My beloved darling,
Your letter has arrived and filled me with delight — to think that I will see you on Thursday. But Thursday and Friday (minus what you feel you have to spend with other people) is not a fraction of the time that I demand to spend with you.
These last two weeks have been a Prologue to these two days; I dare not think of the days after when you are gone. The whole of my time is divided between two things, thinking and fantasizing about you, and trying to fill the infinite void before I see you. My desire is fanned by London (with its enormous power, so unlike Cambridge) with a flame that literally consumes me. As I lie down upon my pillow at night, I smell the warmth and fragrance of your breath, and press my lips against yours. In my imagination, I crush your body against mine with infinite desire. My darling, it is a pain which I endure gladly because it implies the unimaginable pleasure that you can bless me with. Let me be the Prince who awakens you from a hundred years of sleep, my adored Sleeping Princess.
If my train is supposed to arrive earlier or later (God forbid) than I supposed, I will phone you. This is an imaginary precaution, and does not mean you are free not to meet my train.
Goodnight, my dearest.
I was hesitant about how to greet him, but he crushed me to his breast and told me he loved me more than any other human being in the world. This did much towards reconciling me to the restrictions of his presence. We had tea with Philip who told me I was beginning to look ‘beautiful and mature.’
Louise had a little party just before I left. It wasn’t explicitly in my honour, but I felt very pleased. I drank a little too much, and felt myself again the centre of admiring eyes, yet so different inside. Sam and I sat on the couch and discussed my new maturity. Sam warned me not to make everything more important than it is, creating romance out of the usual trite situations — darling Sam.
At one point I found myself standing in the kitchen with Philip, whispering “I love you, I love you,” into his shirt front, into the pan in the pantry, everywhere. Am I crazy? If Sam had seen me he would tell me I was a whore, he has said it in the past. Is not every woman?
Sometimes I am ashamed at my own weakness. Before I left for Newcastle, I told Sam that if he wasn’t going to marry me that was it. No more visits, no more letters. He didn’t say a word, just gazed at me with his huge, furrowed brow.
FOURTEEN
Madelyn popped in to visit her old place of work a few days after she arrived home, and they offered her her old job back. She slid back into the dreary routine of nighttime shifts, sleeping most of the day and walking Pippa in the late afternoons. Her parents were glad she was under their wing again, and her slim appearance put whatever worries her mother had been harbouring to rest. She might have been ashamed at her unwarranted suspicions. The truth wouldn’t have entered her mind. Madelyn felt much older and wiser than her mother, dismissing the trials of her mother’s life as ongoing and niggly, not the sort of tragedy that would make one wise at all.
It was when Cathie phoned and pressed Madelyn to meet her at the pub and ‘reveal all’ that Madelyn began to think about what had happened in real terms. She found she didn’t want to see Cathie and spent a good deal of time pondering over the best slant to put on the affair. Was it a tragedy? Should she play the wounded heroine against her evil Jewish lover? Or was it better to preserve the enviable façade of strings of lovers and pooh pooh to that silly episode?
They met, as usual, in their favourite bar. Madelyn chose a time when she could use her nighttime shift as an excuse to leave after an hour or so.
Cathie led the way to a sheltered corner, pulling Madelyn away from their usual spot close to the bartender, where you could expect to receive the greatest amount of attention from male beer-buyers. She wanted to talk, and this was irritating to Madelyn, who determined at once to thwart her.
“Oh, I lost the baby,” she giggled, waving her hand about in a ‘pooh pooh’ fashion, “and thank goodness for that. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d had to marry that fellow.”
“You mean, you had a natural abortion? How lucky!”
Madelyn fanned the smoke away from her face and looked smug, wishing that Louise was sitting opposite her so she could have a real talk.
“And now you’ve broken off with Sam? I must say, I am relieved to hear that. It was hard to understand your real feelings, last time I saw you.”
Madelyn felt a savage urge to protect Sam, so much greater than anybody this silly girl had ever encountered, but such a reaction would not go with the carefree persona she wished to present.
Cathie leaned forward confidentially. “I’ve had a spot of trouble myself, since I last saw you. Mum’s sick. They think that it’s cancer or something.”
“Oh no! I’m so very sorry!” Madelyn squeezed Cathie’s hand, feeling her doubts melt away and her heart constrict with compassion. Cathie’s eyes filled with tears.
“There’s nothing much I can tell you. The whole thing has been so sudden. I hope she doesn’t die — she holds the whole family together. If she left we’d fall apart.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t. There’s a lot of love in your family. You could keep it together, Cathie.”
