saw the softness of it, the gentle obliteration of everything familiar.
At first . . . just now . . . when she had said aloud those words . . . the words David had said over a year ago: ‘I hate you’, she had felt smitten, riven, as if an enormous axe had cleft her in two. She was devastated that his words – his exact words – suppressed for so long – had been remembered. The cause of the ‘accident’ had been remembered. David had twisted the steering-wheel out of her hands, and the car had simply leapt off the road. She had done something unspeakable and he had known . . . of course he had known; he had always known what went on inside her head.
She said aloud, ‘I must not think of that. I must not think of David knowing.’ The pain she had inflicted on him seemed worse now than it had during those terrible days. But . . . he had said that all you needed was love.
Tom was exhausted when he got home. Hildie noticed how quickly he recovered as he watched Elisabeth feeding the twins. She was pleased about that, of course. But disappointed, too. He had got so much in common with Viv; they could have helped each other.
Hildie sat with her back against the radiator, a blanket wrapped around her from beneath her armpits to her ankles. The slippers below and the bed-jacket above were both Christmas presents from Hardy. They were edged with matching angora, and were the sort of items Marilyn Monroe might have sported. Hildie loved them, though she told Hardy he must be mad, and he should stop wearing his rose-coloured specs.
He had graduated to doing odd jobs in the kitchen, and was cutting sandwiches to eke out the soup for their evening meal. Hildie shuddered to think what her kitchen must be like these days. At least Hardy had some vague idea of where things went, but this Elisabeth, efficient though she was, didn’t have a clue.
Tom had hung his wet things in the hall, and now sat at one end of the sofa and took Joy on to his shoulder to wind her.
‘Everything looks very organized here.’ He grinned at Elisabeth, and she gave a small self-deprecating smile.
‘It won’t be that for a while, I’m afraid.’ She glanced at Hildie. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve put everything in the wrong place. You probably won’t be able to find anything when you’re well enough to take over.’
Hildie was amazed that their thoughts had run so close. She shook her head. ‘It’s been like that ever since Christmas, my dear. We’re all new at this.’
Elisabeth widened her smile. ‘One thing. I can’t find a bread bin. That’s why the bread is wrapped in a tea towel and left out. The bin must be somewhere.’
Hildie felt her jaw drop. Hardy, coming through with the sandwiches, and putting them on the table, chuckled. ‘We can never put a hand on it, can we, my maid? I did wonder – if we put that-there sterilizer thing on top of the fridge, could we put the bread bin back in its proper place? What d’you think?’
Hildie felt a rush of love for him; for everyone. It was such a small thing, to reinstate her bread bin, but in the context of losing Della and taking on Tom and the twins, it was a sort of turning-point.
Michael burped loudly, and the towel which Elisabeth had put over her shoulder was not big enough. Her cashmere sweater was soaked. She laughed, and patted Michael’s back. ‘All right now?’ she asked.
Hildie said, ‘Give him to me and go and change. We might be able to sponge that out.’
But Elisabeth shook her head. ‘I don’t mind if it stays there for the rest of the day. Please don’t worry about it.’
And Hildie, who, normally, would have worried very much, subsided against the comfort of the radiator. Her back was soothed. She decided to ‘sit up’ for her meal. Tom put the babies to bed. They gathered round the table. Elisabeth served the soup. And Hildie asked about Viv.
‘Well . . .’ Elisabeth smiled across the table. ‘I was a bit anxious. I think she was confused.’ She turned the smile on Tom. ‘I knew you wouldn’t have considered her as a baby-minder if you’d had the slightest doubts about her.’ Hildie’s heart sank.
Tom said soberly, ‘She feels some . . . responsibility . . . for the death of her husband. That is natural enough.’ He raised his brows, not wanting to liken her situation to his own.
Elisabeth said, ‘I understand that, and we know that it takes time to accept these things. She did in fact say that she had killed him. But then she seemed to remember something quite different. And then . . . she told me her husband had pushed her into the lake – tried to drown her. When I picked up the car, I drove back that way. There’s no water in the lake.’ She cut the crusts from a sandwich and looked apologetically at Tom’s father. ‘Do you mind me doing this? I’m not usually so fussy, but I’ve got a sore mouth.’
Hildie immediately offered some pastilles she had in the bathroom cupboard; she hoped the conversation would move away from Viv.
Tom said, ‘Mum? Has Viv spoken to you about this?’
‘She told me she fell in the lake and scraped her legs and feet. Ages ago, when it had water in.’
There was a small silence. Elisabeth wished very much she had not mentioned anything about Mrs Venables. She said, ‘Actually, Tom, Mrs Venables really was delirious when I arrived. It seems to be the way this particular infection works. And she may well feel her fall was some kind of punishment.’
‘She’s so at risk when she takes those runs of hers.’ He picked up a crust from Elisabeth’s plate and chewed on it thoughtfully. ‘That’s been one good thing about her looking after the twins. No time for running.’
Elisabeth smiled at Hildie. ‘Actually, Mrs Hardy, may I go and look in the bathroom cabinet? I’ve just bitten the inside of my cheek – again!’
