Ask Me to Dance

by Sylvia Colley

  ‘Come on, Francis. Let’s put you to bed now.’

  He bent and dropped the rabbit into the box and it scratched and twisted, turning wildly several times. Joseph giggled. ‘He always does that.’ And then he fished in his pockets and took out a carrot and some quarters of apple. ‘Here you are.’

  The rabbit eyed us both in the dark, his ears on the alert and his nose quivering and, apparently forgetting us completely, began sniffing at the food. We watched for a moment and then I took Joseph’s arm and led him out of the run.

  I made myself do it. It wasn’t easy, because in some ways he disgusted me, but I did continue with my arm through his. He held his arm limply by his side, giving no sign that I was there at all, quite engrossed in his own thoughts, but I sensed that he didn’t mind. I tried to think of something to say to break the silence; it was like dealing with a sorrowing child.

  ‘Can you imagine why I’m here? So stupid, really!’

  No reply.

  ‘It’s really so silly. Shall I tell you?’ And I gave a light laugh so as to make a joke out of it, but he failed to respond. ‘The thing is, for some extraordinary reason, I started losing my memory. At work, mostly. Silly things. I suddenly couldn’t spell simple words, forgot words, things like that – sometimes I couldn’t understand what I was reading. You know I would look at loads of change in my purse and couldn’t work out how much it was. Not all the time, just sometimes. Mind went blank – felt like cotton wool. Awful! And then I panicked and that made it worse. A bit like looking at an exam question and thinking that it was double Dutch. Thinking, I don’t know what they’re talking about. Not too good, don’t you think?’ I tried to laugh again, tried to take his mind off the rabbit.

  Silence.

  ‘The thing is…’ I began to tell him about the children. Things I had never spoken of before: about the drive in the car; about the red blanket and the little strand of hair across Fleur’s face; about Dan and the boat and my cowardice; about the tubes and the machines. About Peter. I was unemotional, as if I was telling a bedtime story. A story about somebody else. How I couldn’t remember Fleur’s funeral; how I couldn’t remember what they liked to eat; how I couldn’t remember how much I loved them.

  I turned to look at him, his face pale in the shadowy dark and, as I did so, he pulled away, leaned over the path and vomited in great streams, down his clothes, into his hands, onto the grass.

  Christ! I jumped away, horrified, my stomach retching with his. But at least I did not run away. I pulled up clumps of grass for him to wipe himself with.

  ‘What’s the matter? What’s wrong?’ I was sure it must be something I had said. Perhaps all of it. Perhaps it was too much. ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked again, but he was rubbing down his habit with a grubby handkerchief. I pushed some grass into his hands, thinking he could wipe himself with it, but he looked at me questioningly and then let it drop onto the path. I felt so ashamed. Had I been the cause?

  ‘Is it Francis? Is that what’s upset you?’ but he was already shuffling away from me, rather bent, his head down. I felt a rush of fury. I would most definitely go to see Father Godfrey. I watched him stumbling on into the weak, low light of the evening, which spread through the widening trees at the end of the path. I did not hurry to catch him up and although unsure that it had not been me that had upset him, I turned on impulse, deciding that I would go to see Father Godfrey at once.

  There was absolutely no one in the hallway, but I knew his room was somewhere through the door to the right and, determined now to do what I had come to do, I opened the door and passed through. Beyond the library was another door and a light shone underneath. I supposed it was Godfrey’s. Perhaps in some strange way it was the thought of my trip out the next morning, for I was looking forward to it, that meant I felt no qualms in knocking on this door. I heard the scrape of a chair and almost immediately the door opened. Godfrey was standing there.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but I think you ought to know that Brother Joseph is ill. He’s just been horribly sick. And I’m sure it’s because of the rabbit.’ I know I rattled on something like: ‘He’s very upset, you know, about putting the rabbit in that run. I thought you’d like to know.’

  He just stared at me.

  ‘Well, that’s all I came to say. Goodnight.’

  I knew I’d been rude, but I didn’t care. His silence only increased my irritation. He was about to shut the door without a word when I turned.

