by Susan Sallis
She was shocked at first, then almost reassured. He was still there, Jinx the Irascible. She leaned closer still and mimicked his sarcasm. ‘I like the bed-jacket. Blue for a boy.’
His face moved, as if he might be trying to smile. ‘It’s hers. I got her in the end.’
She thought it better not to question exactly what he meant. But she smiled at him, and said, ‘I’ve brought you something you might like to give to her, actually. She told me it saved your life once.’
His eyes appeared again, his mouth took shape, he took a short, trembling breath. ‘That day. You came to see me. You put it on the table. I wanted it. But it was yours. It’s still yours.’ It was as if his vocal cords were grinding each word.
‘No. Not any more. I rather think it belongs to anyone who needs a love-token. You found it once. I found it once. Perhaps it saved both our lives. Then it was given to me. Now I give it to you.’ She wriggled the door knob out of her pocket, took his skeletal hand in hers, and fitted the two together. She held them there for a long moment, and felt him tremble inwardly. Then she released them. Very slowly, with great effort, he brought his other hand across the turned-back sheet and clasped two hands around the door knob. Viv had an enormous sense of something coming to an end. She waited.
After a while she thought he was sleeping, and began to withdraw her fingers across the sheet and on to her lap. But then his head moved infinitesimally, and she saw that gleam from his sunken eyes again. She leaned forward so that he could see her face.
‘Are you all right, Jinx?’ What a ridiculous question. Yet, so unusually for him, he did not deal with it as such. He knew what she meant.
He nodded, once, twice. ‘Thank you.’ The rasp was a whisper. ‘The most romantic thing in the world.’
She whispered back, surprised. ‘Yes. I suppose it is.’
She put her hand back over his and stared down at them. Three hands clasped around a Victorian door knob that had been cemented firmly into a wall and then released. Three very odd romances.
He made a ghastly choking sound, and she clutched him and looked up again, terrified he was going to go then and there.
But the cough had cleared his lungs for an instant, and he spoke almost clearly. ‘I’ve told no one. I never understood it. But I’ve liked you . . . respected you . . . if you thought it was right, then I trust that. He was my best friend, I loved him. If it was his fault, then he was sorry. I know he was sorry.’
She had no idea whether her tears were for Jinx, or for David, or were simply tears of relief that her secret was still hers. For ever, now. She hung on to the back of his gnarled hand, and lowered her head, and watched her own tears fall on to the immaculate turned-down sheet. It could have lasted like that for a few minutes or an hour, there was no sense of passing time, until, prosaically, she had to blow her nose. Then she saw that his eyes were still open and – she was almost certain – were smiling.
He met her searching gaze, and whispered, ‘Ask her to come to me.’ She nodded and put away her handkerchief, stood up. He made the choking sound again, and she waited. He added, ‘Try to live again. Don’t hold it by yourself any longer.’
She stood up and shook her head, though she did not understand. Then she touched his hand again, saying goodbye, to him and the love-token, and she crossed the nursing station, opened the opposite door and said to the two nurses inside, ‘Can you tell me where Juniper Stevens is? Jinx would like to see her now.’
They both stood up; one of them was Belle. She took Viv’s arm and piloted her gently back through the narrow-panelled passage. The other nurse went straight to Jinx.
Juniper seemed to be expecting a summons. She was in the large sitting room downstairs where, not that long ago, Viv had first shown Jinx the door knob.
‘I said to the doctor – Hildie’s boy – I said as how I thought he would go today, and he wanted to see you before he left.’ Juniper tried to get out of her wheelchair and fell back. Belle put a hand on her shoulder, and turned her towards the door and the lift. Viv walked by her side.
‘He is very weak but he’s making sense. Good sense.’
‘I could’ve told you that, my lovely. He’s gone back in time. Before the nastiness got him.’ Juniper looked up. ‘You go down to Hildie, now. Have a nice cup of tea. Tell her what is happening.’
Viv watched the lift doors close on her, and then went to the side door and let herself out. There was the enormous view of sea and sky again; the tiny piece of the universe that made them all seem small and puny. Absurd.
