Late Call

by Angus Wilson

  “Well, like it or not, he’ll have to have a sedative tonight.” At the door he turned. “Now don’t overdo it. If the Captain needs lifting at all, get one of your grandsons to help you. And for the rest, we’ll see. I’ll find out what the District Nurse can do.”

  She sat close to Arthur, trying to make sense of his jumbled, distorted talk. From time to time she wiped his sweaty forehead and neck with eau de cologne tissues, or stroked his hair, but touch seemed to bring her no nearer than hearing. He was less restless and flushed now, and his mumbling died away into tight, scraping breaths. Although the sound was more familiar—herald of so many bouts of bronchitis—she longed to shake him, to force some connection between them before he slid into sleep that somehow she feared might be his last. Common sense and kindness were stronger than her fears and she watched him fall asleep with all of a professional nurse’s satisfaction. As he slept she gradually became aware of the patterns and lines and wrinkles that crossed and recrossed his cheeks and his neck. Glistening with beads of sweat, the furrows were outlined and highlighted with the exaggerated clarity which recalled to her the effects she too often got on the tele-screen when she turned the wrong knobs. ‘Do not adjust your set—Do not adjust your set’—but she had no set to adjust.

  She awoke to see Mark looking at her from the doorway. “You were asleep!”

  Someone else shocked! But to him she felt some need to offer defence.

  “I’m not a young woman, Mark, you know. And it’s very late. What is the time?”

  “A little after two. Dad’s sleeping now. How’s Granddad?”

  “He’s sleeping too. So that’s all right.”

  She wanted to laugh. Pulling herself together, she could see by the twitching of his mouth that so did he.

  “Where’s Ray, Mark?” and she wished immediately that they’d had their laugh together. But it was too late: Mark’s face had set in a sadly solemn mould.

  “That’s what upset Dad most. I mean Ray’s not being at the meeting. I’ve had to pretend that he’d be back at any minute, because I couldn’t risk the shock this might give Dad.” He handed her a sheet of paper covered in Ray’s handwriting. “I saw it in time to suppress it.” Sylvia puzzled out the crabbed hand.

  “Sorry, all, but I’ve gone to London for Good. You’ll probably know why tomorrow. Don’t think too hard of me. I’m not in trouble as far as I can tell. But after what’s happened to Wilf I can’t stay on in Carshall. It’s a bugger, but there it is. And I’ve let you down, Dad, about the meeting. But Mark’ll be there and he’s worth twelve of me. Anyway, good luck and don’t care about it too much. Damn the lot of them!”

  She put the note down on the bed table.

  “I don’t understand it, Mark. Why should Ray be in trouble?”

  Mark looked at her for a moment so carefully, as though she was something he was pricing at a shop. But then he looked away again.

  “I don’t know, Gran. But whatever it is you can be sure Ray’s in the right.”

  “Yes, of course, dear. I just don’t know. What’s happened to Mr. Corney anyway?”

  Now Mark glared at her challengingly. “I rang Wilf Corney’s lodgings. He gassed himself last night. His landlady said Ray had rung this morning, so he must have known.”

  “Oh, the poor man! Wasn’t there anyone he could turn to? He always seemed so full of life, Mark.”

  “Well, he isn’t now.”

  “No dear, but, well, I think 7 understand how easily it could happen. Poor Ray! No wonder he was upset. They were such good friends. It must have been too awful for him not to be able to help. But he should have told us . . .”

  “You’re not to blame him whatever happens, Gran. Ray’s the best of the lot of us. I can tell you that.”

  “Blame him! Of course, I shouldn’t. Why, Ray’s been wonderful to me. Better than anyone here. I mean ...”

  “That’s all right. I’m glad you know it. He’s taken all of us on. And we have to stand by him now if he needs us.”

  “But of course, dear. I don’t understand but . . . Only surely you should have shown your father that note. If he’s worrying where Ray is, on top of everything else, I mean.”

  “At the moment Dad can’t think of anyone but himself. Except Mum. Oh, I can understand how it is. But if he reacted to Ray’s troubles in that way, I think I’d walk out on him. And just for now, at any rate, I can be useful here, so I don’t want to . . .”

  “I see, dear. Well, as I said, I’m not as young as I was and there’s going to be a tiring time ahead of us. I think I’ll go off to bed now. I’m a light sleeper. If your Granddad should wake, I’ll hear him.”

