The Treacle Well

by Moira Forsyth

  It was the emerald and diamond ring which had been given to Bess many years ago, when she agreed to marry Gordon.

  ‘You can wear it on your right hand – I would. It’s big enough to be a dress ring,’ Caroline said.

  No need to pretend to be grateful now.

  ‘It’s beautiful – I’d love to have it – but – don’t you want – ?’

  ‘I want you to have it.’

  There had been the little piece of paper in the box at Braeside – my ring to Esther. Was this, after all, the ring she had meant? Glancing down, Esther saw no sign in the box of the gold ring Caroline had worn, and lost, and that had been found again. Caroline was not wearing it or any jewellery except Bess’s pearl studs in her ears, and Daniel’s thin gold chain round her neck, glimpsed, but tucked inside her blouse.

  ‘Thank you. This is the nicest wedding present I’ve had. Will have.’

  ‘Ah, it’s not a wedding present. It’s just for you. I’ll give you a cheque later. You’ll want to choose your own things for your house.’

  Flushed with gratitude, Esther longed to do or say something in return that would be right and perceptive and bind her for ever to this familiar and strangely unknowable cousin.

  ‘You understand much better than anyone else. I’m so sorry – ’

  ‘It’s all right. Come here.’

  For a brief moment Caroline embraced her and she was caressed by the sweetness of her scent and the cool silk of her hair brushing her own hot face.

  ‘You will come to the wedding, won’t you?’

  ‘I’ll see. I’ll try. Promise.’

  When Daniel said promise it meant yes. Or it had, for as long as he was able to keep his promises. Caroline knew that better than Esther, knew what weight the word had.

  What Esther wanted to ask now was whether Caroline intended to give Louise and Margaret some precious thing too. Was the ring because of her marriage, though not a wedding present, or for some other reason? What about Louise’s wedding? ‘The sooner she’s divorced the better,’ Janet had said to Harry in Esther’s hearing, ‘and that’s not a thing I ever thought I’d say about a daughter of mine’. If Caroline thought the same, was there any point in marking it now with a gift or gesture? Esther wanted to ask, but could not, even to square things with Louise, as she was obviously going to have to do, when she showed her the ring. She would keep it to herself till after Caroline had gone; she had to pick the right moment.

  When Caroline left, some brightness went with her. For a while, even the wedding seemed less exciting than it had before.

  ‘I’m glad she came,’ Esther said to her mother. ‘Are you?’

  Janet, clearing space in the dining room to store the new presents which had arrived in the last week, paused and straightened, a hand in the small of her back, where there was a new ache.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Your Granny was very pleased to see her.’

  ‘Mum – she gave me something.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I’ll show you. Just a minute.’

  She brought the ring in its leather box. The corners were rubbed and it had faded, but the ring itself gleamed on dusty black velvet, as good as when it was first given to Bess.

  ‘It’s her mother’s engagement ring – it belonged to Aunt Bess, she said.’

  Janet took the ring from the box and held it up. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I remember this ring, how unusual it was. I didn’t know anyone else who had an emerald.’ She tucked the ring into the box and handed it back. ‘That was very generous,’ she said.

  ‘I’d have thought she’d want to keep it,’ Esther said. ‘I felt quite bad, taking it. But she was so definite.’

  ‘You could get it cleaned,’ Janet said. ‘The jeweller will do that for you – it doesn’t cost much. It looks fine, but you’ll see a difference if you do.’

  ‘Mum – ’

  ‘Oh, don’t ask me about Caroline,’ Janet said. ‘I can’t tell you anything. She’s a mystery to herself, I sometimes think, never mind the rest of us.’ Janet turned back to the boxes on the floor. ‘Now, where’s the card for this one? I think this is Mrs Graham’s – she said it was a kettle.’

  ‘I have to tell Louise and Margaret about the ring – I haven’t said anything to them yet.’

  Her mother knew, she always knew, you did not have to explain.

  ‘You’re the one getting married, and you’re the eldest. Their turn will come.’

