The Love of a Lifetime

by Mary Fitzgerald

  “Where’s your Albert?” I asked.

  “In Toronto, on business,” she said. “He’s been away for over a month. Coming home next week. Why?”

  “Why d’you think?” I was annoyed. “He could be helping us with this problem. He knows all the authorities. They’re all in the same organisations.”

  Marian frowned and pursed her lips together. “Don’t be silly, Richard,” she said. “There’s nothing that Albert could do. Anyway we don’t want outsiders interfering with our business.”

  You see, that was their attitude. In this instance, even Marian’s husband was an outsider and when I looked round at Mother, I saw that she was nodding her head in agreement. It was hopeless.

  We spoke little through supper but we were all straining our ears for the least sound from the yard. Who would be the first to hear Billy’s car crunching over the cobbles and look up nervously? I had decided that it must be me and that I would go outside and confront him straight away before Mother had any chance of softening the blow. But it was a waste of time, for the wind was still crashing down from the mountain and all other sound from the yard was muffled. “I’ll go and check on the animals after this,” I said and was just taking my last gulp of tea when the kitchen door was thrown open and Billy walked in.

  “You’ve come!” he shouted, so cheerfully that all thoughts of an immediate fight with him were driven from my mind. He turned towards the sink. “Just wait a minute while I wash my hands.”

  Confused, I half rose from my chair, cautious and ready for anything but certainly not expecting him to be so normal. Although I had no any real reason to expect him to be different. It wasn’t as if the police had charged him with anything or his supposed involvement was anything more than rumour.

  But I pushed back my chair and went over to greet him. He was busy with the Vim and the dishcloth, scrubbing away at his hands, doing each finger individually. I waited while he rinsed and then dried them vigorously on the roller towel.

  “Now then,” I said, holding out my hand, “how have you been?”

  “Very well,” he grinned and straightened his cuffs before taking my proffered hand. He was dressed in his market clothes, tweed suit and yellow waistcoat. Father’s watch chain stretched across his flat stomach, the timepiece safely in the deep pocket. I have that watch now and it is still as accurate as ever.

  “Oh are you?” I said. “I heard there’d been some trouble.”

  The grin disappeared like snow off the yard and was replaced by a lowering of brow and that cruel indifferent look that I used to fear. These days I was too old to care about it. I knew that even with my injured shoulder, he would have a hard task in physically beating me and I could easily cope with any rough language or remarks.

  “Nothing that matters,” he said and turned to Mother who was standing aimlessly beside Marian. “I suppose there’s some supper somewhere for a hungry man?”

  His words galvanised her into action and without further ado he sat down at his place and fixed his napkin into the top buttonhole of his waistcoat. His face cleared and he looked at me with the indulgent face that I remembered Father using on the rare occasions that he was pleased with me.

  “Well, Dick,” he said, “have you had a good rest?”

  He was behaving so naturally, merely concerned for my welfare and patently not bothered that I had come home solely because he was in trouble with the police. My opportunity to question him about Dorothy had gone and I had no stomach for asking him what he’d been up to in town. It would all have to start over again in the morning.

  “Good!” he said when Mother put his food in front of him, “I’ve been right hungry. The wind is bitter this evening.”

  “Where’ve you been?” I asked, “I thought you might come to the station to meet me. Mother said she told you I was coming.”

  “I had a bit of business to do, in town,” he said. “Couldn’t wait.” He shovelled a great forkful into his mouth and didn’t notice the darting looks that Marian and Mother were passing to each other. My stomach was in turmoil.

  I got up. “I’ll go and check on the animals,” I said, my desire to be out of this kitchen and away from my brother, now overwhelming. “I’ve finished my supper.”

  “Wait!” he picked up the last piece of bread and butter and stuffed it into his mouth. “Wait, our Dick. I’ll come with you.”

  “No!” It came out so forcibly, that even he was stopped in his tracks and his animated face fell into an almost child’s puzzlement.

