by Tim Jeal
‘I hardly expect the truth.’
‘If you’ve come for what I think you have, I suggest you leave well alone.’
‘I adore your half-frankness. And what do you suppose I’ve come for?’
‘Well, you’ll have a full house anyway. I’m sure your girlfriend is going to like the show.’
‘My fiancée, George.’
‘Sorry.’
*
‘Now, now, you crusty old men, what are you nattering about that we can’t share?’ Ruth flowed into the room, drawing Sarah and David behind her.
‘Nothing, dear … Now where are you going to put us all?’
‘I thought David could sit next to me and of course Steven and Sarah must sit together on one side. I’m afraid we can’t be girl, boy, girl, boy all the way round. But still if Sarah sits between Steven and George …’
‘I’ll be a hermaphrodite‚’ said Steven accommodatingly.
*
It was the middle of the afternoon. Sarah had been found a pair of Wellington boots and was being shown round the garden by Ruth. She stopped in front of a small flower-bed.
‘This one used to be done entirely by Steven and David. David used to be the keener gardener. I remember we used to take him down plants for his little garden plot at school.’
Sarah moved from one foot to the other. The Wellingtons were at least two sizes too small. Still, complaining was out of the question, there’d be all that awful business again about Londoners always coming in flimsy little shoes.
‘Would you like to see the rose garden now?’
‘Is it far?’ said Sarah apprehensively.
‘You Londoners …’ said Ruth twinkling. ‘It’ll take us ten minutes I expect.’ She pointed over towards a distant group of rhododendrons. Sarah sighed as she vainly tried to emulate Ruth’s long strides.
*
In the drawing-room George was eyeing the whisky bottle. He looked at his watch … only half past three. Only a small one just to steady the nerves. The newspapers were no good; they just reminded him of the hostile world outside. Glass in hand, he aimlessly walked up and down. Steven was probably with David, but what possible reason could he have for joining them? If he hadn’t said anything by now there was a chance that Steven would fail in his persuasion. George went over to the window and looked at the sky. If only I believed in God, he thought.
*
Steven paused for a moment before knocking on David’s door. Inside he could hear the whirring sound of a train on the rails. Hearing no answer he opened the door.
David was lying flat on his stomach peering up the track at the on-coming engine.
‘Oh, hello, it’s you‚’ he said, jerking into a crouching position.
‘It’s grown since I last saw it.’
‘I got a lot of new rails at Christmas.’
Steven tried to think when he had last been in his brother’s room. He looked at the mass of sidings and junctions sprawling across the floor. Obviously boredom and loneliness was responsible. Or was it all an excuse to be alone?
David watched him staring.
‘I suppose you’re thinking, like Mummy, that I’m too old to play around with trains.’
‘No.’
Steven walked over to the window and drew the curtains. He turned and said:
‘I suggest you get up and sit down somewhere comfortable. I want to talk to you.’
‘I can hear from here, thank you,’ he crossed his legs and squatted in the middle of the central circle of track.
‘George thinks he knows why I’ve come down today. Have you any idea?’
Steven saw that David’s face had tensed.
‘I expect you’ll tell me.’
Already he seemed hostile. Steven wished that he had played with him more when they had been younger. But the age gap had been too much. Five years is a long time to catch up.
‘I want to know what you found when you went to George’s flat.’
David’s voice was shaking with anger:
‘So you did plan it, so George was right.’
‘I had to. Can’t you understand what George is doing to her?’
‘Making her happy.’
Steven listened to the humming of the transformer in the otherwise silent room. Slowly he said:
‘And when the money’s gone will she still be so happy? How much do you suppose that flat in London costs?’
‘A lot I expect‚’ replied David softly.
‘Quite right, and how much do you suppose he pays his woman?’
‘What woman?’ David was relieved that his voice remained firm.
‘The woman you found‚’ said Steven patiently.
‘Do you think I wouldn’t have told you if I’d found anybody?’