  Neither of them mentioned Louise’s wedding. It doesn’t count, Esther thought. Maybe you had to have this ritual for everyone to recognise the reality of your marriage. And you have to stay married, you have to mean it. She and Jack did mean it. They were going to be married for the rest of their lives.

  Sometimes this idea was a great comfort to her; sometimes she feared it. Trying the ring on again, she looked from it to the little garnet and opal ring on her left hand that Jack had bought second-hand from an antique shop. One day perhaps they would be rich enough for Jack to afford emeralds and diamonds but that future was too far away even to be interesting.

  ‘You’re her favourite,’ Louise said, when Esther showed Margaret and her the emerald ring. ‘That’s why she gave you her mother’s ring.’

  Margaret said, ‘There are other things. Maybe it wasn’t a will after all.’

  ‘What wasn’t?’

  ‘The list of jewellery in the other box.’

  Had they ever told Louise? Esther was sure they had. ‘You remember – Caroline was going to leave her jewellery to us, and everything else to Daniel. I could hardly remind her of it, could I?’

  ‘Oh yeah, I think I remember something about that. Do Margaret and I have to wait till she’s dead then, to get our rings or whatever?’

  ‘Maybe she’s changed her mind,’ Margaret said. ‘So she’s going to give us stuff when we get married.’

  ‘Or in my case, maybe,’ Louise said, going red, ‘get unmarried.’

  ‘I feel awful about it,’ Esther said, ‘but I could hardly say – what about Louise, aren’t you giving her anything? Or Margaret?’

  ‘It’s because you’re getting married,’ Margaret said. ‘I mean, nobody was invited to your wedding, Louise. It was different, you said you wanted it to be different. If Caroline was just giving away her jewellery, or her mother’s jewellery, she’d give all of us something.’

  When they were on their own, Louise said, ‘Ok, I admit I’m a bit put out, but it’s my own fault. It’s worse for Margaret – a bit of a snub for her.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She’s Caroline’s sister, isn’t she, and we’re not?’

  ‘I keep forgetting,’ Esther said.

  ‘Once upon a time there were three little sisters,’ Louise quoted.

  Esther felt in the wrong – she had not thought about Margaret’s feelings. She had been insensitive, which was not how she saw herself. There was a hard knot in her chest. The day was spoiled, the gift tainted.

  Louise was offended, but would get over it by teatime. Margaret was hurt, and would not.

  ‘Oh, I wish she’d never given me the ring!’

  ‘No you don’t. It’s beautiful, and it was Bess’s ring, so it was hers to give away to whoever she liked.’

  ‘Margaret will get Diana’s stuff, won’t she?’ Esther said, comforting herself.

  ‘If Uncle Gordon doesn’t give it to Mrs Ashton instead.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘I’m kidding. Forget it.’

  Esther could not. She went on feeling uncomfortable and guilty for days. In the end, she spoke to her mother when they were quietly on their own, going through the replies to the wedding invitations, ticking them off on the list written out in Janet’s neat rounded hand.

  It was a cool July day of repeated showers, the sun gleaming falsely now and then, but never breaking the cloud. Rain sprayed the window of the den but at the back of the house they heard nothing apart from this fitful spattering. The cups of tea they had made for themselv
es after lunch cooled on the low table in front of the empty grate as they talked.

  ‘So there’s still the Mackies’ reply to come, but Sheila’s always at the last minute. And Jack’s uncle and aunt from Devon,’ Janet said. ‘Did you ask Jack about them?’

  ‘I forgot. I’ll ask him tonight when he comes round.’ As her mother gathered up the envelopes and put them away in the bureau drawer with her list, Esther said, ‘I want to ask you something. I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Oh?’

  She had her mother’s full attention these days; Esther was a grown-up now too. She was someone to be listened to and consulted. Janet was still in charge, but Esther was catching up. Beyond the wedding was the world of being married. She could not imagine it, could not think how it would feel, to have crossed that divide between the unmarried and the married. Something would be revealed to her, a mystery she knew her mother could not explain and that anyway, she did not want explained. It was something you had to find out for yourself.

