by Susan Sallis
Pop said, ‘I want it known that I will not be meeting anyone else. That clause was inserted for Mabe’s sake.’
Mabe is younger than Mom by quite a bit, but she is the size of a house. She tightened her lips a bit at that announcement. I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it, and Aunt Mabe knew it wasn’t meant to be hurtful. Rex and Pop looked at me all askance, as you used to say, and then Aunt Mabe joined me, and it was like one of those hysterical laughs that we used to have at school: we just couldn’t stop, and we both got a stitch and gasped for mercy, and then caught each other’s eye and started all over again. Grief can do funny things.
So Rex and Mabe aren’t here and Pop’s at school and Vicky is asleep in front of the nursery guard and the baby gave me a kick like a horse. It’s something you want to share, Rache. I wanted Rex to know. I mean, it just has to be a boy with a kick like that. One of the neighbors came by with a batch of drop scones and I told her, and that helped. She’s had a big family, four maybe five, I’m not sure because they’re all at college. She understood, and sat for ages with her hand on my abdomen, but of course nothing else happened. Except we ate almost all the scones!
Later still
It’s OK, darling. Rex has felt Junior doing his stuff! We had supper, and talked properly about what Aunt Mabe wanted to bring across from her place, and how she would put the house money separately, so that if it didn’t work out she could get her own place again. It was good. Everyone talking and thinking about something besides Mom. I waited till we got upstairs, and then told him what happened when Nora-Marie came by that afternoon. We stood side by side looking down at Vicky in her cot and Rex made no comment at all. And then Junior started fluttering gently, and I took Rex’s hand and put it squarely on my stomach, then pressed it down. Junior went on fluttering. I whispered, ‘He’s taking a free kick – do they have those in American football? Now, he’s coming for it. Oh my God!’ It was another mighty one, Rache. Just the thing Rex needed. He looked at me, startled, wide-eyed. I grinned right up at him because it was so good to see an expression on his face again. And then he kissed me. Oh Rache, it was some kiss. Nothing like the rigid antics we’ve been going through night after night. Can’t tell you more. It was heaven.
I’m writing this on my lap in Mom’s room. She would like that. Will post it off tomorrow, honey. I send you tons, literally tons, of American love. I am happier and more fulfilled than I have ever been, Rache.
Eight
January 1948, Florida
Dearest Rache and Tom, Thank you for the lovely, wonderful pictures of your wedding. Rex never met you, Tom, but he says he would have known you because Rache described you so well. I’m glad your old school friends came down from Birmingham to ‘stand by you’ as you put it; I notice the Carfaxes were your guests, too, which was kind of nice. Maxine’s outfit was over the top – that remark is for Rache, of course. One fox fur would have done, surely? I mean two of those mean little narrow heads peering from her bosom and then the full-length coat underneath them! A forest of fur. My Dad always fancied Maxine, but she’s loyal, I’ll say that for her. She and Gilbert – what a pair! I noticed Hermione and her mother in their serge coats and fur hats, but who was the chap next to them – surely not Mr Smith? I thought she made him up. He’s got a proper wingco handlebar moustache too. In fact he looks quite a lot like Jimmy Edwards.
See, Rache – I haven’t changed. I’ll never like the Smiths. But oh, those Throstles. George and Flora. The perfect couple. Beautiful and elegant and lovely in all their ways. I really haven’t changed, I always wanted them for my parents, and you shared them very generously, Rache. Thank you.
I’d have loved to have been there, of course, but I was absolutely with you in my thoughts. May you live long and happy lives and cast your light around you like George and Flora do, so that people can come near and see properly and even warm their hands at your glow. I’m getting to be a bloody poet, Rache! More later. Ever your bestest friend, Meriel Robinson. Must tell you that some couples over here use both their names. So mine would be Meriel Nightingale Robinson. Good, eh?
Still January, Florida
Darling, thank you for the extra pic but I really can’t remember what that little rabbit of a woman looked like and she is very blurred in the snap – and anyway, what does it matter? People often pass by churches when there’s a wedding going on, and if the happy couple come out just as they are passing then they stop and gawp at the dress and the veil and the confetti . . . it’s just a natural thing to do. I think you’re all uptight after the hard work of getting married. Guess I was lucky to have a week’s cruise on my own after mine! Never thought of it like that before!
