Two Loves

by Siân James

  ‘I’m in this bloody place because I can’t afford anything else. Why don’t you bloody listen?’ Daniel threw himself down on his bed. ‘Why don’t you go?’ he asked in a different voice.

  Rosamund’s voice changed too. ‘Do you want me to?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘No.’ He held out his arms for her and they lay down together without further words. Then he undressed her and she undressed him and they kissed each other, very tenderly at first and then more and more passionately, their hands hot on each other’s bodies. Until Daniel finally broke away from her and cried. And she comforted him and told him there was plenty of time, plenty of time, my love, my darling, and held him until he went to sleep. She sat in his room all night, dozing in short snatches and watching his restless sleep. When he woke, he was again fretful and in pain, seeming to have forgotten their brief truce.

  * * *

  The following evening, feeling a desperate need for a bath and a bed, Rosamund returned to Ingrid’s flat, and before settling to sleep phoned her mother for news of Joss.

  ‘I’m so glad you rang, dear. I was at the schoolhouse this morning looking for socks, the phone rang and of course I answered it thinking it might be Brian, but it was Mrs Gilchrist, dear, who seemed in a fine old temper.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mum. She’s probably annoyed that I haven’t written to reply to some demands she was making. I’ll give her a ring tomorrow. It’s too late now, she’ll probably be in bed.’

  Rosamund felt too benighted by real problems to be much concerned with Molly’s petty grievances.

  ‘But when I explained that I was your mother, dear, she told me to tell you that she could do you a great deal of harm, and would, if you didn’t agree to suppress the poems. I think that’s what she said.’

  ‘Good heavens, the woman’s mad. You see, Mum, she got her solicitor to get in touch with Erica Underhill to warn her off publication. But she had no right to do it because the copyright of the poems are mine. And I want the book to go ahead because I want a share of the money.’

  ‘Of course you do, dear. I’m sure you’re completely in the right. But what about this harm she can do you? That’s what I’m worried about.’

  ‘She can’t do me any harm, Mum. Don’t give it another thought. Perhaps she intended to leave Joss something in her will, but I hardly think so. How is he?’

  ‘He’s fine, dear. Brian and I had to take him to see Jim after school this afternoon. Jim. The new baby, dear. Yes, he’s home now. I don’t think Granny could cope with him, but at least she’s paying for a trained Norland nanny to look after him for a twelvemonth. Yes. But not at all the sort of person you’d think of as a Norland nanny – you know, brogues and tweeds and so on. No, in fact the sort of person you’d think of as Swedish au pair. Or even Swedish tart. She was in the briefest of brief bikinis when we arrived and Jim was completely naked, lying on a rug and completely naked.’

  ‘And how was Thomas?’

  ‘Oh, Thomas was fully clothed, dear, and very kindly made us a cup of tea.’

  * * *

  That night Rosamund dreamed that Marie had abandoned her baby and that Jo, the health visitor, had agreed to let her have him. She’d had to smuggle him away in a taxi before any one else – Marie’s mother? Edmund? – had arrived to claim him, and in the taxi she realised that she hadn’t stopped to feed him; he seemed to be shrinking even as she nursed him and fixing his large sad eyes on her as though accusing her of neglect. She’d beaten on the glass separating her from the driver, but he’d taken no notice, though she was sure he could hear her. And where was he hurrying off with them? To her horror she realised that she’d given him no address. And, oh God, he seemed to be driving her onto the Shuttle. And all the time, she was beating on the glass and crying and hugging the little baby to her breast to try to keep him warm, to keep him alive.

  She woke sweating and weak with relief to discover that she was safely in bed and not guilty of kidnap or neglect. She put the light on and kept it on for several minutes, looking about her at Ingrid’s pretty bedroom and longing to be at home with Joss. She corrected herself. ‘With Joss and Daniel, I mean,’ she said.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘Can’t I come with you?’ Marie asked, when Rosamund told her she intended visiting a friend that afternoon while Daniel was at his counselling session. ‘I don’t like being here by myself.’

  ‘Don’t you know the people downstairs?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t like them. They don’t talk to me.’