  She could tell that he was as glad to end the conversation as she was. It was never any good discussing important thing’s late at night when you’re tired and strained, was it?

  Arthur in the morning seemed a bit dopy. But she could understand a little now of what he said, though his voice was very weak. She had to help him hold his cup of tea to his mouth.

  “If I’ve got to be fed like a bloody baby, the sooner I go the better,” and when a drop of tea slopped on to his pyjama jacket, “Bloody cow,” he called her. But she’d known he’d be fretful. She also knew that Dr. Piggott would feel satisfied with his prediction of recovery. And Arthur, of course, brightened up for strangers.

  “I’ve got to be all right for the last Test, Doctor.”

  “What? Are you playing for England then, Captain?”

  “I could still make circles round these blighters. I’ve never seen such a lousy team as this season’s lot.”

  “The old chap’s going along very nicely. But you mustn’t overdo it. I’ve spoken to Nurse and she’ll look in twice a day for the time being.”

  He appeared almost as satisfied with Harold’s condition.

  “He only needs a rest. He’s still harping a bit on this Goodchild’s Meadow. But I’ve told young Mark to distract his mind over this week-end. As soon as the Captain’s better, I think Harold ought to take a holiday before term starts. Though mind you, once he gets back into the swim . . . Anyhow, I think he’d like to see you now. I’ve told him to stop in bed a couple of days. After all, he’s a reading man. . . .”

  But Harold didn’t stop in bed. As Mark and Sylvia were relaxing over a cup of coffee in the kitchen, he appeared, fully dressed.

  “I’m sorry to hear about Dad. I looked in to see him, but he was sleeping. Piggott says he’ll be up and about in a few days. Quite frankly it’s a blessing in disguise. It’ll keep him out of mischief. And we can’t afford any of the old man’s little tricks at the moment. I shall have my hands quite full enough putting some guts into that Committee.”

  He reached out for a ginger nut and stuffed it hungrily into his mouth so that he appeared to speak through a deadening blanket. “Some people might say I’d gone about things in the wrong way last night. But I’ve thought about it seriously and I’m quite sure I did the right thing. Both Raven and Muriel needed blowing up. I shall go over to ‘Sorbetts’ this morning and I don’t mind saying that I’m pretty certain I shall find a very chastened Muriel when I get there.”

  He glared defiantly at his son and his mother, then: “Any news of Ray?”

  “No, Dad. But you can be sure that he’s just gone away for a few days on business.”

  “Gone away for a few days at a moment like this? Without any warning? Well, he can stay away. Your mother and I never asked anything of you children unless your heart was in giving it to us. And that goes for everyone as far as I am concerned. If people don’t feel as strongly about the iniquitous way the Corporation’s behaving at the moment, well, of course, they’re perfectly entitled to their opinion. Goodchild’s Meadow is not the centre of the universe, but at the moment it happens to be the centre of mine. As long as that’s understood all round, I daresay we shall get along all right.”

  He gulped down a cup of coffee as though to give them time to reply, but no answer came.

  “It
was very good of you to come back here last night, Mark. But there’s no obligation on you whatsoever to stay here. Indeed I suppose you must be getting your inoculations or what-have-you for abroad. To which of these under-developed countries are you giving your services? I should have asked before.”

  “I’m not leaving Carshall, Dad. I’ve got my H.N.C. with endorsements. No more Tech. As a matter of fact, when it came to the written, I realised how much ... I mean you were right, Dad, they seem to think I’m cut out for this. And certainly when we were in Mostar and Sarajevo I didn’t seem to get on too well with the Serbs. Priscilla White—she was with our party—said she’d never seen anything more like the traditional Englishman abroad. Mind you, I think if we’d been in Zagreb . . . they say the Croats are altogether easier. But then as Pris says, if you’re going to do famine relief work you can’t pick and choose. Anyway I can’t go back on it now. I’m entered at the Institute. So with any luck, Gran, in a few years your spotty grandson will be Mark Calvert, A.M.I.E.E. . ‘. .”

  His voice died away. Harold was abstracted.

  “Good, old man, jolly good. I’m sure you’ve done the right thing.”

  Sylvia felt the heaviness of the silence. She gave Mark a kiss on his pimply cheek. “I’m so pleased, dear, so very pleased and proud.”

