‘Oh maybe,’ said Fay, ‘but it’s not so hot if you don’t want to be there anyway. At least with a Continental you’re going somewhere new.’
‘Yes, but it might be dangerous,’ said Myra. ‘You might get hurt.’
They had gone around in a circle, it was hopeless. But what had happened to Fay in ten brief days?
‘Yes I might,’ she said. ‘It might be dangerous. But life is dangerous.’
Ye gods! ‘Life is dangerous.’ Where did she get that from?
‘You should hear some of Rudi’s stories. Then you’d know. We live in a cocoon here. That’s what he says. We don’t know how lucky we are.’
‘Well, I suppose he does,’ said Myra.
‘Oh yes,’ said Fay. ‘He knows how lucky he is; he never stops saying so.’
Myra felt suddenly helpless; she gave up the struggle. ‘Do you love him?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ said Fay, ‘I reckon I do.’ She smiled. She had not quite dared to say this yet even to herself, and to say it now was to push open a heavy door which had concealed a great sunlit garden where she was now suddenly free to wander. ‘But don’t tell anyone,’ she said to Myra. ‘It’s our secret, okay? Because you’re my best friend.’
‘Right you are, Fay,’ said Myra. Oh God, she thought, I hope this is going to work out for the kid. She’s had a lot of bad luck so far. Please let this one be okay, even though he is a Continental. And she crossed her fingers hard on the hand which Fay couldn’t see.
51
This morning it was Lisa who felt sick because today was the day which preceded the night when she would discover how well or how ill she had succeeded in the Leaving Certificate examinations. She had a whole day at Goode’s to endure, and several more hours thereafter—she would go to see a film—before it was time to go down to the Herald or the Telegraph and discover the worst. Her stomach was already in a state of turmoil.
‘I can’t eat a thing,’ she said to her mother, and the latter for once did not insist.
Just after Mr Miles arrived at his place in the composing room late in the afternoon one of his colleagues came over to him.
‘Hey, Ed,’ he said, ‘haven’t you got a daughter who’s just done the Leaving? They’ve finished setting the results. Go and have a look. Put the kid out of her misery.’
Ed Miles was in a grump.
‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Let her sweat. She wanted to do the Leaving. I told her it was a waste of time but she and her mother wouldn’t listen. I haven’t got time for looking at results, I’ve got work to do.’
‘Ah, come on,’ said his colleague. ‘Don’t be a spoilsport. It’s a big day for her. What school was she?’
Mr Miles informed him grudgingly. Five minutes later his colleague returned.
‘Hey, Ed,’ he said, ‘is her name Lesley? Right. Listen to this.’
He had a slip of paper. He read out a list of results which as even Mr Miles could see were rather impressive. There was a brief silence while Mr Miles continued to all appearances to carry on with his work. At last he spoke.
‘That sounds all right, doesn’t it?’ he said. ‘Thanks.’
‘Geez, Ed,’ said his colleague, ‘you’re a cool one. It’s bloody good, that’s what. You should be celebrating.’
‘Well I’m not,’ said Mr Miles. ‘I’ve got work to do, so leave me to get on with it.’
‘Gee whiz,’ said his colleague. ‘You bet.’
He went away and regaled the rest of the crew with the tale of Ed Miles’s phlegm in the face of his daughter’s brilliance.
The night editor now came in; he sauntered over to Ed Miles.
‘I hear your daughter’s distinguished herself famously,’ he said.
‘Congratulations! Wonderful news! I suppose she’ll be off to the university in the new term? You must be proud.’
‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ said Mr Miles. ‘I don’t know about the university.’
‘Oh, surely!’ exclaimed the night editor. ‘You can’t waste brains like that. She’ll have a wonderful time. And you tell her to come and see us if she wants a cadetship—first-class honours in English, she must know how to write. Yes, university’s the thing—mine are both there now, they’re having the time of their lives. You tell her from me, she can’t do anything better at her age!’
He sauntered away again. Eventually Mr Miles got so fed up with his workmates coming over and shaking his hand and congratulating him that he acceded to their irritating expectations by going and telephoning home. His daughter was of course absent; he spoke to his wife.
