by Jill McGown
But she looked anxiously back over her shoulder when she and George left the house, an hour later. Perhaps he won’t turn up, she told herself.
And she kept looking at the phone while she was talking to the matron of the children’s home, barely following what the woman was saying.
It’s none of your business, Marian Wheeler, she told herself severely, as the matron repeated what she had just said, and Marian still wasn’t listening. You can’t phone her. Wait until you get home. She won’t go back with him. She won’t. She’s got more sense.
*
‘You’re just not listening to me, are you, Graham?’
Graham picked up her father’s decanter, and waved it at her.
‘No. And I don’t think you should have any more,’ she said.
‘Mustn’t drink all Daddy’s whisky? I’ll replace it.’
‘You’ve had enough, Graham. You’d had more than enough when you got here, and that’s your third!’
He saluted her with his glass. ‘One of the perks of bachelordom,’ he said. ‘You can get pissed without being nagged.’ He dropped his hand, and sat down, his head bowed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. I just wish you’d come home and we could sort it out on our own.’ He looked up. ‘I can’t – I can’t get through to you here. It’s too—’ He shrugged. ‘Too nice, too Enid Blyton. I’ll bet you’re back in your old room, as if I’d never happened.’
‘Why have you had so much to drink?’ she asked. Drinking, despite what he’d just said, was not one of Graham’s faults. ‘Why?’ she asked again.
‘No reason,’ he muttered.
‘Because you were coming here?’
‘No!’ he shouted. ‘Forget it. Look – Jo. Just come back. Don’t stay here. Shouldn’t your father be telling you that? I mean – isn’t he supposed to believe all that about those whom God hath joined together?’
Joanna’s eyes widened. ‘Graham – you’re talking as if I had left you on a whim.’
‘I know,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I know what I’ve done. It won’t happen again.’
‘It will.’ She got up and went to the window, watching the snow fall from a darkening sky as the silence enveloped them. It was cold in the sitting room; she had chosen it as the site for negotiations rather than the cosy, homely kitchen, where she might be lulled into a false sense of security.
‘Joanna, I swear. I’ll never, never do it again.’
His voice was suddenly close to her, and she turned to find him behind her.
‘Don’t look like that,’ he said. ‘Please. Please don’t be frightened of me.’
‘I am frightened of you.’ She turned away again.
‘But it isn’t me,’ he said. ‘You’re not frightened of me.’ He put his hand lightly on her shoulder, and she faced him again. ‘Something gets into me. Something just snaps.’
‘Then you should see someone. Talk to someone.’
‘No. I can work it out for myself.’
‘Not with me.’ She pushed past him, and put as much distance between them as the room would allow.
‘It has to be you. You’re my wife.’
‘And you think that gives you the right?’
‘No!’ He drained his glass. ‘But—’ He sighed. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘I will see someone. I promise.’ He waited for her response, which was not forthcoming. ‘I promise!’ he shouted.
Promises. As though they had never had this conversation before.
‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked, striding across the room.
Joanna moved away again, as he picked up the decanter.
She closed the curtains on her reflection. ‘Why are you drinking so much?’ she asked again. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. No reason.’
‘Is it because of me?’
‘Nothing to do with you. I met—’ He paused. ‘I met someone. Nothing – no one. Forget it.’
He wasn’t making sense. ‘Don’t drink any more,’ she said.
‘Why not? What do you expect? You walk out on me—’
‘I didn’t exactly walk out,’ she said sharply.
‘Oh God, Jo,’ he whispered. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.’
‘See someone,’ Joanna said. ‘Tell them what happens to you.’
He put down the decanter, his face growing a painful red. ‘I couldn’t,’ he said.
‘Because you don’t want to admit it?’ She took a deep breath. ‘Well, that’s what you’re going to have to do,’ she said. ‘If you do that – if you prove to me that you’re trying to get help . . .’
‘You’ll come back?’ he said eagerly.
‘You have to do it first,’ she said.