Seriously, Rache, stop worrying about the woman from White City – gosh, that sounds a good title for a book! What with writing poetry and thinking up book titles maybe I should have a go at writing some of my experiences down. Perhaps you should do the same, honey. That weekend in the summer holidays was only important because nothing much else ever happened to us . . . we were always battling boredom. Surely you remember? Write it down day by day, and leave it for a bit, then read it. The four bombs and the three deaths were awful. But they would have happened anyway, Rache. Our part in the whole thing was meaningless.
What does surprise me is the way it was all hushed up. You would have thought Maxine and her teddy bear would have splashed it all over the Clarion but those bodies always stayed ‘unidentified’. Wonder if your dad had anything to do with it? You were pretty rotten for a few weeks, weren’t you? He was probably worried about you. And he always worries about your mum. Funny how she got through the war and that job at the Ministry of Defence records office and since then has become so frail. I’m real sorry about that, Rache. Give her my best love. And you two just take care. Please. I get anxious about you, because somehow from this distance you both seem so fragile. Stop grinning, Rache! I know you’re nearly six foot tall and so is Tom. But you’re both so thin and sort of bendy.
Everything is all right with me and Junior. He’s not given any more of those mighty kicks like the one he gave when we were in Orion, so maybe Rex can forget the football team. Gus is keeping me supplied with pills and they suit me really well, so I’ve got no problems. But unless Rex is really keen, I’d prefer not to make childbirth a hobby. I do so enjoy Vicky’s company and I’m rather anxious that the new baby will change that. It’s bound to, isn’t it? Relationships are so strange, Rache, aren’t they? Ours is simple and direct, I like that.
January 1948, Florida
I posted your last letter yesterday! But have to write today because I’ve had a letter from home, and maybe you don’t know about it. It’s from Dad. He and Mum are getting divorced and he is marrying the dressmaker woman. That’s not the surprise. The surprise – shock – devastation – is that she, the dressmaker woman, is my real mother. Dear Mum, who loved Dad so much, was engaged to him, and he needed her family money. So when the dressmaker, I’ll just call her DM, got pregnant with me – mighty careless, wouldn’t you say? – he said he’d take the kid but not her. And she agreed! She actually bloody well agreed! And poor old Mum agreed, too, frightened she’d lose her Errol Flynn, I guess. And now that the twins are off to naval college, he’s ditching her and going for DM. I can’t believe it. I know what I said in my last letter about relationships being strange, but honestly, Rache, this is just crazy. And horrible. Poor Mum. And that cow creeping around in the background all the time . . . d’you remember that ghastly dress she made me from curtain material? Well, apparently she’s a bit of a designer as well as a DM, and she’s used the New Look idea and stocked Nightingale’s with jersey wool dresses that are selling like hot cakes! I just can’t believe it! When I suggested opening a ladies’ department, he told me I didn’t know what I was talking about! More later.
February 1948, Florida
Rache, I’m here again and so is Junior, he arrived last night just gone eleven pip emma – we’ve got to find a name for him
soon, otherwise Junior is going to stick. I had him without any trouble at all, so different from Vicky, I didn’t even realize he was born. He’s very small because he’s ‘prem’, and he’s the funniest-looking baby you ever saw, but none of them look that good, and I love him more for being a bit of an ugly duckling. Vicky laughed her head off when she looked into the bassinet, then she kissed him and said, ‘Youse funny, baby, youse funny.’ She’s almost blonde now, all that black hair sloughed off. He’s really dark, already his eyes are brown and his hair is black and wiry. They should look good together. Wish you could see him, Rache. Wish Mom could see him too. Maybe she can.