‘Just thought I might as well tell you Lesley’s results,’ he said, ‘if you want to know. I’ve got ’em here.’
He read them out to her. She gasped, and burst into tears.
‘This is the happiest day of my life,’ she said. ‘Can’t you come home early? She should be back soon.’
‘Can’t really,’ he said. ‘I’ll see youse tomorrow. Got to go now.’
He hung up.
Lisa thought of ringing her mother but there were so many others queuing for the nearest public telephones for the same purpose that she thought it would be almost as quick simply to go home. She saw some other girls from her school then and they all jumped and squealed together for a minute and pranced away along the street towards downtown and Wynyard Station, chattering disjointedly about their futures, which by the time they entered the station had begun to take on fantastical elements: university life had now fairly begun.
Mrs Miles ran to the door as Lisa opened it.
‘Mum!’ she cried, her eyes alight.
‘I—I know,’ said Mrs Miles. ‘Your father telephoned.’
‘Gosh,’ said Lisa. ‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing much,’ said Mrs Miles. ‘But you couldn’t expect it. He’s suffering from shock, or he wouldn’t even have phoned. You just let him stew for a bit. You’ll see him tomorrow. Don’t press him; let it sink in. Oh, Lesley. This is the happiest day of my life!’
‘Mine too,’ said Lisa, ‘so far.’
And they laughed and hugged each other and began to cry, and then they danced a jig, and then Mrs Miles made some Milo, because Lisa had to get up in the morning and go to work, exam results or no exam results, and this was no time to be doing without a proper night’s sleep, was it?
52
Patty fell backwards onto the unmade bed and lay there exhausted.
This made the sixth morning in a row that she had awoken feeling queasy and had soon afterwards had to run into the bathroom and actually throw up. It was also a fact that she was almost two weeks overdue. The possibility which inevitably suggested itself was however too unexpected, and in view of recent events too badly timed, seriously to ponder. But wouldn’t it be just like life, she thought, for it to happen now, when Frank—oh, Frank. Here he was.
He stood in the doorway, looking deeply embarrassed. He had been tip-toeing around her ever since his return with an air of terri-fied circumspection, and as far as Patty was concerned, he could go on doing so. His defection had been papered over, as far as Wonda Tiles was concerned, and he was now back at work after a semi-fictitious malady bearing an impressive Latin name.
‘You’re damned lucky,’ said Patty. ‘Another doctor might’ve left you to take the consequences.’
‘I know,’ said Frank. ‘Don’t think I don’t appreciate it.’
‘Let’s see you show it, that’s all,’ said Patty.
She didn’t mean to stop tightening the screws just yet, if ever.
‘Are you okay?’ said Frank in the doorway.
‘No,’ said Patty. ‘I feel bloody.’
And so she did.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘Yes,’ said Patty. ‘I’ll have it here. I don’t feel like getting up just yet. Not too strong. And I’ll have some sugar in it.’
She lay and looked at the ceiling. After a while Frank came in with a tea tray, and the spectacle it presented almost me
lted her stern heart. The poor devil was certainly trying. He had found a tray cloth and on it sat the teapot, some milk in a jug and the lump sugar—how had he managed to find that?—in a matching bowl. And from the back of the cutlery drawer he had retrieved the sugar tongs. It was a vision of the genteel tea tray of yesteryear. Oh Lord. Patty sat up.
‘That’s very nice,’ she said. ‘I could get used to this.’
She sat and sipped the tea.
‘When you saw the doctor,’ said Frank, ‘did you tell him about being sick in the morning?’
‘Well maybe I did,’ said Patty.
‘That’s between me and the doctor, isn’t it?’
She hadn’t actually discussed this matter with the doctor, who’d easily been persuaded to give her a chit for some sick leave on the strength of the trial she had lately and so bravely endured.
‘Well but,’ said Frank, ‘what did he say?’
‘Never you mind,’ said Patty.
