Rose lay alone in bed and wept, in a huddle of grief. She tried to tell herself no harm had been done but she felt ugly and soiled. Alice Oram had offered her simple loving kindness and she’d chosen to twist and mangle this gift into bitter pulp. Why did she always have to see evil when there was none? Why couldn’t she be like Stanley, unsuspicious, never looking for motives, taking people on trust? Because nobody had ever convinced her that they were in earnest, except Stanley. She’d always got slapped down in the end, always been left in the lurch. She’d learnt the hard way that the only person you can trust is yourself. Until Stanley. And now Alice. Alice had proved herself a hundred times over just in one day. When her tears were finished Rose fell asleep vowing, ‘I am going to give, that’s what.’ No more hostility, no more drawing herself into a shell. She was going to go out and give.
The miracle was not accomplished with the speed Rose would have liked. It was not really accomplished at all, but at least a change did take place. She tried, that was the difference. She fought her instincts like a tigress. When Alice wondered if she would like to come for a simple lunch – wondered, she realized, with great diffidence – she said yes, straight out, and went and enjoyed it and said, unequivocally, that she did. When Tony Oram offered to run her to the hospital she accepted and asked him in while she got her coat and the things she had to take. She told him how kind he was being – not in her usual aggrieved way, cross because somebody was being kind and making you beholden to them, but with real appreciation. When Elsie turned up and asked her to come home and have a bite with them, she said that would be very nice, and when Elsie said you may as well stay the night, she said yes, she might as well.
There was no doubt her new policy agreed with her. She felt much better, better than she had done for years. It was partly, though, that the new routine suited her. Having Stanley to visit gave her a purpose in life. The hospital was not far away and she quickly learned an easy route to it which she could walk in twenty minutes without crossing a main road once. Stanley had been worried about that and it had given her great pleasure, made her feel quite triumphant, to be able to tell him what she had worked out. The mornings were busy with preparing things to take in to him, and the evenings busy with people ringing and calling to ask after him. No end of people took an interest in his illness. She was quite overwhelmed by the notes and gifts and inquiries, and teased Stanley about being popular. She said she needed a secretary to cope.
In a very short time she grew to love the hospital and couldn’t imagine how she could ever have thought it anything but cosy and friendly. Once she knew the way to Stanley’s ward it was child’s play and she assumed a proprietorial air that was so convincing that strangers chose her to ask for directions. She didn’t restrict herself to Stanley’s bed but when she saw something needed doing she popped up and did it. Sometimes she was rushed off her feet filling glasses with water and picking magazines off the floor and getting biscuits out of tins in lockers. Sister said she ought to be paid and she said in reply, quick as lightning, she couldn’t repay by anything she did what they were doing for Stanley. ‘Thank you, Mrs Pendlebury,’ Sister had said, quietly, and she’d felt marvellous. If she heard anybody visiting in the ward grumbling about the nurses she was furious and took it upon herself to tell them straight that the nursing staff were beyond reproach and she’d thank them to shut up or get out. Stanley said she was interfering and wished she wouldn’t, but she told him to shut up as well and carried on exactly the same.
Stanley, she could see, really was perfectly all right within a couple of days, just as the doctors had said he would be. He loved being in hospital. Whereas other patients fretted about being confined to bed, he revelled in it, so much so that he got a ticking-off from Sister for not trying to do more for himself. Rose could have died of shame, but Stanley was unperturbed. He took himself and his illness very seriously and was annoyed, after the first shock had made her sympathetic, that Rose reverted to her usual abrasive self. He was moved to remind her that he could quite easily have died. ‘Oh no,’ Rose said, ‘you’re not going to hang that over me for the rest of your natural. Died, indeed. Why, if you hadn’t been so damned lazy you could have got up from the you-know-where any time you wanted.’ She laughed loudly at his indignant expression and put another grape in her own mouth.