  ‘I think it’s all pretty disgraceful,’ I kind of shouted, and strode off, leaving him standing there. I don’t quite know what came over me. I didn’t have to be so aggressive, did I?

  As I crossed the lawn, still shaking from my outburst, I saw two monks entering the Monks’ Walk. As it was almost dark, I couldn’t make out exactly who they were, but I was surprised and curious, so I stood where I was, not wanting to attract attention. They were speaking quietly and soon disappeared into the trees, at which point, in my curiosity, I walked quickly to the path that led to my room, from where I could watch them.

  One was the rather fat bald-headed monk. I recognised him from behind for, every now and again, in the near dark, the filtered light caught the top of his bald, skull-like head. The smaller, rather quickstepped monk I couldn’t place at all. But as I watched, I saw them stretch out their hands to each other. I stared, mesmerised; couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Then they both stopped, turned towards each other, pulled their hoods up over their heads and kissed. I shouldn’t have been so shocked, I suppose, but I was and it just added to my anxiety; that this abbey was not the place for me; that the whole idea had been a really stupid mistake. Where were Matthew, or Seamus or Peter, Mother, Father? All gone from me, one way or the other.

  Chapter 34

  Godfrey was so amazed at the woman’s behaviour that he immediately shut his door to hide his consternation, and poured himself out a sherry. The music had stopped and he sat in the silence with the glass in his hand. He was bemused and thoroughly shaken. He had thought her so calm, so perfectly in control; he had been drawn to her and yet there she had stood like something demented. At one point, he had honestly thought she was going to strike him.

  He passed a hand over his head, gulped some sherry and tried in his mind to account for her behaviour, even to make excuses for her. Even if she were right, that was no way to behave, bursting in on him like that and leave him standing there like an idiot. It was all too much. How were they to cope? He had too much on his plate at the moment; he just could not tolerate anything more. The man from the auction house was coming tomorrow, too. And then he remembered that Guy was taking her out. Thank goodness for that! Keep her out of the way for as long as possible. He would have a word with Guy first thing tomorrow. Perhaps he could persuade her to go home, even. It was a doctor she needed, not a priest. And then he remembered Guy was a doctor. He sighed in exasperation. It didn’t seem to matter which way he turned, something or someone was snapping at his heels.

  He pushed himself up from his chair, tired and depressed. He felt extraordinarily helpless, but he supposed he should go to see if Brother Joseph was all right. She was bound to ask, and to find out that he didn’t go … then there would be another scene. Damn the woman! He couldn’t help himself. All because of a stupid rabbit! He couldn’t believe anything so trivial could cause so much fuss. And damn Bertram, too!

  When he reached Joseph’s room, there was no sign of life. He knocked very gently on his door, praying that there would be no answer, and there wasn’t. He sighed quietly with relief and then hesitated. Perhaps he was too ill to answer! He knocked again. Nothing. Suddenly he was consumed by tiredness. I can’t do any more, he thought and so returned to his room, longing for the oblivion of sleep.

  Chapter 35

  There was the echo of a cuckoo, its hollow call of dewy sunshine and bluebell woods, and I lay listening, aware of a quickening, a lightness. I was going out with Guy. I didn’t want to lie in bed, but it was much too earl
y to do anything. And then I thought of the rabbit. I would go and see it, see that it had survived the night. I was glad to have a purpose; I was energised for the first time in goodness knows how long! My foot still throbbed a bit, but I didn’t care.

  I put on the kettle and lit a cigarette, which I puffed at as I dressed. The milk was off and I opened the door and threw it into the shrubs; it left white drops on the thick leaves. The sun was just appearing through the trees, casting long fingers of light. It was going to be another scorcher and I think I was almost happy, although I did wonder with a wry twist whether I would dare go to breakfast after last night’s debacle with Father Godfrey, but decided that I most definitely would; they didn’t take any notice of me, anyway. So what would be different about this morning?

  I remembered the two holding hands. Could I identify the smaller of the two at breakfast? My shock had turned to amusement; I didn’t care about it or them any more. It was my secret, although I would tell Guy. I thought we could have a laugh about it.

