‘What’s that, Denny?’ Sheila walked over to stand behind his chair, her hands on his shoulders, looking down at the greasy crumbs.
‘Toast,’ he admitted. ‘To feed the ducks.’ He looked up at her cautiously, waiting for the reprimand. ‘I forgot it.’
‘All right, I’m not going to scold you.’ Sheila laughed abruptly, giving his shoulders a tiny shake. ‘Oh, Denny, Denny, the tightrope you walk.’
Denny whirled suddenly and clutched her about the waist, his head burrowing for the sanctuary between her breasts. Like a child, responding to kindness like a child, but with a man’s strong body.
She stiffened for a moment, then detached him gently and moved away. (Oh, Denny, Denny, the tightrope we all walk.)
MERELDA
‘I don’t like dafties!’ He was a dark silhouette against the pale grey of the picture window. A bulky, menacing shape in the growing darkness.
‘Nonsense, darling.’ She touched a switch and the lamp glowed, giving him form and features again. ‘Denny is harmless – and rather sweet, really.’
‘Rather sweet! That’s what you used to say about that other lot you always had hanging about.’ His head jerked towards her, suddenly alarmed. ‘Here! Now that we’ve got rid of that useless lot, you’re not going to start filling the house up with his sort, are you?’
It was her house. She bit back the retort, forced her face into pleasant lines.
‘There aren’t that many around.’ She kept a light, affectionate, teasing tone.
‘And a good job, too.’
‘You are being silly. He’s just like a child. He was feeding the ducks and we started talking. He offered me –’ she laughed lightly – ‘some of his bread, so that I could feed them, too. And then I thought I ought to offer him something – and I thought of tea. It was just an impulse. A sudden impulse.’
‘You’re too soft-hearted.’ His face cleared and softened. ‘You’re too soft-hearted for your own good. That’s the trouble with you, my lass.’
‘Well, there’s no harm in that, is there?’
‘I’m not so sure. You don’t want to encourage that poor creature to come hanging around you. You never know what they’re thinking. Or what they might do.’
Yes, that was it. That was always it with men like Keith, perhaps with all men. That was why they saved the last bullet for their woman.
‘That’s ... silly.’ She let the hesitation and doubt creep into her voice, knowing that he would register them. At the same time, her mind couldn’t help toying with the idea. How much of a man was there, controlled by that hazy, childish brain? What might it be like – that perfectly proportioned male body, directed – or undirected – by an unformed mind? Could he possibly – if goaded -?’
‘You’re too trusting. And too impulsive. It can get you into real trouble some day. More trouble than you can handle.’ He frowned. ‘Perhaps more trouble than I can get you out of.’
‘Impossible,’ she said. He took it as a compliment.
‘No, no,’ he said, obviously flattered. ‘I’ll grant you, in the ordinary way, I could see you clear of almost anything. I reckon, perhaps, even murder. But that’s when you’re dealing with sensible people, who know which side their bread is buttered on. When you get someone like that –’ He broke off, the thought upsetting him more than he liked to show.
Someone like that. Someone to whom money, power and influence meant nothing, conveyed no threat and no promise. Were just words, as meaningless as the quacking of the ducks in the river.
She watched the half-formed thoughts flicker across his mind, reflected in his faint changes of expression, as clouds passing across the face of the moon cast their shadows on the earth beneath. He recognized Denny as a threat, but only as he felt a threat from anyone who might upset the ordered luxury of his way of life. He had no way of knowing how much of a threat Denny really was. She must keep him from finding out until the very last minute. Although ... it would not do any harm to let him worry about Denny a bit more.
‘I don’t like dafties!’ he summed up.
She suddenly wanted to shake his righteous arrogance.
‘What’s the matter ?’ she jeered delicately. ‘Afraid of pre-natal influence?’
He went rigid with sudden shock, then his face lit up. ‘Lass!’ He crossed to her in a single stride and scooped her up into his arms. ‘Lass, lass! ’
She realized what she had said, then. She had meant post-natal, but her tongue had slipped, giving him something he had been waiting to hear since their wedding. Look at the way he was taking it – the room whirled as he swung her about in his arms –how could she recall that slip of the tongue now?’