  “No,” I softened my words. “You’ve been out all day. Just finish your food first. Mother’s got sponge pudding.”

  But there I was stopped in my words, because suddenly, above the diminishing sound of the wind, I heard a long high pitched howl. Mother, who was dishing up a large portion of the treacle pudding, jumped in alarm and the spoon fell out of her hand and dropped with a noisy clatter on the stone flags beneath our feet.

  “Oh!” said Marian, putting her hand up to her face, “what on earth was that?”

  The howl was repeated, lower this time, animal-like and frightened. It was close to the house and then the wind got up again and copied the sound in the chimney and the windows rattled. The atmosphere in that kitchen was one that would have scared the bravest of men and, that night, I was as close to believing in ghosts as I ever have been.

  Why did we all look at Billy? Why did we think that he had something to do with it? I don’t know, but of course we did and he stared back at us, his boot button eyes screwed up in concentration and his lips quivering slightly.

  “What’s that a bloody racket?” he said, putting his hands on either side of his plate ready to lever himself out of his chair. His jolly face had disappeared and was replaced by a cold still one that boded no-one any good.

  Dear God, I thought. What’s he gone and done now? And I readied myself for whatever it would be.

  Imagine my surprise then when he suddenly leapt from his chair and burst into extravagant laughter.

  “I forgot!” he cried and, turning on his heel, ran to the back door.

  Crash! It was thrown open, a breathless pause and then another crash as it slammed shut. Billy was back in the kitchen holding a shivering young terrier in his arms.

  “It’s for our Dick,” he laughed. “Here.” And walking swiftly across the kitchen until he was in front of me, he thrust the little dog into my arms.

  “It’s a welcome home present,” he said, laughter gone now and a more formal tone adopted, “for our loved one who has been overseas.”

  I was flabbergasted and stood there like an idiot, hugging the little brown and white dog close to me and feeling the muscles beneath her smooth coat begin to relax. Soon she lay comfortably in my arms and when I looked down at her, she reached up gently and licked my nose. I was smitten. How could I be angry now with my brother? He was looking at me with tears once again in his eyes and between gulps and blubs he drew out papers from his inside pocket.

  “She’s a good ‘un, mind,” he snivelled, “full pedigree and all that. I know you like dogs.”

  “I do,” I said and put out my hand to grip his arm “Thank you.”

  No more time for thanks, for we were interrupted by the jangling of the front door bell.

  “Who the hell is that?” said Billy, snapping his head round and the pleased grin fading. “Are you expecting company, Mother? Or is it the… “

  The word ‘police’ was left unspoken but from the sudden look of fear that came into his face, I knew what he was thinking.

  “It’s the doctor, I think,” said Marian, joining in at last. “I asked him to call. I thought you’ve been looking peaky lately and Mother said she didn’t think you’d been sleeping too well. I went to see him this morning.”

  Mother went to open the door but Billy turned towards the scullery and reached for his coat, all jolly laughter flown away. “I don’t need the doctor,” he spat, “tell him to go to hell.”

  “Billy,”
I said, not loud, but determined. “See him. I want you to.”

  He stood with his hand on the peg, not looking at me, but muttering another conversation with himself. I looked round the kitchen, wondering where to put the dog because, if necessary, I was going to physically stop him from going out. I didn’t have to because his muttered conversation came to an end and letting his hand drop, he edged back into the room and leant casually against the sideboard.

  “I’ll stay,” he said, his eyes cold and suddenly weary. “But it’s a waste of time.”

  Chapter 28

  “Did the doctor help?” I asked him that because now I’m fascinated with the horribly strange brother. All these months that he’s been writing and recording this story, he keeps coming back to Billy and their relationship. Why can’t he see how awful Billy was to him, so cruel when they were children and plainly mad when he was an adult. Why did Richard feel that he had to care about him?

  They were all monsters in that family; Marian cold and nasty, Father distant and unloving and as for his Mother? I can’t understand that relationship at all. She must have been the most selfish person in his life. She was always trying to make them do things that would make life easier for her. That isn’t love as I would reckon it.

