However, it wasn’t until I saw Mike’s hairy face that the built-up emotions in me were set free and, held in his arms, I went into a paroxysm of weeping as I had once done when I had lost Bill. But now, I hadn’t only lost a dog, this time I had lost my love, my stay, that wonderful man who had told a small plain partially deformed woman that he loved her.
Mike let me cry for a while; and then, in that voice of his I remembered from the surgery days, he said, ‘Now that’s enough. Come on. That’s enough. Life’s out there; it’s got to be seen to. Now, you either stop or I give you the needle, and that’ll put you to sleep for the next twenty-four hours. What about it?’
Presently I choked to a standstill and, sitting on the couch, my head on his shoulder, I whimpered, ‘What am I going to do, Mike?’ and he answered practically, ‘What all women in your position have to do, or go under: face up to the fact that your life has changed, the pattern has altered; you’ve got to start, as it were, cutting out a different frock.’
It was later that evening when I was sitting, dull and slumped, that he said, ‘I like that little fellow. Nardy wanted you to adopt him, didn’t he?’
I was brought from my lethargy and my eyes widened as I said, ‘He told you?’
‘Oh, yes; I had a letter from him a few weeks ago.’
‘You did?’ The surprise in my voice made him repeat, ‘Yes, I did. Is there anything strange about that?’
Yes, there was, because Nardy hadn’t told me he had written. I couldn’t remember posting a letter in Nardy’s handwriting to Mike. I would have remarked on it at the time had I done so.
‘So, what about it? There’s little chance of you having any of your own, you know, after that bad do you had. You must think about it.’
‘Oh.’ I shook my head. ‘It’s impossible. I told Nardy. He’s got a houseful of uncles and aunts, and a mix-up of his parents, and a grandmother…’
‘And the whole bunch would likely jump at the chance of your taking him on.’
‘I can’t see it that way, not…not at the moment.’
‘Well, leave it. But it’s a good idea. And don’t forget, it was Nardy’s wish.’ Then he said, ‘What’s up with Gran? She’s not her usual breezy self.’
‘She’s jealous of Janet, I think.’
‘Oh. Oh, I see.’ Mike nodded. ‘Of course, she would be. She looks upon you as her own bit of property, and she’s too old to let go. Women are queer cattle. Do you intend to go on living here?’
‘Oh, yes, yes.’
‘You wouldn’t think about coming back to Fellburn?’
‘No, no. Never.’
‘What will you do with yourself then? Have you made any really close friends?’
I hadn’t to think for an answer, but again said, ‘No. No, I haven’t.’
‘Then, you’re going to find life very bare, my dear.’
‘I’ll get through.’
After a moment’s pause he put his arm round my shoulder, saying, ‘Yes, yes, of course you will.’
Mike’s departure the following day left the house empty of male influence, except for the boy in the kitchen. And it was to be deprived still further, before very long, of female influence this time.
At about eleven o’clock of the morning of the day before Christmas Eve I was sitting in the drawing room staring at the fire, thinking of our first Christmas together, and the house all decorated. And my tears were about to spring from my eyes again when the door opened and Janet came in. She had a cup of coffee on a tray, and after placing it on a side table, she looked down at me and said, ‘Ma’am, I’m sorry to say this, but that kitchen isn’t big enough for the two of us, I mean for Mrs Carter and me. I’m upset as it is. I’m missin’ Mr Nardy, you know that ma’am, but somehow, she just won’t fit in. She keeps going for the lad. Oh, I know I go for him, but there’s different ways of goin’ for a child. And he understands me. Anyway, ma’am, until she’s gone I’ll cut me hours down to two in the morn…’
‘Well! You won’t have long to wait if that’s the case. I know when I’m not wanted.’
Neither of us had heard Gran come into the room. In full war cry, she now approached us, and when I held up my hand, pleading, ‘Gran, this is not the time … ‘ she interrupted, ‘There’ll never be a better! Who does some people think they are any road? Here’s me, knowin’ you all your life.’
