by Helen Spring
Florence moved so slowly that the journey up the well remembered staircase seemed interminable, but at last they were outside the heavy oak door to Robert's room, and Anna's heart was thumping so hard in her chest that she thought she would surely suffocate.
The huge bulk lying in the big double bed lay inert, turned away from the light streaming in from the bay window, and at first Anna thought they must be in the wrong room. Florence went over to the bed and said 'Robert dear, you have a visitor.' There was no response and she repeated, 'Robert dear, a visitor for you.' The bulky mass under the bedclothes moved, and from beneath the quilt a large face appeared, blotchy and ravaged, the fleshy jowls hanging heavily over a thick flannel nightshirt.
Anna stared. This was not Robert. Not only was it not him, it was nothing like him, or like he had ever been. Florence said, 'Come on dear, I'll help you sit up.' She put her hand under his arm and attempted to help him pull himself up, but it was painful work, and in spite of her revulsion Anna went to the other side of the bed and put a hand under his other arm, and they hauled him up onto the pillows. The grotesque figure in the bed relaxed his head back, panting with effort, and said 'Who's that?'
Anna stared at him and he stared back, there was not a hint of recognition from either of them. It could not be Robert, she told herself, those piggy eyes, almost hidden in the fleshy swollen eyelids, that patchy grey hair which seemed not to have thinned evenly, but to have come out in clumps, leaving areas of baldness interspersed with tufts of sparse, wispy thatch.
'It's Anna, dear,' Florence was saying. 'Little Anna Gibson, you remember. I told you we had kept in touch, she's been living in America.'
The small eyes glinted, but there was no change of expression. He stared at Anna again.
'Anna,' Florence went on earnestly. ' "The Chainmaker's Child," who Daddy painted. You remember dear, you painted her too. She went to France with you many years ago, to "La Maison Blanche."'
Anna began to feel she was in some sort of horrific nightmare, from which she must fight to wake up. This was not Robert, she told herself, it couldn't be. Suddenly the man in the bed turned, a small gesture, a movement of the head as if to flick back a lock of hair which was no longer there, and she knew at last that this bloated creature was indeed Robert.
To her embarrassment he appeared to have completely forgotten her. Despite Florence's encouragement, his expression remained vacant and disinterested. Anna was beginning to feel slightly sick, partly from the shock of Robert's appearance, but also from the heavy putrid smell which emanated from the bed. She turned towards the window, her stomach heaving, and saw the picture on the opposite wall. She caught her breath. It was Robert's painting of herself, seated on the grass above the beach at Locquirec. The freshness and beauty of the scene was out of place in the fetid atmosphere of decay and death, and Anna approached the picture, drawn as if by a magnet. She feasted her eyes on the well remembered details, as if she would gather its cherished secrets to herself. The deep rooted treasury of half forgotten moments came suddenly to the fore and on impulse she grasped the painting with both hands and took it down.
'Look Robert,' she said, balancing the canvas on the bed so he could see it. 'This is me. At Locquirec. Remember?'
The vacant eyes wandered over the picture for a few moments. Slowly there was a glimmer, a second of recognition, then a horrible leering grimace which split the livid face and revealed the slack, slavering mouth. 'The little... chainmaker,' he gasped, his words slurring with effort. 'Was good fun... plump little bosom...' He gave a kind of involuntary snort, as if he would laugh if he could. He wagged a pudgy finger at the picture. 'Ignorant as hell...' he wheezed, 'But I taught her...' The wheezing became worse and degenerated into a coughing fit as he spat out 'I had 'em all... every one I ever wanted... and they loved it... all of them...'
The fat hand grabbed at the quilt as the paroxysm increased. When at last it subsided he gasped, 'Molly Fleming... what a doer!'
'Robert be quiet!' Florence retorted. She turned to Anna, and her face was quite serene. 'I'm afraid he doesn't remember you, my dear, he has you mixed up with someone else. I'm so sorry, we had better leave him to rest.'