There was a flurry while Hildie tried to stand up in her cocoon of blankets, and Hardy and Elisabeth held her down. Elisabeth went off to the bathroom.
Tom said, ‘I’ve worried about Viv taking on the babies. Now I see them as a godsend, and wonder how she will cope when she doesn’t have them.’
Hildie said comfortably, ‘Well, there’s at least four years before they go to school, Tom. ’
Tom looked at his father, then reached for another sandwich.
‘Ma. I thought you realized . . . I can’t stay with you permanently. Surely you didn’t imagine I would plonk myself back into the nest and wreck it for the two of you?’
‘You wouldn’t wreck it—’
‘We’ve already wrecked it, Ma. But certainly not for always.’
Hardy put his hand under the table, and gripped Hildie’s knee through the layers of blanket.
‘We knew it were just temp’ry. Didn’t we, my maid?’
Hildie stared at him. ‘I suppose . . . we didn’t think about the future. It was too awful to think poor Della would not be part of it
, so we tried not to think . . .’ Her voice trailed off. She felt ill again.
Elisabeth came back in, sucking furiously. She looked at the Hardys; they were both staring into space.
Tom smiled at her. ‘You found the pastilles. Good. We’ll make some tea in a minute. Mum and Dad would probably like to watch the news. We’ll clear up. And then bed. How does that sound?’
She returned the smile, nodded, then pointed to her face. ‘I can feel it working already, Mrs Hardy. Thanks so much. It’s one of my many failings – biting the inside of my mouth. Used to drive my husband crazy.’
Hildie’s head came up like a shot. ‘We didn’t know . . . you’re married?’
‘I was. We’re divorced. Actually, we’re still sort of friends. My daughter is with him at the moment.’
These two bombshells were almost too much for Hildie. She stammered something incoherent. Tom actually laughed.
Elisabeth reproved him. ‘You should have told your parents about me, Tom.’ She looked across the table. ‘I’m so sorry to bother you with it, especially as you are both under the weather. It seems, looking back, very simple. I married Peter when I was nineteen. We had Maisie. He fell in love with someone else, tried to fight it, couldn’t. Luckily she was marvellous when it came to looking after Maisie. So I applied for a place in a training scheme for nurses – especially designed for women with children. Margaret stood in for me when necessary. Then, once school kicked in, it all worked very well.’
Hildie stared at her. She reached for Hardy’s hand on her knee and covered it with her own. She was conscious of Tom, sitting there, waiting for her first reaction.
She coughed and said, ‘Maisie. What a pretty name.’
Elisabeth smiled widely. ‘She’s ten now. I’ve told her about the twins, and she’s longing to see them.’
Hardy said stolidly, ‘You could have brought her with you.’
‘I’m supposed to be looking after you!’ Elisabeth actually laughed.
‘Ma. I’ll make the tea, shall I?’ Tom pushed back his chair. ‘Sorry I haven’t got much across. But you get the picture now, don’t you?’
Hildie said, ‘Just like your father. And you haven’t finished. Not really. If you en’t staying here, where are you going?’
‘There’s a job still waiting for me in Cheltenham. Elisabeth and I will buy a house.’
Hildie managed a smile. She was glad that, in the midst of everything, Tom had still been concerned for Viv. Poor Viv. Poor Elisabeth. Hildie felt her chest fill with tears. Hardy tucked her into a corner of the sofa, which smelled of Michael’s regurgitated milk, and settled next to her. They watched the news and drank their tea, and in the kitchen they could hear Tom and Elisabeth washing-up like an old married couple.
Fourteen
NO MORE SNOW fell, and by the next day melting lumps of grey slush were collecting in gulleys, sliding off roofs and dustbin lids.
Hardy telephoned Viv, and told her that Elisabeth’s sore mouth seemed to be spreading to her throat. ‘Hildie thinks she should go home, but she says no – she can handle the twins. We’re all right now. Tired and weak, but no worse than that. The three of us can manage.’
‘What about Tom?’ Viv felt her usual irritation with Tom’s ability to avoid domestic life: after that first burst of efficiency when he had inspected the ‘situation’ he had been quite happy to delegate.
‘He’s up your way. At Tall Trees. Old Jinx en’t too good. Tom says he’ll call on you on his way down. Give you the once-over.’
‘No need. I’m so much better.’
She knew he would come, and sure enough just before she had decided to heat up the rest of Elisabeth’s soup, the front doorbell ping-ponged – and there he was.
‘Elisabeth gave me the key, but I thought I’d warn you first.’
He came in and stood in the hall, taking off his boots. She wished it could have been Elisabeth. Elisabeth had somehow dislodged the truth. That had been no accident.
They went into the living room and he checked the heaters and nodded.
‘She told me she had switched on everything she could find. You must keep warm.’
Viv wanted to say something stupid like, ‘Who’s she, the cat’s mother?’ Instead she went to the grate and loaded on another log. ‘I’m perfectly all right, you know. Enforced rest, of course. But rest, all the same. I’m really sorry to hear about Elisabeth. If you will bring the twins to me, I can manage them while she is ill.’ She felt a longing to ask him where Elisabeth was sleeping. She said aloud, ‘None of my business.’