  Take that back about Mother being the most selfish. What about Elizabeth?

  Poor Richard.

  “What?”

  He seems to be deafer than ever today, although Donald Clewes says it isn’t so much deafness as lack of concentration. Richard is re-living a life in his head. Everyone he cared about is dead, most of them gone years ago when he was still young enough to find another life for himself. I’ve looked at the photographs in the album and he was a handsome man that any woman would have been proud to have for a husband. I’m sure he was good, kind and generous with his money. I do wonder about those years after the war when he was running the farm and living here only with his mother. Surely he had someone who he could go to, simply to talk? Surely he had woman, somewhere, who he called on, for comfort.

  Oh, I know he went to see Elizabeth in Ireland, but the trips were so infrequent and from reading between the lines, I think they were pretty stressful. She sounds like a difficult person.

  “I said, did the doctor help Billy?”

  Richard nodded slowly. The collar of his pyjama jacket keeps slipping to the side because he’s so thin. I got up to straighten it and to make him more comfortable against his pillows. He leant on my chest as I pulled him forward and sighed deeply. He weighs next to nothing and as nurse says, managing would be easy if he weren’t so tall, “I like them small and compact,” she says, “they fit in the bed better.”

  “You smell nice,” he said. “Clean.”

  “Well I hope so.” That made me smile, but I knew what he meant. Clean is the best scent.

  “Mother always used Attar of Roses. It was her favourite and she would dab a little on every afternoon when she changed out of her house dress. Granny said she was vain and that there was no place in a farmhouse for perfume.

  “ ‘And you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Mother Wilde,’” said Mother sharply, when Granny had mentioned it for the umpteenth time.

  That gave Granny a start and she sat up straight, gripping onto her tea-cup. “ ‘No need for that, Mary Constance.’”

  Aunt Fanny and Aunt May pursed their mouths into little buttons and looked at their shoes. They were shocked with Mother for they didn’t dare answer Granny back.

  “ ‘Every need,’” said Mother, very brisk. “ ‘I won’t be reproved in my own parlour. Now, who’s for another cup of tea?’”

  Richard laughed, his old shoulders shaking against my chest and I put my arms round him and hugged him. Oh, I do feel so close to him. His humour is mine and his feelings for things are the same as mine. It’s because we come from the same stock, I know that and I think he does too although it’s never mentioned. What would we be? Cousins?

  “Tell me about your brother and the doctor. Did he help him?”

  “He did. As far as he was able, but Billy was a reluctant patient. Didn’t realise, you see that he was ill. And he was, you know.

  I liked the new doctor, Dr Trevor he was called and he was young, younger than me, which I found strange.

  “Good evening, Mr Wilde,” he said when Mother showed him into the kitchen. “I hear you’ve been feeling poorly.” He had a grey felt hat in his hand and his medical bag, which he set down heavily on the table. As he leant forward, his mackintosh fell open and I could see underneath a brown striped suit. I recognised that as a demob suit. Not long out of the army, he was and I warmed to that.

  At first, Billy wouldn’t speak to him. He stayed leaning against the sideboard, for a minute, giving the doctor the once over before going back to sit at his place at the table. He lifted up the teapot and poured himself a cup of tea.

  “I’m all right,” he said. “My family fuss too much.”

  Dr Trevor gazed at each one of us in confusion and then turned to look at Mother. “Mrs Wilde?” he said, “are you sure you need me?”

  She didn’t know what to say, I could see that and her cheeks burned red with embarrassment. Marian was her usual silent self so it was left to me to speak.

  “Excuse me, Doctor,” I said, “I’m Richard Wilde, Mr Wilde’s brother. Perhaps I can explain.” I led him out of the kitchen and into the hall.

  “That’s a fine dog you’ve got there,” he said as we stood beside the polished dresser in the gloomy hall.

