That was the word that Aunt Prudence had used when she was sending her off into Mrs Eglantine’s care. You will be able to cope better than the other two, Bobbie dearest. How she had hated Teddy and Miranda because of that word cope. And anyway, she had not been able to cope better than them at all, rather less well, probably, what with one thing and another. She started to cough, and Mrs Saxby saw her staring into the handkerchief afterwards, looking for blood, but she carried on determinedly nevertheless.
‘You see, Bobbie, when you first were sent to the Sheds, you weren’t a very well girl at all, you really weren’t. It was my opinion that they should have sent you to another sanatorium, or to Scotland. But the whole set-up at Hazel Hill was just a wartime thing really, and the French nurses understandably wanted to go home. And no-one could blame them. It was just that Mrs Harper wanted to keep control of your life, that is the impression I had. And so she had you sent down to Baileys Court, and myself too, and there we were together in the Sheds, and really, you weren’t at all well still. It was not that you were especially ill, but after all those years spent among dying people you were not like other young people at all. I promise you.’
Bobbie had no difficulty believing Mrs Saxby. She was sitting up a bit better, the older woman noticed, and staring at her guardian’s former secretary with something close to interest.
‘I could not say anything to you, but if you ask Mrs Duddy, she was always worried about you. You were so shy, so silent, as if no-one had really spoken to you much, or if they had, perhaps, it was in French, and you did not understand.’
‘I had teachers – I did school work.’
‘I know, dear, but that is truly not the same thing, Bobbie.’
Bobbie knew that Mrs Saxby was feeling sorry for her. At the same time she realized that by telling her all this the ex-secretary was putting herself in a position of some authority over her, as if she too had been a teacher at the sanatorium and visited Bobbie, known her and taught her, when she was so ill.
‘We spoke about it many times, the Major and I, about your relationship with Julian, and we just felt it was better left.’
Bobbie climbed out of bed suddenly, and pulling the kimono about her started to walk about the room with its drawn curtains despite the daylight outside. What were they saying about Julian and herself? What was better left? What was Mrs Saxby about to say to her? Bobbie dreaded to hear, and yet she knew that she must hear, for she had to find out, in the same way that she had found that she had to return to Baileys Court, to the sound of the sea, to the memories of herself and Julian, always talking, always trying to make sense of what no-one else had ever been able to, trying to make the world brighter.
Mrs Saxby watched Bobbie pacing about her room, and in contrast to her young lodger remained calmly seated, waiting to start again. Finally Bobbie stopped but started coughing once again. Mrs Saxby waited until she had recovered herself before continuing.
‘You talked non-stop to “Julian”, you see, Bobbie. A bit like – a bit like a child. You know how children invent people, and they say things like Don’t sit in that chair, Barney’s sitting there. That sort of thing. One of my sisters used to take up two seats in a railway carriage on account of her friend and the funny thing is, such is the belief of the child, we all went along with it. Do you see? All the grownups, everyone, went along with it. It’s as if, in the face of such belief, we all know that we must tread as softly as angels. We don’t want to break the spell, or destroy the magic, in case there really are little people sitting there and we might harm them by sitting ourselves on top of them. It’s the belief of the child that is so compelling. Such is the case, you will find, with everything to do with belief.’
At this Bobbie once more resumed her pacing. ‘So you are telling me that Julian never existed, is that what you are saying?’
‘No, what I am saying is that, as far as the Major and I were concerned, he only existed for you.’
‘But don’t you see – he did exist, he really did. He went to the sea with me and we talked and laughed, and we ate lunch together, I know we did. You never saw him eating lunch or anything, but you would have done, if you had come with me, he ate lunch with me every day of that summer. And in the evening I used to walk with him to the garden wing, and then come back and roll about in the hay barn. All those things were true, and real, they were.’
Despite her best efforts Bobbie found that she was now wringing her hands, and she repeated her last words again. ‘Those things were true and real. They were. They were.’
