by Jane Grant
‘I’m not! I’m not!’ she cried. ‘I’ve been vile and selfish.’
‘No, ducky. Just a little thoughtless at times.’
By this time we were both on the way to a major weeping session. Between sniffs I confessed to her I had arranged to meet Charles, plus an escort for her. I said Charles at any rate would shake us out of the blues. Phyllis seemed to have no spirit or willpower left, because she agreed meekly to anything I suggested. I thought for a moment of going to tell Charles we couldn’t come. Then I thought of the prospect of the rest of the evening spent in my dreary room, sobbing in each other’s arms, and anything seemed preferable to that.
I changed quickly, and tried to dab away my red eyes with some powder, while Phyllis also attended to her make-up. The results did not seem very good to either of us, and the little improvement Phyllis made in her appearance was soon washed away as she commented on how incredible it seemed that Mike should have done such a thing without telling her about it.
At last we opened the door and crept on to the corridor, blinking at the bright unsympathetic lights. What a terrible business being young is, I thought, as we walked slowly down the stairs into the hall. I wish I was old with everything settled. Why are people’s love lives so appallingly complicated?
We walked across the central courtyard by the neatly trimmed impersonal lawns, and out to the main gate. Standing at the gate by Matilda was Charles, looking crossly at his watch, and by his side looking hard at his shoes, was David Anderson.
Phyllis saw him just after I had.
‘Oh no! Not David! I can’t, I just can’t!’
‘All right, we won’t go,’ I said.
But it was too late to withdraw, for Charles’s quick eyes had detected us, and he rushed up before we could change our minds.
‘Come on,’ he muttered crossly, ‘for goodness’ sake! You’re twenty minutes late.’
That’s funny, I thought, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard Charles get cross.
That David was embarrassed was patently obvious, and I reflected that it must have been difficult for Charles with all his wealth of good humour and kindness to have a situation such as this thrust on his hands after an innocent invitation to coffee.
‘In the back, you two girls,’ he said ungallantly. ‘Come on David, don’t stand there like something the dog’s brought home.’
When Matilda refused to start I somehow felt the evening was not going to be a rip-roaring success. When we got going at last Phyllis sat silently, while I attempted some small talk with David. The weather was discussed at length, even to the forecast for the following day. Then I asked him about Minor Ops.
‘Golly, it seems an age since I was there. So many things have happened since then,’ I said.
Then I realised from Phyllis’s significant look that she thought I was referring to her unhappy situation, and I shut up hastily.
‘Where are you taking us, Charles?’ I asked after an uncomfortable interval of silence.
‘Francis is having a party,’ was the taciturn reply.
We sat in gloom, nobody speaking, till we arrived at Francis’s flat.
‘What ye sow so shall ye reap,’ murmured Phyllis in a heavy undertone as we clambered out of the confined space behind the two front seats.
‘Shut up,’ I said irritably, my exacerbated nerves shrinking from any witticism on our predicament.
‘But of all the people to get you over a broken heart,’ wailed Phyllis – ‘that pompous ass.’ She indicated the innocuous David, who was trying to help the infuriated Charles to stop Matilda’s engine running.
We went in a depressed fashion into the block of buildings that contained Francis’s flat, and followed Charles up some rather seedy stairs in a silent crocodile. When we got to the door that Charles selected, he knocked, and we waited a trifle nervously. A quick glance at our assembled faces assured me that there was not one of us who did not wish herself or himself far away at that moment.
There was no answer, and Charles knocked again. David asked politely if Charles was sure that this was the right address, and got an angry look in reply.
The third knock must have disturbed the next-door neighbour, because he came out, a small tame man, and told us Mr Drake was in, he thought.
‘I bet he’s having a kip,’ said Charles angrily.
We were all outraged by the thought that Francis was sleeping peacefully while we hammered on his door, so we all, including the neighbour, attacked it savagely.
‘I say,’ said David, ‘perhaps the door is open.’