‘Well—’ exclaimed Frank, standing up abruptly and nearly upsetting the tea tray—‘I do mind. I do mind! I live here too! I am your husband, aren’t I? You haven’t thrown me out yet. I know I’m not much. I know I’m stupid—well, rather stupid. I never passed any exams. It’s all right for you, you had a proper home to grow up in. You don’t know what it’s like for some of us. I do my best even if it isn’t so bloody good. But I do know this. I said I’d make it up to you and I will but I ought to know what’s going on. You’ve been sick every morning since I got back. Are you pregnant?’
Patty was stunned. She put down her teacup. This was the longest speech Frank had ever made; she could hardly begin to take it all in. And now that the word had been uttered, the idea given a real form, she felt suddenly shy and inhibited, and at the same time overjoyed. For it really was possible, even if it was happening at what had seemed to be entirely the wrong time. And all these feelings oddly recalled that night, that saturnalia preceding Frank’s weird escapade. She suddenly felt that the secret world they had then entered might not after all be lost to them forever, hidden away and forbidden. She looked at Frank’s face and glimpsed in his eyes a pleading and bewildered expression which she had never seen, and was sure she had never aroused, before: she suddenly sensed that he too was remembering that night, and was daring to recollect, if not to acknowledge quite candidly, that realm of wordless and unimaginable intimacy which they had fallen into more or less by accident, whose strangeness had so terrified Frank that he had immediately thereafter vanished into thin air.
Frank came over and sat on the bed once more.
‘Please tell me,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to know, I’ve got a right to know, haven’t I?’
‘Yes,’ said Patty. ‘I suppose you have. The fact is I’m not sure yet. I might be and I might be not. And it’s too soon to find out for certain, I know that. So if I go on like this, I’ll visit the doctor in a few weeks and then we’ll know. That’s all I can say at the moment.’
Frank said nothing and Patty suddenly saw that there were tears in his eyes. She sat in silence, and then she touched his hand.
‘It’ll be our secret for now, okay?’ she said. ‘Don’t say a word.’
‘Right you are,’ said Frank huskily.
Then he took her teacup and put it on the tray, and put the tray on the fl oor. He lay down beside her and began to caress her, and the entrance to the secret, the wordless and unimaginable, realm suddenly once more gaped hugely before them.
53
Magda was lying in wait at the entrance to the Staff Locker Room.
‘Lisa!’ she cried, ‘I hope your name is also Lesley as your mother called you on the telephone. My young friend, this is a most happy day!’ And she kissed her exuberantly on each cheek and held her hands, beaming with pleasure. ‘Now your future shines like the sun above you!’ she exclaimed.
At this moment Fay entered, running rather late. She stopped however on hearing these words.
‘What?’ she said. ‘Is she engaged?’
‘Oh tush!’ cried Magda. ‘At her age? God forbid. No—have you not seen the newspaper? She has obtained magnificent results in the Leaving Certificate. Mon Dieu! First class honours, four As, a B, not to be too horribly clever—she is such a good girl! How pleased Stefan and I were—he sends his love of course—we are to have a dinner party for all you clever young people, Michael Foldes had done very well too, did you look? And another girl we also know, so there will be a small celebration soon, I hope next weekend. We will discuss the details later.’
‘Gosh,’ said Fay. ‘Gee, Lisa, that’s terrific. Congratulations, I mean it!’
Lisa began to be self-conscious because all those standing near by were now taking note and adding their voices. ‘Passed the Leaving have you? Good-oh!’
Within a minute of her arrival at Ladies’ Cocktail Miss Cartright appeared, and Mr Ryder followed shortly after.
‘The world is your oyster,’ said the latter, ‘mind you don’t swallow it whole!’
Lisa laughed, but her apprehensions about the approaching encounter with her intransigent father were severe. She was suspended between elation and dread, an almost dreamlike condition.
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ she kept saying, smiling and smiling. How nice everyone was. Finally the fuss abated and she turned to find something to do so that she might at last efface herself.
‘Fay’s just told me you’ve done very well in the examinations,’ said Miss Jacobs in a matter of fact tone. ‘Is that right? Well, that’s no surprise to me at all. I don’t expect it’s a surprise to you either.
