After a moment or two, he said, ‘Yes, I suppose so. We have never been close as you know but when I made the decision to pull out of the firm and move away, I felt a little guilty, I suppose.’
Amy remained silent, her eyes on his face, thinking, I don’t know you, not really. Before this morning she would have sworn on oath he wanted nothing further to do with his mother, but she could read in his eyes this was not the case. Although he was trying to hide it he was thrilled she had written, like a little boy overwhelmed by the unexpected approval of a revered adult. She nodded. ‘Then of course they must come.’
‘You don’t mind?’
For answer she said steadily, ‘She’s your mother.’
He blinked. ‘Thank you,’ he said softly. And then in one of the gestures which up to recently had always melted her heart however bad things had been the night before, he reached across and stroked a finger across her cheek to her mouth, saying, ‘I don’t deserve you, do I?’
Amy stared at him. Without animosity she said, ‘Promise me something, Charles. Promise me you won’t have a drink, both in the time leading up to Christmas and while they are here. Will you do that?’
She didn’t know how he would take it but when his face worked she thought for a moment he was going to cry, and his voice was thick when he said, ‘Oh my love, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I don’t mean to . . .’ He shook his head. ‘I only ever mean to have one or two, that’s all.’
‘But you never do,’ she said softly, her tone tinged with sadness rather than rebuke. ‘So don’t drink at all. You’re fine when you don’t drink at all.’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘What?’ His voice had been a whisper.
‘These days when I drink I don’t remember what I’ve done or said. It’s . . . frightening.’ He reached out to her, holding her hand very tightly. ‘But I know I’ve hurt you sometimes. What am I going to do, Amy?’
It was the first time he had talked like this and the relief was overwhelming. Her eyes became misted. ‘We’ll fight it together.’
‘But you don’t know what it’s like.’ He groaned, resting his forehead on their joined hands. ‘I promise myself over and over it won’t happen again but I can’t help it. Like a dog returning to its vomit.’
His voice trembled on the last words and as she gazed down on his bent head she remembered the incident of two nights ago, when he had become so enraged that she had spent the night in one of the guest bedrooms with the door locked. She had actually taken a poker from the fireplace and placed it near the bed in case he should break the door down, telling herself she would not be manhandled again. The memory of her very real fear that night prevented her from gathering him in her arms now as she was inclined to do. It wouldn’t help either of them for her to fuss him and say it was all right, because it was not all right. She had to be strong for both of them. He had to see they couldn’t continue to live as they had been doing.
‘Charles, look at me.’ She waited until he raised his head. Then, her voice soft, she said, ‘However badly the business is doing, it’s not worth this, can’t you see that? I don’t care about the house and car and all those things. I’d rather live in a mud hut with you and be happy than have you so . . . different. Will you go and see someone, a doctor?’
He straightened, withdrawing his hand, but his voice was quiet when he said, ‘That would be of no use. I know what the problem is and the solution is simple.’
‘Please, Charles. For me?’
‘I can’t, Amy. I’d feel . . . No, I can’t. But I won’t touch any alcohol again, I promise. Look, I’ll clear out the sideboard, all right? Get rid of it all, the wine cellar too. I don’t care what people will think when they call. We’ll tell them we’ve gone teetotal. That we’ve read some book or other which advocates total abstinence for prime health, how about that?’
He was grinning now and she forced herself to smile back. His last words had reminded her she hadn’t been to confession for months. She had gone to the local Catholic church in Ryhope a few times but Charles hadn’t wanted to attend and she had felt conspicuous on her own. Now she thought, I’ll go every Sunday, God, and in the week too, if You only make this work. And then almost immediately she chided herself for the bargaining quality to her prayer. She would go anyway, she decided, and she would light a candle for Charles. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have enough time, after all. In the spring and summer she had busied herself in the garden, refusing Charles’s offer to get a gardener and doing all the work herself. It had been a joy to work in the open air; in fact she felt it had kept her sane at times, and what with visiting her grandmother several times a week and entertaining, she had been kept busy until the autumn. The last few weeks time had begun to hang heavily on her hands but when she had suggested to Charles they do without a housekeeper and maid, thus saving money as well as giving her more to do, he had been horrified. A baby would be the perfect answer to the increasing vacuum in her life, but with Charles as he was she had been glad as well as sad when each month had proved she was not to be a mother.
Whether it was the inordinate amount of melted candle wax or Charles’s resolve in the next weeks, Amy didn’t know, but he was true to his word and removed every trace of alcohol from the house, even the housekeeper’s cooking sherry. A week of heavy frosts at the beginning of December when the world remained shrouded in white from one day to the next, followed by thick snow and blizzards in the second week, proved a trial for many. Not so Amy. For the first time since the beginning of the year she dared hope everything was going to be all right. She and Charles made a family of snowmen in the garden at the weekend, the current housekeeper and maid looking on from the warmth of the kitchen window and shaking their heads at the madness of their employers. They ate muffins by the roaring fire in the drawing room when they came in with blue frozen hands and red noses, and later, in the snug warmth of their big bed, made love till dawn. Charles told her she was the most precious, beautiful, wonderful woman in the world, and day by day the misery of the last twelve months began to fade.