“God forbid that I should have that responsibility. Can you imagine trying to reproduce the jollity of the holidays, everybody looking to you to make sure Christmas pudding turns out just the way Mum’s used to? Oh God, I’d rather never set eyes on any of them again.” Cathie laid her head in her arms and her shoulders shook. Madelyn was quite shocked. Cathie was not given to displays of emotion. She felt guilty for her childish games, her assumption that Cathie was on the lookout for salacious details, as opposed to genuinely concerned for her. Cathie did not harbour such evil thoughts. When she was upset she turned to her friend for comfort. Madelyn felt ashamed. She stroked Cathie’s head, and when the sobs subsided she bent and whispered into her ear. “I lied to you just now. I had a clinical abortion, not a natural one. There was something so wrong about it, and I feel so ashamed that I try not to think about it. I just want to get on with my life as though it never happened. Above all, I don’t want to feel sad because it will worry my mother. It’s important to protect her. She would be so shocked.”
Cathie lifted her head and looked at Madelyn. “Does it shock you?”
“Sam’s attitude shocked me. He assumed that the abortion was the only option we had. Murder, the only recourse. My first child, a little boy!”
“Not murder, Madelyn. You mustn’t think of it like that.”
“It took so long to get rid of it, as though it was clinging on to its right of existence with all its strength. But we were so determined, we just kept on and on at it, trying to kill it, for months. I feel stunned when I think about it. I suppose I was brought up to expect a man to protect me, if something like this happened. So I allowed him the authority of that role, and all the time he was looking after his own interests according to the dictates of his mother, and not looking after me at all!”
“His mother knew?”
“It was his mother’s doing, his mother’s money. I even believe she listened in on the phone when Sam phoned me. I have to go, Cathie, I have to get to work.”
“But we’re just getting to the interesting part!” Cathie’s tears had dried, and she was looking at Madelyn with the old spark in her eyes. Despite herself, Madelyn felt repulsed by her, almost annoyed that she had given in to her impulse to ‘confess.’
“No, I have to go. I hope your mother gets better, keep me up to date.”
“Well, of course. Let’s meet again soon. Next week?”
“We’ll see.”
Madelyn was dressing old Mr. Simpson’s sores and keeping up a steady stream of conversation, when she felt a presence behind her. She turned her head and there was Sam, standing there like a huge grizzly bear with a rucksack on his back. He had the most ridiculous expre
ssion on his face, a cross between the look he was striving for (devoted love, presumably) and a look produced by the sight of poor Mr. Simpson’s bed sores (definitely revulsion).
“Oh Mr. Simpson, an acquaintance of mine has dropped in for some reason. I will be right back.”
“Would you like a chocolate biscuit?” Mr. Simpson wavered in the direction of the newcomer. “I always save them for Madelyn’s shifts. They are her favourite.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Sam answered, and took two. “Now these are from Marks and Spencer’s. You can’t get better chocolate biscuits anywhere.”
Mr. Simpson beamed, and Madelyn ushered Sam away before he could start a lengthy analysis of biscuit merits, and Marks and Sparks merits in particular (he would be sure to mention that it was a Jewish company — a fact Madelyn found difficult to believe — and even hint, by some obscure leap of logic, that that was the reason for its excellence in chocolate biscuits).
“How did you get here,” she hissed, as soon as she had got him into the safety of the nurses’ room.
“I realized I couldn’t live without you.”
“How did you know where I was working?”
“Your mother told me. I went there first.”
“It’s the middle of the night! You just marched up to my mother’s front door at one in the morning and demanded to see me? Did she know who you were? What inexplicable reason could she have for telling you where I work?”
“I think the force of my will and love overwhelmed her. Of course she knew who I was. I am your beloved, who changed your name to Madelyn.”
“A massive man appearing at her door like that, my father no doubt incapacitated. She was terrified into telling you where I was! And I assure you my mother does not call me Madelyn, so don’t get too puffed up about Mr. Simpson’s usage of it. I happen to like the name. It has very little to do with you.”
Sam threw himself onto his knees in the most alarming fashion. “You must come back to London with me; we belong together.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that it is the honourable thing to do.”
Was this an offer of marriage? “It would have been more honourable six months ago.”
“I cannot convey to you how important you are to me. It is essential for my growth as a human being to have you by my side. To reject me would be to condemn me to a life of poverty.” He caught her look of scepticism and added, “in a spiritual sense.”
This must be an offer of marriage. But why didn’t he just come out and say it?
“I don’t know Sam. I have suffered…”
“No more! No more!” he cried, seizing her hand and covering it with kisses.
“I’m not sure I understand what you are asking me. You know what I want.”
“I do, I do! We are a modern couple. Let us live together as man and wife, and see if it works out. I’m sure it will. We love each other so much.”
Madelyn looked at his pleading face. She wanted to scream and whoop down the hallways, but she wasn’t going to let Sam know that. “I have to get back to work. What shall you do?”
“I shall lie on this comfortable couch and pray that you produce something stronger than tea.”
“There’s Matron’s brandy,” said Madelyn, feeling uncomfortable.
“Then Matron shall donate her brandy to a good cause, since you will never see Matron again.”
Why do I feel so happy? This wicked, wicked man, who forced me to have an abortion…. I have won! He has struggled, but cannot live without me. It is my choice now. Do I accept him back, or do I send him away? I have to imagine my life with Sam. I cannot imagine my life with anybody else. This is a big decision, I must think about it seriously.