You’re a clever girl, I could see that. It’s a pleasure to work with you and I’ll be sorry when you leave us. You’ll be going to the university, won’t you, of course you will. A clever girl is the most wonderful thing in all Creation you know; you must never forget that. People expect men to be clever. They expect girls to be stupid or at least silly, which very few girls really are, but most girls oblige them by acting like it. So you just go away and be as clever as ever you can; put their noses out of joint for them. It’s the best thing you could possibly do, you and all the clever girls in this city and the world.
Now, then. We’d better get on and sell some Cocktail Frocks, hadn’t we? Yes indeed.’
Lisa wandered about for a while in the half-empty city after leaving Goode’s. The afternoon sun lay along the pavements like a benediction: she felt herself still to be in that suspended state and she was dawdling because she did not want to get home before her father awoke. She realised as she walked along George Street that a great barrier had truly been crossed in her life, a barrier greater even than those she had lately crossed, and she felt extremely strange. But to feel strange, she thought, has lately begun to be almost ordinary. Would strangeness increasingly from now on become normality?
Her parents were sitting in the kitchen when she pushed open the back door. Her father rose.
‘Well, Lesley,’ he said, ‘I believe congratulations are in order.
Everyone at work sends you theirs too. I’ve got the night editor and all of them on my back. I can’t see what you want with exams and first-class honours and universities and all that when you’re a girl.
But still. Congratulations. You’ve done very well.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ said Lisa.
‘So what do you reckon you’ll do now?’ said her father. ‘You’ve got to make your own decisions now. You’re almost grown up.’
‘You know what I want to do now,’ said Lisa. ‘But you said I couldn’t. So I don’t know yet.’
‘Oh, I suppose you mean the uni,’ said her father. ‘Yes, well. I’ll think about it. That’s all. I’ll think about it. We’ll see if you get that scholarship—you won’t be going there if you don’t. I’m not paying your fees. It’s bad enough that I’d have to keep you as long as you’re there. So I’ll think about it, if you get that scholarship. I’ll give it careful thought. You needn’t celebrate yet. But I’ll tell you one thing
: if I decide you can go, and you do go, if I ever hear of you being mixed up with any of those libertarians they have there, you’re out of this house like a shot and I never want to see you again, is that understood? Right then. If you go, no libertarians, not even one.
’ Lisa was at last able to catch her mother’s eye. They gleamed at each other in secret. The telephone rang.
‘You get that, Lisa,’ said her mother. ‘It’s probably that Michael Foldes, he called you earlier.’ Lisa returned a few minutes later.
‘What did he want?’ asked her father suspiciously.
Mrs Miles was putting the luncheon on the table: bread, cheese, tomatoes, and a jar of pickles; and some salami which she had indeed managed to find.
‘Oh nothing,’ said Lisa very calmly. ‘He just wanted to know if I was doing anything tonight.’
‘Of course you are,’ said her father. ‘We’re all going out to celebrate, aren’t we? A slap-up meal at King’s Cross or somewhere like that.’
‘Yes, that’s what I told him,’ said Lisa. ‘Oh, and he’s asked me to go to a dance with him next Saturday week.’
‘A dance?’ said her mother. ‘Where?’
‘Oh, the Yacht Squadron,’ said Lisa with extreme sangfroid.
‘It’s being given by the parents of some of his friends at school. It’s to celebrate the exam results. They were going to cancel if anyone had failed but no one did, so it’s on. Can I go?’
‘Well of course,’ said her astounded mother. ‘But what will you wear?’ She felt slightly desperate: a frock suitable for a dance of that kind—well!
‘Oh that’s all right,’ said Lisa. ‘There’s a frock in the sale at Goode’s that will do. I’ll buy that.’
‘Whatever next?’ said her father. ‘And who is this bloke? Do I know him?’
His wife and daughter reassured him. Mr Miles suddenly felt sad. Lesley had always been there, a kid, not the son he’d wanted, and now suddenly she was going out into the world; now suddenly it was almost all over, and he’d hardly noticed it as it fl ashed past him.
‘Well, enjoy yourself while you can,’ he said. ‘And what’s this?’
The Women in Black Page 15