‘I’m not anything,’ Margaret said. ‘I’m all right. It’s everyone else who makes fusses. I’m all right.’ And she picked up the pink dress and went to the wardrobe and took out a hanger. Dolly said nothing, sitting there and watching her and she knew she had won. She’d keep the dresses, and she’d keep on going to the school. But there was something that wasn’t all right, and she didn’t know what it was, and she felt very tired inside, tired and flat.
Maggy, opening her eyes to look again at the clock, thought – drearily, bloody Susannah. She really did put the mockers on me, one way and another. Poor Dolly! It must have been hell having me come home and trot out all that snobbish stupid rubbish. But she let me, and said nothing. Why?
Because she loved you, whispered the clock back at her. Its hands were set at ten to two, and looked like a long sad smile, like Dolly’s face. She thought it was what you wanted, so she let you sneer at her and be ashamed of her and didn’t say a word.
She cried for a while then, not sure why she was crying. The pain in her head? Probably. But after a while the tears stopped and she slept, heavily, till next morning.
16
And woke full of certainty. She knew what she was going to do, even how she was going to do it.
She moved, experimentally, and her back ached a little, was stiff and felt bruised, but her headache was gone. There was just a sore spot there when she touched her scalp gingerly, and she slid her legs out of bed, quietly so as not to wake Theo, and padded to the shower. Her backache was due to yesterday afternoon’s thrash, she decided; that had left more evidence on her than the tap on the head, and she grinned a little as she soaped herself, looking forward to telling Theo that.
He came rushing into the bathroom as she dried herself, standing swaying a little in the doorway and blinking at her. ‘Maggy! You frightened me – for heaven’s sake, come back to bed at once! You need to rest –’
‘Oh, balls,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I’m fine. Just got a sore patch under my hair, that’s all. I’ve got more bruises from you than I ever got from him! Give me an aspirin and make some coffee, there’s a good chap. And put some clothes on, for pity’s sake. You make me feel cold to look at you –’
He tried to object, fussing over her until she had to snap at him, but he gave in at last, washing and shaving and dressing with his usual speed and then making breakfast. She was happy to sit in the living room staring out at the summer morning sky and let him get on with it; it gave him something to do and now she was dressed she did feel a little shakier than she would have admitted to him.
But coffee and hot toast and honey helped and she ate a lot more than she usually did and they listened to the radio for the news, and Theo too seemed to relax, believing at last that she was all right.
‘Theo, love, I’ve not been to the studio all this week, and I think someone ought to, don’t you? You know how they are – all sorts of cock-ups happen unless you make a nuisance of yourself – will you go in and see how they’re doing? You might have to go over to the factory, too, if the master’s already gone there. I’d feel happier if it was checked before they went right into production –’
He looked at her doubtfully. ‘Will you be all right on your own? I hate to leave you –’
‘Now, let’s not be daft! I’m safe enough as long as I only answer the bell to people I know, right? I’ll look every time, I promise.’ And I’ll keep the promise, she told herself. If I’m here.
‘You’ll rest? You’ve had more of a shock than you know –’
‘You heard what the doctor said last night. Trust the patient. I’ll do only what I feel like, not a bit more, I promise.’ And I feel like doing a lot.
‘I ought to go, I suppose. I mean, there’s tapes I’ve brought back from Bristol – there’s a group there, got a good heavy sound. If I don’t line ’em up fast someone else’ll be in there. There was a Decca man at the concert the last night – I really should go in –’ He looked at her, his expression uncertain. ‘I just don’t want to think of you alone here and someone –’
‘I told you. I’ll only answer the door to people I know. There’s nothing to fret over – you’re being a bit of an old woman, you know –’
‘Yes. I know. And I’m going to go on being. I do love you, Maggy.’
‘Do you?’ she said lightly. ‘There’s a comfort. After yesterday afternoon –’
He grinned, his eyes brightening. ‘It really was something, wasn’t it? Fan-tas-tic –’ He was silent for a moment, looking at her. ‘I love you a lot.’