‘Gran!’ I actually screamed the name, at the same time getting to my feet. ‘I can’t stand this,’ I said; ‘I can’t. I can’t.’
I watched Janet bow her head, then turn and hurry from the room. And there we were, Gran and I, facing each other. And now, my voice calmer, I said, ‘What’s the matter with you, Gran? Here I am, in this state of not knowing what I’m going to do without Nardy, and you acting like…like…’
‘Like what, lass? Like what?’ Her voice was harsh.
And mine was equally harsh now as I replied, ‘Well, not like yourself, the understanding woman that I’ve always known.’
‘Well, when we’re gettin’ down to home truths, you’re not like yourself either, an’ haven’t been since you came to live up in this quarter. You’ve grown away from us.’
‘That’s not fair; I’ve done no such thing. But…but we’ve all changed since the fire.’
Quite suddenly I saw the stiffness go out of her body, and she let out a deep sigh, saying, ‘Aye, since the fire. Perhaps you’re right, nothin’s been the same.’ Then her voice taking on the edge of its former tone, she said, ‘But there I was, dashing up here to look after you an’ see to things, an’ what do I find? Her runnin’ the place; an’ that lad. He’s a cheeky little bugger and wants puttin’ in his place. And that’s all I’ve tried to do. What there’s about him you can take to, God alone knows.’
At a different time I could have laughed and replied, Because he’s a male replica of yourself, Gran. Instead, I said, ‘I’ve already explained to you that Janet has been in this house since Nardy was a baby, and she’s been very good and helped to look after him…and…and obliging me…’
‘Oh yes, that’s her favourite word; I’m obligin’. That maddens me; you would think she was doin’ it for nothin’. She gets a good enough screw I bet, besides rollin’ in it, I would say, with eight of ’em.’
‘She isn’t rolling in it, Gran. The eight of them, I think, are without exception all hanging on to her…You’ve never tried to get to know her.’
‘An’ I don’t want to. She’s a different kind from me. All them down here are.’
‘That’s prejudice, Gran.’
‘Aye, well, you can put what name you like to it. It’s always been the same an’ it always will, the north and the south are like two different countries. As somebody said in the club the other night, we’re nearer to the Germans than we are to the southerners. An’ I think he was right.’
I had a retort to make to this, but I stilled my tongue as I thought, Yes, perhaps, she’s right, for, as long as there were people with closed minds like herself, the north and the south would be at variance. And which side was at fault? More so us, I thought, we northerners, for we were insular, we were afraid to move away from the known. And there was a thread of bumptiousness running through our genes to cover up our feelings of inadequacy. The result was, I’m as good as thee, lad. And everybody who tried to rise above the norm, was an upstart.
But yet Gran was right in one way, I had changed. My outlook and opinions now weren’t those I held three years ago, even apart from the tyranny I’d undergone under Stickle.
I looked at Gran now. Her head was bowed and the tears were oozing from under her lashes. Quickly I went to her and put my arms about her, saying, ‘Don’t…don’t cry, please.’
She sniffed, wiped her eyes, then said, ‘I feel ashamed of meself, lass. I shouldn’t have gone on like this. But to tell you the truth, I’m missin’ the bairns an’ one thing an’ another.’
Again I thought, how odd human nature was. Gone from her was the idea that the bairns ju
st belonged to Mary and had no connection with her son: they were her bairns now, she was their gran. And the one thing and another that she referred to was her bingo, and her club nights. She had been told how sorely she had been missed at the club during her illness, and I could well imagine it: she was a voice there; she could be amusing; she was the one who could start up a sing-song; she was the one to get things going. I had never thought up to this moment about the contrast between her life in Fellburn and that which she was experiencing in this house. If I had, I should have imagined that she would have looked upon the sojourn with me as a holiday, even under the present circumstances. But no, she had been bred in the north. She had lived there all her life; she was a woman of the north, and of her particular class, let’s face it, of her particular class, in which she was happy. Take her, and any other like her, out of it, and what happened? Conflict, unhappiness. To put it in her own words, A fish out of water.