He looked at her and frowned. ‘Of course it is your business.’
She said, ‘I didn’t mean . . .’ It was all too difficult, and she said honestly, ‘I thought you might not trust the twins with me any more.’
‘Don’t talk rubbish, Viv. You know that’s not true. All the family – all the family except the twins – have got this virus, but there’s four of us down at the cottage and only one of you.’
She held on to the mantelpiece; her legs felt spongy. She nodded. Had he included her in his family? He said, ‘Elisabeth said you were delirious yesterday. But I have to say you seem perfectly normal today.’
They must have discussed her. She straightened with difficulty.
‘Did I say anything to Elisabeth? I can’t remember what I said yesterday. I was out of it.’ She glanced at him, and then away. ‘Do you want some tea or coffee or soup or something?’
‘Nothing.’ He hesitated, slightly bent over the radiator by the window, warming his hands. ‘Listen, Viv, if you’ve got a lot of stuff on your mind, why don’t you try to write it down? Apparently it clarifies things.’
She gave a scornful crow. ‘Good Lord! You’re like the woman from the bereavement group! And I did write some things down, because that’s the only way I could believe they had happened.’ She sat down suddenly on the sofa. ‘I’m not doing that again. Like going into an invisible confessional and talking to an invisible priest. Ridiculous!’ Tears were in her eyes, and she blinked them away furiously.
He moved away from her, closer to the window, waited for a moment, then said, ‘What a bleak view today. The fig tree is dripping.’
She said nothing. She remembered exactly what she had said to Elisabeth the day before, and how the other woman had heard her words and been entirely non-judgemental. Her tears were for David, who must have known . . . everything, and had then hated her. She pulled a long strip of tissue from the roll tucked under a cushion, balled it up, and pressed it against her leaking eyes. Tom glanced at her, and then turned and walked out of the room.
When he came back she had composed herself, fiercely. He set down a mug of tea on one of the tables, then sat on a low stool the other side of it and clutched his knees. She took in the jack-knifed legs, the big hands clasped around them, the dark complexion and curly hair – which made him look Italianate. She thought his strong stocky shape might thicken into middle age before it should if he stayed with Hildie and ate her enormous meals. He was probably twenty years younger than David, but physically they could have been contemporaries.
He said, ‘You could write it in the third person. As if it was someone else completely. Easier that way. Perhaps.’
It occurred to her, suddenly, that someone had suggested he should do this confession thing himself. She could just imagine how he had responded to that. Her silence was scornful. He waited, and when nothing happened, he blurted, ‘You could start by saying that she– this other woman that is yourself and not yourself – was pregnant, but not by her husband.’
Her eyes opened wide. She gasped with the shock. Yet surely she must have realized Elisabeth would tell him?
When her heart slowed slightly she took a deep breath. ‘Did she tell you in front of Hildie?’
‘I take it you mean Elisabeth? She did not tell us very much at all. Certainly not that. I already knew.’
‘Jinx,’ she said dully.
‘Yes. It made no differen
ce to my trust in you. I sort of figured that it would make Joy and Michael even more precious in your eyes.’ He paused, then added, ‘What worried me was this ghost business. The door knob. That made you sound . . . unbalanced.’ He saw her face, and said quickly, ‘I don’t know how else to speak of it, Viv. To you it has been an enormous experience. Perhaps a cathartic one. To me . . . it’s way out of my league.’ He picked up the mug and thrust it at her.
She took it and sipped; it was much too hot.
‘Listen. If you want to talk to anyone . . . I could ask around.’
She stared at him through the steam, and almost laughed. ‘A psychiatrist? What would I say?’
‘A counsellor, probably. She – or he – would encourage you into a place where you would tell them about your childhood. Perhaps that would lead to talking about the father of your baby. And why you were unfaithful to your husband.’ He leaned forward and tried to look encouraging. ‘You must know that you have a lot to discuss.’
‘Actually, no. It’s all very predictable. I don’t need to talk about it, or write it down. I was abused by my father after my mother died. It started when I was eleven. David and I couldn’t have children, officially because I was screwed-up. But also because he was impotent. I loved him for that, of course. That was the attraction. And he loved me for taking the blame.’
‘You poor little sod.’
‘Let me tell you, Tom, your bedside manner stinks.’
He rocked back against his locked knees and laughed. Then sat and looked at her while she drank her tea. Then said, ‘It’s over, Viv. Don’t you see what David has been trying to tell you? It’s all . . . gone. It’s irrelevant. The sky and the sea and space are wonderful. Our feeble attempts to deal with each other are . . .’ He waved his hands.
‘Absurd,’ she supplied, and managed a small smile.
‘Sometimes. Not always.’
She put down her empty mug and nodded. She stared into the fire; so did he. The silence was not difficult. She waited for him to ask about the father of that baby. The baby she had intended to kill. If he wanted to know, he would ask. She had no doubt about that.