by Rachel Malik
And besides, she was nearly home now and her fingers were drumming. As they skimmed through Rosenys, Rene kept her eyes on the road, looking to neither left nor right, blurring her sight; she didn’t want to see anyone before Elsie.
Soon they were out of the village and she had a glimpse of the chimney, their chimney, across the field; quickly, very quickly, the driver had reached the turning: there was the sound of rushing water and the flash of white gatepost. Then they were heading up the track, a little narrower, a little stonier – the driver was wary and took his time – and through the wood, still green and heavy with summer. And just a couple of hundred yards down, they came out of the wood and back into bright sunlight, and there was the chimney again, their landmark, and, just beyond it, the cottage. It was nearly as she remembered it: small and square with its skittery extensions. The little window in their bedroom was open. She was nearly home.
She paid the driver and waited for him to disappear, then she walked up to the gate. She stood there with her bags, as she had at the station; just for now she could go no further.
Rene saw Elsie’s work first, how busy she must have been. The garden had been extended a little way on to the moorland at the back. It was still rough and a bit straggly, but she could see that Elsie had finally succeeded in tempting the dog rose down out of the old crab apple tree and on to a little ruin of wall – there were still a few pink flowers. There were also a new bed and new plants: glossy evergreens that had been carefully pinned and staked. Rene couldn’t be sure what they were, but they stood out in the garden, so neat, so straight. They didn’t look like the usual cuttings and clippings Elsie picked up on her walks. Unless she was mistaken, these new additions had been bought. Rene had never known Elsie to buy plants or seeds – it ran against her very nature. There were so many signs of Elsie’s work – Rene’s sharp eyes spotted various gleams of metal and wire which meant other, more improvised repairs. She had whitewashed the big shed (Ernest’s shed), the chicken coop and the lavvy. Everything looked very fresh and neat.
Rene continued to stand by the gate; she felt warm and a little heady, it wasn’t just the heat. She looked down and saw the front gate was unbolted. She remembered too clearly standing here when she’d arrived in the taxi with Ernest. She and Elsie had stood talking across the gate for some minutes, quite forgetting him. You could have opened it for once, she’d said, but Elsie was always cautious about things like that. This afternoon the gate was unbolted. Elsie must have remembered: she had left the gate unlocked today, because Rene was coming home.
Finally, Rene let herself look up the path to the kitchen window. And there was Elsie in the window, still as a picture. How long had she been standing there? They smiled at each other through the glass and she saw Elsie raise her arm very slightly; Rene did the same, and they smiled again. It was only then that Rene noticed that Nib was sitting on the windowsill, just as she had been in the court photograph: a perfect china cat. Rene pushed the gate and walked up the path to the cottage and here was another change: the old path was gone. The old path – rough-scored, boot-made, rain-made – was gone, and in its place was the long-planned concrete path, neat and narrow and lightly gravelled. How had Elsie managed that? she wondered, but she didn’t have time to think about it because suddenly from inside there came the sound of barking and squealing and she heard traces of Elsie’s voice: ‘Down, Jugger, down. Let me open the door. Silly dog. Down, boy.’ And she knew she was home.
They couldn’t speak at first. Rene sat down at the table and Elsie lit the kettle and brought out a cake. And of course Rene stood up to get the plates and a knife – and was told to sit down. She did as she was told and took out her cigarettes, saw that Elsie had already put out the shell ashtray. Jugger stood in front of her, his whole body wagging. Whining and panting, he looked at her for a moment with his dark, liquid eyes, then jumped up so that his paws were on her lap – how neatly his nails were trimmed. He barked just once, leant forward and licked her face. Oh Jugger. He trotted around the kitchen after that, his long feathery tail wagging, quite getting in Elsie’s way as she put out the rest of the tea things. But when she sat down, he took his cue, lay down beside Rene with a contented sigh and placed a proprietary paw across her foot.
They had each imagined something like this: the two mugs side by side, Elsie cutting slices of plum cake, Rene pouring the tea before Elsie would have – they both smiled at that. It was only what they had done so many times. Even when Rene leant back on her chair to reach the sugar and Elsie said, ‘Oh Rene’, still worried the chair would topple over. There were plenty of things to talk about: Rene’s long journey on the train, and how was Margaret, and who was helping her with the deliveries, and where had Elsie got the posts for the fence, and how good the berrying had been. Plenty of things to talk about and each of them eager to make any one of them last, but not one of them took. They agreed and accorded and yes-ed and of-coursed, but they weren’t in harmony. Elsie was wordier than usual, still speaking the paragraphs she’d composed so carefully for her weekly letters (she had dreaded the monthly telephone call). Rene felt as if she was interrupting. Elsie’s words seemed to come too slow, but her voice was so soft, she had forgotten. Her own voice sounded harsh and loud to her ears.
Things got a little easier when Rene got up to clear the cups: Elsie rose too, almost on cue, and fetched the bowl she used for the dry feed. And for a few minutes there was nearly a simple silence as Rene cleaned the tea things and Elsie measured the feed out for the rabbits and mushed up some peel and crusts for the chickens. Cups and plates clean, she left the tap on and felt the soft, cool water running over her hands, heard Elsie closing the door behind her as she went out into the yard. Rene almost followed her before she remembered that it was only what Elsie usually did.