Charles glared at him, only because he hadn’t thought of so simple a solution, for on squeezing the knob the door opened at once. We had all squeezed against it in an attempt to see if David’s theory was correct, and when it gave we all fell rather than walked in. As we jostled, recovering our balance, in the hall, Francis appeared swathed in a toga-like bath towel.
‘Well – er – come in,’ he suggested, while we sorted ourselves out and felt extremely foolish.
‘And what can I do you for, Charley boy?’ he asked chattily.
‘Don’t call me that, and we’ve come much to my regret to your blinking party,’ was the rude reply.
‘Party?’ said Francis, puzzled. ‘That was last night.’
‘Oh no!’ exploded the indignant Charles. ‘Well, that really puts the tin hat on it. And all I wanted was a blooming coffee!’
He brushed past Francis and flopped heavily into an armchair.
‘One of those days,’ murmured Francis sympathetically. ‘Well, don’t give up heart. I have a few left-overs,’ he added by way of consolation to the glum faces in front of him. ‘I’ll just fling a few clothes on and be right with you.’
So saying, he disappeared, and re-entered a few moments later with a tin of peanuts, two bottles of lime juice, and a suit on.
We sat in a circle, eyeing each other with slight disfavour, while the courteous Francis went round helping us to lime juice and peanuts.
When we were all settled there was another pregnant silence, then Francis started off the conversation in the perfect host manner.
‘You know, two weeks in the nuthouse convinces me that everyone needs to be psychoanalysed.’
Francis was the new psychiatric houseman.
‘Now you all look to me bang full of problems,’ he continued amiably. ‘You ma’am,’ he addressed Phyllis. ‘Now what’s eating you all up.’
‘Men,’ said Phyllis shortly.
‘Well – that’s easily dealt with,’ he replied kindly. ‘Lay off.’ He turned to me. ‘Jane – what’s your problem?’
‘No men,’ I said acidly.
‘Uh-huh. Might I suggest total immersion in your work until Mr Dreamboat comes along? Now Charles – But what’s the use of asking Charles? He wouldn’t know a problem if he saw one, and he’s cuckoo anyway.’
‘Me? Yes sir, been certified three times I’m proud to say,’ said Charles in an American accent. To my relief I saw the old gleam of good humour was beginning to lurk at the back of his eyes.
‘Now David,’ went on the inexorable Francis. ‘Shall we turn our attention to our young friend David? Let’s all work out David’s little anxieties, shall we?’
‘I haven’t got any,’ said David hastily.
‘Oh come, come,’ expostulated Francis. ‘We all have just some little thing. Can I make a guess?’
‘No,’ said David.
Francis looked at him with his head on one side. ‘Yeah, yeah,’ he said at last. ‘Hazarding a guess, drawing a bow at a venture, I’d say Mother.’
David started.
‘Ah – I was right,’ said Francis delightedly slapping his knee. ‘A Maw that always wants to do right by her boy. Nothing’s too good for him. Must assert himself a little outside her company, so gets a name for being awkward because he’s sat on at home.’
‘It’s nothing of the sort,’ said David sharply, a line of pain between his brows. ‘When my father died
she had a terrible struggle and –’
He broke off suddenly, well aware that he had given himself away. I felt a pang of sorrow for him, seeing his embarrassed face and his suffering eyes.
‘Oh Francis, you are a wretch,’ I cried. ‘You can’t psychoanalyse people in public.’
Francis looked at me quickly, and I knew he had not meant to be unkind. He had started in fun, and his analytical mind had leapt from one conclusion to another. He now had the sense to see that an apology would only make the situation worse, and suggested, ‘Now have a go at me,’ as if nothing untoward had happened.
We all seized the opportunity for pulling him to pieces, and in the end Charles announced that he was in favour of a verdict of schizophrenia with mild hysteria and a work complex.
We had by now demolished the tin of peanuts, so we set out round the little flat like a herd of locusts looking for food. From time to time there would be a triumphant yell of ‘Here’s two cream crackers!’ or ‘What about this hair oil, can you use it for frying?’ David, stating that he always hid unwanted victuals behind curtains, went from window sill to window sill. Unfortunately the two rolls he did find had to be discarded, as one was half eaten and the other fell into a bowl of water just as it was undergoing a rigorous examination by our hygiene officer, who was Charles.