Steven felt his anger growing. With an effort he controlled his temper. That hideous simpering voice: ‘Did you think I wouldn’t have told you …’ Steven said:
‘Obviously you wouldn’t. But you can’t deceive me.’ He paused, then snapped: ‘Why did you accuse me of “planning it”? Those were your words. Planning what?’
David hesitated before saying:
‘Planning getting me into trouble with George. He wasn’t pleased to see me, as you said he would be.’
‘Why? Why?’
‘Because he likes to be alone sometimes. I’ve got my trains, you can go back to Oxford and George can go to his flat.’
‘I have better things to do with my time than “getting you into trouble with George”, surprising though that may seem.’
David didn’t answer, but got up and went over to the transformer. He flicked the control lever to full speed. He next started to rummage about in a large cardboard box behind him. At last he produced a small goods engine and put it on the inner circle of track. He plugged another smaller transformer into the main one and made a connection with the inner track. Soon both engines were moving round in opposite directions on their different tracks.
As Steven watched, tremors of anger ran through his body. He contracted the muscles in his chest. The sound of the trains maddened him.
‘Why don’t you put on some carriages too?’ he choked.
‘Don’t be so impatient. I’m going to.’
Something seemed to snap in Steven’s chest.
‘You bloody little fool,’ he yelled as he hurled himself at David. As he hit the ground his foot caught in the goods train; savagely he lashed out with his heel, sending it crashing into one of the table legs. David tried to drag himself clear of the layout, but Steven pulled him back again. They rolled over several times, ripping rails apart and buckling others. David lashed out with his fist and caught Steven just below the ear. Momentarily he let go. David sprang towards the door, but Steven grabbed one of his legs. After several minutes struggling Steven was able to pinion David to the floor. With all his weight across his chest Steven started to twist David’s left wrist.
David’s breath was coming in sobs as Steven went on twisting.
‘What did you find, you little hero, what did you find?’ he hissed.
‘I told you … nothing … nothing.’
Steven twisted one last time.
‘Nothing‚’ yelled David as the tears started.
Steven let go and got up. David stayed sobbing on the floor in the midst of his shattered train set.
Steven looked down at him and said calmly:
‘If you won’t tell her what you saw, I will. I’ll tell her this evening and if you don’t back me up, I will never speak to you again so long as I live.’
He turned and walked to the door. When he had opened it he looked back for a moment at his brother’s crumpled figure on the floor and said:
‘Do it for her.’
Softly he closed the door.
*
On the stairs he met George.
‘I suppose you know, she’s going to take him away from Edgecombe?’
Steven walked on down the stairs. From a window on the first lan
ding he saw his mother and Sarah walking towards the house in the growing darkness.
*
The coffee cups had been cleared away. George was sitting in his wing-chair; he watched Ruth, David and Sarah, on the other side of the room, bent over a game of Scrabble.
‘Jolly good, dear. You may even beat our reigning champion, David, if you go on like this. However many does she get for that, darling?’ Ruth asked David.
George wondered where Steven had got to. He moved uneasily in his chair. Steven really had thought of everything this time. He had cornered David during the afternoon and now his girl made it impossible for him to talk either to Ruth or David. What in the name of the prophet could Steven have said to the boy? He had knocked on David’s door after he had seen Steven going down the stairs, but had got no answer. The door had been locked.
‘Well done, David. You’ve got rid of your “Q” and on a triple word, too.’ Ruth herself was trailing. ‘Anyway, darling, you’ll give her a good run for her money.’