Pros
Cons
1. I love him. I love him I love him I love him I love him I love him.
1. He is judgmental and critical.
2. He loves me. He can’t live without me. He comes crawling back on his knees, despite his mother, despite his religion.
2. He is insecure; if one criticizes him he overreacts.
3. He is a man. He is strength and passion. I dream of him at night, only of him.
3. He has violence in his nature, but I don’t believe he would ever be violent to me.
4. He is clever. He has a bright future ahead of him.
4. He shouts, but this is how his family behaves. I can cure him of that.
5. He is honest and true. He will never look at another woman. He will never leave me.
6. I think he will adore his children; he has such a need to love and be loved, and these innocent offspring will be safe objects for his unharnessed adoration.
7. We share the same morals, principles and ideas about most things. We will never argue about politics or beliefs. He will teach our children values that I believe in.
There! Three more pros than cons. Doesn’t that prove I should marry him? He is overpowering, but isn’t that better than a boring mate? He is judgmental, but better to be with a clever judge than an accepting fool. And anyway, we are just living together for now. We both need to see how that works out. I would not feel so happy at the prospect if it were not the right thing to do.
FIFTEEN
London is the most wonderful city in the world, and midwifery is the most wonderful profession, Madelyn thought, as she held the hand of the labouring woman in the narrow room up the stairs from the pub. Sounds of merriment drifted up through the floor. The publican was already buying everyone drinks and toasting his soon-to-be fatherhood. It was their first baby, and the woman lay calmly in her bed, ignoring her mother’s annoying, unhelpful monologue. Madelyn had no idea if the old woman was rabbiting on out of habit, or because she was one of those women who must talk when ‘company’ was present, even when circumstances rendered it superfluous.
“I had ten babies, each one more painful than the others. I thought I was going to be ripped apart more than once. What a curse women have to put up with!”
‘Shut up,’ screamed Madelyn internally.
“They say the pressure stretches you so that everything is numbed and you can’t feel. But I felt the skin tearing exactly as if I took the corner of your mouth right now and ripped it apart. Often I used to tell my husband that, so he’d understand. Course he’s passed on now.”
Madelyn wiped the thin sheen of sweat off the labouring woman’s face, debating whether to point out how unhelpful such horror stories were in the present situation. She decided against it, since the daughter’s face looked so calm, concentrating on the events within as though her mother didn’t exist.
The husband knocked diffidently at the door, and popped his head around to ask if anybody would like a gin.
“A strong one, please,” the old woman croaked, as though she had been working hard and needed urgent relief.
‘That might shut the old cow up,’ thought Madelyn, as she shook her head. The husband gestured towards the bed, anxious to help in any way he could, fearful of glimpsing blood or other nasty things lurking in the vicinity of his wife. Madelyn shook her head again. It was a pity alcohol didn’t reduce the pain of labour, instead of making one thirsty.
The young woman rolled on her side and grappled at the small of her back. Madelyn lent over and pressed to relieve the pain. Hopefully the baby wasn’t posterior. The old mother concentrated on her gin, silent at last. Madelyn repressed a sudden desire to start blabbing herself, about the gun she had found that morning.
During the past four months Sam had tried to be very kind and gentle. This idyllic state of mutual love was facilitated by the fact that they were
both working hard and didn’t see a lot of each other. Sam was completing the last few months of articling at a respectable law firm. They recognized his potential and had already offered him a full-time job when he was called to the bar. He complained about the nature of law in general and fretted whether his high moral principles would be compromised by such a profession. Would he have to rub shoulders with the rich for the rest of his life? Madelyn assured him that his principles would dictate the decisions he made and protect him from any shady wheelings and dealings. However, other friends floating through the flat advised him otherwise. A young fellow called Jimmy, in particular, drove Madelyn mad by insisting that anyone spending the majority of their days in an office doing unfulfilling work was compromising their entire lives, let alone their principles. Madelyn couldn’t believe that Sam was unaware of the slimy quality of this friend. She tried to broach the subject of her dislike several times, but Sam distrusted her motives and did not listen to her. The remembrance of episodes in the past where he had distrusted her, sometimes with reason, embarrassed her to such an extent that she began to doubt her own motives (did she want a successful lawyer for a husband for selfish reasons?), and she stopped trying to influence him.
The flat was dirty, since neither Madelyn nor Sam cared about cleanliness, but it always felt even more disgusting after one of Jimmy’s sojourns.
That morning when they woke up he was gone, and Madelyn gaily made toast and boiled eggs for the two of them, envisioning a cozy breakfast. She sat down opposite Sam, who picked up the paper and began to peruse it.
“Did you sleep well?” she chirped.
He grunted. She playfully tapped the paper with her spoon and repeated her question. He pulled the paper away with an aggressive motion. “Could you be quiet? I’m trying to read.”
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