Next day
Haven’t posted this yet. Rache, it was just marvellous talking to you on the phone, sorry I broke down and wasted precious time. I was amazed Rex phoned you and gave you the number of my phone here, that was so thoughtful and the best treat he could have given me. He’s been so attentive, Rache. I haven’t told you before because it didn’t seem to worry me unduly, but I caught him and Dawn kissing in the kitchen. He tried to pass it off – couldn’t resist English girls, all that nonsense – but Dawn was so guilty about it and hasn’t been near me since and that’s a pity because I miss her. We could talk about home.
The trouble with you and me on the phone, we didn’t feel we’d got time to talk about the things that really matter to us. Sure, I was glad to hear that my poor mum who isn’t, is still living in the house. I hope Dad hasn’t frittered away all her family money. And I was sort of glad to hear that Barry came home on an overnight pass and knocked Dad down the stairs. But why was Dad in the old house and upstairs? Surely Mum wouldn’t have let him into bed with her? I’m remembering her now . . . she probably would. And that might well have been the trigger that sent Barry crazy. But I’m glad he came round to see you, Rache. He loved all three of you and it would have helped to have what he called a ranting with you. Poor kid. Well, he’s not a kid any more, is he? We’re all the same, we hate Dad, but we sort of love him too. What a mess. You’re right, darling, I am much better out of it. And I’m not sure of my plans for a while. I feel a bit anxious actually, Rache, that’s why I almost enjoyed hearing about Dad. They’ve taken Junior to surgery for some tests. I don’t know what sort of tests but, dammit, he’s only a week old. Rex looks worried, too, and Rex never shows emotions, so what’s going on?
A bit of good news, though: Aunt Mabe is here. She said she would come and help out when Junior arrived but of course she’d planned it for March not February! She brought me what she calls a shape yesterday. I was mystified. It’s a cross between an egg custard and a blancmange and it’s supposed to nourish me much more than the ice cream they keep doling out. Even if it had been disgusting I would have said I loved it, but I didn’t hate it. She looked like an oversized Mom as she swept into my room holding it in front of her. Junior arrived early, Aunt Mabe is here and I talked to my bestest friend. Life is very good at times.
February 1948, home
I’m sorry about that phone call, hon. I knew I was hysterical and I tried to stop it, and I just couldn’t. I’ll explain properly now. You’ve already forgiven me but I need you to understand, too. Just the facts. Here they are.
You know this already. Junior is what we call at home a mongol child. It’s known here as Down’s syndrome. They want to keep him in hospital for a while, until he learns to suck from a bottle, then he goes to another hospital where he will stay. We can visit or not, as we please. In other words, he is being ‘put away’.
I told Aunt Mabe to bring the car round to the back gates, where all the trash is loaded up and goes somewhere. I had my clothes on under my nightdress – I was as hot as hell, Rache. I bundled him up – George – I’m calling him George after your father – and met her at the gates. She had Vicky with her, and we were so happy going back home. She understood completely, and she said not to worry, Rex would sort it all out and we’d manage fine with Georgie. She didn’t once refer to the label they’ve given him, Rache. He’s Georgie to her, and that’s that. But Rex can’t use his name. He said things like, ‘We can’t manage with a mental baby.’ ‘What do you think it will do to Vicky?’ ‘What will people think on the complex?’ And finally, ‘You just left? What do you mean, you just left? There’s a procedure for being discharged, Meriel. Are you going crazy again?’ And that’s when I told him to go and do something awful to Dawn – I used that word, Rache. I told him her secret that she can’t have children, so he would be quite safe with her. And that’s when he started to come towards me, and I screamed and Aunt Mabe appeared and said that that was quite enough, and we hadn’t broken the law. And he could go and apologize to the hospital tomorrow, while she took me back with her to Orion to give us time to calm down.
And that’s where I am now, Rache. I’ve put ‘home’ at the top of this letter because it feels more like home than the complex ever has. Darling, I don’t feel like calming down, because it would mean I was about to compromise, and I can’t do that. Rex stopped wanting Georgie the minute he saw him; I realize that now. All that frowning and shaking his head. When they explained about the Down’s syndrome I was sad for Georgie, of course I was, but I actually loved him more than ever, because that’s what he’ll need. And Vicky loves him, too. And so does Aunt Mabe. I’m not sure about Pop, though. If it weren’t for Aunt Mabe, I’d come home and use emotional blackmail on Dad to set me up in a home of my own. I’m not upset in a weepy way, Rache, I’m angry.
