How It Was

by Janet Ellis

  ‘Marion?’ Bridget said at once, without preamble. ‘I just wanted to say that you need to give me the address of where you’ll be staying.’ She wasn’t crying, thank goodness. In fact, she sounded practical and efficient. ‘And the telephone number. I do need to be able to get in touch with you, if anything happens. When are you going?’

  ‘Wednesday,’ I said. ‘I will. And thank you, Bridget.’

  There was a pause. I heard her draw in her breath and braced myself for more of her misery. ‘Goodbye,’ I said, to prevent it.

  ‘Was that Bridget?’ Michael was standing by the kitchen door.

  I nodded.

  ‘Why did you need to tell her it’s Wednesday? I thought it was all arranged,’ he said.

  I blushed as if I’d been slapped. ‘She gave me a choice, actually,’ I said. ‘Wednesday or Thursday. I thought Wednesday would be better. For all of us.’

  ‘Right,’ said Michael. He paused for a moment, looking at me. ‘Right,’ he said again.

  I felt a little twist of guilt. ‘I’d better put Eddie to bed,’ I said.

  Eddie’s antipathy dissolved in the bathwater. He had forgiven me by the time he brushed his teeth and forgotten his anger completely when I read to him. I glanced up from the book from time to time, to see if his eyes were closing. His gaze stayed fixed on me. It was as if he were committing me to memory. I remembered looking out of the window, when I was about his age, to where my mother sat in the garden. She was wearing yellow sandals and her skirt reached almost to her ankles. She wore a hat with a wide brim. When I called to her and she looked up, it shaded her eyes. What colour were her eyes? I couldn’t remember. Eddie concentrated hard as I read.

  My mother had made me a daisy chain, biting holes in the stems to thread the flowers through. When she put it round my wrist, I’d been afraid to move; it seemed too fragile to survive even the beat of my pulse. It broke when I brushed a strand of hair from my face. ‘Nothing lasts for ever,’ she’d said, when I cried at its loss.

  ‘Will you always be here?’ I’d said.

  ‘Of course. I’ll never leave you,’ she’d said, lightly, impossibly.

  ‘I’ll never leave you,’ I said to Eddie.

  ‘Me neither,’ he said.

  I could not know then just how soon one of us would break the promise.

  Chapter 69

  12 October

  I was so nervous about seeing Bobbie again this morning that I gave myself hiccups. I couldn’t sing in assembly. I wanted to look preoccupied when she arrived, to prove I was capable of having fun without her, so I talked to Lizzie about the party for ages. I told her about everyone being drunk and I demonstrated how people were dancing. She said she didn’t care, because she wasn’t there, was she. All the while, I was looking for Bobbie out of the corner of my eye. She headed straight towards me. Her crowd surrounded her as she made her way over, keeping close together. It looked as if they were carrying her in a sedan chair. I was terrified she was going to ask about her dress or tell everyone what I’d done. But she just said why didn’t I come over to hers tomorrow. She said we could do our homework together. Lizzie looked as disapproving as if we were planning a robbery. Bobbie said that we needed to discuss the party, too, and I said yes, we did. She said wasn’t it great and started singing: She flies like a bird . . . and I joined in. The song was just right, because I felt as if I was floating above the playground like the girl in the ad. If Adam asks me out I’m going to say yes. I can always chuck him if someone better comes along.

  Tom Spencer was actually standing right by the bus stop when I got off. ‘Hello, Sarah,’ he said, sounding as hoarse and hesitant as if it was the first time he’d spoken all day.

  I didn’t reply but that didn’t put him off. I walked away quickly. He followed me, and even when I started to walk a bit faster he kept up. I stopped and asked him what he wanted. He took his time, counting out his words in his head to make sure they added up. He said I should know that his mum had seen my mum in the fields with a man. He told me that they were snogging. I said, ‘So what?’ but I felt like screaming. He kept saying she shouldn’t do that, she shouldn’t be kissing. The pavement was solid under my feet and all the books in my satchel were slipping down on one side as usual, so I knew it was real life and not a film. I wasn’t going to ask him what he meant because I didn’t want to hear it out loud. I knew it was true. I knew who it was.