She sat down at the table and lit another cigarette, uncertain what to do next. Jugger came and laid his head gently on her lap and she patted him and stroked his silky ears. He soon grew restive under the attention, raised his head and sniffed delicately, almost showily, at the air. He looked at her again and whined, hopeful for crumbs. Rene cut him an edge of cake and she rubbed the thick fur at the base of his neck. He took this attention very much as his due – and she smiled, wondering if Elsie had been soft with him in her absence. But she couldn’t keep still for long so she went upstairs.
She had half expected the door of Ernest’s room to be closed, but it wasn’t. The little stool they’d used as a table was gone, but the bed had been made up with a pretty cover and there was other linen neatly piled on it. There was a strong smell of lavender. There was no sign of Ernest’s candle stand, but the room was full of stuff she’d never seen before: a nest of rickety ‘occasional’ tables, a faded loom chair that had taken too much sun, a barometer. She stood on the landing, looking into the room, oddly satisfied by the jumble of it all, picking out some familiars now: a handsome standard lamp too tall for the sitting room, and Elsie’s navy trunk where she still kept her old chequebook and her gun. These were things that had been squeezed into the shed when Ernest came. Now they were back where they belonged, though goodness knows how Elsie had managed it.
And their bedroom door was open of course. It was just as she remembered: the tallboy with its secrets, the little casement window, the high bed. There was a straw sun hat lying on the bed and roses in a jug on the tallboy. Outside she could hear Elsie, murmuring to the animals, humming; Rene wanted to call down but she couldn’t quite, the distance seemed too far. She noticed a new curtain in the casement window, a pole had replaced the pins they’d used before. She watched the curtain stirring gently in the breeze for some moments, liking the pale stripes of blue and grey.
By the time Elsie got back, Rene had arranged the presents and two glasses on a tray in the sitting room. So they sat down on the uncomfortable sofa, nibbled at the shortbread and sipped, wincing, at the brandy. And Rene drank it all in: the wireless in its place of honour on the cupboard, the green cushion on t
he window seat, the flaunting peacock rug; it still looked a little extravagant on the dark flagging but Rene had always liked it, even if it was a little out of place.
There was no sign of Ernest’s chair – Mr Marrack had it now, Elsie said.
‘I hope you don’t mind, Rene, but Mr Marrack’s been so helpful, everyone’s been so helpful, and I thought, well, we didn’t want it, did we? So I asked him. I had to press but he took it in the end and I think he was rather pleased. It’s very much a man’s chair, don’t you think?’
After this bubbling from Elsie, Rene opened the chocolates and they each had one, not sure if they really liked the silky, flower-flavoured cream. ‘They taste like scent,’ Elsie said uncertainly, and Rene poured some more brandy and they sipped the taste away.
‘Oh Bert, I’ve been so worried all day. Silly things, such silly things. About the station and the train and the taxi and had I got the day wrong. I even telephoned Margaret. I’m sure she thought I was a fool.’
Rene reached forward, tried to squeeze her hand, but Elsie moved her hand away, then brought it back and touched hers quickly, awkwardly.
‘Margaret’s been so helpful, Rene, so kind. I don’t know what I’d have done without her. We must find a way of thanking her, now you’re back.’
Rene agreed – all those cigarettes she’d sent her – and asked about Belinda and the shop, but they still couldn’t find their ease. Her own voice no longer sounded strange to her ears, though Elsie’s words did. She had wondered if it would be difficult for her to find the tracks of their old life. It hadn’t occurred to her that Elsie might have trouble finding them too. She had been here all this time, after all – alone, it was true, but knowing that Rene would return, knowing when. Yet it was Elsie who seemed to be the chief culprit in the making of this mood. She had little bubbling overflows when she sounded quite herself, but then she would fall silent and snuff the talk, their talk, quite out. She grew quieter and quieter and stiller and stiller, sitting so upright, her glass forgotten on the tray. She looked so uncomfortable – more than that, horribly awkward, her palms placed face down on her knees, her mouth slightly open. So awkward, so rigid; for a moment Rene couldn’t help remembering the courtroom. She had determined never to think of it, never to remember, but for a moment she saw Elsie standing in the witness box, so severe, so vivid, her hair drawn back, buttoned up in that greatcoat: We were rich, she’d said.
‘Oh Rene,’ Elsie said.
That was all she said.
‘What is it? What’s the matter?’
‘Oh Rene,’ Elsie said again, but this time it sounded different, easier, like a sigh of relief.
‘Oh Rene, I’m so sorry. Everything you had to go through and you were all on your own, so far away.’
‘I managed, Elsie, it wasn’t so bad. I managed and I’m home now, that’s what matters …’
‘No.’
Elsie raised her hand shakily towards her mouth and swallowed.
‘You didn’t even let me visit and I know why. It was because you were thinking about me, how much I’d be upset.’
‘It was a long journey. I know how you feel about London.’
‘Everything you had to go through. Always so kind.’