‘Lass, is it true? Is it true at last, then?’
‘It won’t be if you don’t put me down and stop jarring me so.’ That had been her chance – her only chance –to correct the mistake, and she had let it slide past, almost without realizing it. Too late now to go back.
‘Sorry, sorry.’ He set her down gently, she had suddenly become a piece of fragile porcelain. ‘I just got carried away, like, for a minute.’ His face was radiant.
Well, why not? A condemned man was entitled to a hearty meal. Why not let him have his dream? It wouldn’t last long. Not long enough for him to do anything silly, like changing his will in favour of an unborn heir. Not even long enough for him to boast to any of his friends, so there’d be no need for the charade of a miscarriage ... afterwards. (Although that wouldn’t have been too much of a problem. No one would have been too surprised if an extravagantly grieving widow hadn’t been able to carry a first child full-term. Or, if things took longer to work out than she planned, and Keith did get to a new will, it might even be possible to provide an infant heir. Not his – never his – but, possibly ... Nick’s.)
But that shouldn’t have to happen. Things were working out quite nicely. Keith was going to be perfectly, blissfully, happy in his last hours – and she would have no unpleasant repercussions later. It was all very satisfactory.
‘A son,’ Keith was musing aloud. ‘A son to carry on the business, to carry on my name. A son!’
‘Don’t be too sure.’ Secure in her own magnanimity, she smiled up at him. ‘It might be a daughter.’
‘So much the better. Then I’ll have two pretty little lassies to spoil – and we’ll have a son next time.’
She repressed a shudder, seeing now what would have happened if she’d given in to him. What he really planned for her. One brat after another to inherit his precious industrial empire and carry it on. And what chance would she ever have had of breaking free of the nursery and getting back to the theatre? So much for his pillow promises of backing a production for her some time when she found something she really liked.
If there had ever been an indecision in her mind about the course she had embarked on, it was settled now. She was doing the right thing – it was self-defence, really. Not that a court might see it that way. But it would never come to a court. And, if it did, she would not be the prisoner in the dock.
‘We’ll have to be thinking of a good name,’ Keith said abruptly.
‘That’s no problem,’ she said. ‘If it’s a boy, he’ll be Keith, Junior.’ Really, it was amazing how smoothly she slid into the role; but it was an easy one to play.
‘No –’ Although he had set her down, he had not let her go. Now his aims tightened round her. ‘No – do you really want to?’
‘I wouldn’t hear of anything else,’ she said firmly.
‘Young Keith.’ He expelled a happy sigh. ‘And if it’s a girl, she’ll be Little Merelda.’
‘No!’ Merelda reacted with complete honesty. ‘No – I’ve always hated that name. I’d never inflict it on any child of mine!’
‘All right, all right, lass, don’t get so upset.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘Anything you say.’
‘Perhaps ... after your mother. I wouldn’t mind that.’
‘Aaah!’ She had pleased him again. ‘You’r
e sure you wouldn’t mind?’
‘I just said so, didn’t I?’ She shrugged, speaking lightly. “We’ll use names for your family for – as the case may be – he, she ... or it.’
‘Don’t talk like that!’ he ordered, his arms tightening around her again. ‘Don’t joke about a thing like that. It couldn’t happen to us!’
‘I’m sorry,’ she smiled. ‘Of course, it couldn’t.’ He didn’t know what had already happened to them. Unimaginative and insensitive, he was only aware of the things that were thrust upon his consciousness. As Denny had been.
She realized now how fortunate she had been – although she had not thought so in those first moments – that he had come home early and discovered Denny. It gave him a focus for all his vague fears and forebodings. It directed his attention towards an intangible threat – and away from the real one.
‘You’ll promise me something now,’ he said, still worried, ‘and I’ll give you anything you like. You won’t let that creature come here again.’
‘Oh, all right.’ She gave in gracefully. ‘Not if you don’t want me to.’
‘I don’t. And if he comes, don’t let him in.’