  She trusted that he couldn’t detect how far away from him her thoughts were also.

  “Thank you, Gran. Anyway, that means I may as well shift back here, if it suits you all right, Dad.”

  Harold didn’t answer, he was glaring into the distance. Sylvia felt that she couldn’t answer for him.

  “So I’ll just pop round to the Forresters and pack my things and I’ll be back to help with the dinner. Don’t you budge, Dad. You ought to be in bed.”

  Harold spoke bitterly when Mark had gone. “In bed! I wonder if it occurs to any of them with their feather beds of security and ladders of opportunity and hire-purchase homes and the rest of the clap-trap, that some of us have to keep awake however much it hurts, to see that the whole pleasant dream doesn’t vanish overnight. ...”

  Sylvia was used to Harold’s speeches being difficult to follow as he packed down the tobacco in the bowl of his pipe and sucked and puffed between every second word. But at the moment he seemed to her as confused as Arthur. He began to pace up and down the room.

  “Not that I’m putting the whole blame on the young. Far from it. Look at last night’s exhibition. I’ve known Herbert Raven a long time and he’s never had any real guts, but I didn’t dream in my worst moments that he’d sink to last night’s depths. It will give me a good deal of satisfaction to obtain a vote of no-confidence in his chairmanship. And it can be done. It’s just a question of rallying the right group. I’ve been far too led away by friendship. I’m a funny chap, Mother, I’ll go on trusting and trusting, but when finally my eyes are opened, then nothing in heaven or earth will move me. And so that bitch Muriel Bartley’s going to find out. Dad’s got a lot of faults, but I’ll give him his due, he saw through her pretty quickly. Of course, I know what’ll happen, she’ll make an appeal to her friendship with Beth. Well, that won’t wash with me. If Beth had lived, Muriel Bartley would have stayed in the sort of subordinate positions she’s capable of filling in public life. Good God! When I think of all Beth did for her and the way she’s treated me. ...”

  Sylvia could see no way to stop the ever faster and more angry flow of words. But luckily the bell rang.

  “I think that’s probably the District Nurse, dear. Anyway, I must just see after Dad. Now don’t you move from here until you’ve had your lunch.”

  But far from moving, Harold was already seated in an armchair. “I’ve never asked for thanks, only for a little loyalty.” He didn’t seem to be speaking to her, so she went to the front door.

  It was indeed Nurse Hepburn, bright and Scots with a flat-cheeked face like a bannock and an underhung jaw. Sylvia hoped that her jollying-along, domineering manner wouldn’t grate on Arthur as it did immediately on her. However they wanted her assistance and they must pay for it.

  She went into the bedroom to prepare Arthur for Nurse’s arrival. He was not asleep but he refused to open his eyes. She shouted at him. Then one eye opened to glare malevolently at her. He managed to get out some words with wheezing and straining.

  “Where the hell have you been? I might have been dead for all you care. And you can tell that ruddy cow of a nurse to stay out. ...”

  The violent words sounded pathetic in his weakened voice.

  “Och, we’re in a difficult mood, aren’t we? Well, that only shows that we’re well on the way to making a recovery. In fact, we’re a bit of a fraud. . . .”

  Sylvia waited for an explosion, but there was none. Arthur shut his eyes again.

  “Have we had a wash today?”

  Nurse Hepburn signalled to Sylvia to leave them. She felt quite guilty at deserting Arthur, for as the nurse began to assemble the basin and soap and talcum powder, she looked like one of those inquisition people with their instruments. Sylvia picked up Ray’s letter and went downstairs. She had another duty in her mind.

  Sure enough, as she had expected, Harold was still sitting in the armchair. As she came in, he stood up and began immediately. “I hope you don’t suppose, Mother, that I’ve asked anything of them. Neither Beth nor I have ever asked anything. We were simply content that they should find some fulfilment in life. That was quite enough reward for us. . . .”

  “But Harold, dear, think of Mark’s news. Just what you wanted. Think how well he’s done. Beth would have been so pleased and proud, I know. Do say a word to the boy, Harold, when he comes back.”

  “Judy, Mark, Ray. Not one of them that hasn’t thought of themselves. Mark’s quite content to return because it suits him. All right, if he wants to use the place as a hotel. And Judy, too, when she’s not staying away with her grand friends. But Ray, I must say I never thought . . . Well, he can stop away now. I ...”