‘Would you like to go home, Gran? Now, now’—I patted her cheek—‘I’m all right here. You haven’t got to worry about me. I’ve got to face up to my kind of life, and it’s to be lived in this house where all the memories of Nardy are. I’ve got to get used to being on my own some time or other; and…and I’ll have my work…’
What was I talking about, having my work? I didn’t think I’d ever put pencil to paper again; there was no incentive. As for my imaginary friends? They had vanished as surely as Nardy had done. My mind had, as it were, become merely a receptacle for pain and a new kind of loneliness. While I was married to Stickle, I longed to be alone; only when I was alone did I have any peace. But after my life was joined to Nardy’s, I was alone when I wasn’t with him: there was always the fact that he would be in for tea, that we would lie side by side through the night, that we’d have the weekends together. Now what stretched before me? I didn’t know. I couldn’t visualise how time would be filled.
‘What did you say, Gran?’
‘I said, lass, are you sure you wouldn’t mind if I went home?’
‘No, of course not. And you would like to be there for the holidays, wouldn’t you?’
‘Aw, lass, I couldn’t leave you by yourself here on Christmas Day.’
‘Now look, don’t you worry. Alice Freeman is determined to yank me off for Christmas, and for as long as I’d like to stay afterwards. I’ve had invitations, too, from here and there. So I’ve got a choice. Now look, I’ll send a telegram off, and I’ll put you on the afternoon train.’
‘Oh, no, lass, I couldn’t leave you like that, not at a minute’s notice.’
‘Well, if you don’t go today, you won’t be able to get on a seat on the train tomorrow.’
‘I feel I’m desertin’ you, lass.’
‘Don’t be silly. I’ll feel more content myself if I know that you’re back with the family.’
I watched her face lighten and she put her hand out and gripped my arm, saying, ‘You wouldn’t come back with me, would you? You needn’t fear anything now, and…’
‘No, Gran, no. I know I needn’t fear anything, but it will be a long time before I can face up to going north again. The house business has been completed. As you know I’m not having it rebuilt, and those on either side have been compensated for what damage was done to their property…’ My voice trailed off, and she said, ‘I understand, I understand.’ She now put her arms around me and we kissed. And when she muttered brokenly, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry,’ I pressed her away from me, saying, ‘Now, now stop it, and go and get your things packed, and I’ll see about that telegram.’
When she left the room I sat down and after letting out a long, long, drawn breath I almost said, ‘Thank God!’ only to chastise myself: How could I feel so relieved that she was going; I was fond of Mary and the children, but I loved her and George, they were woven into my life. She was right, I had changed. Indeed, indeed, I had changed. I had changed because I had met a man like Nardy, and he had shown me another side to living.
Oh, Nardy, Nardy. How am I going to bear life without you?
Nineteen
It was Christmas Day and I was alone. I couldn’t take in the fact that I was alone. I had been awake since five o’clock. I got out of bed at seven and made myself a cup of coffee, and I switched on the radio, to hear a sanctimonious voice saying, ‘All over the country, and in many parts of the world, children are excitedly examining their Christmas presents. Fathers are testing model trains they’ve given to their sons; mothers are oohing and aahing over dolls they’ve presented to their daughters; some so-called lucky wives are examining diamond pendants, their husbands exclaiming over handmade silk shirts, the cuffs linked with ruby studs. At the other end of the spectrum, a man is saying, ‘Ta,’ for a pair of nylon socks, while his wife is trying on a fancy apron. But on this morning, even if only for a short time, there is, in the main, giving and taking and love…’
I switched off, went and had a hot bath, got dressed, then asked myself what I was going to do? I would not allow myself to dwell on the happenings of that first Christmas morning together because, had I done so, I was afraid that I would throw myself on the floor and beat the carpet with my clenched fists whilst demanding of God why He had recompensed me for my life of torture only, with the taste still full in my mouth, to cry, ‘Enough! You were never made for happiness.’