  Rosamund had only come across one other tenant, the large, frowning man who’d let her in the previous day, though she’d several times been to the communal kitchen on the ground floor. ‘How many people are there in the house?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Quite a lot. Edmund and Daniel had these two rooms first of all and me and my friend, Kim, had the room downstairs with the doors to the garden.’ Marie’s voice hardened. ‘Only Kim left when I moved in with Edmund.’

  ‘And don’t you see her now?’

  Rosamund had a long wait before Marie answered. ‘She came back Christmas-time, but she wasn’t well. Daniel got the ambulance. Daniel went up the road and phoned for the ambulance.’

  Rosamund was aware from Marie’s reluctance to continue that things had gone badly, very badly. All the same she couldn’t resist another question. ‘And what happened to her?’

  ‘Oh, she died,’ Marie said in a shockingly bright voice. ‘Silly cow. All her own fault. On heroin and only fifteen with all her life in front of her.’

  ‘Is that what people said?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Most people are ignorant and stupid,’ Rosamund said. ‘But I bet Jo didn’t say that.’

  ‘Jo? Jo Watson? How do you know Jo?’

  ‘She came here to see Theodore when I was looking after him. I thought she seemed a good sort. She seemed to like you a lot. You and your mum.’

  Marie’s face relaxed. ‘Yes. Jo was brought up in care herself, so she understood about Kim.’

  ‘Kim was brought up in a Home?’

  ‘Only she ran away at fourteen.’

  ‘Didn’t she have a mother?’

  ‘Don’t know. Didn’t ever ask her. Didn’t think it was my business to ask her.’

  ‘You’re quite right. And I won’t ask you anything else.’

  ‘I don’t mind. I don’t mind talking about Kim because she was my friend, my best friend.’

  ‘Tell me a bit more about her then.’

  ‘Not much to tell. She had curly brown hair and it gave her a lot of grief because she thought it made her look like a kid and she wanted long straight hair. She had a brilliant laugh. She even laughed that night she came back here. When I told her I was up the creek.’

  ‘Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  ‘It’s OK. I don’t mind talking to you. You seem like a lady at first, but deep down you’re not.’

  ‘And deep down you seem the sort of person who could be a sort of person like Jo.’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’

  ‘Tomorrow afternoon we’ll go up West and go shopping in Oxford Street.’

  ‘With what?’

  ‘I’ve still got a bit of money left. But I’ve got to go on my own this afternoon. It’s to do with my work.’

  ‘You said you was going to see a friend.’

  ‘A very old lady. And to do with my work.’

  Marie sat for a while looking at Theodore who was sleeping sweetly in his drawer under a Mickey Mouse blanket. ‘What I really want is a buggy, a second-hand buggy. I’ve put a pound fifty down on it. Out of that fiver you gave me for the launderette.’

  ‘How much is it?’

  ‘A lot.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Twenty-five quid.’ She looked up at Rosamund. ‘But it’s in good nick. I tested the brakes and that. And it folds up ever so easy. I could take it on buses, go to see my mum, go anywhere.’

  ‘We’ll go a
nd see it tomorrow. You stay in today, then you’ll be here when Daniel comes back. He likes to see Theodore.’

  ‘He likes to see me as well.’

  * * *

  Erica seemed more frail than Rosamund had remembered, but was in high spirits – due, she said, to the excellent weather. She was dressed in a pale grey silk dress, a white chiffon scarf round her neck. Rosamund felt an awed admiration for her; she was old with wrinkles, loose skin, hooded eyes, but her expression had remained young and eager and this was what you noticed.

  Rosamund apologised for postponing the arrangements made for her visit to Gloucestershire, but Erica assured her that she was happy to think of it as a future treat. ‘I like to anticipate,’ she said, ‘don’t you? Don’t you think that looking forward to something is often the best part? When Anthony used to telephone in the morning to say he’d be coming round that evening, I’d spend a lovely day waiting for him. Whatever work I was doing, my mind was attuned to his arrival. Even preparing a meal for him was full of a quite extreme pleasure. I often think of those days, that joy.

  ‘And you see,’ she continued, when they were seated at the window of the elegant dark red sitting room, ‘writing one’s autobiography is a very pleasant occupation because one is made to think of the past instead of the future.’