Watching her from his lovely warm bed Stanley observed the change in Rose but put it down to nearly losing him. That was what had done it, he was convinced. Nobly, he considered all that terrible pain had been worth it, if it had made Rose see how lucky she was. She joked now but he could remember her face as she bent over him when he came round from the anaesthetic and there had been no kidding – she was in a dreadful state. He’d only seen her like that twice in his life – once when Ellen died and once when Frank left for Australia. She was a woman who cried easily and often, but not like that, not with that pain in her eyes that hurt you just to recognize. She had held his hand for hours between hers, chafing it and patting it and saying his name over and over. He admitted he’d enjoyed it. Being Rose, of course, all that soon stopped but he wasn’t fooled, he could see the transformation. He was valued now, that was what it was.
He asked her once if she was lonely in that big house on her own.
‘Certainly not,’ she said. ‘I’d even go so far as to say I enjoyed it.’
‘I needn’t bother coming home then.’
‘No need to be like that – you asked me a straight question and I gave you a straight answer. No need to take the huff. I’m too busy to be lonely.’
‘You’re not busy at night.’
‘No, but I’m glad to rest my legs after all the trailing up here.’
‘You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.’
‘Here – what did Sister say? Help yourself more, Mr Pendlebury, that’s what she said, and that includes not being all self-pitying. Of course I want to come, don’t talk ridiculous, but I get tired, that’s all.’ She paused. He did look very pale and thin. ‘I don’t like going in on my own of an evening, I admit that. It’s dark and gloomy with no lights on or a fire, it isn’t homely. And I can’t be bothered to make meals for myself. I miss you and I sitting down for meals.’
‘I’ll soon be home,’ Stanley said, pleased.
‘Mind you, Alice has been very good, and Elsie. I’ve had several meals with both of them and very nice too.’
‘With Alice Oram?’ Stanley inquired, delicately.
‘Do we know another Alice?’ Rose asked, not deceived. ‘Yes, she’s been very kind.’ She selected another grape. ‘She came in for a cup of tea last night, just to see how you were getting on.’
‘A cup of tea,’ Stanley said, casually.
‘Yes, and a bit of that fruit cake. We just had it on a tray in front of the fire.’
‘Very nice,’ Stanley said.
‘Yes, it was. Very informal,’ Rose said, and then, ‘We had a glass of sherry after.’
‘Where did you get that from?’ Stanley asked, no longer able to hide his keen interest.
‘I bought it. At the off-licence.’
‘You’ve never been in an off-licence in your life!’
‘I’ve never done lots of things. Anyway, it was in the window, that Bristol Cream Frank used to get, on offer, lop off, so I bought two bottles.’
‘Two bottles?’
‘Well, one isn’t much good, is it? Two bottles will last. We had a glass after our tea as I was telling you. It was very nice, bucked us up. I was glad I’d got it in because, if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have had anything to offer that Charlotte woman and I’d have looked a proper fool – she’s not the tea type.’ Stanley waited, hoping she would go on, not moving a muscle in case he distracted her. ‘These grapes are from her, for you,’ she said. ‘Very nice of her, wasn’t it?’
‘Very nice,’ Stanley said emphatically.
‘Yes, that’s what I thought, considering she doesn’t know you or me.’ There were bits of fluff to p
ick off the bedcover before Sister saw them. ‘She’s quite nice really, quite friendly. Did you know she’s been married twice?’
‘No,’ said Stanley, politely.
‘Yes. Her first husband was killed in an accident and she lost the baby she was carrying with the shock. Terrible, isn’t it?’
‘Terrible,’ Stanley agreed.
‘Everybody has their tragedies,’ Rose said, ‘if only you knew. It doesn’t do to judge people by appearances.’
‘No,’ said Stanley.