She walked down the drive to the retaining terrace wall, and stared out at the view, realizing again how beautiful and vast David had made his paintings. She knew that somewhere out there he still existed; maybe the beauty of the skyscape lay in the fact that it was composed of essences of humankind. She rested her arms on the wall, and let random and insignificant ideas and thoughts float through her. Somehow David had managed to separate himself, perhaps assemble himself, from all this beauty in order to make contact with her; perhaps with great difficulty. She had known for certain that the time by the darkness of the lake, back in December, had been a farewell and a forgiveness for both of them; a universal forgiveness.
She was crying again, great gulping tears. She let them drain from her eyes and through her body like a baptism. A literal immersion. Then she blinked fiercely, scrubbed at them with her sodden handkerchief and turned towards her home and – perhaps later – Hildie.
Eighteen
JOHN JINKS’S SOLICITOR was also his executor; he and the funeral directors ‘saw to’ everything. A notice appeared in the local paper in good time for people to attend the service at the parish church, if they wished. It was soon bruited around that, in spite of his many complaints about Tall Trees nursing home, he had left everything he had to them, and as he had never married and had husbanded his money carefully, this was a not inconsiderable legacy.
Hildie exclaimed afterwards about the thirty-four people in the church ‘not counting the vicar and the undertakers’. She was solemnly pleased at such good attendance. ‘I’ve been to four or five funerals of the residents,’ she said to Viv and Juniper. ‘Most of the congregation were from the nursing home – that’s natural, as we’ve had the closest contact. But I didn’t expect Esmé and Winnie to turn up. He loved to rile them, and he usually succeeded. That man from the council – fair enough, Jinx worked for them most of his life. And perhaps someone from that engineering institute or whatever they call themselves. But there were at least half a dozen from both places! Even more doddery than he was. Walking sticks everywhere . . . they always fall down when they’re propped up, have you noticed? Made a regular clatter . . .’
Viv had attended the service but not gone on to Tall Trees for drinks and sandwiches afterwards. She thought that after the bequest such hospitality was probably seen by the owners as obligatory, but Hildie shook her head. ‘They’ve had bequests before and never seen the need to do this. The residents just loved it. You should have seen Juniper doing the hostess. And Belle got a marriage proposal!’
Viv laughed and then sobered. ‘It never stops,’ she commented. Then, abruptly, ‘I gave him the door knob for Juniper, Hildie.’
Hildie was silent for some time. At last she nodded consideringly. ‘A good thing to do. She’s keeping quiet about it, so it must be important to her.’ She lifted her tea cup. ‘Well done, Viv. Does this mean you are letting go at last?’
‘I don’t know. I really don’t know.’
‘When Tom and the babies go back to Cheltenham, will you go back to running half the night away?’ Hildie tried to make it light.
‘I don’t know,’ Viv repeated.
‘Do you remember when we went to the cinema? Last winter, just before the twins were born?’
‘Of course. How could I forget that?’
Hildie smiled ruefully. ‘So much has happened since then. Well, I thought I understood how you felt that day. I can’t remember what you said .
. . but I realized that you had had a difficult childhood – and then the accident. But the way you have worked and worked! The way you have stood by me! By all of us.’ She smiled. ‘Don’t be embarrassed, Viv, it’s true. I – we – could not have managed without you. I just hope and pray you won’t have to go back to running.’
Viv shook her head, denying what Hildie found praiseworthy. She said, ‘If I do, it will be to connect with everything around me. I’ll try not to run away again.’ She lifted her shoulders helplessly. ‘You know, Hildie, all the stuff I did in the garden, everything, really, it’s just been another way of running away.’
Hildie shook her head more vigorously than Viv had. ‘Don’t tell me lies, Viv Venables. Looking after Mike and Joy hasn’t been running anywhere. It’s been work, and it’s been happiness. I’ve got eyes, you know.’
They both laughed. Viv thought of the laughter she had shared with this woman. And with Juniper Stevens. That would go on. That would heal the final memory. There would be no need to run again.