‘Exactly, Bobbie, they were true and real. So much that we can’t actually see is true and real. We can’t take out love and put it on that table, can we? We know we can’t do that. We can’t point to it and say There’s love. We know it won’t be square, or round, or triangular, coloured pink or blue, yet we know it exists, don’t we? And we can’t take out faith and put it on that table either – faith in the goodness of people, of winning through as we did in the war. We can’t take that faith out and yet we know it was real––’
In the state that she was in Bobbie did not think that she could stand yet another of Mrs Saxby’s speeches so she interrupted at this point with, ‘No, no, no. I understand what you’re saying, but you have forgotten one thing.’
‘And what is that?’
‘Julian does exist, did exist. We can take him out and put him on this table.’ Bobbie banged her bedside table lightly with her fist. ‘We can take his pictures out and put them on this table, and we can lay out his pens and pencils, and the painting he never finished, and we can see the boat that he sailed in the photograph. And we know that he was called Julian Duff and that his mother never got over losing him, and we know that he had TB like me. In the village, at Baileys Green, they say that he can still sometimes be heard coughing. People have heard him in the garden wing, coughing. Mrs Hartwell told me.’
She started to cough again herself, violently this time, but Mrs Saxby’s face did not change its expression as she watched her calmly.
‘Of course.’
Mrs Saxby stood up, and went over to Bobbie. Taking Bobbie’s hands in her own very cool ones, she held them, and as she did so the charms on her bracelet rang out in the quiet of the room.
‘The war was full of such stories, I promise you. And I do not believe they are apocryphal. The Major and I know, as you said, that the “Julian” with whom you spent that summer with us was real. He was not just real to you, he was real to us, he was real to his mother, and he was real to himself. But he was killed, and not buried, and maybe – maybe that was it, because he was not buried, because there was no memorial to him, he came back to be with you, a young person of his own age, to enjoy an idyllic summer, be happy and carefree, and now he has gone on at last, happy. You, in your innocence, put him to rest perhaps that summer. Rest in peace. We say that, don’t we? Because we mean it, we want to rest in peace. Now, I truly believe Julian does rest in peace, because of that summer he spent with you. He will be with his mother, and they will be happy, and – at peace.’
Tears were pouring down Bobbie’s cheeks now, and indeed down poor Mrs Saxby’s, and they were both clinging on to each other in the way that women do who need to comfort each other.
‘How will we ever know that this is so?’
‘We won’t, Bobbie, we will never know, and we should never know, because that would make us too – uppity, wouldn’t it? What we do know is what we believe, and that is quite enough. I believe that Julian’s unquiet spirit came back to be with you, to make you happy and whole again after your illness, and that once he knew that you were, he was too, and he was able to leave once more.’
Bobbie sat down suddenly again on the bed, completely spent. ‘But I must have looked so stupid – going around yammering away to someone that no-one could see.’
‘No, you didn’t, dear. You looked like a poor thin young woman who was being made whole again. Goodness, the Major and I, we were so comforted by you a
nd Julian. Being with you and Julian made us feel not that you were mad, far from it, but that we were all gloriously sane. The Major needed to be healed, after Burma and the railway – you can imagine. And I needed to be freed, and it all happened that summer, and nothing has been the same since, only things have become much better. Even my mother is better. Found herself a new friend, and moved out of Pinner. Things can get better, you know. And they sometimes even do.’
‘For you, they have. But I shall always miss Julian. I know I shall. Even now I so long to hear him laugh and have fantasies with him. Do you remember how he could make anything and everything into a game?’
‘I do, Bobbie. But shall I tell you something?’
Bobbie shook her head. ‘No.’
Mrs Saxby stood up. ‘No, you’re right. I have said quite enough. I am going now, dear. And I hope you will now bath and dress yourself,’ she added in a firm tone, ‘and I hope we can expect you for drinks and dinner at seven tonight.’
She closed the door quietly on Bobbie, but Bobbie did not look after her. She remained where she was, thinking back to that summer, that time of idyllic laughter, and wondering if Mrs Saxby had been right.