‘I will, I will.’ He came towards her. ‘Don’t walk away from me, Jo,’ he said. ‘Help me. I’m not sure how—’ He waved a hand. ‘You know. How to go about—’
‘I’ll do that. I’ll find out who you should see. And I’ll go with you. To the doctor, or whatever. We’ll get advice.’
‘Yes. Good.’ He put down his empty glass. ‘Thank God,’ he said.
Joanna looked at him for a long time. ‘It’s your last chance, Graham,’ she said.
‘I know. I know.’ He took her hands, ‘I know,’ he said again, kissing them. He smiled, and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.
‘No, Graham. You’ve got to make the first move.’
‘But you said we’d do it together.’
‘We will. But you’ve promised before, Graham. I’m not going back until I know you’re doing something about it. I will help you. I will. But I’m living at home until I’m sure.’
The clock whirred quietly, preparing to chime, as Graham dropped her hands. She knew the faintly puzzled look.
‘What did you say?’ he asked, and she knew the tone of voice.
She knew what came next.
Chapter Two
Eleanor had played at the carol service, catching his eye only to indicate in mime, her back to the congregation, that he had left his tie there.
He had told the children about all the people in the world who didn’t have turkey and Christmas pudding, and had smiled gravely at the earnest, concerned faces which had looked back at him. If only that concern could last, he thought, into Cabinet Ministerhood. But it couldn’t. By then, delicate international situations would seem much more important than feeding hungry mouths.
He locked away the collection money – he must have convinced some of the adults too, because there was even a fiver in there. He picked up the cash-box, then paused, and opened it again. Another fiver joined the first, and he locked the box again. He’d make sure it went to Save the Children or someone. The church roof could wait. Church roofs didn’t cry.
He walked out into the already black night, and looked up at the starless, snow-laden sky. He’d have to get the tie back some time. He wondered about Eleanor’s reasons for not bringing it with her. In case someone saw her give it back? Or because she wanted him to have to go back for it? Either way, it was a complication that he could have done without.
He should have worn boots, for the snow was covering his shoes, and he looked round for clear ground, but there was none. Sighing, he turned up his coat collar as a flurry of snow went down the back of his neck. He needn’t worry about his sermon for tonight, he thought. He’d be the only one there.
As he rounded the church, the wind hit him. Head bowed, he set off to where the road could still just vaguely be seen, a faint fold in the white blanket. He heard the car as he walked along what he thought was the verge; he moved to the side, but it hooted. He lifted his head to see Marian.
‘Lift?’ she said, reaching over and opening the passenger door.
George got into the car, and pulled the door shut. ‘Oh boy,’ he said.
‘The Stansfield road’s blocked,’ said Marian.
‘Great.’
Marian drove a little more quickly than he wou
ld have done under these circumstances. As the car shimmied round into the vicarage driveway, she slowed down. ‘His car’s still here,’ she said, pulling up outside the house. She looked at him. ‘She won’t go back to him,’ she said. ‘She’s got more sense.’
‘Not where he’s concerned.’ George got out and ran up the porch steps. As he opened the front door, he heard the bedroom door close upstairs. ‘Jo?’ he called.
He and Marian exchanged glances.
‘They just want some privacy,’ Marian said.
‘They could be private downstairs,’ George said darkly.
Marian stood for a moment, looking anxiously upstairs. Then her eyes went slowly to George’s. ‘She won’t go back to him,’ she said defiantly.
George felt that a closing bedroom door was hardly a sign of irretrievable breakdown. But she couldn’t, she mustn’t let herself be persuaded to go back. He felt helpless; all his working life he had helped people in trouble, and all he could do was fight with Joanna, as though it were her fault.
‘What can we do?’ he asked.
‘Not much,’ Marian said, with another glance upstairs. ‘I think we should carry on as normal.’