Francis looked over the small collection of food we had assembled, and shook his head.
‘I’ll go get some fish and chips,’ he announced.
While he was gone we divided the few scraps between us, and when he returned we sat round the unwrapped newspaper package and fell on the greasy but delicious contents, washing the meal down with repeated drinks of lime juice.
Considerably appeased and feeling more cheerful, we set off for the hospital. Somehow David contrived to sit with Phyllis in the back of the car, but any notions they may have had of a tête-à-tête were quickly dismissed when halfway home Matilda’s engine refused to function, and we all had to get out and push her with Charles steering and yelling instructions to us, while we struggled to keep our feet on the slippery road.
About half a mile from the hospital it started to rain again, and although he was outvoted three to one against our doing any more pushing until the downpour abated, Charles firmly sent us out again to push until the hospital gates were reached.
‘Goodnight,’ he called cheerfully, as he bent over the engine to try to discover the cause of the breakdown.
‘Charles,’ I said affectionately, ‘you’re a complete old toad.’
He straightened up and looked at me happily.
‘I know, dear,’ he grinned. ‘But you love me for it.’
As I walked away from him the realisation dawned on me with a pang that what he said was more than half true.
Chapter Nineteen
Phyllis and I walked slowly into the Home. We were halfway across the hall before I could adjust myself to the fact that Phyllis was speaking to me.
‘And then to give himself away so spontaneously like that. I felt so sorry for him.’
It couldn’t be true, I thought. Not me. Not with feet firmly planted on the ground like mine were.
‘Didn’t you like that lampshade?’ went on Phyllis. ‘I thought it was super. The one with ducks on.’
Charles, I thought, who never thinks of anyone except in terms of friendship. He’d run a mile if he knew!
‘Can I sleep in your room tonight so I needn’t go back till the evening?’ continued Phyllis. ‘I’m not on till tomorrow night.’
I came back to the present with a jerk. Well, anyway, I thought, the purpose of the evening seemed to be achieved. Phyllis was much more cheerful.
‘Jane, will that be all right?’ Phyllis’s voice sounded petulant.
‘Yes,’ I replied wearily, ‘that’s fine.’
‘I must see Mike tomorrow.’
‘Oh, I thought you’d forgotten about him,’ I said absent-mindedly.
There was a mild explosion from by my elbow. ‘Jane – how can you be so senseless? I don’t know what’s the matter with you.’
I walked unseeingly through the Home, up the stairs to my room, pursued by Phyllis talking about Mike. Well, I thought, if the evening hadn’t taken Phyllis’s mind off Phyllis, it had put Jane’s mind on Jane.
We got to my room and both sat down on the bed.
‘Jane, what do I say to Mary?’ Phyllis asked, after a short pause.
‘I should think you’d better say the opposite of what you feel like saying,’ I suggested.
‘Why? What do you mean?’
‘Well, heap coals of fire.’
‘And what effect do you think that would have?’ exclaimed Phyllis. ‘No, I want Mike, and I’m not letting him go.’
‘Oh, Phyllis,’ I exclaimed exasperated. ‘Why don’t you have a free fight with Mary? No holds barred, and the winner gets him!’
‘Jane,’ said Phyllis in a hurt voice. ‘How could you? Anyone would think you didn't care.’
I closed my eyes with my back to Phyllis, while my mind screamed at me: ‘You don’t care. You don’t care at all. You’re only worried about what’s going to happen between you and Charles. You can only think of him and of yourself.’
Then for the twentieth time in twenty minutes I wondered how it could happen to me. How was it you knew someone for three years and then suddenly fell in love with him? I must get away by myself and think. How could I get away? What could I do to remove myself from Phyllis’s problem to my own?
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ I asked her in a strange voice.
‘No,’ she replied petulantly.
‘Well, I think I’ll get myself one,’ I said, and moved awkwardly across my little room.