Florence rearranged Robert's pillows as Anna, trembling slightly, replaced the picture. A wave of nausea swept over her, and she hastened to the door, unable even to turn her head for a last sight of the pathetic figure who had once been her lover. Her numbed mind could cope with only one thought, "Get away, get away..." and once back in the sitting room she feigned surprise at the time, and explained to Florence that she must leave. The old lady was apologetic.
'I am sorry Anna, I realise now it would have been best for you not to see Robert. I have grown used to it of course, but his appearance is a shock to anyone who hasn't seen him for some time. And his memory... it's the illness of course, the brain damage is progressive...'
Anna nodded. Her knowledge of such things was very limited, but already one word was invading her teeming brain. She kissed Florence goodbye, climbed into the hired car which the hotel had arranged for her, and instructed the driver to go to Sandley Heath. As she waved goodbye to Florence, and left High Cedars for the last time, the vile word still resounded over and over in her head... Syphilis... syphilis... syphilis.
WILL
As the hired car made its way to Sandley Heath Anna was in turmoil. Her mind kept returning to the big bedroom at High Cedars, to the foul mouthed revolting shambles that Robert had become. She still could not believe it, and yet...
The indicators had been there all the time, she now acknowledged bitterly, if only she had possessed the wit to see them. How could she have been so wrong, so deluded? In spite of all the evidence to the contrary, she had clung to the idea that Robert had felt as she did, that their love affair had been something very special. She now saw with devastating clarity that for Robert their affair had been nothing more than one in a long series of such liaisons, and she felt shamed and degraded by the knowledge.
As she began to recover her equanimity, Anna realised it was perhaps understandable that she had been taken in as a young and inexperienced girl, but since then...? Could she ever forgive herself for holding on to her girlish dream for so long, and not only holding on, but cherishing it, nurturing it, until it became more real than reality itself?
Reality.
Reality was Clancy, and James, and the business and New York, and the beloved family she was going to see very soon. Her preoccupation with the past had caused Clancy unhappiness, she knew that, and now it was too late to put it right.
The driver stopped the car, and turned to speak to her.
'Are you sure this is the right place madam?'
'Yes, we are almost there.' Anna said. 'Take the next turning right and go down the hill into Sandley Heath. Drive slowly please, I want to look.'
The driver raised his eyebrows but complied with the request. Yours is not to reason why, he told himself. If this fine lady wants to go slumming in a rough area it's her business I suppose. I only hope the kids don't throw stones at the car. This may be the first car ever to drive down here, he thought, noting the grimy ramshackle terraces and the general air of neglect.
As the car made its way down the hill Anna opened her window. The familiar smell of home drifted in, an odour of smoke, mud and soot, but there was something missing. Anna smiled, the middens in Tibbets Yard had been pulled down.
A few more buildings had gone too, she noticed. Most of them were the small forges run by individual families, many of the larger premises remained. As the car passed the chainshop where Clancy had worked she drew in her breath, almost expecting him to appear in the doorway and wave to her, as he had done so many times. She could see him now, striding up the bank in his working clothes, 'I thought I'd catch ye, so I did...'
'Is this far enough madam?' The driver asked.
'Er... yes. Pull up on the left and wait for me please.' Anna got out of the car and surveyed the scene. Apart from the loss of
the smaller forges, not much had changed. She looked across to the chainshop where she had worked for Ma Higgins. It was the same as she remembered, but smaller somehow. On impulse Anna walked down the roughly cobbled road and picked her way across the waste ground to the chainshop. Inside, several women were hammering and striking, and suddenly it was as if she had never left.
The girl at the first hearth inside the door caught sight of Anna and stopped hammering to gawp. A stout middle aged woman approached and asked if she could help.
Anna stared at her. 'Maisie? Maisie Collins...?'
The woman eyed her suspiciously.
'It's me Maisie, Anna... Anna Gibson.'
She watched Maisie's expression change from suspicion to delight. 'Anna? Is it really yo'?' Maisie turned to the other women, who had all stopped work to watch the encounter. ‘Look girls, this is Anna... Anna Gibson as was, ‘er who married an Irish lad an’ went off to America...’
