She turned her face to him, indignant, but his mouth fastened on hers, warm and tasting of tobacco, his breath whisky-tainted, his floppy dark hair brushing her forehead. She gave in and let him kiss her, after a moment giddily kissing him back. Someone turned up the radio and there were bells ringing and people cheering and the boy put both his arms round her and held her tight, his mouth still on hers, his heart beating almost audibly so that hers seemed just an echo, as if they were fused, one person. His hands came up under her jumper hot on bare skin. She tried to pull back but he wouldn’t let her. Then he took his mouth from hers and shouted ‘Happy New Year!’ and she laughed and didn’t care any more. She drank another whisky and held out the glass for him to pour her a third. Her head reeling, she let him kiss her again and one of his hands crept up and onto her breast, squeezing, making her gasp. Daniel, he is like Daniel, she thought, pulling away and seeing his dark eyes on hers, heavy-lidded, as if he were drowsy. Then they were in a circle in the hall holding hands either side with other people and singing with them – For Auld Lang Syne, my dear. . . . The crowd thickened in the hall and she was swept into the living room.
Minutes later she had lost him.
As she stumbled back into the hall, the red-haired student said – ’Happy New Year!’ and raised his bottle – not the same bottle, I bet, she thought as he staggered towards her as if to take her in his arms. She dodged him, running upstairs to find her coat. In the bedroom a girl with fair hair lay beneath a boy in a white tee shirt sweat-stained under the arms. He was panting and her skirt was up round her waist, his hand in her knickers. Esther felt her face on fire with embarrassment, but they did not even turn. ‘I have to – ’ she gasped, foraging for her coat. Finding it, she hauled it from under them, yanking it free, and fled.
There was no one in the hall now but the red-haired student who had collapsed on the floor, his bottle of stout fallen sideways in his loosened grip, spilling on the carpet. She caught the rank beery smell as she went past, kicking him on the shins as she stepped over him, not caring, half meaning to do it.
Outside, the cold air was a relief. She steadied herself on the gatepost, then buttoned her coat against the icy wind as it cut round the corner of the street. Which way? After a moment she felt less giddy so turned left, almost sure this was how they had approached the house.
There were small groups of people first-footing from one house to the next, all cheerfully wishing her ‘Happy New Year’ as she passed them, some waylaying her to offer a drink from a half bottle of whisky or a can of beer. She smiled and shook her head and went swiftly past, heart knocking, but nobody stopped her, nobody minded, they were still at the happy and loving everyone stage of being drunk. She began to worry about crossing the city centre on her own. It might be different there.
‘Hey!’
The shout behind her spurred her on, whether or not she was the one he was hailing.
‘Hey! Wait a minute.’
She half-turned her head to check who was behind her, all the while walking faster. Then hesitated, waited. It was the boy with the brown jumper. He had no coat but a long striped scarf was wound twice round his neck. The ends fell to his knees and swung wildly as he ran towards her.
‘What a speed you walk at,’ he complained, skidding to a halt. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Home.’
‘No? Want to do a bit of first footing with me?’ He took her hand. His was warm; she had not picked up her gloves or scarf from the occupied bed, she now realised, and hers were freezing.
‘I should go home, it’s late.’
‘Come on – there’s a really good party just round the corner from here.’
‘I don’t even know your name.’
‘I don’t know yours. Does it matter?’
He was not like Daniel at all – how could she have thought so? His hair was long and dark and he had brown eyes, but his features were much sharper, his nose aquiline.
‘I’m Esther.’
‘Say that again?’
She blushed, embarrassed as usual by her name, by having to repeat its sibilant sounds to a stranger. ‘Esther Duthie.’
‘Esther. I like it.’ He squeezed her hand and began walking, very fast. She trotted to keep up with him, feeling like Alice seized by the Red Queen, having to run, not knowing why, or where she was going.
‘You didn’t tell me yours!’ she gasped.