Rose was glad he wasn’t going to rub anything in. He knew it had been a confession of guilt, no need to say any more. She knew he longed to hear more about her evening but she was shy about telling. After all, it didn’t amount to very much. She and Alice had had their snack and then their sherry and the doorbell rang and there was that Charlotte woman. She’d been so glad Alice was with her, had positively glowed with satisfaction at being able to show her visitor into a room with someone else in it. Then they’d all had another glass of sherry and talked. She couldn’t believe, afterwards, how long they had talked with never a falter on her part, never a lull in the entire conversation. She could remember what Alice had said and what Charlotte had said, but what had she herself said? It was a mystery, but she had said a great deal, she knew that. All she could remember was the blitz being brought up and her telling them about what it had been like and how Stanley had run down the street with his tin helmet on and his gasmask flying out behind him because he couldn’t get it shut up. They’d been so interested in knowing about it and then – oh yes – they’d got on to evacuees and what it had been like sending Frank, aged about eight, away. Now that had them really interested, they wouldn’t let her get off the subject, she could hardly answer all their many questions.
After they had gone, the house had still seemed full. Clearing away the glasses and plates, plumping the cushions up, sweeping the crumbs from the floor, she still seemed to hear all their voices and feel the warmth of other people’s presence. A faint scent of something hung in the air and she closed the sitting-room door carefully on it hoping it would still be there in the morning. The house was never like that when just she and Stanley were in it. It hadn’t really been like that since Frank left. He used to have the sitting-room on Friday nights, for his friends. She and Stanley stayed in the kitchen and the living-room those nights, though Frank had always said there was no need to. Stanley had spent all his time trying to get himself in there on one pretext or another but she kept a sharp eye on him and wouldn’t allow it. Those young people wanted to be on their own, as she told him. She herself kept well out of the way. At nine o’clock she prepared a delicious supper and loaded it onto the trolley and Frank came in for it. Through the open door she could hear them all talking and laughing and it pleased but frightened her. Sometimes she watched from the upstairs window as the guests came and went and they were such lovely looking youngsters. She did meet some of them, before Frank stopped having the evenings. He insisted. He said it was silly of her to behave like a housekeeper and he wanted to introduce his friends to her, so she went to the door, just once, and said good evening and that was that. Stanley had known them better with opening the front door. He knew all their names. Sometimes she’d envied him his familiarity. He’d been quite put out when the evenings stopped. They’d asked Frank after a while why he didn’t invite his friends any more and he’d just said he was too busy. That was all – too busy. No more Friday evenings, no more suppers to make. Sad, really. She’d missed them coming and going. It had left her with an uncomfortable feeling, an unaccountable suspicion of guilt. But she’d done all that was expected of her, the suppers had been lovely, never the same thing two Fridays running, never. And she’d put fresh flowers in the sitting-room on Friday, every Friday, and polished the table with lavender polish so there was a lovely sweet smell. Frank couldn’t complain she hadn’t made an effort, every effort. Nobody could have put themselves out more, he couldn’t have expected better treatment. But the trouble was she felt he had.
‘Penny for them,’ Stanley said.
‘Oh, I was just thinking about Frank. Here, do you know your Elsie wanted to ring Frank and tell him about your illness.’
‘No call for that,’ Stanley said, but privately he wondered why this outraged Rose so much. He had been very ill, no good trying to minimize it.
‘That’s what I said. You could write to him yourself with all the time you’ve got lying there. I’ll bring you an airmail in tomorrow.’
‘I don’t know that I could manage it.’
‘Course you could. Sister said there wasn’t anything you couldn’t do if you put your mind to it. She notices, you know – she’s told me how you’re in that dressing-gown smart enough and down to the telly room the minute I’ve gone. You can’t fool her.’
‘I wouldn’t want to worry Frank.’
‘There wouldn’t be any need to worry him. No need to go into details, just say you had a slight mishap –’
‘That would be a lie,’ said Stanley.
‘Oh, don’t be so silly. Tell him exactly what you’re here for then. Frank’s no prude.’