‘I know.’ She smiled then, putting out a hand, touching his sleeve. ‘I know.’ And I think I love you. Some of the time, anyway. I think I do. But she said nothing, just smiled and after a moment he nodded and stood up.
‘I’ll be back as soon as I can. No later than three or so.’
‘Great.’ I can be there and back by then, and he’ll know nothing about it. Not that I care if he does, really. It’s just that –
That it could, just possibly, have been Theo who walloped you last night, couldn’t it? Until you know for sure who it was, you can’t take any risks with anyone.
Leaving the flat took all the courage she had. She looked out of the window first, twisting her neck to see the street below, looking for loafers, watchers, anyone unusual, but there was no one who seemed at all odd; only passers-by, hurrying along, patently uninterested in anything but their own affairs.
She ran down the stairs, singing loudly, feeling foolish, but wanting to be heard, feeling obscurely that if anyone did hit her again and the singing stopped suddenly as a result, the neighbours would hear and come out to investigate –
But there was no need, for she reached the street and stood on the top step, breathing fast and pulling her jacket about her. For all it was summer the air was cool, and anyway she felt safer with her clothes fastened firmly about her. Absurd, but that was how she felt.
She looked at the car and nearly took it, and then decided against it. If it was gone, they’d know she was out, might try to get into the flat again.
Who would? Who would know which was her car, after all? The silly questions pushed against her ears as she walked to the corner and waited, watching for a taxi. Silly questions with no answers.
When she arrived she stood outside for a moment, staring up at the building. It looked the same, just as it always had, but in half scale. It had shrunk to a miniature of the vast palace of a building she had remembered to become an ordinary London primary school, red brick, arched entrances to the playgrounds with ‘Boys’ and ‘Girls’ carved on the lintels in self-important lettering, battered grey dustbins clustered round the caretaker’s entrance at the side.
Inside it was even more familiar; the long polished wood-floored corridors with their green and cream painted walls no longer stretched into infinity but otherwise they looked the same and certainly smelled the same: plimsolls and Jeyes fluid and chalk and sick. Comfortingly, frighteningly, familiar.
There were sounds coming from all directions; a piano being played badly somewhere, thump, thump, thump, and children’s voices chanting and a man’s voice shouting. Outside there was traffic, heavy roaring traffic. She’d forgotten how close to the main road the school was, how much a part of her time here that traffic din had been, and she felt better, knowing that the same buses and the same lorries were grinding past now as had done nearly thirty years ago. Nearly thirty years. Oh, my God.
She walked along the corridors, turned left, went up the stairs, then right and along that corridor, knowing exactly which way, and then there the door was. ‘Staff Common Room’, it said on a battered panel, just as it always had.
She tapped, and someone called faintly, ‘Yes?’ and she walked in, feeling that little surge of terror that had always seized her when she passed this threshold. There was something sinful about being in here, even when you were told to come in, something special and exotic and, in a way, dangerous. Would they ever let you out agai
n, once they got you there? Would they all sit and stare at you and strike you blind and dumb and deaf? It used to make her shiver nearly thirty years ago, and she shivered again now.
‘I’m looking for Miss Lucas,’ she said, standing in the doorway, looking round. Small, of course; she was getting used to that effect. And cluttered, with walls covered with notices and posters and chairs scattered about and tables piled high with exercise books and magazines and stained coffee cups.
There was only one person, a thin girl in jeans and a heavy sweater, her lank hair hanging greasily over her face.
‘Oh. Miss Lucas – yes –’ She pushed the hair away from her eyes and stared at Maggy, and Maggy stared back, puzzled for a moment. Is this what teachers looked like now? The people she remembered were all grey, all over grey. Grey hair, grey dresses, grey legs, grey faces. And old, old, old. Like Miss Lucas was old.
‘Are you a mother? Because, you know, the staff do like parents to make appointments – it does help so –’
‘No, I’m not a mother.’ She grinned at the thought, and shoved her hands more deeply into her pockets. She was looking good and was suddenly aware of the fact as the girl stared at her. She’d put on her Bill Gibb alpaca jacket over the dress Ossie Clark had made for her, and her hair was brushed up and shiny. I must look incredibly exotic to someone so dreary, she thought, childishly pleased with herself, and grinned again. ‘I’m an old girl, actually.’