Even when Christmas Eve dawned and the cab arrived with their guests, Amy took it all in her stride.While Charles paid the cabbie, Amy led Charles’s mother and aunt into the house which was bright with Christmas decorations, welcoming them in so warm a manner they couldn’t doubt her sincerity. It set the tone for the holiday period and Amy supposed the visit could be called a success, but by Boxing Day she was longing for their guests to leave. Charles’s mother had a curious effect on her husband, she found. She felt almost embarrassed to see the way he constantly put himself out to gain his mother’s approval, doing things to get her attention in the way a young child would rather than a full-grown man. Mirabelle Callendar was such a self-contained, cold woman, and it didn’t go unnoticed by Amy that she never volunteered any affection towards Charles or anyone else for that matter, and on the one or two occasions when Charles tried to kiss his mother, she would turn her face away so his lips barely skimmed her cheek.
Charles’s mother and aunt left the day after Boxing Day, having promised to spend the New Year with Charles’s brother and his family, and later that morning Charles left for his office. He didn’t return home for lunch but it was snowing heavily again and Amy assumed he was finishing what needed to be done so he didn’t have to turn out again once he was home.When it began to grow dark she telephoned the restaurant to find out when she could expect him back.
By the time she replaced the receiver she was trembling. She knew she hadn’t imagined the note of pity in Robin Mallard’s quiet voice when he informed her Mr Callendar had left at noon for the Gentlemen’s Club and had not returned.
She began to pace the floor. What should she do? What could she do? She had seen the look in his eyes as they had waved his mother off. It must have been the same look he’d had when, as a little boy, his parents had driven away from the boarding school they’d just dumped him at with barely a farewell. Wretched woman. She w
ished now they hadn’t come at all.
She glanced at the ornate marble clock on the carved mantelpiece. It was nearly five o’clock. She sat down, only to spring up again. Should she call a cab and go to the Gentlemen’s Club to talk to him? She dismissed this idea in the next instant. There would be a terrible scene if she did that. She could only wait.
At eight o’clock she ate dinner alone, sitting at the vast dining table. She had to force each mouthful down but she told herself she must eat. She couldn’t go to pieces. At half past nine she retired to their bedroom but did not immediately begin to undress. Instead she stood for some time staring at the big bed. Just this morning she had woken to Charles kissing her lips and murmuring sweet nothings as he stroked the hair from her face. Had it all been an act to keep her happy and playing her part so his mother went away with a good impression?
It would seem so. Oh! She dropped down onto the stool at the dressing table. Let her be wrong. Let there be some other reason for this. Don’t let him have spent the afternoon drinking.
Charles didn’t return home until the following morning. He arrived just as Amy was having breakfast, and when she heard him talking to the housekeeper she continued with her bacon and eggs. After a minute or two he appeared in the doorway to the breakfast room and although she knew he was there, she didn’t raise her head until he said, ‘Good morning.’
She stared at him but said nothing, and it was clear her attitude was proving disconcerting because he gave a huh of a laugh. ‘I suppose you want to know where I’ve been.’
He was acting like an overgrown schoolboy caught out in some misdemeanour or other. Whatever his hurt from his childhood, he had to grow up and start acting like a man, she thought with a healthy dose of anger. She had tried to make him talk to her several times over the Christmas period when they had been alone in their room at night, but he was determined not to open up to her. Now he was punishing her for how his mother had treated him; that’s what it felt like, right or wrong. She loved him. She had told him she loved him until she was blue in the face and she had showered him with affection the last few days. He couldn’t keep throwing it all back in her face.
When she still didn’t answer him the sheepish stance disappeared, and it was with a touch of aggressiveness that he said, ‘All right, so I had a few last night, satisfied? It isn’t a crime, is it?’
‘I can see that.’ Her eyes moved over his bloated face and rumpled clothes.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, woman! What’s the matter with you?’
Woman. It rankled as much as girl had done all through her childhood but she had made herself a promise that she wasn’t going to have a shouting match, not in view of what she had to tell him. She had planned to do it over a candlelit dinner the night before but it would have to be here and now.
She placed her napkin by her plate and stood up, her voice even when she said, ‘What is the matter with me? I’m going to have a baby, Charles. That’s what the matter is.’
And then she walked straight past him without looking at his amazed face and slack jaw, and quietly shut the door behind her.
Chapter 13
Following the news that he was to become a father, Charles once more became a reformed character. Contrary to what she’d expected, Amy did not feel unwell in the early days of her pregnancy, her only ailment being a consuming tiredness but that disappeared in the fourth month. By the sixth, the mound in her stomach was obvious, she’d put on a little weight all over and was, in her husband’s words, blooming.