  He said he’d given the book back. I told him I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. He said he’d wanted to read it, but his mum said he mustn’t and he looked so pathetic I thought he was going to cry. He got so close to me that I could smell his breath. I didn’t know whether to run home or back to the shops. I wasn’t afraid, I just didn’t know how to get rid of him. It was as if I’d stepped in something I couldn’t wipe off.

  Then Old Sheila came trotting round the corner and for once I was almost glad to see her. That feeling didn’t last long, though, because as soon as she’d sent him packing, shooing him like a dog, she started telling me about her mother not being well. I muttered that I hoped she’d be all right soon and I said poor thing whenever there was a gap, but Old Sheila didn’t leave many. There was no escape, of course, because she lives so close to us, so I had to walk the whole way home with her. She puts a ton of lipstick on every day, which is a complete waste of time as no one’s going to be looking at her. She wears really strong perfume, too, you can almost see it swirling around her like a swarm of bees, looking for a queen.

  Mum was sitting in the nearly dark when I got home. I could see her at the kitchen table with her head in her hands as if she was listening to the radio, but I couldn’t hear any music. She didn’t see me. I stood outside, next to the little alcove where the milkman puts the yoghurts. I had to peer inside it, the way you feel compelled to open the drawers of an empty chest. There was a book pushed to the back. It was The Wind in the Willows. I recognised it, because it was an old one of mine. Mum was reading it to Eddie now. I gave her a fright when I barged into the kitchen. I asked why Eddie had put my book outside. She said that it wasn’t him, that she put it there. She told me she was lending it to Tom Spencer. I said that giving my books to a mentally defective person was out of order. I said he wasn’t safe and he might hurt someone or steal something. She said he wasn’t dangerous, just dim. But I could tell she was rattled. I told her that he sees things, he’s nosy and he follows people. I told her that he’s been watching her. I said he saw you in the field.

  She went red and then white. She didn’t ask what I meant. I wished I hadn’t said anything. It was just like the time when I’d caught Eddie drinking evaporated milk out of a jug in the fridge, without asking. He’d giggled when he saw me, but I’d said I was going to tell on him. He went from being happy to sad as quickly as the sun goes behind clouds. His eyes scrunched shut then opened to release tears. He kept saying please don’t tell Mummy. I felt as if I was holding a flaming torch to him that was burning me, too, but I couldn’t stop hurting him. I told on him. When I heard Mum smacking him hard later, I wished that the weals would come up on my skin instead of his, like stigmata.

  I said are you still going away and when she said yes her voice was hard and sharp.

  When I got upstairs I put the book right at the back of my wardrobe, underneath my old riding boots. I hope I’ll forget where it is.

  Adrian Mr Cavanagh is the worst person I know.

  Chapter 70

  Eddie had forgotten his anger but, even so, he was unusually subdued in the morning. I put the radio on. George Harrison sang Give me hope, help me cope. I wished I was listening alone or, better still, with Adrian. ‘I like this one,’ I said, turning the music up louder. ‘We should get this record.’ Give me love, give me love, give me peace on earth. ‘I might go into town later,’ I said, feeling full of unused energy when the song ended. ‘Shall I come and meet you two after school? We could travel home together.’

  ‘I’m not coming straight home,
’ Sarah said. ‘I’m going to Bobbie’s.’

  I shivered. I didn’t want to think of her in that house. ‘Are you? What for?’ I said.

  ‘She’s my friend,’ she said, with the tiniest stress on the word. ‘I might not be in for supper. I’ll ring you when I know.’

  ‘You’re going to stay there for supper? Do you really want to? You hardly ever do that,’ I said. ‘In the holidays, perhaps, when you can stay a bit later, it’s all right then. Are you sure you should do that now? What about your homework?’ I tried to think of one fact that might stop her going.

  Sarah lifted one corner of her mouth in an expression of extravagant condescension. ‘We’re doing it together. That’s the point.’

  I thought of her tearful accusation: you speak to Daddy as if he was stupid. I felt like pointing out the similarity here.

  ‘Yes, well, let me know, then. Eddie? Shall I come and fetch you?’

  ‘What day’s it?’ said Eddie, wrinkling his nose.

  ‘Oh, yes, Eddie, you’re right,’ I said. ‘It’s swimming day.’

  ‘I go on the bus then Mrs Wimbourne gets me,’ he said, reminding me of my own arrangement for him.