‘Jack,’ he said. ‘I’m Jack Murray, I’m a student and I’m going to be a poet. I’m reading James Thurber right now. I was reading Hemingway but I think he’s overrated. I like the Rolling Stones and Jimi Hendrix, but the best guitarist in the world will always be Eric Clapton.’
He did not seem to require an answer to this, so she did not attempt one. But the night had brightened, the cold wind no longer cutting her, the New Year promising more than it had only an hour or two earlier.
When Janet went upstairs to check on Margaret she found her still awake.
‘Are you not sleeping?’
‘I’m bored. Is it the New Year now – I heard you all downstairs.’
‘Yes, it’s 1968.’ Janet straightened the covers and tucked Margaret in, firmly and neatly, making her at once more comfortable. ‘Happy New Year, my dear.’
‘Happy New Year.’
‘Do you need anything? Will I get you some fresh water?’
‘Yes please.’
She watched Janet go out of the dark bedroom into the warm orange light on the landing. With the door wide open like this she could just see the glitter of the fairy lights on the tree that stood in the hall, and would be there for another few days. She did not need the water, but it meant Janet would be here for a little longer. She was so kind when you were ill; she made everything seem all right.
‘When will Esther be home?’ Margaret asked as Janet set the glass of water down on the bedside cabinet beside Margaret’s little pile of books: Little Women, Treasure Island, Pride and Prejudice. A funny mixture, Janet thought, but she had not had time to go to the library before it closed for Christmas and they’d had to make do with a selection from their own bookshelves.
‘I’ve no idea. She said she wouldn’t be too late, but she’s got money for a taxi home. Louise is staying at the Frasers with Rhona.’
‘I know.’
‘I’m sorry you’re here on your own.’
‘It’s all right. I don’t want to do anything anyway.’
Janet thought she looked unhappy, all the same. ‘Do you need to go to the bathroom?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
Janet went with her. ‘My legs are still shaky,’ Margaret said.
‘It’s because you’ve been in bed so long.’
‘I’m getting better though.’
‘Yes, I think you are.’
While Margaret was in the bathroom, Janet remade the bed properly, pulling the undersheet taut, folding new hospital corners. Margaret slipped into the narrow space left for her, like someone being put into an envelope. She was so thin she did not make much of a bump in the bed.
‘Don’t go,’ she said to Janet, reaching up a hand to catch her aunt’s arm. ‘Stay here.’
‘Just for a minute, then.’ Janet sat on the side of the bed and smoothed Margaret’s hair off her forehead. Not so hot now, so perhaps she was getting better at last.
‘Let’s make our New Year resolutions,’ Margaret said. It was a way of keeping Janet here longer.
Janet laughed. ‘For a minute I thought you said revolution,’ she said. ‘With some people, I think that’s what it would take to change anything.’
‘What’s yours?’
Janet thought for a moment. Find Daniel. The shadow crossed her mind and slipped away.
‘I think it should be to redecorate this room. Don’t you think it’s time? Even if . . . I know you didn’t want to when Daniel had just left, but now we could. Make it yours, properly.’
‘It is anyway. I like it being the way Daniel had it,’ Marg
aret said.
‘Think about it – ’
Margaret interrupted her, sounding sure and steady, for the first time since glandular fever had taken hold, weeks before. ‘I think Daniel will come home this year. In 1968.’
For a moment, dismayed, Janet said nothing. Margaret had not mentioned Daniel once in the last year, she was sure of that. Esther and Louise referred to him; Margaret did not. Sometimes, she thought this was why she kept being ill, if that wasn’t too far-fetched. But she had always been a child who got ill.
‘He will,’ Margaret repeated. She reached up and touched Janet’s cheek with her hot hand. ‘I’m sure.’
‘My dear, it’s been three years, and we’ve had no word for months.’ She relented, seeing the little worried frown reappear on Margaret’s forehead, shiny with sweat from her rising temperature. ‘Still, who knows? I’m sure he will come back.’