The other women nodded their heads slightly and Anna smiled back. Maisie told them to get back to work and they did so, stealing an occasional glance at the well dressed stranger as they hammered. Anna and Maisie walked outside to talk.
‘Yo’ve done well fer yerself,’ Maisie said.
‘Yes Maisie, we have been very lucky in America. We had to work hard but we have done well.’
‘Ave yo’ come ‘ome fer good?’
‘No, just a visit, to see Will and the family.’
‘Arr, I ‘eard they ‘ad gone to live in the country, real gentlefolks now so they say.’
‘And you Maisie? What has happened here?’
Over the next few minutes Anna learned that old Betty Potts was dead, and Ma Higgins had retired some five years earlier. The chainshop now belonged to a man called John Sampson, who visited rarely and left the day to day running of the forge to Maisie, who was now in charge.
‘Oh Maisie, I’m so pleased. You were always a good worker,’ Anna said.
For some reason this appeared to anger Maisie. ‘Oh yes?’ she said acidly. ‘An’ ‘ow would yo’ know if I’m a good waerker? One of the bosses now are yer?’
‘Of course not Maisie, I only meant...’
‘I know what yo’ meant. Yo’ always was Miss Toffeenose, an’ now yo’ve turned into Lady Muck. Yo’ come ‘ere fer a look at what yo’ escaped from. Well now yo’ve ‘ad yer eyeful, bugger off!’
Anna stared at her in amazement, and decided to leave.
After only a few steps she turned back, saying, ‘Maisie, how much do the girls make now? In a week?’
Maisie eyed her narrowly. ‘It depends...’
‘I know, but how much in a good week?’
‘A good wik... can be as much as sixteen shillin’s ...’
Anna fished in her purse. ‘And how many girls are here?’
‘Eight, with me it’s nine...’
‘Here’s ten pounds,’ Anna said, holding out the money. ‘A pound for each girl and two for you. For old time’s sake Maisie,’ she added, as Maisie’s mouth dropped open. ‘I haven’t forgotten what an extra weeks pay can mean.’
‘But... it’s so much...’ Maisie said.
‘I can afford it,’ Anna said tartly. ‘As you say, I’m Lady Muck now.’ She turned to go. ‘If you don’t want my friendship perhaps you’ll take my money.’
Maisie caught her up halfway across the waste ground.
‘Anna... Anna I’m sorry. I dae mean it... about Lady Muck...’
Anna regarded her sadly. ‘Maisie, because I went to America and got lucky doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten my past.’
‘I know. I shouldn’t ‘ave said what I did. It was just... well... look at yo’ Anna, dressed up like a real bobby dazzler an’ look at me... these am the on’y shoes I got an’ they’m stuffed up wi’ cardboard. Yo’ got out Anna, yo’ ‘ad the chance, wi’ Clancy Sullivan. Not many of us got a bloke like ‘im.’
‘I know Maisie, I was lucky and I know it. Are we still friends?’
Maisie nodded. ‘The money, do yo’ mean it?’ She held it out in her hand. ‘All this?’
‘Yes.’ Anna laughed. ‘Tell them it’s from one of their own who went to America and got rich.’
On impulse she kissed Maisie and then made her way back across the waste ground to the road. As she turned into Dawkins Street she looked back, and Maisie waved.
Outside number twenty two Anna hesitated. She had intended to knock at the door, knowing that when she explained who she was the new tenant would certainly invite her inside for a look at her old home, and probably a cup of tea and a chat as well. Now she regarded the peeling paintwork and the dingy net curtain with sadness and a feeling of futility. Maisie had made her see there was no going back. Suddenly it all seemed irrelevant, the tiny terraced house, the chainshop, Sandley Heath itself... and High Cedars.
She turned and walked quickly back to the car, trying not to notice the few old wives who had come out onto their front doorsteps to look at her. She only allowed herself one slight detour to look at the tiny hovel Clancy and his mother had shared, so she could truthfully report to him she had seen it. Then she got into the car and gave the driver Will’s address.