‘Go out, you mean?’ He and Marian always spent a couple of hours in the village pub on Christmas Eve. It had been Marian’s idea – she said you were more likely to get people into church if you were manifestly seen to be a person. ‘What if he wants to come with us?’
‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.’
‘Will we?’ he said dubiously.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and get changed.’
‘Upstairs?’ The thought embarrassed him. Joanna’s bedroom was at the other end of the landing from theirs, but he still felt as if he would be intruding.
‘Well, that’s where our clothes are,’ said Marian. ‘George, I am not going to let him spoil things. It’s my house, and I’ll go wherever I like.’
He changed, keeping his fingers crossed that the tie wouldn’t come into the reckoning, and it didn’t. She just told him to take what she called his work shirt down with him when he went, because she would be washing.
‘On Christmas Eve?’ he asked.
‘Why not?’ she demanded, a little on the defensive.
Marian always found something useful to do when life got complicated. He held up his hands in surrender. ‘Just asking,’ he said.
‘What do you think?’ she asked, holding up a dress he hadn’t seen before.
‘When did you get that?’ he asked.
‘It’s your Christmas present to me.’
‘I’ve got very good taste,’ he said. ‘It’s lovely.’
‘Joanna found it. She said you’d approve.’
George sat down to put on his shoes. ‘Why should you need my approval?’ he asked.
‘What?’ Marian came over to him. ‘You’re still in a funny mood, aren’t you?’ she said, her arm round his shoulders. ‘What is it?’ she asked, kissing the top of his head. ‘Joanna?’
He patted the hand that rested on his shoulder. ‘Partly.’
‘And partly what else?’
He looked up at her. She believed in him. She believed he was what he said he was. And she didn’t think for a moment that he visited Eleanor Langton because she had good legs and long blonde hair.
‘Male menopause,’ he said, as she sat beside him, her head touching his. He put his arm round her. ‘I wanted to make love to you this morning,’ he said.
‘Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘You were awake,’ he said. ‘But I thought it might embarrass Jeremy.’
She laughed.
‘Is this place important to you?’ he asked.
Marian frowned slightly. ‘The house?’ she said. ‘Or the village?’
‘Either. Both.’
‘On a scale of one to ten,’ she said, ‘I’d give it seven, I think.’ She looked concerned. ‘Are they trying to make you move to Brixton?’ she asked.
He laughed. ‘No. Nothing like that.’
Living here was important to her, he thought, tying his laces. Which just made things more difficult. Marian, you’re married to a fraud, but I’m an honourable fraud, so I have to resign. He picked up his shirt, and they went downstairs.
‘Someone’s left the light on in the sitting room,’ he said.
‘I think it was Easter when we used it last,’ said Marian. ‘Let’s hope it hasn’t been on ever since.’
George saw Joanna when he opened the door. She looked up, her face streaked with tears, her eyes already bruising, her mouth swollen.
‘My God,’ he said.
‘George?’ Marian came in behind him, and ran to Joanna.
George watched, his brain numb. Joanna burst into tears again, and Marian took her into the kitchen, where she bathed the bruises, her face pale and set. Joanna was mumbling something, rendered incoherent by the sobs. And he just watched, feeling a creeping coldness in his limbs. Then he remembered the closing bedroom door.
‘He’s upstairs,’ he said, making for the door.
‘No!’ Joanna shouted suddenly. ‘Leave him, please. Leave him. He’s drunk. He’ll be sleeping it off—’
George was out of the kitchen before she’d finished the sentence, but Marian was behind him, her hand on his arm, as he reached the bottom of the stairs.
‘George, do as she says.’
‘I told him what would happen if he laid a finger on her again,’ he said, starting up the stairs, but with a strength that he hadn’t suspected, Marian hung on to him.
‘It wouldn’t do any good,’ she said.
‘It would do me some good!’
‘It would get you into trouble! You’d upset Joanna – and what for? It wouldn’t undo anything, would it?’ Her face, still grimly sensible, looked up into his. ‘Come back, George,’ she said. ‘Let him sleep it off.’