She had been sure, for a long time, though so angry with him, as they all were, disappointed, frustrated. The postcards, addressed to the Harrowden Place house, but for Caroline, and so always forwarded to her, had been frequent at first. Paris, Vienna, Budapest, moving eastwards. Morocco. Then a long silence. Athens. Finally, through the year just gone, only one in March from Ankara, and nothing more. Despite her anxiety, she had been the one persuading Gordon and Harry to leave him be, not to try to find him. Caroline seemed so sure he would come back, and she was the one who would know.
She kissed Margaret before she went out of the bedroom, leaving the door ajar, as the child liked. She must be tired of being ill, Janet thought, what a year she’s had.
Downstairs Harry and Gordon were talking about going to bed now that the New Year had arrived.
‘I think the Stewarts might come in for a drink,’ Janet said, thinking of their neighbours.
‘We’ll give them fifteen minutes or so.’
‘How is she?’ Gordon asked.
‘Better. Cooler. But she’s going to be weak for a while yet.’
‘Do you want a drink?’
‘No.’ Janet sighed. ‘If they’re coming in, I wish they would. I just want to go to bed now.’
‘Some Hogmanay,’ Harry said with a smile. ‘Is this middle age, do you think, being so tired when other people are up all night celebrating?’
All at once, Janet realised they were thinking about Daniel too, and that was what made them so dull, so unable to rouse themselves to think of the year to come.
‘Margaret said – ’ she began.
‘What?’
She was on the sofa beside Harry and she put her hand on his thigh, for the reassurance of it, knowing he was here and solid and unchanged.
‘She said Daniel would come home this year.’
For a moment, neither of the men spoke. Three years of absence and silence, like a reproach. But what had any of them done wrong, that he should do this to them? Gordon was still angry.
Harry put his arm round his wife. ‘We’ll see,’ he said. ‘Maybe he will.’
The doorbell rang long and shrill and they all jumped.
‘Oh God,’ Gordon said. ‘Bloody Hogmanay.’
Daniel
1968
She snatched up the receiver and said ‘hello’ briskly. She was just about to leave for work and was running late. When she heard his voice there was a long moment when she could not breathe.
‘Caroline?’
‘Daniel?’
‘Yes, it’s me.’
‘It is you – it is you?’ Even her legs were shaking. ‘Where are you?’
‘Glasgow.’
‘Glasgow? But . . . how did you know where to find me?’
‘You’re in the phone book.’
‘Oh. Yes.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But how did you even know I’m in Edinburgh?’
‘Directory enquiries. I tried other cities too. I’ve looked in a lot of phone books. But I thought Edinburgh was most likely.’
‘You’ve been looking for me.’
‘Yes.’
Caroline could hear a commotion in the background. ‘It’s very noisy, where you are.’
‘I’m in a busy street and the phone box has a lot of panes missing. If you listen you’ll hear me crunching broken glass under my feet.’
‘Oh God.’
‘I’m ok. I’ve got somewhere to stay – flat-share with a couple of students.’
She said nothing, the words choked in her throat.
‘I’ve got a job. It’s all right, Caro, I’m all right.’
‘A job – what job? Where have you been?’
‘Here and there.’ A pause. ‘We could meet.’
She tried to conjure his face, but could picture only a vandalised phone box in a Glasgow street full of noisy traffic and probably thugs and drunks. It was Friday night.
‘I’m working till Thursday but I’ll see if I can change my shift. I’ll come and see you, or can you come here? I’ve got a nice wee flat, you’d like it, you could come and stay here.’ She was gabbling, unable to think.
‘I’ve got a job in Glasgow.’
‘How long have you been here – you’re working? You could get a job here.’
Silence. No, she thought, no, I mustn’t lose him again.
‘I’ll come and see you. Dan?’
‘Yes.’
There was a change in his voice and it frightened her. Before she could speak again he said,
‘I’m working till Thursday too. Don’t worry. I’ll see you then.’
‘That’s ages. After three and a half years.’
‘I know, Caro. But it’s all right.’
‘Is it? Where do you want to meet?’