‘Oh.’ The girl in jeans looked unimpressed. ‘Is that why you want to see Miss Lucas?’ And Maggy was deflated sharply. How absurd to be a grown woman and come visiting the primary school you once went to. She must think I’m mad, she thought, and felt her face redden slightly.
‘In a way. I mean, there’s some information I need –’
But the bejeaned girl had lost all interest in her. ‘Her room’s down the hall, fifth door on the left. The bell’ll go in about five minutes. Wait outside and see if you can catch her –’ She had her head down over a pile of exercise books and didn’t look up when Maggy said, ‘Thanks,’ and went out. She slammed the door behind her, not loudly, but a slam all the same; cocky madam! Just because she was a teacher, she didn’t have to make her feel as though she’d crawled out from under a stone.
Waiting outside the classroom door, hearing the soft buzz of children’s voices from inside, was the oddest part of the morning so far. For the first time the building enlarged again, became as big and as enveloping as it had been all those years ago when she had been nine years old; it was as though her own stature had dwindled and she was Margaret Rose again, small and vulnerable and always worried about something, not grown up sophisticated Maggy.
Grown-up and still worried, she whispered to herself, and then straightened her shoulders. She was being absurd, quite absurd. Last night’s experience must have addled her brains, for what was there to worry about here? She’d come for information, confirmation of something she suspected, a something which might lead her to find her mother’s money. That was all. Just information.
The bell when it rang made her jump, and the door burst open and children came out in a cataract, small, noisy and exhaustingly energetic. Was I like that? she wondered, watching them leap along the corridor, thumping each other, bouncing and clattering. Was I ever such a powerhouse?
She went into the classroom hesitantly and stood looking at the woman behind the desk, watching her writing. Tall, rather bulky, with thin mousy-coloured hair frizzed up to look as though it were thick, and wearing glasses. Otherwise she looked much as Maggy remembered her, and that came as a shock. Because after nearly thirty years, surely she ought to be apple-cheeked and white-haired, a doddery old woman using a stick? This woman looked about sixty or so, which meant that when Maggy had known her first she was little more than a girl. Younger than I am now, Maggy thought. Yet I remember her as being so old.
And suddenly she realized how absurd she had been to expect to find her at all after so long. And how much greater was the absurdity of the fact that she had.
Miss Lucas looked up, peering through her glasses and smiling thinly.
‘Yes? Can I help you?’
‘Hello, Miss Lucas.’
‘Er – hello. Were you looking for your child? They’ve all gone now. I’m afraid –’ And she looked round the room a little vaguely, as though a child might be hiding under a desk somewhere.
‘No. I’m looking for you. How are you?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘How are you? You’re looking – well. Hardly any different.’
Miss Lucas took off her glasses, and put them on again, a wide distracted movement that clearly had nothing to do with her ability to see, and then stood up.
‘Oh dear. You must be one of my old girls, I suppose. Oh dear, oh dear! This keeps on happening, and I always feel so bad about it, but really, it’s not my fault! I have a new class every year, you know, forty children every year and I’ve been here for – well, it’s ridiculous, it’s so long! I can’t possibly remember everyone, can I? And of course, bless you, you will all go and grow up!’ She laughed then, a pleasant fat laugh that lifted her face and made her look quite young. ‘Now, let me see. How old are you? That will help me – if you don’t mind my asking! Come and sit down and let me have a good look at you!’ And she pushed her own chair towards Maggy and perched on the edge of her desk.
‘I’m Maggy Dundas. You knew me as Margaret Rose. I play the piano,’ Maggy said flatly, watching her face and Miss Lucas sat and stared at her, blankly at first and then, remembering, began to nod, slowly, her head bobbing up and down like a mandarin.