Having walked from the drawing room into the dining room, from there into my study, then into the spare bedrooms, one after another, I found myself back in the drawing room. I did not sit down, I looked out of the window. The day was grey and cold. But what did the weather matter? I would go out. I would go for a walk, perhaps go into a church and hear a service…No, no; because, there, I would likely break down. No, I would just walk, walk, with Sandy who, with the intelligence of the poodle breed, sensed sorrow in me and was as lost as I was.
We went out and we walked. By lunchtime I was home again.
I was used to London by now. I was used to the streets around this district, but I’d hardly encountered a dozen people in all the time I had been out. I had shut my eyes to the Christmas trees in windows and my ears to the sound of laughter coming from behind doors. And now, still fully dressed, I stood in the hallway and asked myself what I was going to do. I could phone Alice Freeman. Hadn’t she pressed me to spend Christmas with them. But I had said that Gran was with me and I’d be all right. Bernard Houseman, too, had invited me to their place, but I had refused. As I stood there the phone rang, and I ran towards it. I don’t know whom I was expecting, but when I heard Mike’s voice I couldn’t answer for a moment. He hadn’t said, ‘A Happy Christmas,’ he had just said, ‘How are you?’
His voice came again, saying, ‘Are you there, Maisie? Are you there?’
‘Yes, Mike, yes, I’m here.’
‘What’s this I hear?’ he said. ‘That Gran’s come back? I was in the hospital this morning. I looked in on Kitty; they were all there.’
The lump in my throat threatened to choke me.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, yes. Mike, I’m all right.’
‘Is anyone with you?’
I looked first to the right then to the left, then said, ‘Yes, yes, Janet and the boy.’
‘Well, I suppose that’s enough; you wouldn’t want company at this time. But look, Jane and I are going to slip down early in the New Year. We’ll stay over the weekend if you’ll have us.’
‘Of course, of course, Mike. I’d…I’d love to see you.’
‘Well, I must be off now. I’ll phone again later. Take care of yourself.’
‘I will, Mike. I will. Thanks for phoning.’
They were all there. His words had conjured up Kitty’s bed and the whole family around her. I closed my eyes tight while exclaiming aloud, ‘I should have been with them. I should have gone with Gran. I can’t stand this. But I didn’t want Gran’s company, did I? Nor George’s, nor Mary’s, nor the children’s. Then what did I want? Who did I want?
I wanted Nardy.
Nardy’s gone. Face up to it, Nardy’s gone.
He’s not; he’s here, all about me. I spread my arms wide. Then, suddenly gritting my teeth, I said, ‘Stop it! Stop it!’
I turned to the phone again. Now I was dialling the shop at the corner of Janet’s street. I knew they wouldn’t be open, but they would go and ask Janet to get on the phone.
It was almost twenty minutes later and I was still sitting in the hall in my hat and coat when the phone rang again, and Janet’s voice came over, saying, ‘Ma’am, are you all right? What is it?’
‘Janet.’
‘Yes, yes, ma’am, I’m here. What is it?’
‘Janet. I’m on my own.’
‘Oh God! What! On your own? I thought you were going to Mrs Freeman’s?’
I had told Janet this, because she said that she would come in on Christmas Day if I was alone.
‘I…I didn’t go, Janet. Janet, do you think that Harold would like to come along this afternoon?’
‘Yes. Why yes, of course. He’d come this minute if I let him.’
‘I…I don’t want to disturb your day, or the child’s.’
‘You certainly won’t be disturbing his day. But look, I’ll tell you what. I’m in the middle now of gettin’ their dinner, but I’ll get one of the lads to bring him along. Do…do you want him to stay the night?’
‘Yes, please, Janet. As long as he would like to. Perhaps over the holidays.’
‘You’re lettin’ yourself in for something mind ’cos he’ll want to bring some of his toys.’
‘Oh, of course, I understand that, about his toys. And as for letting myself in for something, Janet. Oh, Janet, I’m so lonely.’
‘Oh my God! I shouldn’t have taken any notice of you. I should have come along. This lot could have fended for themselves.’
‘No, no, please; if one of your sons would bring him, that would be wonderful, lovely.’
Goodbye Hamilton Page 23