  In the meantime, as I had time, I would go and check on the rabbit, but as I came to the end of my path and in sight of the great cedar tree I was surprised and kind of relieved to see the rabbit already tied to the rope.

  Momentarily I was at a bit of a loss, with no reason to go for the walk to check him out, and unsure what to do. I was up early, but nevertheless, anyone could be looking at me from out of a window somewhere, so trying, rather self-consciously, to look as if I knew what I was doing, I walked over to the rabbit as purposefully as I could, bent down to touch his ears and kicked some scraps in his direction.

  Joseph was nowhere to be seen; no one was around. It was so still, so silent, I could hear the rabbit’s quivering and soft hoppings.

  ‘You’ve survived all right, then? I shouted at Father Godfrey about you out there. Do you realise? But you were OK after all. I think I must be silly, Francis.’

  Later, at breakfast, I looked defiantly round but they all, even Father Godfrey, stared resolutely at their plates, deliberately avoiding me. Except for Guy. We looked across at each other and he winked. Why did that scare me? Why did I suddenly not want to go out with him? I was a grown woman behaving like a teenager, for God’s sake.

  I left the dining room before him, hoping to get out of the building before he caught up with me, which I felt sure he would try to do. And I was right for, as I went to open the French windows, I heard his voice.

  ‘How are you this morning?’

  ‘Fine!’

  ‘The foot more comfortable? I see you have abandoned my slippers!’

  ‘Better, thank you.’ I ignored the reference to the slippers. Too personal.

  ‘Ready for the outing, then?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Good. Well, I should be ready by ten-thirty. See you out at the front. Don’t wear anything too grand.’ His voice was full of laughter. ‘We’re going to a farm, remember!’

  But I was already crossing by the tree and pretended not to hear.

  Chapter 36

  He had his back to me and was putting something into his car, which he had driven up beside mine. He was wearing fawn corduroys and a white shirt with the sleeves half rolled up. He turned when he heard me and, looking happy, opened his arms in greeting, smiling broadly.

  ‘I didn’t recognise you.’ And he laughed. He seemed so very pleased to see me. And it made me happy. It was something I wasn’t used to, had forgotten about. And I think he knew it.

  ‘All ready? Good. Well, get in.’

  He opened the passenger door for me and pushed the sleeve of my jumper, which was hanging over my shoulders, safely out of the way before shutting the door. Nobody had taken care of me like that for such a long time. And to be taken out! To be driven, not having to find my way alone. I wanted to hug him. Of course, I did nothing of the sort.

  It was a small car, rather grubby inside and the back seat was piled up with empty egg cartons and wooden fruit boxes.

  ‘It’s a bit of a wreck, isn’t it?’ he said as he squeezed his long legs under the steering wheel; he looked uncomfortable. ‘An old dear in the parish left it to the abbey. But it goes all right. I give it a going-over every so often. As a matter of fact, I gave it a clean yesterday, believe or not, especially for you!’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Thanks very much!’

  And I laughed at his easy manner, his understanding of my strange humour. Not everybody did.

  ‘You’re good at cars, are you?’ I asked.

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. But it’s in my own interests.’

  He kept turning his head to look at me. I looked straight ahead as if I hadn’t noticed.

  ‘I’m the only one who can drive here, so I get to use it. And believe me, I’ll find every excuse!’

  He had backed the car into the lane, which it seemed I’d driven up years ago. The overhanging beeches cast dark patches across the cracked and pitted surface, and the shadows deepened and lightened like waves as the sun moved in and out of the clouds, for the day, though very warm, had produced some clouds, which moved heavy and ponderously, so there were moments of bright heat followed by a duller humidity.

  I wound down the window and the wind caught the top of my head, blowing my hair about. He nodded in mutual enjoyment and somehow, I knew that there had been no need to ask if he minded the window open. Then he pressed in a cassette and we travelled in silence for quite some time and the music, crackling every now and then, was the excuse. He was so easy, so undemanding that I wanted to cry. But I never cried, remember, and so I fumbled in my shoulder bag, firstly finding a handkerchief and then my dark glasses. To hide what? Nothing. Guy turned momentarily towards me. I’m not sure if he knew or not, but he said nothing.