‘Margaret. Margaret Dundas who played the piano. Oh, dear me, but I wondered about you! So often I wondered about you, but there, it’s been a long time and I haven’t thought for years – well, well. Margaret Dundas. My dear girl, whatever happened? Why didn’t you – I mean, I always expected great things of you, great things! I used to watch the concert reviews, you know, and the advertisements for the various halls and I never saw your name – I wondered if you’d changed it, perhaps! Have you given up music?’
Maggy wanted to laugh then. ‘No, I haven’t given up. In fact, I’m doing very well. I’m off to the States soon for a series of big concerts, and I’ve just made a new album – I’m really doing very well indeed.’
Miss Lucas looked blank.
‘I play jazz,’ Maggy said gently, and then smiled even more widely at the look of surprised disappointment that moved across the other woman’s face.
‘Oh,’ she said, opening her eyes rather widely. ‘Well, well. Jazz you say? How very nice.’
‘You said that as though it were an attack of the measles. It’s quite respectable, you know.’
‘Oh, dear, I’m sorry! It’s just that – well, I’m old-fashioned, I suppose, but at my age I’m entitled to be! You were good, you see, had such classical potential. But I suppose one has to make a living –’
‘Not at all,’ Maggy said, nettled now. ‘I could have made just as much money out of the Chopin and Beethoven circuit. More, maybe. It’s just that jazz is my kind of music. It excites me. I can – I can get inside it, myself. Chopin makes you play Chopin. Jazz lets you play what you are, when you are. Music ought to be personal. I’m more than just a damned craftsman, you know! Anyone can be taught to play the great classics – me, I play me, I build on the composers – Stravinsky and Purcell and –’
‘I’m sure you do,’ Miss Lucas said mildly and Maggy laughed again, after a moment.
‘I’m sorry. I do get a bit heated, I suppose. You’re not the first to be offhand about my stuff, you see, so – well, I’m sorry.’
‘I’d like to hear you some time,’ Miss Lucas said politely. ‘Perhaps you can educate me.’
‘I’ll send you a record.’
‘That would be very kind.’
There was a little silence and then Maggy said abruptly, ‘I need your help, Miss Lucas. I’m trying to find out something. You can help me.
’
‘I? My dear girl, I can’t imagine –’
‘It’s about me at Thomas Tallis School. Can you remember about what happened when I went there?’
Miss Lucas stared at her, her eyes opaque behind her heavy glasses and then her gaze slid away over Maggy’s shoulder so that she seemed to be looking at something small and very far away.
‘Remember? I can’t say, really. I mean, it must be – how long since you went there?’
‘I was ten. 1951.’
‘1951 – my dear girl, that’s getting on for –’
‘Yes. Getting on for thirty years ago. Still and all, I thought you might remember. I mean not many children from this school went to TT, did they?’
‘No. Not many.’
‘Only me, in fact.’
‘No. There was another. About twenty years ago, that was. She was violin. A splendid talent, splendid. She – well, she never achieved much either – oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. But I’d always hoped, you know, to find myself a little Myra Hess or a Harriet Cohen, a great concert performer –’
‘You took me there. I remember that. And you told me I’d got a scholarship.’ Maggy leaned forward, watching the older woman closely. She hadn’t the most expressive face in the world, but still she was worth watching. ‘Was that true?’
‘True? I don’t – how do you mean?’
‘Did I really get a scholarship? Or was someone else paying for me, and not wanting that known? That’s what I need to know. Did someone else pay my fees there? It was a very expensive place –’
Miss Lucas bent her head, looking down on her hands in her lap. ‘Really, my dear, after so long – you do ask a lot –’
‘No. Not a lot. Just some information. You see – my mother’s dead. She died a few weeks ago. I’m trying to –’
‘Dead?’ Miss Lucas looked up, her face smoothing, making her look young again. ‘Oh. Oh, I see. I’m sorry. And I suppose that does – well –’
‘She left me a lot of problems. Financial ones. But she also left information that would solve those problems. I really can’t explain properly – you see, she didn’t give me all the information I need. I have to find some of it for myself. And I have an idea that –’
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