  They talked about the wedding all the time. They did not talk about the marriage coming after it except in the most practical terms – money, the flat, furnishings, how to cook nourishing meals.

  ‘You know the ring Caroline gave me?’

  ‘It’s come up beautifully,’ Janet said. ‘Sparkling.’

  It had come back from the jeweller with the stones dazzling, the gold shining like new. This made it even worse, the guilty uncomfortable feeling.

  ‘I wish in a way she’d never given it to me.’

  Janet sat down again and waited. Esther, stumbling through her explanation, gave up and stopped.

  ‘Do you see what I mean?’

  ‘Louise will be all right – I wouldn’t give that another thought.’

  ‘Louise is all right about it actually.’

  ‘Is Margaret upset?’

  Margaret had said nothing more, so Esther could not answer this. ‘Louise said she would get Diana’s engagement ring and things – she will, won’t she?’ Esther tried to picture the long ago Diana, her pretty clothes, the glitter of her earrings and necklaces as she turned her blonde head.

  ‘Will I have a word with her?’ Janet said, not answering the question.

  ‘If you think – what will you say?’

  ‘Not a word about Caroline, you can be sure of that.’

  ‘I wish – ’

  ‘It’s not your fault. You couldn’t say no.’ She sighed. ‘But oh, how like Caroline to cause trouble amongst other people.’

  The guilt weighed less heavily now. Her mother would take care of it, and her mother had absolved her. It would be all right.

  A week before the wedding, a call came from Caroline while Esther was out. She spoke to Janet who was the only one at home. A colleague was very ill, so they were short staffed. Caroline was unable to take leave and would not be at the wedding after all. A cheque for Esther was in the post, and she would send a telegram on the day.

  ‘I knew it,’ Esther said when she heard. ‘I knew she wouldn’t come.’

  ‘And she promised too,’ Margaret said, dismayed.

  ‘No, she only promised to try, she didn’t promise to come. That’s how I knew.’

  On the eve of her wedding, Esther lay in bed in the pale summer dusk, gazing at her white dress suspended on its hanger from the wardrobe door, the veil spread across a chair, the white shoes neatly side by side on the floor. On her bedside cabinet were two little boxes, one with her engagement ring, the other with Bess’s emerald.

  She could not sleep. Jack had phoned at seven but the conversation had been short and unreal. See you tomorrow then. See you. Are you all right? I’m all right, are you? I think so. It will be fine, he said, it will be all right. Soon it’ll just be me and you anyway, the whole thing will be over.

  That was what she feared and wanted in equal measure.

  She sat up and looked in the little boxes again. Her ring, Bess’s ring. She would not wear Bess’s ring yet, not for a while, since someone had told her green was unlucky at a wedding. Poor Bess, unlucky for her.

  Perhaps she could read, since she would not sleep yet, maybe not at all. Then she would look terrible tomorrow. She propped the pillow up and got her book out, but the words danced and would not resolve themselves into sense. She was wearing an old pair of summer pyjamas with a broderie anglaise trim that was coming off at the neck and sleeves, the stitching worn. I will never wear these again.

  She had begun to climb out of the old life; she was standing on the cusp of – what? Being an adult, a woman, a wife – somebody else. She lay back on the slouching pillow, running her hands over the thin cotton sheet, fraying at the hem, and down over the cool blue satin of the quilt. Then she crossed her arms, feeling the soft cotton of the pyjamas that she’d worn every summer for years, and they were faded like the wallpaper with its forget-me-nots and daisies and the blue curtains whitened at the edges by the morning sun. Everything here was old and fading, not worth replacing when she was so soon to be gone, and as if it was all slipping into memory already.

  She spread her hands out and looked at them, the nails carefully tended for weeks and filed smooth so that the new wedding ring would be suitably housed. If she were like her mother and never took that ring off, her hands would not be naked again like this. Abruptly, she pushed the covers off and got up, crossing to the window in bare feet, on carpet and then lino at the edge of the room, cold beneath her soles. She pulled back the curtain a little and looked down into the street.