As they left the grimy suburbs and turned towards the countryside, Anna relaxed. This was the England she had known on Sunday school outings and walks with Clancy, and she had forgotten how beautiful it was. Even the skies seemed to lift, and the sun shone weakly through small scudding clouds, as the car bowled along the leafy lanes bordered by banks heavy with the scent of yarrow and wild thyme.
Anna felt her excitement mount. ‘It’s on the road to Wombourn,’ she said to the driver.
‘Yes, I know where it is,’ he responded. ‘Very nice countryside out that way.’
Anna wondered suddenly whether Will and Mary had changed. It was clear she had changed herself, perhaps they would think she had become ‘Lady Muck’, like Maisie? Everyone must have changed over the years, she couldn’t expect otherwise. It was true Florence was the same, but Robert and Maisie... Robert was a dying wreck and Maisie had become embittered and cynical, and no wonder.
What a day it had been, Anna reflected, a day of surprises, and not all pleasant. She did not think she could cope with any more. If Will had changed... if dear, lovely dependable Will had changed she could not bear it. Her nervousness increased by the mile, and when the car eventually stopped she was reluctant to get out.
It was a square detached house, with five Georgian style windows and a porch over the central front door. There was a path bordered by colourful plants, and a small wooden gate.
The driver opened the car door. ‘You go on up madam, I’ll unload the luggage.’
Anna opened the gate nervously, and started up the path. She had only gone a few steps when the front door burst open and a young man came flying down the path towards her. He skidded to a stop a few feet in front of her, a huge grin on his face.
‘You’re my Aunt Anna,’ he said excitedly. ‘I can tell from your photograph, although you’re even better looking than I thought. I was watching from the window.’
Anna looked at him closely. ‘Andrew? You must be Andrew...’ It was heartbreaking to see him standing there, with such a look of Billy.
‘That’s me. May I give you a kiss Auntie?’
Anna smiled at him and Andrew kissed her on the cheek. Over his shoulder another figure appeared in the doorway, and a moment later Will was ambling down the path towards her, as big and handsome as ever, although a little grey, the smile on his face as large as his generous heart. Suddenly the years rolled away, and Anna knew for certain that Will would never change. He would always be there, solid and dependable as a rock, sane and practical and kind. Will opened his arms wide, and with a shriek of pure joy Anna flung herself into her brother’s arms.
~
Getting to know her family again proved to be a healing experience for Anna, and her welcome was such that it became necessary to insist that she was not waited on, but treated as she should be, as on
e of the family. Nevertheless she was awakened by a cup of tea in bed each morning, and found that numerous little treats had been devised for her, to everyone's mutual enjoyment. Dottie visited with her new husband Jack Drew, who had recently qualified as a chemist, and the young couple confided to her their plans to open a small shop as soon as they could find the right site. Anna found she was able to assist with much practical advice, and the knowledge that she had helped Dottie and Jack diffused the sadness she felt when they had to leave.
It had not occurred to Anna that she had become something of a folk hero to her family in England, but she now discovered this was the case. Dottie and Andrew had been brought up on tales of their Aunt Anna and Uncle Clancy's success in New York, and there had been much excitement when letters arrived. Then there had been wonderful presents at Christmas and birthdays, and the gifts of money which provided new shoes and warm coats. Finally there was the extraordinary day when Aunt Anna and Uncle Clancy had sent them money to buy this house, and move to the country.
For each member of the family the move had meant different things. For Dottie and Andrew it meant a better education locally, and clean fresh air. For Will it meant release from the drudgery of chainmaking, and the stress of trying to earn enough to feed his family. For Mary it meant never again having to share a copper for the washing, and a spacious kitchen in which to work. For the whole family it meant a private closet and washing facilities, which they had never known before.
For the first few evenings of the visit, Anna, Will, and Mary sat around the fire and talked until the early hours of the morning, bringing each other up to date with the detail of their lives, the background impossible to include in letters. Anna talked about her early days in New York and how the business had developed, and Will and Mary explained they had chosen this particular house because it had over an acre of land, which had enabled them to develop a small business growing vegetables for the local markets. They had received much help and advice from George Gibson before his death, and the vegetable business was now firmly established and showing a profit.