  ‘You’ve started on it?’

  ‘Not the actual writing, no, but I’ve been busy thinking back and making notes. Of course at my age one’s always thinking of the past, but now it’s in a structured way, so that one feels more like a writer, even an historian, and less like a maudlin old woman.’

  Rosamund started to tell her that she was at the moment unable to undertake the actual writing, but found that Dora had already explained the position to her.

  ‘My dear, I quite understand. If this young man is important to you, he must come first. I know young women these days like to feel that they owe as much loyalty to other women as to the men in their lives, but that’s quite alien to my way of thinking. I would always put a man first and I would always expect my girlfriends – not that I had many girlfriends – to do the same. Don’t you agree with me?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Anyway, at the moment Daniel, the man in question, has to come first because he’s had a breakdown and needs all my attention. I haven’t many girlfriends either, though I’m very fond of Ingrid, the girl who called here to see you.’

  ‘Ah yes, Ben’s girlfriend. Or is that over? She seemed to think it might be over. He hadn’t left her his address, I think.’

  ‘Yes, it’s probably over. And since he doesn’t seem interested in carrying on with the book now, I thought you might be willing to let Ingrid take it on. She’s a journalist as well – that’s how I got to know her. She came to the schoolhouse to do an article about me, about my painting.’

  ‘I liked Ingrid well enough, but I think I’d be able to talk more freely to Ben.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s to be trusted, though. He gave up this job as soon as he thought he wasn’t going to get enough money from it, which seems pretty rotten. And he’s been pretty rotten to Ingrid as well.’

  Erica seemed reluctant to let Ben slip out of her life. He had brought her expensive flowers from Harrods; dusky black tulips the last time he’d come, saying they’d remind her of passion, get her in the right mood. All the same … ‘Well, I’m ready to settle for Ingrid if you’re ready to give me permission to use the poems.’

  ‘Oh, I am. And I was hoping perhaps you’d suggest paying me a certain amount as well.’

  ‘I’d already thought of that. We’ll have a contract drawn up. Ben’s agent was going to see to that, now we’ll have to think of someone else. I wish I had some champagne to celebrate our agreement. Haven’t had any champagne for ages.’ Erica was sure Ben would have brought champagne. ‘When will Ingrid be able to start? I’m longing to get going. I really do need some money before next winter.’

  ‘She’s coming back from a holiday in Italy on Saturday and she’ll ring you. She’s anxious to start too.’

  ‘Where in Italy was she making for?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Her air ticket was to Pisa.’

  ‘I lived in Italy for several years. It was just before I met Anthony.’

  Erica seemed suddenly tired so that Rosamund offered to make some tea. She’d bought a cherry cake at the corner shop.

  She was pleased to find the kitchen tidier and cleaner than before, which seemed a positive sign. There were even some dark tulips on the windowsill, dead now, their stems arched almost double so that they looked like curtseying ballerinas, but all the same, evidence that Erica felt she had something to live for, had hope for the future. She put the kettle on, placed cups and saucers on a tray and carried it into the sitting room.

  Erica had her spectacles on and was reading a letter. After a few seconds she passed it to Rosamund. It was from Anthony, the address somewhere in Provence.

  ‘Oh dearest, I can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t exist without you. My life with M is a travesty of marriage, I have nothing to give her. I know she understands this, because she is far from stupid, yet chooses not to, refuses to question me, refuses to recognise my anguish at being away from you. She has taken this house for a month. How long can I stay here? Oh waste of moon, waste of night, darkness and stars. Dearest, you have all my love.’

  Rosamund sat perfectly still, hardly breathing, reliving the tragedy of those three people. After a while she realised that tears were running down her cheeks, so she blew her nose, poured out the tea, cut the cherry cake, passed the plate to Erica and took a few sips of her scalding tea.

  ‘I don’t know what that was all about,’ she said. ‘It just shows how worked up I am, I suppose. Oh, why do things go so wrong for us all?’

  Erica said nothing, only sat patiently waiting for her to continue.