She picked up her glass quickly and sipped at the brandy. Rene could see that her hand was shaking.
‘And it should have been me. I should have been in prison.’
‘What?’
‘It should have been me. I did it. I killed him, Rene. I killed Ernest and you took the blame.’
‘Elsie –’
‘Please let me finish or I’ll never get through. It wasn’t an accident and I didn’t want him to get ill. I meant to kill him, Rene, I really meant to. I wanted him to die.’
Rene leant forward to take her hand, but Elsie brushed it aside, shaking her head – she wouldn’t accept any more help, not just now.
‘I wanted him to die. I did it very slowly, very carefully. I worried that he’d guess, that he’d realize, he was so clever, always watching when you didn’t even know he was there.’
Elsie put down her glass. The sun was coming through so brightly now on to the peacock rug, it made everything else look faded.
‘I never thought anyone would find out, not even you. I never thought the police would come, and when they did, even then I felt sure … And then they took you away and I didn’t know what to do. You were so sure that they’d made a mistake, so confident that it must be an accident, I couldn’t say anything.’ She came to a stop and looked down at her hands.
‘Listen, Elsie.’
Elsie looked up, barely able to meet Rene’s eyes, dropped them again.
‘Please, you must listen. You said nothing and that was the best thing you could have done, believe me.’
‘I don’t know why they were so sure it was you anyway. Why did no one ever think it was me?’
This last held the faintest trace of resentment.
‘Elsie.’
‘Dear Bert, everything you had to go through. Always so kind.’
‘Elsie, stop.’
Rene reached forward and took Elsie’s clenched hand, squeezed it hard. This time Elsie didn’t shake her away. Rene felt the heat in it, the strain, tried to prise her fingers open. She still wouldn’t look up.
‘Elsie, you must listen to me. Please. I don’t want you to feel sorry. You’d been through enough with him. You had a far worse time with him than I ever did – you two, you never … well.’
Rene gave up trying to prise her fingers open and squeezed her hand again.
‘I don’t think Holloway was any worse than what you had to put up with him, day after day.’
Elsie looked at her properly, carefully, for the first time.
‘You knew that I did it? But when, when did you find out?’
‘I think I knew in the courtroom, I’m not really sure. Everything was so confused.’
She could still smell the violet – the violet was stronger than the rose.
‘Oh Rene. Is that why you said it? Is that why you confessed …’
The word seemed to hang in the air.
‘Elsie, please listen. What I’m saying is, I think I knew in the courtroom but not for sure. Afterwards of course, well, I had plenty of time to think about it. But it was so dreadful in court. All those questions, all that attention, I hated it. And then to see you go through it too. That horrible man, going on and on with his questions, so sly …’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I don’t think I understand exactly what happened. I just wanted it all to be over. I didn’t think beyond that. Once I got to Holloway and I had a chance to think everything through, I worked out very quickly that it must have been you.’
‘But Bert, you had to go to prison, all that way.’
‘Elsie, you need to understand. I’m glad you did it, really I am. That’s the most important thing. I’m glad. I’m glad you did it, you must see that, even with everything that came after. I’m still glad. God, Elsie, he could still be here. Think about that.’
Elsie shivered.
‘You don’t think he still is, do you?’ Rene said.
‘Oh no,’ Elsie said, ‘he’s gone, quite gone. Didn’t you see the room upstairs? There’s no room for him there.’
It was impossible to know if she was being serious.
‘Where did all those things come from? The barometer and the tables?’
‘Major Veesey – and Margaret gave me the tables. Do you like the picture?’ Elsie asked, suddenly sounding shy.
For Rene hadn’t noticed the painting. It was on the wall above the wireless and it showed a branch that had been cut from a pear tree. The leaves had a sheen of grey and the pears were a lovely yellowy colour. It was framed too.
‘Are they Bartletts?’ asked Rene, thinking of Starlight.
‘Do you think so?’ Elsie said eagerly. ‘I thought they might be, they’re just the right shape.’
‘It’s a lovely
picture.’
‘I’m so glad. I wasn’t sure what you would think. I bought it in Helston.’
The picture had been done very carefully. You could almost see the leaves starting to dry out. The pears were plump, ripe bells and there were tiny dents and bumps on them.
‘You didn’t notice the path,’ Elsie said.
‘Of course I did. It looks very well.’
It was an hour or so later, they were still sitting on the sofa, but comfortably now, easily. Nearly dusk but it was still hot; Jugger lay on the floor at Rene’s feet, his tongue lolling.
‘How did you manage it? You can’t have done it all on your own.’
‘Mr Marrack got me the cement and helped with the mixing and he got the roller. I did all the rolling myself. I got it so smooth but all manner of things got stuck in the cement when it was drying, twigs and leaves and –’
‘But you can’t see any of that now. It looks very smart.’
‘Oh yes, the gravel covers it all nicely. Except.’ Elsie began to laugh.
‘What is it?’
‘Jugger’s paw-prints are in the concrete up by the door,’ Elsie said.
Jugger thumped his tail proudly.
‘It’s a place where the gravel will never settle.’