George looked at the little group again. My jury, he thought. Everything depended on their reactions. Nothing could be certain even now. They might decide on the right thing for the wrong reasons or the wrong thing for the right reasons, even on the wrong thing for the wrong reasons. He felt more alert than usual and had not drunk more than a single glass of wine at dinner. He looked round the room, lovingly caressing each ornament with a glance. Even if I was blind, he thought, I could replace them all just by touch. What right had Steven or anybody else to try and alter what time had done? Hadn’t he and Ruth bought the glass candlesticks on the mantelpiece? Yes, and the table in the window alcove? From a small junk shop near the harbour in Lymington. It had been sunny and they’d had trouble fitting it into the car. She had given him a handkerchief to mop his brow. ‘You’re sweating like a pig, darling.’ Even the name of the place came back. ‘Braggs’. That was it, with two ‘gs’. Nothing could change that. Nothing could change the names in the numerous books in the large case in the hall. George heard the door opening and looked up to see Steven coming into the room.
Steven walked over to the mantelpiece and rested an elbow on the shelf.
‘Shall we try a game everyone can play?’
‘But we haven’t finished this one yet. And Sarah’s doing awfully well. You’ve chosen a very clever girl, dear.’ Ruth smiled at him.
‘I just thought George looked bored sitting all by himself with nobody taking any notice.’
George noticed that Steven’s hand was trembling as it hung down over the edge of the mantelpiece.
‘Anyway, George, I’ve come down especially to play with you. I thought you might care for a little truth game. How about starting then, George?’
‘Don’t be childish.’
‘Oh no, George, you must play, it might be such fun. We used to play when we were children. “My most embarrassing moment,” that sort of thing,’ Ruth said as she came over to George’s chair and sat on the arm. Steven saw Sarah look away as his mother ran her fingers through George’s hair. ‘Come on, dear,’ she laughed playfully. ‘My most embarrassing moment.’
‘That will do very nicely,’ Steven added. ‘You must be absolutely truthful. I can assure you that when it’s my turn I shall be.’
‘I don’t doubt that.’
‘Well, if George won’t start, how about you, David?’ Steven stared his brother full in the eyes. David looked away and said nothing. ‘No need to be shy. I’m sure that your most embarrassing moment is no worse than George’s.’
George said:
‘The person who proposes the game ought to start.’
‘I’ll start then,’ said Steven. He saw Sarah looking at him anxiously. David seemed to have found a new significance in his trousers legs. Steven turned to George and began:
‘Mine happened this afternoon when I found myself fighting on the floor with my brother. I broke up his train set. Even the new rails and engine he got for Christmas.’
‘Don’t listen to him‚’ David broke out. ‘It isn’t true.’
‘Shall we go and look then?’ Steven replied coolly.
‘I don’t think this is very funny, Steven. I think we’d better stop if you’re going to behave like this in front of Sarah,’ said Ruth.
‘She is at perfect liberty to leave the room when she wants to. I can assure you I didn’t find it funny either. Nor did David. Did you?’
Everyone was looking at him. David pressed his nails into the palms of his hands and managed to stop himself speaking. The longer he remained silent, the more chance there was that Steven would lose his temper. Sarah saw that he was shaking. She sat on the edge of her chair wishing that she had the courage to get up and leave the room. If only she knew what Steven wanted her to do. This was so unexpected, so horrible.
‘Shall I tell them why I nearly bust your wrist then? Or perhaps George would like to suggest a reason?’
‘I think this has gone quite far enough,’ said George, starting to get up.
‘I agree,’ added Ruth. ‘I expect Sarah’s tired and wants to go and unpack and get to bed.’
‘I expect Sarah is old enough to look after herself. Do I have to repeat the question or are you determined that I’m going to play alone?’
George sank back into his chair. Why the hell didn’t Ruth take her bottom off the arm?
‘What would I want to know from David?’ asked Steven again.
George saw Steven’s face thrust near to his. It was twisted with anger.
‘Your behaviour is hardly my responsibility,’ he said quietly.
‘No, George? Do you suppose that you never affected me? Do you remember how, when you used to come to school plays and concerts, I always made excuses so I didn’t have to sit with you? “Is that your father?” “How old was he when he married your mother?” “Fifteen?” Not only that, but you always had to go and have coffee with Crofts too after it was over. “This is my friend, Mr. George Benson.” And what do you suppose they said when you had gone? You didn’t have to have Crofts’s tactfully indirect and searching questions.’