  We were travelling along the tree-lined lane that led away from the abbey. In between the trees were wheat fields, meadowland, farmhouses and odd cottages surrounded by barns and tractors. Clumps of distant trees sheltered horses from the sun and just for a second I saw the glint of water.

  ‘Is there a river anywhere round here? I am quite besotted by rivers.’

  ‘Yes, we can find a river, but it means walking a bit. What about your foot?’

  He turned quickly to look at me and I caught his eyes for a moment.

  ‘It’s much better. Anyway, I wouldn’t let it stop me from going to a river.’ As I imagined the river – it sounds mad I know – but I longed to be submerged in the water, to feel it, cool and cleansing. I wanted it to ripple across my eyes and forehead, easing the tension and anxiety.

  ‘I would really like to find a river.’

  ‘I think we should do whatever we want, whenever we can, don’t you?’

  ‘So that’s your philosophy, is it?’

  ‘Definitely!’.

  ‘Could be a bit dangerous, couldn’t it?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  I noticed that awful seriousness come over his face, the look I had seen before, and it unnerved me. It was the look of someone who has something dreadful to tell. What was it he knew that he was going to have to tell me? All the terror and panics of days in the past caused my skin to quiver. Then he laughed. And I wanted to laugh too, but instead I looked out of the window.

  ‘Well, I’ll take you to a river. Before or after lunch?’

  ‘Lunch?’

  ‘Oh, yes. We’re going out to lunch.’

  ‘That’s nice. I don’t mind. Perhaps before.’

  We came to a T-junction and turned left into a main road.

  ‘Nearly there,’ he said. ‘Now this is a real farm if ever there was one. Animals, vegetables, flowers – the lot.’ And almost at once we turned, again to the left, through wooden five-barred gates, which stood wedged in baked mud tracks and tied back with barbed wire.

  The track, lying between potato fields, wound gently round to the right, where stood two dilapidated outbuildings, two tractors, piles of old car tyres and rusty corrugated iron, which lay haphazardly amongst long grass. Some polythene
covering hung limply across the entrance to the buildings; it looked more like a scrapyard than a farm.

  The farmhouse only came into view as we continued rounding the bend. It lay several yards beyond and behind the outbuildings. It was a small, red-bricked Victorian house with tall chimneys and a green wooden porch badly in need of fresh paint. Some geraniums in pots stood on the ground outside the porch, perhaps ready for someone to collect.

  Guy drove round the side of the house and parked the car beside an old oak tree from which two thick ropes hung from what must have been a treehouse, although the planks were rotting and broken.

  ‘Coming?’

  ‘No, you go. I’ll stay here.’

  He held up a hand. ‘Won’t be long.’

  He opened the boot and took out the piles of egg boxes and disappeared somewhere behind the back of the house.

  I was drawn to the oak tree because in my mind I could see the pigeon, caught by its ringed leg, hanging upside down from one of the branches of the old pear tree in our garden. I heard again Fleur’s heartfelt sobs and felt her hand banging on my thigh. ‘Do something, Mummy. Oh, do something quickly. Poor little thing.’

  I had wanted to laugh at her ferociousness, but she banged me again. It was no use: I obviously had to do something and so I went next door to Josephine, who came with Jill trailing behind her and all three of us stood beneath the tree and studied the bird, which hung limply, while Fleur, who had retreated upstairs to get a better view, banged on the glass and cried from her bedroom window.

  The bird looked absurd hanging there, caught by the ring on one foot, and we all, rather cruelly, wanted to laugh, but a further glance at Fleur’s tear-stained face pressed against the bedroom window soon wiped the instinctive smiles from our faces.

  ‘Call the fire brigade,’ Jill had demanded, and so we did. Much to my embarrassment, a fire engine arrived and two firemen jumped from the cab.