She stayed like that for some long time, just staring ahead of her, until finally she went to the windows and drew the curtains, standing to the side and feeling the heavy brass ends to the curtain pulls of which she was so strangely proud. Outside the usual sounds of London rose up to her in the still air of the early winter evening, the sounds of taxis pulling up and down the street, a voice, louder than the light sounds of the traffic, calling to a child to bloody well watch it, won’t you?
They were all real, those sounds, she knew they were, as real as Julian had been to her. He had existed, and they had loved each other, intensely, but now he had gone, and she had to learn to live without the thought of him.
She started to cough once more. She would never make it down the stairs for dinner. Not now that it was all over, and the reality of everything was facing her once more. Instead she climbed in between the sheets and lay propped up against her pillows, staring towards the fading light.
Teddy was arguing with Miranda over how much his heart had been broken by Beatrice Harper. The argument was desultory enough, more a discussion than an argument, and carried out as they both played solitaire.
‘Beatrice did not break my heart. She did not. She just fascinated and overwhelmed me.’
‘She made you grow into a man, that’s what she did,’ Miranda insisted, going back to her crossword, having signally failed to leave less than five marbles on the solitaire board. ‘She did, she broke your heart. You have changed, you know, since she went away. Even your face has changed. You look quite different.’
‘That’s just your imagination. You’re just hoping that I have changed because you’re so complacent, as people who are in love always are. You want me to be the same as you.’
‘Not true.’
Teddy sighed as he moved the marbles at fantastic speed around the board. ‘But I have changed, I suppose. I don’t feel happy like I used to, and I don’t feel sad either, I just feel as if nothing is happening to me. As if I am made of––’
‘Runny junket.’
‘Yes?’ Teddy looked across at the girl he thought of as his sister. ‘Yes, you’re right. That is exactly how I do feel. How did you know? I do feel just like runny junket.’
‘No, that’s the crossword clue, you duffer.’
‘Well, never mind. I don’t even feel like working any more. I don’t feel like doing anything except staring at my feet. I’ve never been like this before, not since I was in short trousers, and you collected me at the school and pinched me black and blue to make me say I was your brother and they wrote “Ted Darling” on my new label for you because you had thrown away the other one, not since then.’
‘I did not pinch you black and blue – ah-ha. I know, got it. A flop. A runny junket is a flop. I did not pinch you black and blue. You’re a liar, Teddy Mowbray.’
Teddy looked up at her and the expression in his eyes was sad.
‘That’s just it, Miranda. That is it. I am a liar because my life has been a lie. Ever since you made me be your brother, I don’t really know who I am, do I? Whether I am Ted Darling, or Teddy Mowbray, or who? I have just been pretending to be first one person then another.’
‘Oh, join the gang, little brother. Since the war hardly any of our generation do know who they are. It is just a fact. We know your people were killed and you have no relatives and all that, and we know about my mother and father, and really, it doesn’t matter. What matters now is what we feel we are. Do you feel you are more Ted Darling, or more – you know, Teddy Mowbray?’
Teddy busied himself on the solitaire board, loudly removing yet more of the large marbles before replying. ‘Since – you know, since the last few weeks, I really think I might be more Ted Darling than Teddy Mowbray.’
Miranda put down her crossword and smiled. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, Bobbie won’t like that. Bobbie only really likes Teddy Mowbray.’
Teddy’s face fell. ‘Bobbie. What has Bobbie to do with it?’ He continued to play for a few seconds, and then finally added inconsequentially, ‘She won’t see anyone, you know. Bobbie. I ask and ask but Mrs Saxby just sounds her usual inscrutable self and the Major just “old bean”s me, because the fact is that, since she went to Sussex that time, she won’t see anyone. She just does not want to know about any of us. Particularly me. She’s always been all right with me, but now, she won’t see me. I wrote her a card, everything, but she’s just shut up shop. Either that or the Saxbys are keeping her away from us all, or something.’