  When they were little she had stood by this window on summer nights and told Louise and Margaret what was happening below: a black cat stalking a bird, a man going home swinging his briefcase, a woman with a walking stick, moving slowly, a black car gliding by and disappearing round the corner at the end of the street. She had described it all, and Louise had made up stories about them, until their mother came upstairs and took a drowsy Margaret off to bed and they had to get into bed too.

  They had vanished, all these ghosts. The street was empty and silent.

  Somebody or something must come, Esther thought, to give me a sign. What the sign was to portend, she did not know, or what shape it should take.

  Nothing happened.

  Then, like a shadow, a grey cat leapt onto the wall of the Donaldsons’ house opposite and halted, poised, before slipping down and running along the pavement. At some unheard signal, it paused again, then turned its head in Esther’s direction, looking up. Its eyes gleamed in the street light’s beam. A few seconds later it was gone, darting between gateposts, out of sight.

  It was too ambiguous a sign to be satisfactory, but it would have to do. Esther let the curtain fall and went back to bed.

  By tomorrow night she would be clear at last of the treacle well. When you are in it, there seems no way out, no imaginable time when you will be free to make your own decisions and know what is coming next. When you are out of it, it becomes a dream, short and transitory.

  This time, when Esther lay down, she was able to close her eyes, growing drowsy at last. However long it seemed, it was only one night and it would soon be over.

  In the Snow

  1978

  In one kind of extreme weather it is difficult to imagine its opposite. In the heat of Tunisia, recollecting her grandmother’s funeral only a few months ago, trying to describe it to Eric who was with her – despite the dangers this posed to both of them – Louise struggled to find words for the landscape of that January day.

  The reason she wanted to speak about it at all was nothing to do with Eric or indeed her grandmother. It was because while they were at Gatwick airport, skulking in case anyone they knew saw them together, she had seen Caroline.

  Celia died of a second stroke a few days after the minor one which had put her in hospital soon after New Year. After a mild Christmas, it was piercingly cold. On the day she died the air seemed to soften, but that was an illusion: in the afternoon snow began to fall. Janet was on her way to the hospital
with a clean nightdress and a bottle of orange squash, hoping to see her mother a little better, more wakeful than the day before. They all thought she was improving and might even be able to come home soon, not to Braeside but to Janet and Harry, to convalesce.

  Because she was in the bus on her way to the hospital, not risking the car in heavy snow, Janet was not at home for the telephone call from the Ward Sister suggesting she get to the hospital as soon as possible. She was too late anyway. They met her at the entrance to the ward, their concerned faces giving them away. How to break bad news to relatives, she thought afterwards – just look like that. It was not an expression that could be misinterpreted.

  Celia was in a small side ward with a single bed. Janet sat with her mother, holding her hand that was still warm, the thin hand with its loose wedding ring, and looked at the face that had fallen away from life, or life had fallen from it, leaving it ashen and empty. She thought she would cry, but did not. She sat dry-eyed, gazing at her mother, unable to believe yet that she would not reply with so much as a blink or movement of her head if Janet said to her, ‘I’m here, Mum, it’s me’.

  A little staff nurse with curly hair brought her a cup of tea, milky with two lumps of sugar dissolving brown in a pool of tea in the saucer, spilled over when the nurse set it down on the swivel tray by the bed. On a separate plate were two Rich Tea biscuits. The nurse put her arm round Janet’s shoulder and squeezed. ‘I’ll leave you for a wee while. Just tell me if you need anything – we’re at the nurses’ station.’

  Janet, resenting the familiarity of the hug, nodded, not trusting herself to speak, not wanting to speak. What she wanted was the silence in the room, the silence between her and her mother.

  In the ward beyond there was plenty of noise: nurses talking, a trolley rattling along a corridor, a shout, a bell ringing, but it all sounded far away and unreal.

  After a few moments, Janet got up and went to the window. Eventually she managed to move the catch and open it a little. Icy air crept in over her hands and touched her face. When she turned back to the bed, some last shred of consciousness had gone from it, and her mother, she now knew, was dead.