‘I’ll come to Queen Street station,’ he said. ‘I’ll meet your train.’
‘I’ll have to get a timetable – ’
‘Just come on one that gets here about lunchtime – any time between twelve and two – and I’ll wait for you. Can you do that?’
‘Yes, yes, I can do that. Thursday. You’ll look for me when the Edinburgh trains come in?’
‘I won’t miss you. Promise.’
She was comforted: he had promised, so it would be all right. For a moment, jealous, she wondered if he had called anyone else – Granny or their father. More likely Janet, he would call Janet, wouldn’t he? Yet she knew he had not.
‘I have to go,’ Daniel said. ‘There’s someone waiting for the phone box. See you on Thursday.’
‘Don’t go yet – ’
There was a click on the line, then silence. ‘Daniel?’ She put down the receiver, feeling sick.
It was a long time till Thursday. Should she tell someone? Who? She wanted to tell someone, but an instinct she could not make rational told her not to, to say nothing at least until she had seen him. What about Margaret? No, it would be unfair to tell her yet. She sat down, still shaking, unable to move, knowing she was going to be late.
He was back, he was here, he had got in touch. She had dreamed this, imagined it, over and over after he left. Then, the postcards getting fewer, passed on by Janet after she moved to Edinburgh, she began to see that whatever she did, she would have to do it on her own. That still meant being a good doctor. She had promised him; she would not break that promise. It would not be true to say she had given up hope of being with him again. Nothing but death could make her do that and she believed – was certain – he was somewhere in the world.
Outside, traffic went by and someone called out. A hiss escaped from a lorry as it braked. Inside, silence became oppressive, like a blanket, a shroud. Still she could not move.
Daniel, where have you been without me?
Something cracked and seemed to break in pieces around her. She put her face in her hands and cried.
The next morning Caroline’s shift did not start until two, but she was up early because she had been awake for hours. She felt light-headed. There was a little Italian café on the corner of her street. She put her shoes on and went out. After Easter, pretending it was Italy and not Edinburgh
, they put a few rickety chairs and tables outside. They didn’t seem to mind how long you sat there with one drink. She went in and asked for coffee.
‘I’ll sit outside,’ she said. The waiter was Gianni. She knew his name now; the boss, who was surly and never looked at her, called him that.
Gianni grinned. ‘For you, I bring outside. You have smoke, and wait.’
‘You know fine I don’t smoke – and neither should you!’
If the café was quiet, Gianni sometimes came outside and stood near her with his cigarette.
‘You medical people – full of good advice, eh?’
She shook her head at him and went to sit on one of the uncomfortable metal chairs. It was not really warm enough to be out of doors. She fastened her jacket and tucked her hands between her knees, warming them. A gleam of sunshine moved between buildings and cast its pale warmth across the table. She shivered, grateful for it.
When Gianni set down the cup and saucer with a flourish, her bill tucked beneath it, she said,
‘My brother has come back. I’m going to see him on Thursday.’
‘He has been far away?’
‘Out of touch. It’s been a long time.’
‘You’re pleased to hear from him, heh?’
‘Yes. Yes, I am.’
He looked at her for a moment, assessing. ‘I think you could use a cigarette this morning. Or a glass of Chianti?’
She smiled. ‘A bit early in the day perhaps. For the wine. But yes, it’s a special day.’
Later, getting ready for work, she thought, you can tell strangers anything. Truth, lies, secrets – anything you like. All you have to do is make sure they remain strangers.
In the hospital, time flew past, unmarked. Often she did not even stop to eat. She was constantly on her feet, walking between wards, up and down wards, along corridors, standing by beds, trying to find time just to sit and think but not ever having a minute. Your head was full of the patients, but more than that, of the rapid decisions you had to make, scarcely one of them without a nag of anxiety – am I right, is this really the thing I should do, say?
She did not finish until late on Wednesday night and when she got back to the flat was too tired to eat. She had hot milk and a biscuit, and went to bed.
The Treacle Well Page 13