‘In my house? He’s leaving. Now.’
‘He can’t,’ Joanna said, appearing in the hall.
George looked at her, bruised and battered, and felt tears of rage prick his eyes. She’d even got dressed up for him.
‘He can’t drive anywhere,’ Joanna said. ‘He took your whisky up with him. He’s had far too much to drink.’
‘I’ll put him in a taxi when I’ve finished with him,’ George roared, but he still couldn’t make any progress on the stair, with Marian clinging to his arm.
‘The road’s blocked,’ Marian reminded him. ‘He can’t get back to Stansfield anyway.’
‘I don’t care where he goes, as long as he leaves my house!’ George shook Marian off at last.
‘Please leave him!’ Joanna cried, and there was real fear in her voice.
He stopped, and turned, but Joanna had gone back into the kitchen. He sat down heavily on the stairs.
‘What’s the point in causing more trouble?’ Marian asked, joining him. ‘If you hit him, that’s all you’ll be doing.’
‘Here,’ he said, pushing his laundry into her hands. ‘You wear it.’
‘George—’
‘I mean it. I’m not fit for it. Not if you’re meant to turn the other cheek. Not if you’re meant to love someone like him.’
‘I’m not being particularly Christian,’ Marian said. ‘Just sensible. Joanna’s had enough – she doesn’t need you and Graham brawling into the bargain. She needs us to be with her.’ She stood up, and held out her hand.
George looked up at her, and took her hand, heaving himself off the step. ‘He’s loving all this, isn’t he?’ he said, with a malevolent look at the closed bedroom door.
‘Talk to him when you’ve calmed down and he’s sobered up,’ Marian said, leading him downstairs. She stopped at the bottom. ‘I’d better make up the bed in the back bedroom,’ she said. ‘For Joanna.’
‘Of all the—’ George spluttered. ‘If anyone had told me that I’d be offering hospitality to—’
‘And I think you should take Joanna out,’ she said firmly.
&nbs
p; ‘What?’
‘If he gets up, I don’t want Joanna here. Or you, come to that,’ she added.
‘She won’t come,’ he said.
‘Yes, she will – you can persuade her. You know you can.’ She patted him. ‘Go on. Go and talk to her.’
George sighed, and went into the kitchen, where Joanna was sitting by the fire, ineffectually raking the coals.
‘Your mother thinks you should come out for a drink with me,’ he said.
She shook her head. ‘Like this?’ she said.
‘Well, that’s what I thought.’ He pulled a chair from the table and sat down beside her. ‘But unless you’re thinking of keeping yourself prisoner, you’ll have to go out sooner or later.’
‘Later,’ she said.
‘And then they’ll see you in ones and twos,’ he said. ‘Why not come out with me and let them all see you at once?’
She smiled, still tearfully.
‘I’ll go along with whatever you want to tell them,’ he said. ‘Will you come?’
She didn’t reply.
‘It’ll look worse tomorrow,’ he said, in a matter-of-fact way that was entirely manufactured. He wanted to break down and cry. He wanted to go and ram Elstow’s own medicine down his throat. He wanted to run naked through the snow and get into the News of the World.
‘Is this so as you can talk to me?’ she asked.
‘I rather hoped you might talk to me,’ he said. ‘But I don’t care if you talk or not.’
‘Do you really want me to come?’
He nodded.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘I might be telling a lot of lies,’ she warned him.
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I’ve been telling a lot of lies for years.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh – I’ll tell you some time.’ He smiled. ‘When you’re older.’
Marian watched Joanna’s car move off slowly down the driveway. Perhaps spending the evening together would bring them closer; they had grown apart recently.
She glanced at the bedroom door as she got the bedding for Joanna, then walked quickly downstairs to the back bedroom, frowning in concentration. Had they had this chimney swept? They had had discussions about whether or not to include it, since the room wasn’t really used now. Yes, she remembered. She had sensibly decided to get it done, just in case.