The only shadow over her happiness at being pregnant - besides the faint worry caused by the newspapers in recent months, which were fond of reporting dire warnings that Europe was beginning to beat drums of war in answer to the increased threat from Germany - was the number of business trips Charles made which involved overnight stays away from home. These had begun shortly after she had told him she was expecting a child and happened more frequently as time went on, sometimes as often as twice a week.
Amy tried to tell herself these trips were necessary and that her suspicions as to their legitimacy were unfounded. Nevertheless, she found herself checking his clothes and smelling his breath for any signs he had been drinking each time he came home. But she couldn’t fault him. He also insisted that his problems with the business were over and that the restaurant, café and tea room were doing well, but Amy didn’t altogether believe this either. However, with things so harmonious between them and nothing to go on but a gut feeling, she let matters rest, instead dwelling on thoughts of the baby.
She found she delighted in being pregnant. Her changing shape, the first time she felt the flutter that spoke of new life deep inside her, the now strong kicks and movements from the child in her belly that sometimes woke her in the night were all fascinating. This little person would be hers, flesh of her flesh. It would belong to her and she to it, and already her maternal feelings were strong. As her pregnancy progressed, the need to be with her granny increased and now she visited the old lady every afternoon. The two of them would talk of her mother and Muriel would tell her granddaughter how much Bess had loved her. Each time Amy returned home, she’d gaze at the precious photograph of her mother which had pride of place above the mantelpiece in the drawing room. Her poor mam. When she had been expecting, her mam had been the object of shame and scorn and her grandfather had treated her abominably. But although this experience had been very different for them in one way, in another it was just the same. She knew she already loved her baby as much as her mam had loved her.
It was during one of the visits to her granny in the middle of June, when Amy was thirty weeks’ pregnant, that Muriel was taken ill. One moment the old lady was laughing at something Sally had said as the three women sat with a cup of tea and a slice of Sally’s seed cake, the next she was clutching her chest and gasping for breath. Sally sent Abe galloping for Dr Boyce and Amy held her granny in her arms as Muriel slipped into unconsciousness, her last words, spoken in a faint whisper through blue lips, being, ‘I love you, me bairn.’
By the time the doctor arrived ten minutes later there was nothing he could do. Muriel’s valiant heart, which had been labouring for years, was still. Amy sat clutching her granny, shocked and numb. She could not believe the indomitable old lady wouldn’t suddenly sit up and finish her cake, apologising for giving them all such a scare. Death had removed every sign of pain from the wrinkled old face and Muriel looked as if she was sleeping peacefully.
Abe fetched Charles from the restaurant, and it was not until Amy caught sight of her husband and he took her into his arms that she began to cry. Then she found she could not stop. Dr Boyce gave her a sedative before Charles drove her home and put her to bed, but when he wanted to call their own doctor the next morning she refused.
‘All the pills in the world won’t bring her back.’ Amy touched her husband’s arm. ‘And I have to face that.’
‘But not all at once, dear.’
‘Yes, all at once. It’s the only way I can cope. I can’t shut it out. It’s happened. And there is our baby to think of. He or she is the most important thing in all of this. There is a train of thought that suggests medication has an effect on a child in the womb.’
‘Oh, sweetheart.’ Charles shook his head.‘I’m sure it would be all right for you to have something to help you sleep.’
‘I’d rather not.’
‘Very well.’ His voice was soft. ‘I won’t try and persuade you if you’ve made your mind up because I know it will be no use. And don’t look at me like that, it wasn’t a criticism. One of the things that first caught my attention about you was your independent spirit and strength. Most of the women I had known before I met you were used to being pampered and cosseted, they lived in ivory towers where the more unpleasant things of life couldn’t touch them. They would wilt under adversity.’
‘I think you were associating with the wrong sort of people then,’ she said very seriously.
‘And I think you
are right.’ His arms went about her and he held her gently. They remained quiet for a moment or two, looking at each other.Then he said, ‘I wish I had a tenth of your strength, Amy. Do you know that? But you have married a weak man. How weak I wasn’t aware of until quite recently. That, perhaps, is my only excuse.’
Although he hadn’t said so directly she knew in her bones he was talking about his desire for the bottle, and in that moment she knew she hadn’t been wrong about his overnight business trips. She wanted to ask him where he went and how much he drank, but in spite of all his talk about her strength, she just didn’t have the energy for it, not with her grandma having gone. Nor could she face bringing up the subject of the business right now.These problems would have to be dealt with, but in a little while. After the funeral. Somehow the time between then and now was her granny’s. She leaned against him, saying, ‘You can be strong if you wish it, Charles. I know you can.’
He smiled at her but didn’t reply. A second or two later he patted her hand and walked to the door of their bedroom. There he turned and stared at her as she lay against the pillows. ‘Stay in bed today at least.’
The Rainbow Years Page 21