She walked many of her old running routes. Some she simply did not remember, others, along the coastal path, would not take the twin buggy. She had not realized they were all so beautiful. One narrow, rutted lane stopped abruptly at a stile. She put the brake on the buggy and sat on top of the ancient ridged wood structure, wondering how long these awkward old pedestrian gateways would be permitted. Below her the twins talked to each other, punching the air to emphasize various points; they thoroughly enjoyed the bumpy rides. She stared across a field starred with daisies, and remembered the nature walks of her teaching days, when the local children had tried to teach her the old country names of their wild flowers. ‘Not sorrel, miss. We calls it the vinegar plant. And that there, that’s egg and bacon. No, tis all right, miss – you can eat it – when it’s fresh like that it’s called bread and cheese . . .’ How wonderful it had been to spend so much time with children who were not frightened. Who could explore their environment carefully and with interest, instead of looking for hiding places, running down alleys, crouching between pews in deserted churches . . . She got off the stile as Joy began to grumble, and joggled the buggy back down the lane. ‘Home again, home again, jiggity-jig.’ She laughed down at them playing their favourite game. It looked like they were pretending they were in a train. They jiggled about and made ‘choo choo’ noises, Mike first, and placid Joy echoing him.
In July Elisabeth brought her daughter, Maisie, to meet the older Hardys, and Mick relaxed his rules and loaded everyone in his van so they could visit Viv and her bungalow.
Maisie did not look like her mother; she was just eleven years old and was already taller than Elisabeth. She was as lean and gangly as Viv, her white-blonde hair in a long ponytail, her blue eyes rather apprehensive as they unloaded the babies and all crowded down the hall. She smiled and shook Viv’s hand very formally, but said nothing. Then she went into the living room and was confronted by the steep fall of the garden and then the sea and sky.
She reached for her mother’s hand. ‘You didn’t tell me this,’ she said. She looked at Viv. ‘It’s like an eagle’s nest. Like we could take off. Like we could fly.’
Viv laughed, nodding. Elisabeth said, ‘I looked out of the window before, of course, but I don’t think I actually saw anything except the snow.’
Maisie was transformed. She had to hold Mike, then Joy, and point out everything: from the fig tree to a container ship apparently floating above the sea. Viv tried to explain how often the horizon melted into the sky. She said, ‘My husband was fascinated by it, too, Maisie. He tried to paint it.’
‘Can I see?’ Maisie propped the twins expertly into the sofa. ‘I’m, like, going to be an artist when I grow up. Daddy thinks I’ve got a good eye. So do you, don’t you, Mum?’
‘We should have brought your sketch pad and stuff,’ Elisabeth said.
Viv said, ‘Well, let’s have tea and cake. Then perhaps I can find some old sketches . . .’ She caught Tom’s eye and petered out.
He said, ‘You’ve got a couple of those skyscapes in the dining room. May I show Maisie?’
‘Of course.’ Maisie followed Tom out, skipping occasionally. Viv did not follow. She felt helpless. ‘Shall I put the kettle on?’ she asked the others.
Hildie and Mick were settled either side of the babies. Elisabeth said, ‘I’ll come and help. I loved your kitchen that day I was here, before the dreaded lurgy got me, too!’ She laughed and followed Viv down the hall. ‘I thought I’d got my usual sore mouth. What a time that was!’ They went into the kitchen, where the trolley was laid ready. She said, ‘Oh, Viv. You’ve got it so – so—’
Viv said quickly, ‘I had to sort things out properly. Because of the twins.’
‘But you’ve kept the warm feeling. You wanted me to be a nanny. And you’ve made yourself one. The house says it all, so secure and stable.’
She was laughing, but Viv said soberly, ‘You told me it was your role then. And it became mine.’
Elisabeth passed the tea caddy. ‘It helps to have a role, doesn’t it? It’s the way I juggle things, too. Half a nanny, half a mother, half of a relationship.’
Viv heard the sadness behind the flippancy. She said, ‘That’s too many halves by half!’ She put the cosy on to the teapot. ‘But you’re right. It is good to have a role.’ She smiled. ‘You know I wish you all the best – you and Tom and your lovely Maisie, and Mike and Joy . . . mother of a big family! Have you come up here to tell us when it will begin?’