  Sylvia stamped her foot violently on the floor. “Oh, shut up, Harold! I, I, I. You don’t deserve to have such good children. I don’t know a nicer lad than Ray. He’s in some sort of trouble, and all you can do is to go on about yourself. They spoil you! ‘Dad mustn’t be worried.’ Mark hasn’t even shown you this.” She put Ray’s note in his hand. As he read it, Harold burst into tears, great gulping sobs like a small child out of control. They came to her from the past—the occasional, sudden uncontrolled sobbing of Harold or of Len. She’d always told them that the Calverts didn’t go on like that; that making an exhibition of themselves wouldn’t help them; that they must be manly like their Dad. Now she put her arms round Harold and held him tight to her. Being a fat feather-bed is of help for once, she thought; and it’s too late now, my girl, you should have done it years ago; he doesn’t want his mother now, he wants. ... As Harold’s sobbing became less violent, what he wanted did in fact pour forth.

  “Oh, God! Mother, how I miss her. We weren’t just any ordinary marriage—she was everything to me. And they don’t care. Not any of the three of them. They don’t miss her. They’re giad she’s dead.”

  “Now, Harold, they’re growing up, that’s all.”

  “I can’t get through to them, Mother. It’s all a thick fog. I hate them. They hate me. And I promised her, promised that I’d keep us together. I’ve let them all go. They can’t talk to me. I feel as though I was walking through a dark tunnel, I work and work to try to get out of it that way.”

  “You can’t, Harold, not really, I think. Not once you’re in it.”

  “Good God, Mother, I’m not a coward.”

  “I didn’t think you were, dear. But that doesn’t really help. You have to go on through it.”

  “And supposing there’s no end to it?”

  “It’s a bit of luck if there is, I think. At any rate, it was for me. Otherwise, without luck ...”

  She could only hold him tightly. But she was not surprised when his loneliness and panic refused any further
comfort. He suddenly wrenched himself free from her embrace, so that she was pushed back against the chair. Once again she thought, Lucky I’m a feather-bed. He shouted, “For God’s sake, leave me alone!”

  Once again she thought—You’re too late, my girl, he needs someone else than you, thank God.

  They must have looked a tableau of misery, for when Mark came in on them, his face set into a self-conscious grin.

  “I don’t know why your brother Ray’s misfortunes should amuse you so much.”

  Sylvia saw suddenly how subtle the unhappy are in finding means to hurt others.

  Mark’s anger was loosed on her. “You silly old fool! Why on earth have you always got to meddle?”

  “I meant . . .”

  There was no point in saying what she had meant, but she replied to Mark: “Mark, both your father and I want to know how to help Ray.”

  “Why have I been kept out of this, Mark?”

  Suddenly Mark’s normal slight stutter turned to an agony of incoherence. Red in the face, he was reduced to banging his chest with his fist as though to force out the words. Indeed they came out in a rush.

  “Ray’s never liked girls. If you couldn’t see, he couldn’t tell vou. And you’re not to say anything against him.”

  Through her own puzzled thoughts, Sylvia could watch Harold’s body stiffen and yet she could sense that he was at last a little relaxed in his cage of misery.

  “You mean that he’s homosexual.” He sounded deliberately casual, but his surprise would out. “Ray! He’s so popular, so good with everyone. . . . Oh, well, it’s not the end of the world. I’m not entirely Victorian, you know, Mark. But I don’t know that you’ll want to hear all this, Mother.”

  “Why shouldn’t I? If it’s to help Ray. . . . Oh, you mean because he’s a homosexual—I never knew how to pronounce it before, but you see the word so often in the papers and books and things nowadays, don’t you? I don’t know. I hadn’t thought of it connected with anyone I love. But there it is, we’ll have to think about it now, won’t we? Don’t look so worried, Harold. I’m an old woman, not a child. You’re being like Arthur. How shocked he was when I said what it was—what men did together. One of the sisters told me when I was in service at the hospital. She put it very crudely. I think she did it on purpose. It upset me rather. But then years later there was all that trouble with young Vic, the porter at Lowestoft, and I had to see it differently because he needed help. You wouldn’t know about that—you and Len were just kids and my main thought was for you not to find out.”