Fortunately Phyllis was so immersed in her own troubles she noticed nothing peculiar in my attitude. I walked down the corridor to the minute gas ring that – provided nobody else in the hospital had the gas turned on – would boil a tiny kettle. If, however, there were any other calls on the mains the little ring would get querulous and splutter and cough and take about half an hour to bring the kettle to the boil.
As I stood with my head against the cool tiles, trying to coax the flame to stay alight, Mary came up the stairs behind me. She saw me as I turned round slowly to see who it was.
‘Jane!’ she exclaimed. ‘What’s the matter? You look ghastly.’
‘Phyllis is here,’ I explained, hoping she would think this was what was affecting me so strongly.
‘What?’ she gasped. ‘Does she –’
‘Yes, she does,’ I said wearily.
‘You didn’t tell her?’ said Mary reproachfully.
‘No. She saw it all with her own eyes – she saw you go out together.’
‘And you’ve had her all the evening,’ said Mary sympathetically.
‘Oh, don’t talk to me about it,’ I exclaimed petulantly. ‘I’ve had enough of the whole thing. I’m utterly sick of the subject. Go and thrash it out with Phyllis if you must, but don’t drag me into it.’
‘Jane!’ exclaimed Mary in shocked surprise. ‘How could you –’
‘Quite easily,’ I snapped. ‘I’ve just had too much. You’ve got yourselves into this scrape – now get out of it.’
Mary’s face grew pale and she looked genuinely shocked.
‘Mary!’ I cried repentantly, ‘I’m sorry! I just don’t know what to do or say or anything. Please forget it.’
Her stiffened pose relaxed slightly. ‘It’s all right, Jane,’ she said a trifle distantly. ‘I understand.’
‘Well, you’d better go and fight it out with Phyllis.’ I rested my aching head on the tiles again. ‘She’s rarin’ to go.’
‘What do I say to her?’ she asked in a small voice.
‘Funny thing – ha-ha,’ I said tonelessly, ‘she asked me the same thing. I suppose you say whatever is usually said to a person whose boyfriend you’ve just pinched.’
A look of pain passed over Mary’s face. ‘I never wanted this to
happen,’ she said. ‘You know that, Jane. It just did.’
She walked down the corridor and entered my room. My thoughts did not follow her, I did not wonder what they were saying to each other. I was thankful to be alone to consider my own problem. I tried to approach it logically, to ask myself how one could suddenly fall in love like that. When did the different feeling start? I delved in my mind for a memory of my meetings with Charles, and tried to remember how I had felt about him. But it was no use. All I could think of was the way he looked, how he behaved, his charm and absurdity, and what his reaction would be if he knew I was in love with him.
The spluttering kettle brought me slowly back to the present. I made the tea without enthusiasm and walked slowly back to my room.
Quite what I had expected when I got in I don’t know, but there were no mangled corpses on the floor, and the wardrobe hadn’t been pulled down on someone’s head. Mary was looking studiously out of the window at the Path Lab opposite, and Phyllis was sitting on my bed biting her nails.
I tried to summon my resources to give some help to my two best friends, who seemed in such a mess, but the only bromide that came out was, ‘Well, how about a nice cuppa?’
Mary shook her head, and Phyllis didn’t move.
‘Make you feel better,’ I tried.
Mary inhaled a long draw on her cigarette, and Phyllis started on the nails of her other hand.
‘What’s settled?’ I asked of thin air.
Mary looked quickly at Phyllis, then at me, and said: ‘I’m going to bed.’ She got up and walked out.
I looked at Phyllis. ‘Did you reach some sort of a truce?’ I asked.
‘No,’ was the short reply.
There was a pause. ‘I think I’ll go to bed too if you don’t mind,’ said Phyllis.
‘Yes, do,’ I said. ‘But aren’t you going to tell me what happened?’
‘I thought you didn't care,’ said Phyllis nastily.
‘Of course I care. Don’t be so tetchy.’
Phyllis began to undress. ‘Well, we’ve decided we both love Mike, and we’re both going to try and go on seeing him. Goodnight,’ she concluded, and got into my bed.