  ‘Right, well, I’ll just take myself home on my own,’ I said, with a squeak of fake laughter. I didn’t meet Sarah’s eye.

  I knew where Adrian lived now, of course. I could look up the bus times and go and stand outside his house, just to wait for him to drive past. Of course, the actual house was miles from the gate, and the place was so isolated I could hardly have turned up by chance. He would be pleased to see me, but his wife might find it odd to find a leftover party guest in the lane. His wife, with her glassy gaze and long, coiled hair.

  I had plenty of things to be doing, but I felt weary at the thought of tackling any task at all, even the smallest thing. I washed up as if the water were treacle and my arms were made of lead. I pulled the bedclothes into shape. They were hardly disturbed. We’d slept at a distance, side by side. Michael had folded his pyjamas before he went downstairs.

  Outside in the street, I heard the rumble of a large engine, the sigh of brakes and then the metallic clunk of opening doors. I looked out of the window to see an ambulance. There was no flashing light and the driver was leaning against his door with a cigarette cupped into his palm, so there was obviously no great emergency. I waited to see whose house they visited. Sheila appeared. She looked up at once. When she saw me, she clasped her hands to her chest as if she needed to stop her heart escaping. There was a commotion just out of sight and I recognised her mother’s voice. She seemed to be protesting and, as she came into view, I could see she was being firmly escorted towards the ambulance. The uniformed men on either side of her had the look of people for whom this was all in a day’s work. They spoke loudly to her as they walked, a chant of reassuring, unspecific comfort. ‘It’s all right, dear. This way. We’ll look after you. Nearly there.’ The old woman’s bundle of clothing was topped by a pink quilt, which slipped from her shoulders like a stole. I’d better go down, I thought. But I didn’t hurry.

  By the time I got outside, the men were closing the doors without ceremony. They turned their cheerful attention to Sheila. ‘She’s in good hands, don’t you worry, love.’ We watched the ambulance drive away together. Its shuttered back doors reminded me of a horse box. The old woman would be tethered inside, whinnying uselessly.

  ‘What’s the matter with her?’ I asked.

  Sheila was staring at the retreating vehicle in a trance. She wasn’t wearing lipstick and her perm was beginning to drop. She shook herself as if emerging from cold water. ‘It’s her heart, I think. We had a bad night.’ Sheila turned her attention to a bush that overhung the wall. ‘That needs cutting back,’ she said briskly. ‘It’s all go, isn’t it?’

  I was thinking about the call from the hospital, years ago: Your father’s very ill, can you get here as soon as possible? and how I had deliberately taken on a new task, ironing sheets with unusual care, determined to finish it, hoping it would be too late by the time I got there. It wasn’t. I’d squeezed his chilly hand and gazed over his head at the rows of shrivelled old men in the beds beside him. Everything was in the past tense on that ward. You couldn’t tell what sort of people the other patients had been at all: it was difficult to imagine them upright, let alone see them as young men. All you could see were their heads, sticking above the bedding. Most of them were balding but some had a sparse roof of hair. From time to time, one of them got up and walked slowly down the corridor on unsteady legs. I couldn’t remember when I’d ever seen my father in bed before. He had his eyes closed and his hand stayed cold and inert under mine. He knows you’re here, the nurses had lied to me. I’d done the same, when it was my job. There was no point saying anything else to patients’ relatives, they’d only turn their needy attention to you, if you did.

  ‘I said, what will be, will be,’ Sheila said. ‘Goodness, you’re miles away.’ She looked as if she were going to say something else. ‘You look a bit pink,’ Sheila said, getting closer. ‘Are you all right? The ambulance will be coming back for you at this rate.’

  ‘I’ve got to do some packing,’ I said.

  She raised her eyebrows.

  ‘I’m going to stay with a friend. With Bridget. For the night,’ I said. I felt annoyed at how easily I gave up the information.

  ‘Are you?’ she said. ‘With Bridget?’ Her gaze was direct, even a little disapproving. ‘Wellingtons,’ she said eventually. ‘She’s in the countryside, isn’t she? You’ll want to wear something very stout.’ She continued to stare at me. ‘Very stout indeed,’ she said.

  ‘Let me know if you need anything,’ I said.