‘But you’re being rather silly about it. I don’t believe he ever had any intention of coming again. In any case –’ she laughed lightly – ‘he probably could never find the way back here all by himself. Once he’s away from here, he’ll forget all about us.’
Even as Keith accepted this, she was suddenly petrified by the lie. Suppose it were the truth? Suppose, despite all her work and preparation, Denny put it out of his simple mind as soon as he was out of sight? How much, after all, could people like that retain of what they had been told? Could they remember what they had promised? And if he remembered, could he find the right house again?
Suppose he never came back? Tonight or any other night? She would be marooned with her deception on the shallow island of Keith’s credulity. She would have to watch his trust gradually turn into puzzlement and then suspicion, as the months advanced with no visible sign of pregnancy. And Keith was not a man to trifle with – how many business associates had tasted the bitter proof of that fact? Keith was not a man to cross.
She shuddered slightly and tried to pull herself together.
There was nothing to do but go ahead with the evening as she had originally planned, counting on Denny not to get muddled about finding the house again. Counting on Denny to play his role, as she had outlined it, and not get muddled ... until she intended that he should. In those final moments ... Keith’s final moments.
‘What’s the matter?’ He had felt her shudder. ‘Cold? Shall we have the fire lit?’
‘Yes, would you, please?’ It would force him to release her, move away from her. ‘That’s a lovely idea. It is a bit chilly tonight.’
Another good idea had been to tuck her blue scarf into a corner of Denny’s airline bag. Remembering this, she relaxed slightly. In some odd way, she had felt this would be an additional motive for him to come back – even if he had forgotten the original motive. You could tell that he had been well brought up – the sort to be horrified to think he had walked away with someone else’s property. He would come back to return the scarf and apologize ... if for no other reason. And once he was here, she could take care of the rest of the situation.
‘Penny for them, love.’
‘I was just thinking,’ she said slowly. ‘Perhaps you’re right. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with poor Denny. Perhaps you noticed. That was why I didn’t come over and kiss you when you came in. Somehow, I didn’t want to ... in front of him. I think I was afraid it might ... give him ideas.’
‘If he ever comes near this house again –’ Keith straightened up, the flames leaping into life in the fireplace behind him – ‘I’ll take care of him.’ His face was dark, threatening. ‘I don’t like dafties!’
‘Yes, darling,’ she said softly, smiling with satisfaction. The stage was set... the trap was baited.
POLLY
After she had collected the prescription, she began to walk. Up one old familiar street and down another. She was not consciously saying goodbye to the neighbourhood where she had lived out her life. She had done that long ago – when the decision had first begun to crystallize. Now she was simply trying to delay her return home. Even though delay would change nothing, make no difference. Slowly and inexorably, the moment towards which she was moving would come.
Meanwhile, she walked. And Brian walked with her, in this last bitter while before the final, eternal separation.
(New curtains at the O’Haras – they’ve come up in the world, Brian. And the house painted last spring. Of course, all the four children have jobs now – they can afford to splash out a bit. Do you remember when Teresa O’Hara was in the bed next to mine in the maternity ward and I shared your flowers and chocolates with her because Pat couldn’t afford any frills with two more at home? Our first, that was, our Denny – and we so happy, not knowing, never guessing, what he’d turn out to be. She had a son, too – an architect, he is, and moving up in the world all the time. Oh, Brian! The old pain stabbed at her with an intensity she had thought time had dulled. But it was here again, as fresh and hurtful as on the day they’d discovered the truth. Because she was so near the end and, in the end, you go back to the beginning. Oh, Brian, why did it have to happen to us? What had we ever done? What were we being punished for?)
‘Are you all right, Mrs O’Magnon?’
People had been asking her that all day. Blinking away the tears, she saw the young policeman. Out of uniform now, but she recognized him, although she didn’t know his name. She was vaguely surprised that he knew hers. But in a neighbourhood like this, everyone knew more about each other than it was comfortable to acknowledge. She was Denny’s mother – that was why everyone knew her.