‘Did it matter what other people said?’ Ruth said with a shaking voice.
‘Yes, it did. It mattered a lot. You could go back to your fool’s paradise but I had to listen.’
‘I didn’t think you were so sensitive,’ said George.
‘So it’s a joke is it? I wonder if David still finds it such enormous fun.’
George felt the anger of the righteous boiling within him.
‘What do you suppose those visits were like for me?’ he asked.
‘You didn’t have to come.’
‘Who’d have driven your mother?’
‘You could have worn a peaked cap and sat in the car.’
‘Did it ever occur to your twisted little mind that a woman needs a man? Your mother’s a woman you know. A very human one too.’
‘If you’re trying to tell me I’ve got an Oedipus complex, you’re wasting your time. Who was always Mummy’s boy, David? If I didn’t like it, God knows what it was like for you watching them pinching each other. Did you ever hear anything at night? Your bedroom was next to theirs. Or did you bury your head in the pillow and cover your ears?’
‘Leave him alone, can’t you?’ George hissed. ‘It’s me you’re gunning for, isn’t it?’
‘Steven, I’m not going to listen to you any more. I’m going straight up to bed. If you think I’m going to go on sitting here listening to such revolting things … George was almost a father to you both.’ Her voice was trembling. Sarah felt sick as she watched the tears start to spill down Ruth’s cheeks.
‘Almost a father … yes, taught us what “cads” were before we even went to school. The boy’s guide to the old grey stones. Responsible citizenship, the right way by a perfect pillar of society. Look at him … just look at him.’
The sight of Steven shaking his head from side to side goaded George to his feet. Pushing Ruth aside he leapt up to face Steven.
With difficulty he said:
‘I made sacrifices too.’
‘It must be a real nightmare to have such a lot of free time and free drink. Why, you might have been a provincial bank manager by now.’
‘I might and I might have preserved my self-respect.’
‘And your liver‚’ Steven sneered.
Ruth was crying softly, bent double over the arm of the chair.
‘Why did you do it for me? George, why did you do it? Why?’ she wailed.
‘Perhaps David will tell you. Or has he lost his tongue?’
There was a long silence, punctuated by Ruth’s sobs.
‘Was it for love or money, George?’ Steven went on.
‘You can’t hurt her like this. Steven, you can’t,’ David whispered unbelievingly.
‘Hasn’t George ever opened his book of clichés and told you sometimes one has to be cruel to be kind?’
‘Get out of here. Get out,’ George said weakly, without moving.
‘I’ll hit you if you touch me,’ Steven leered at him. ‘Anyway, don’t I have some right to part-ownership? You’ve got a place in London, so there’s no need to be selfish.’ He watched his mother’s body convulse. ‘And besides, you even have a nice little woman to look after you.’
‘I won’t listen. I won’t,’ Ruth screamed.
‘It’s lies, all lies,’ George said almost to himself. ‘He’s got no proof. What colour are her eyes, what does she wear?’ George paused. ‘You can’t tell me, can you? You can’t tell me because she doesn’t exist.’
Ruth clutched at his hand.
‘I believe you, darling, I do.’
‘Oh no, oh no, oh no,’ Sarah groaned with her head buried in the side of the sofa.
‘You want to believe it. That’s what you mean, isn’t it,’ Steven shouted. ‘But David can tell you that I’m right. Tell them what you saw when you were in London that night, you idiot, you won’t get another chance.’
David did not answer. Steven crossed the room and implored:
‘Tell her, it isn’t for me, it’s for her; for God’s sake.’
‘For love or money,’ Steven heard George echo tauntingly.
David looked Steven in the eyes and said quietly: ‘I warned you, I told you, I saw nothing, nothing.’