  Sheila shrugged as if she couldn’t imagine what help I’d be. I felt both relieved and rejected.

  I regarded my clothes in despair. Nothing looked right. I didn’t even know if I should pack something smart. What would be best, I decided eventually, was my suit. It could pass for Jaeger and I could wear a plain blouse with it, one that would look nice without the jacket. At least I didn’t have to worry about my monthly, I wasn’t due for a couple of weeks yet. Moving aside the assortment of things in the dressing table drawer, I found a lipstick. I applied it with care, leaning into the mirror and flattening my lips. The room had become gloomy. Switching on the bedside light, I looked at the little travel alarm in its leather case, worn to the metal in places with age. The tiny luminous dots at the tip of each hand clearly showed that it was long after the time Eddie should have arrived home. Where was he?

  The Wimbourne family lived several roads away, but the boy’s mother had assured me that it was no trouble to scoop Eddie up from the pool, like a frog in a net, and bring him home each week. She’d stopped at the bus stop after the session one week and offered us a lift. ‘You don’t drive?’ she’d said to me. ‘No? Let me take him to and from.’ The car was full of children. I couldn’t tell which was hers, as she always seemed to have several small people on the back seat. ‘Oh, once I’ve got one on board, I might as well cart round some others,’ she said. She took them back to the Wimbourne house for tea. ‘Boys get very hungry after a swim, don’t they? I’ll feed him.’ Even allowing for some dawdling along the streets afterwards, he should have been home by now. I’d been preparing my clothes, as eagerly as a bride inspects her trousseau, while Eddie was alone in the dark.

  I stared out of the window, as though I could make him appear by willpower in the speckled, low light of the late afternoon. Fear began its snaking path through my body, even my ears began to ache with it. I sat on the bed, beside the pile of clothes that I’d imagined taking with me. I won’t go, I thought, beginning to sway backwards and forwards. If he comes home safely, I promise I’ll never see Adrian again.

  The back door rattled open and slammed shut. ‘Eddie!’ I yelled, rushing from the room, ready to punish and hug him. Sarah stood in the hall.

  ‘It’s me,’ she said. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘I thoug
ht you were going to Ade— to the Cavanaghs.’ I knew that I sounded angry. I was having difficulty forgiving Sarah for not being her brother.

  ‘I changed my mind,’ Sarah said. ‘I said I’d call you if I was going to have supper there.’ She held my gaze for a moment as if weighing something up. Then she shrugged and opened her satchel. ‘Bobbie gave me this to give you. I don’t know what it is. It can’t be a thank-you letter, can it, because you’d be sending one to them.’ She handed me an envelope.

  I didn’t recognise the handwriting. It only had my Christian name on the front. It must be from Adrian. ‘Why should I write to them?’ I tried to sound casual. I put the letter down on the hall table, then promptly picked it up again. Michael shouldn’t see it, whatever it said.

  ‘Because of the party, of course,’ said Sarah. ‘The massively successful party. Aren’t you going to open it?’ She was watching my awkwardness with an odd expression. ‘Why have you got lipstick on?’ she said.

  ‘Eddie’s not home,’ I said, ignoring her question. ‘I was just beginning to worry.’

  ‘Telephone the Wimbournes,’ Sarah said. ‘He probably hasn’t left their house yet.’ She started to go upstairs, then turned round. ‘If you’re really worried, do you want me to go and look for him?’ Her tone challenged me not to panic or even to make much of a fuss.

  ‘No. I’ll phone them, that’s a good idea,’ I said. ‘He’s bound to be there.’ I began to dial, already imagining telling Deborah Wimbourne that I was sorry to bother her.

  ‘Hello?’ Deborah always answered the telephone without saying her number, which I thought was very peculiar of her.

  ‘Is Eddie still with you?’ I said, as brightly as I could. ‘I’ll walk down and get him, shall I? It’s getting a bit dark, isn’t it?’

  ‘Eddie?’ said Deborah. ‘Oh, no, he left a while ago. David! Day-vid!’ She yelled away from the receiver, but the force still made me hold it from my ear. ‘When did Eddie leave? Because his mother wants to know, that’s why!’ I heard a background kerfuffle and more shouting. ‘About an hour ago, he thinks. Shall we send out a search party?’ She suggested this with a little laugh, as though it were a ridiculous idea.