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ she said briskly. ‘I’m just on my way home.’ They both ignored the fact that she was wandering aimlessly in the wrong direction down a street I that did not head towards her home.
‘It’s a nice evening.’ He fell into step beside her. ‘I’ll walk along with you for a way, if you don’t mind.’
‘I don’t mind.’ But she did. With him here, Brian had withdrawn his faint and restless spirit, unable to compete with a corporeal presence at her side. And she had so little time left with Brian.
They turned into the High Street and Polly halted. ‘Thank you,’ she said firmly. ‘I mustn’t keep you any longer. I’ll be all right now. I’m nearly home.’
He looked, for a moment, as though he would like to argue the point, then he smiled and saluted her. She walked away but, after a short hesitation, she heard the footsteps begin following her. Slowing when she slowed, stopping when she stopped.
He meant well. She felt a rush of annoyance. Everyone meant well, but none of them could understand. Why couldn’t he go away? He was off duty, wasn’t he? Why didn’t everyone leave her alone to get on with what she must do?
But he was a policeman. Did policemen ever really go off duty? Did he suspect her? Know that she was about to commit a crime? The worst crime of all?
But, you see, Brian, I must. Slowly, she moved forward again. With the policeman behind her, she must go home now. It was time to go home, anyway. They’d have had their tea now, and Denny would be settled in front of the television until it was time for him to go to bed. Sheila would have done the dishes and, with a bit of luck, have gone off to visit one of her friends, or be sewing in her room. Safely out of the way.
The street lamps flickered on against the darkness as she turned the corner. A movement behind a lighted window caught her eye and she recognized the house.
Mary-Maureen lived there. Until they had to send her away. And that’s part of the problem, too, Brian. Denny’s so big now – and so old – he needs a man to control him. If anything should happen – if Vera's right in what she keeps thinking – what could we do? Two lone women. We can’t watch over him every minute. Suppose
he was to take a sudden fit of temper, like Mary-Maureen – although he’s always been so sweet-natured? Sheila could never manage him by herself – and it would kill him to be sent away. He’d never understand. Oh, Brian, Brian, it’s the only way-
Brian? She was alone, at her own gate, with her soul silently keening a name into the darkness. Brian? A meaningless word which no longer had the power to summon him to her side. Brian had gone on before her. A long way before – and there was no catching up with him. He was lost to her, as Denny would be lost to her. Both of them safe in the arms of the Lord in the afterlife. And she – she was already condemned. There was no turning back now.
She opened the gate and waved reassuringly to the constable, who stood at the corner, watching her. He made no move to leave, obviously he intended seeing that she got safely inside her own door. After that, if she collapsed, it was not his responsibility.
Carefully, now. She fitted the key into the lode, let herself into the house. Act natural. (Ah, God, could she even remember what was natural any more?) Try! Very, very carefully – and very natural.
‘Mum, is that you?’ Sheila – not gone out, nor even in her room, but hovering – waiting for her return. ‘Are you all right?’ She appeared in the doorway at the far end of the hall. ‘What did the doctor say?’
‘What does he ever say?’ Polly hung up her coat. ‘Get plenty of rest. Keep –’ Her voice broke. She took a deep breath and tried again – ‘Keep taking those pills.’
A roar of canned laughter from the parlour and, over it, Denny’s joyous chortle. Denny, God love him, watching his favourite programme. Such a good boy, Denny, and never a bother to her. Except in his own special way that he couldn’t help.
‘But – is that all?’ Sheila looked strained and anxious. Could she have some premonition of the trouble in store? She’d never seemed so nervous and jumpy before.
‘It’s enough, isn’t it?’ Polly turned, still clinging to her handbag. (It weighed her down, the small bottle of capsules heavy as the weight of the world, as the weight of sin.) She could not put it down, afraid that it would topple over, spill out its deadly contents – and yet, there was nothing in it that should not be there. Sheila knew she was collecting a fresh prescription. In itself, it was perfectly innocent – nothing tell-tale about it. (It was only when you knew about the secret hoard of capsules hidden away upstairs that the deadly pattern began to form.) Still, she could not part with that handbag.
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