June 1948, home-for-now, Orion
Dearest Rache, your letters have been such a comfort, arriving every other day like they have, and then the presents. I know how tough it is back home still, darling, austerity and all that stuff, but the little bootees – yes, I saw where you had dropped a stitch and that made them so precious. And the sun hat! Oh my God, Georgie looks so cute in that damned hat. Thank you for sending an identical one for Vicky, she adores it. I am sending snaps of the two of them in their hats. What do you think?
I am so sorry that my letters are few and far between, Rache. It’s not that Georgie is hard work, quite the opposite, as he is the most placid and contented baby ever, but having two is double the work of having one. It’s so obvious. Rex can’t understand it – if you’re tied down with one kid then you might as well be tied down with two. That’s what he said before Georgie arrived. So now he blames Georgie’s condition for the extra work. I thought when he came down for two whole weeks around Easter he would see how gorgeous Georgie is – Aunt Mabe calls him Gorgeous Georgie – and he might start to love him. After all, Georgie is his son. But nothing happened. The strange thing is, he is quite happy to go on as we are. He’s having a high old time with Dawn. I think the others on the complex look on her as a kind of nurse to him! Yes, even her husband! Have you ever heard anything so comic? Just read that sentence, Rache, and realize what it says about me. I’ve kind of fallen out of love with Rex, haven’t I? How strange to discover that by writing to you. And I always thought that if you fell out of love you fell into hate. It’s not a bit like that. I just don’t mind him having this torrid affair with Dawn. I simply . . . do . . . not . . . care.
Probably I would care if we weren’t so contented here in Orion. The township itself is quite small – most of Pop’s pupils are bussed in from farms and big houses all over. The people who live here could be bigoted, maybe they are in some ways, I don’t know. But they are not bigoted about Georgie. To them he is Vicky’s brother, Pop’s grandson, another Robinson. They love kids and Georgie is another kid to love. Funnily enough, he is progressing at the same rate as Vicky did. He’s four months now, and I can prop him up on his pillows so that he can look over the edge of the pram – they call it the baby carriage here – and he looks. He definitely looks around, and makes note of things. Vicky was like that. You knew she was identifying things: the leaves on the trees, the birds . . . faces around her. He’s exactly the same, and the face he likes to see most is hers. She adores him, Rache. And I worried about relationships
!
But I do worry about Pop. I know Aunt Mabe has to have a talk with him now and then, I can’t hear what she says – she makes sure of that – but I recognize her reassuring voice. It’s the same voice she uses to me when she tells me to ‘let things ride as they are’, or when she says that big decisions often happen by themselves and we should never force them. Things like that sound like platitudes, and I take them as such. The same as when poor old Mum used to say, ‘There, there, it’ll be all right in the morning.’ But Aunt Mabe actually always means what she says. I think she is telling me to enjoy what we have now; and then she adds that decisions will have to be made, but there’s a lot to happen before that time. At least, I think that’s what she means! I wonder what she is saying to Pop.
Rex is coming for the weekend. He flies to New York, did I tell you? He got promotion and is working on some programme or other. He tells me bits, but I don’t really listen. He asks me questions and catches me out. Last time he was here he said Dawn always listened ‘intelligently’ – that got my goat. I won’t tell you what I said. But it shut him up. Anyway, guess what? Aunt Mabe has made an appointment for me to have my hair cut – she’s paid in advance, too. Does she think there’s a chance Rex and I will get back together? Ha-bloody-ha. Give Tom a very affectionate hug, please, Rache. Tell him about how I feel so close to Mom and yet I don’t believe in God or an after-life or anything. But she is with me, and his father is with him.
Gosh, Rache, just realized I’ve got three mothers. My poor old besotted mum, who looked after me and told me everything would be all right tomorrow. My real mother, who is now known as DM. And my soul mother, Mom Robinson, who is in my head and my heart. I’ll never regret marrying Rex because he gave me Vicky and Georgie and his mother.