‘Not really. We think we’ve found a house. Maisie has got a place in a good school next September, and it’s just around the corner. Not too far from the health centre for Tom and me. But nothing is signed or sealed. Money is tight, and we need an enormous mortgage.’ She made a face. ‘You know . . . all the little snags.’
‘You’ll cope with them. Maisie adores the twins, I can see that. Is she all right with Tom?’
‘I think so. It’s difficult for her, she’s used to having two mothers, but not two fathers. How would you have felt if your father had remarried?’
Viv said emphatically, ‘I would have been delighted. Relieved. This role thing again . . . if a child has to take on the role of the departed husband or wife, it becomes too much.’
‘You were expected to fill your mother’s shoes?’ Elisabeth saw the shadow cross Viv’s face. She said quickly, ‘It wasn’t like that for Maisie.’
Viv cleared her throat almost angrily. ‘She knew that you were alone. Probably upset. She might have felt guilty because she still loved her father. And it sounds as if she and her stepmother get on well, too. More guilt.’ Viv got one of her Victoria sponges from a tin and fetched a knife. ‘Believe me, most children are pleased when that awful gap is filled by someone else.’ She smiled again; her mouth trembled. ‘Would you cut this cake for me?’
Elisabeth took the knife. ‘Is it another marmalade sponge? I’ve used marmalade ever since that day in March.’
‘Have you?’ Viv was grateful again for the way Elisabeth could change the conversation so easily. ‘Actually I meant to get some raspberry jam. I thought Maisie would prefer something sweet.’
‘Well, I see you have chocolate biscuits, too.’ Elisabeth finished cutting and found a place on the trolley for the plate. ‘Viv, are you going to be all right? You can come and stay whenever you like – I’d love that. I’ve been too busy to make many friends, and we get on really well.’
Viv swallowed fiercely and nodded, quite unable to speak. Elisabeth went on, carried away. ‘Why don’t you try a new life completely, and live with us? I’m sure I could get you a job in reception at the health centre. Or you could teach again. It would be simply marvellous! Why didn’t we think of it before? Maisie obviously likes you, and you like her, and you’re so good with the twins. That sounds as if I expect you to look after all the children! But of course I don’t mean that. Just share them with us.’
‘Oh . . . oh no. Really. You’re so kind – so sweet. My li
fe is here. I have to make it here, until there’s a proper base from which to . . . go.’ Viv fought tears and a sudden terror. She cut through Elisabeth’s persuasive protests. ‘Honestly, Elisabeth. Tom has been very kind but . . . after all, until the twins arrived he did not know me . . . and the two of you need your space. It simply wouldn’t work. But the fact that you thought of it and suggested it . . . I will visit, I promise. It took just an hour to drive to Cheltenham when I went last. I could babysit now and then. If you like.’
Elisabeth saw she had gone too far, and said that would be marvellous. ‘But you’ve got it wrong about Tom. I know he sounds rather – brief – at times, but he thinks a great deal of you, Viv. You speak of guilt. He feels that you and he share a terrible burden of guilt. He can talk about his guilt – to me and to his parents. He says he has tried to get you to talk to him about yours, but you cannot.’
‘There’s nothing to say, Elisabeth. Things have happened . . . nobody could understand unless they had been there . . . experienced these things for themselves.’ Viv shook her head. ‘Let’s take the tea in, now. And don’t worry about me. Please. As a matter of fact, I wrote some things down as they happened – so that I wouldn’t forget the details.’
‘Oh . . . does Tom know?’
‘I can’t remember . . .’
‘May I tell him? He would be so pleased. He has written a lot of stuff himself. In the third person. Says it helps.’
Viv said nothing as she pushed the trolley down the hall. She was amazed that Tom needed to write down his feelings. She accepted that Elisabeth knew a different Tom . . . for instance she was fairly certain that Tom had never ‘talked to’ his parents in the way he had to Elisabeth. That was probably why he had written down some of his thoughts. And it must have worked because he had wanted her to do the same thing. Just for an instant she wondered whether it would work for her.
Maisie was shy again during tea. She sat close to her mother and listened as Hildie told them all about Juniper and her romance with John Jinks.