  I looked down at the pup who had now gone to sleep in my arms. She had felt so immediately a natural extension to my life that I’d almost forgotten that I was still carrying her. Now I put her down on the floor beside my feet where she sat, most obediently, one small paw resting on my shoe.

  “Doctor,” I began. “I think my brother is having another nervous breakdown. It’s happened before and Dr Guthrie prescribed pills to help him. He doesn’t realise he’s ill, but the family can see that he’s getting worse. I’ve been away until today, but my mother and sister have told me. And, of course, there has been some trouble with the police.” I stumbled there wondering how to put it, but the doctor held up his hand.

  “You don’t need to tell me about that, Mr Wilde. I know all about the land girl and I’ve read Dr Guthrie’s notes. My feeling is that he needs help. Possibly in hospital, if he’s willing.”

  I shrugged. “I can’t see him agreeing to that, but he’ll take the pills, I think. He did last time.”

  The doctor frowned. “I’m not sure about drugging him. It’ll keep him quiet, but that’s no help, is it?”

  Yes! I longed to cry out. Just keep him quiet. Don’t let him make trouble. But I said nothing as we walked back. The little dog trotted beside me and I had a moment’s concern that she must need a bowl of water by now and that I’d been remiss in my duty of care for her. But she would have to wait. Getting Billy sorted out was paramount.

  “The doctor wants to talk to you,” I said going over to my brother and putting my hand on his arm. He shook it off and I could see his fists beginning to curl up. He was getting angry and the beginnings of a muttered conversation started.

  “Billy!” I said, again sharper this time and with more meaning in my voice. “On your feet!”

  My voice sounded harsh in the silent kitchen. Outside, the wind had dropped and a steady drizzle was pattering gently against the windows. Mother and Marian held their breaths and watched as Billy slowly lumbered out of his chair. He could have done anything and I got myself ready for the head-down rush that he might make. When we were children, that’s how he always got me, winding me first with his head bashing into my solar-plexus and then when I was lying on the ground gasping for breath, he would raise those huge fists and pummel my face bloody. I wondered if he thought he could do that now. If he imagined I was that same weak boy, who hated fights and always let him win to save myself from further pain. I didn’t think so and I was proved right.

&n
bsp; He straightened up and let out a mirthless laugh. “Yes, Sergeant,” he cried and did a mock salute. “Attention!” He stood, dull-faced and compliant so that the doctor could examine him.

  Mother and Marian went out of the room but I stayed, watching as Dr Trevor gently pushed Billy back in his seat and did a quick examination of his vital signs. I took the opportunity to fill a bowl with water and put it on the floor in the scullery for the pup. She drank gratefully and then whined and ran in a little circle.

  “The dog needs a piss,” said Billy. He’d been watching her, his face turned away from the stethoscope and the probing looks he was getting.

  “I know,” I said and took her outside, where she relieved herself against the back wall and then ran away further towards the field to do more. After a while, I whistled and she came running back, wagging her little tail and doing babyish jumps beside my leg. I could tell then that this dog and I were going to be fast friends. I’d call her Nell, I decided, same as the dog I’d had as a boy and loved very much.

  “Come on, Nell,” I said. “Time to go in.”

  When we went inside, the doctor was sitting beside Billy. “Your brother wants your advice,” the doctor said. “Should he stay here or go into hospital? He wants you to tell him.”

  “He must stay here.” The words were out of my mouth before I had time to think properly. My reaction was instinctive, the Wilde way of doing things, and all my years away and my anger with Mother and Marian for their secretiveness was as nothing. Faced with the choice of sending Billy to an Asylum or looking after him at home, I behaved in exactly the same way as they had done.

  The doctor frowned. He plainly thought that I was wrong but he had left the choice up to me and must go along with it.

  “You’ll have to be here to look after him,” he said quite sharply, “no going away again.”

  I nodded. “How long will it take?”

  He shrugged. “Who knows? He’ll probably need some type of tranquilliser for the rest of his life.”