Rose was proud of that. She knew she was a bit of a prude herself but then that was her upbringing. She’d been determined her children should be brought up differently and call a spade a spade and not be ashamed of their bodies and natural functions. She was proud to have been ahead of her generation in that. Right from the beginning she’d answered all Frank’s questions properly and marvelled at what a straightforward attitude it had given him. She and Stanley could never have that freedom. It was too late for them. They got dressed and undressed either with the light off or on their own and their life was full of secrets and euphemisms that she despised. Stanley was either coy or coarse and she couldn’t do with either.
‘You can tell him about our arrangements,’ she said, ‘that’ll give you something to say.’
‘What arrangements?’
‘Oh, don’t be so annoying – going to see them of course. We haven’t written have we? There’s been nothing since that phone call, has there? They’ll be wanting to know.’
‘I don’t know that I’ll be able to go now,’ Stanley said. ‘The hospital will be wanting to keep an eye on me. I shouldn’t think they’ll want me to go far out of their reach.’
‘My God,’ Rose hissed at him, ‘I don’t often blaspheme but you’d make an angel swear. Not far out of their reach? They’ll be glad to see the back of you. The doctor more or less said that if you’d been sensible and gone in time to your G.P. it could have been done in Outpatients or not needed at all. You’ve got very grand ideas of your own importance, my man. They won’t want you back at all – they won’t want you.’
‘We shall have to see,’ Stanley said.
‘Rubbish!’
‘Anyway, what arrangements? I haven’t made any yet.’
‘Then you’ll have to get cracking.’
‘How can I, here, like this?’ said Stanley, getting cross.
‘You can write off for details. I’ll bring in all the leaflets when I bring the airmail. I should think September would be a good time. We’ll go for a month, that’s long enough. We’ll have been in that club for nearly a year then. Yes, September or October. We’ll book it and send a deposit.’
‘You can’t get a deposit back.’
‘I know you can’t. We won’t want it back.’
‘Anything could happen.’
‘Anything could always happen. You must look on the bright side, Stanley,’ and she burst out laughing. ‘You look as if you’ve eaten a sour apple,’ she said, followed by more giggles, until her nose began to run with laughing, she was shaking herself about so much.
She laughed a lot these days. Alice had remarked on it, said she had a proper belly laugh when she got going. It was true. Stanley when he laughed could do it almost silently, just a sort of burr in his throat that got louder like a vacuum cleaner, but she opened her mouth and out ca
me this great noise and for ages afterwards she was still exploding and working it off. She always had to wipe her eyes within minutes of starting and she could feel her cheeks burning and her whole face moving as though it was being pushed. She liked the feeling, it made her feel energetic, as though she could do anything. There were no limits to the possibilities once she started to laugh, it seemed to spark off a generosity in her that she had only suspected.
Out in the street, in Rawlinson Road, she smiled at people she had always ignored – still not readily but after a decent interval when she was sure they were looking at her, which was a lot easier these days now she had her spectacles. Smiling meant stopping and stopping led to talking which was easy because there was Stanley to talk about. Charlotte asked her in to tea and so did the Stewart woman but fortunately she was on her way to the hospital each time. Fortunately, because she knew she hadn’t gone that far, not quite yet. Alice’s was enough for the moment. Going further afield would be too much, too exciting, too disrupting when she was only a learner. When they asked her next time she would perhaps accept, if she was sure they really meant it. They must all give her time to cope, she had to walk before she could run, that was it.
That was what she did. While Stanley recovered, Rose persevered and gained confidence in her new self. Occasionally, she had lapses – moments of grumpiness for no reason, flashes of hostility that she failed to control, days of depression and gloom that just had to be got through. Those were the days when that nastiness inside her welled up and started saying all the horrible evil things it had always said and she had to be sharp with it. The only thing to do on days like that was get out of the house and among people as quickly as possible. This she learnt to do, though it was always an effort. Her new habit of self-mockery and raillery helped – how she went on at herself! How she heaped scorn and abuse on her own grumbling! But it worked and that was all that mattered. When Stanley came home he would find her quite a different person. He had something to look forward to, if he did but know it. She was enough of the old Rose, however, to make sure that he didn’t.
The Seduction of Mrs Pendlebury Page 18