‘I don’t think the Saxbys are like that. No, it’s Bobbie, she’s depressed for some reason. She gets like that when she’s not well. The Saxbys said she wasn’t well, hasn’t been for some weeks. At least, that is what they told Dick and me. But, I mean, it’s different for you. Why not go round and surprise her?’
‘I don’t believe in surprises. They always go wrong. People have never had time to wash their hair or put out the cat, or whatever it is, and they get cross or tetchy if you surprise them. Do you really think I should surprise Bobbie? She wouldn’t like that, would she?’
‘No, of course not. I just wanted you to talk about her. Thought it might help. After all, who put you up to the Beatrice Harper escapade, but Bobbie? I mean, it is all because of her that you’re like this now, all sane and serious, the old Teddy quite gone. You should go round and tell her off for what she did to you, making you have an affair with Beatrice Harper to stop Major Saxby going to prison. I mean to say, whatever next, eh?’
Miranda was joking really, but Teddy did not seem to think so, because he stood up suddenly, leaving only two marbles on the solitaire board, which was very nearly satisfactory.
‘Yes, but I mean to say …’ He stared across at Miranda. ‘You have to hand it to Bobbie, because it worked, didn’t it? So Bobbie was right in that way. I was able to talk Beatrice out of that business with the Saxbys.’
‘I don’t think it was your talking that did the trick, Ted.’
They both laughed.
‘Not even your gift of the gab could have had that much effect on Beatrice Harper, Ted. But you should go and talk to Bobbie, you know – because you could cheer her up.’
‘I could, couldn’t I? I could go round and cheer her up.’
‘Course you could. Besides, I happen to know this would be a good time. The Saxbys are away for a few days, and their charlady’s holding the fort. She’ll let you up if you go round, I expect.’
Teddy put on his overcoat and wound his scarf around his neck, looking brighter than he had been for some time, Miranda was glad to note.
‘Good. Yes, I’ll go and see Bobbie and – cheer her up, or something.’
Miranda watched him let himself out of the studio with some satisfaction. She and Dick had hoped that with a bit of goading they could get him to go and see Bobbie, and really
, in the event, it had not taken very much.
Bobbie had one great advantage over Teddy. She knew what it was like to be ill for a long, long time. She knew what the horrors of long hours spent on your own did to you. She knew how dark the nights were, endlessly dark, lying on your own, with no-one visiting you, no-one really caring if you lived or died, or so it seemed anyway. And then at last the daylight coming, little by very little, and the sounds of the sanatorium waking up and eventually a human face bringing tea, the very smell of which would make Bobbie feel sick and long for something else.
Even so Teddy was hardly through her bedroom door, where she lay in semi-darkness, the curtains that hung at her window half drawn, before he looked as if he too might have realized what real illness could be, as he stared across at Bobbie’s pale face with its two black patches under the eyes.
He had been about to say, ‘I’ve come to pick a bone with you, Miss Murray,’ when he stopped, standing still and staring in such an obvious way that Bobbie sighed.
‘I know, I look awful. That’s why Mrs Perkins was not meant to let anyone in. I have to keep out of sight in case I give everyone a fright.’ She tried to laugh, but coughed violently instead.
Teddy found himself feeling oddly awkward in the face of such illness.
‘You really are ill, Bobbie,’ he told her eventually. ‘I mean you look terrible.’
‘That, Teddy, is stating the obvious, don’t you think? Anyway, you’re not meant to be here, you’re meant to be somewhere else, pursuing a thriving career. So, please, go, please!’
She pulled a pillow over her head and started to cough again. Watching her Teddy could only admit to himself that it was true, he was actually longing to leave her. He so hated to see Bobbie like that, he just wanted to run away.
‘Go on, go on, go! Please!’ Bobbie called to him from under her pillow.
Teddy sat down on the bed. ‘No, I’m not going. I’m fed up with always being told to go away. I’m staying, here, with you. I’m going to help you get better. And nothing you say will make me leave you.’
The Blue Note Page 40