  So Rosamund sniffed again and told her about Daniel who’d been the great love of her student days, how she’d met him again and how she was now trying to help him. ‘Not for his sake, of course, but for mine. In the hope that he’ll be able to fill the emptiness in my life.’

  ‘When I married Roger,’ Erica said, ‘that was after the abortion when I felt so abandoned, I found I’d filled one emptiness and created another. Being married to the wrong person isn’t the answer. Most of the people I used to know seemed to be unhappily married, but they thought, as I did, that it was better than being alone. I now think being alone is the second-best option.’

  Rosamund thought about that as she munched her piece of cake. ‘I suppose it might be, but I think I’ve been alone too long. It’s something I’ve tried and found wanting.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Erica said, ‘you’re embarked on a very exciting project. You might be giving Daniel a new start in life. And even if it is, as you say, mostly for your sake, he’ll certainly reap the benefit. And if he’s got great talent, as you seem to think, he might be even greater after this ordeal he’s going through.’

  ‘Or perhaps he’ll always feel hungry and deprived for what’s missing from his life.’

  ‘I had to give up smoking three years ago because of my chest and I found it hell. And giving up heroin is of course far, far worse. I don’t suppose he believes in prayer, does he?’

  ‘Why, do you?’

  ‘No. But I still prayed. A priest at the hospital – yes, I had bronchitis very badly and had to go to St Thomas’s – had given me a special prayer written down on a card, and I used to recite it quite often. The words were very beautiful, I thought. Something about sinners and the grace of God.’ She sighed. ‘The repetition seems to calm you down,’ she said.

  ‘Do you ever go to church?’

  ‘Yes. I like to go on a fine summer morning. Especially when I haven’t been anywhere else all week. Well, for one thing it’s the only chance I get to wear a hat and I have several pretty hats. And there’s coffee and biscuits afterwards in the vestry and always someone fairly interesting to talk to. You meet quite a nice type of pers
on in St Mark’s.’

  Old people seemed to be so lonely, Rosamund thought. And yet she’d prefer to battle on alone like Erica than be cooped up in an old people’s home. Cooped up; old people crowded together like chickens.

  ‘I wonder if you’d like a young companion to live with you? To do your shopping and so on?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so, Rosamund, thank you. I have my home-help twice a week and I like to go to bed early. Why? Did you have anyone in mind?’

  ‘No, not really. But there’s a young girl called Marie Brenner who lives in the same house as Daniel, and I suddenly wondered if you might have her here. But on second thoughts I don’t think either of you would be too happy with the arrangement. She’s got a baby so there’d be a fair bit of noise, and anyway her boyfriend may come back to her. I suddenly thought of her because she wanted to come with me to visit you today.’

  ‘She could come to visit me, by all means. I could give her a cup of tea or even a little lunch. Does she like baked beans on toast? That’s what I usually have for lunch. Sometimes an egg.’

  ‘Her baby’s called Theodore. He’s almost a month old and rather small and he cries a lot. Her life has been quite hard, I think, though her mother helps her as much as she can. I’ll probably never see her again after this week, but I know I won’t be able to stop thinking about her. Anyway, I’ll tell her she can visit you. She may turn up. I think you’d like her. You’re the same type. Both of you brave and gutsy.’

  But Erica had switched her attention to happier times. Her eyes, still turned towards Rosamund, no longer saw her. ‘I remember a country wedding Anthony took me to,’ she said, her voice remote and dreamy. ‘I don’t know how he’d been able to take me instead of Molly. It was the marriage of a young poet who perhaps didn’t know him personally but only as an older poet who’d helped and encouraged him. Anyway, it was by far the nicest wedding I’ve ever been to. It was late June and we walked to the village church along a narrow path fringed with ferns and tall grasses. And the reception was in the garden of the bride’s cottage, quite daring because it could have rained – but didn’t. And we sat at long tables borrowed from the village hall with white cloths and bowls of wild flowers; dog roses and honeysuckle and red campion. And we had delicious home-baked bread and cold ham and cheeses and patés and crisp lettuce and watercress and big Victorian jugs of beer and cider with gooseberry crumble and thick yellow cream to follow. And then someone played the violin and the children danced and no one made speeches and I think everyone there was happy.’