‘I suppose so.’ Sheila remained, irresolute, in the doorway. ‘He didn’t say how much longer you’ll have to keep on taking them, or anything like that?’
‘Not much longer,’ Polly said firmly. If Sheila chose to believe that that had been the doctor’s assurance, so much the better.
‘Oh, good! ’ Sheila’s face brightened. ‘That must mean you’re improving.’
‘About time, isn’t it?’ Polly asked noncommittally.
‘Yes – yes, that’s the thing. It’s taken so much time.’
‘Everything takes longer than you’d think,’ Polly said. (Even dying? This final day had gone on for ever. She might already be in eternity – endlessly, limitlessly, it went on. She felt a sudden icy chill. Suppose that was what hell was all about? Not the searing eternal flames, but being trapped in time with your sin. Condemned to live the crucial day over and over again, feeling the grief and guilt as poignantly as if it were the first time. And it would be the first time, going on and on, repeating endlessly –)
Polly swayed. ‘I’m going upstairs,’ she said abruptly.
‘Do that,’ Sheila said. ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea and bring it up. You can have an early night. It will do you good.’
‘No!’ That wasn’t careful, wasn’t natural. Poor Sheila was as startled by the vehemence of her retort as ever poor Denny could have been, wondering what she had said that was wrong.
‘No,’ Polly tried again, smiling. ‘No, don’t bother about me. I’ll come down later and make cocoa for me and Denny. Why don’t you go out for a while, now that I’m back to watch over Denny? Go to a film, or something. You stay in too much. It’s not good for a young girl.’
‘I’m all right.’ Sheila was on the defensive now, as she always was when criticized about her social life – or lack of it. (Did she think her own mother didn’t know the problem? Hadn’t lived with it for longer than she had?)
‘I’m not saying you’re not. I’m only saying you ought to get out and about more. It’s a fine evening, you ought to go for a walk, or something. Why don’t you drop over and visit your Aunt Vera?’
Sheila looked startled, as well she might. (Holy Mother of God – that was going too far. She’ll be measuring me for a straitjacket, suggesting she go and drop in on Vera.)
‘You stay in too much,’ Polly repeated. She watched, biting back compunction, as she saw Sheila begin to fear that she was in for a Vera-type lecture – if she stayed around.
‘I could go down to the library,’ Sheila offered placatingly. ‘Are you through with your books? I could change them, as well as my own. And it would be a nice walk ...’
She’d be gone about an hour and a half, if she did that. Would that be time enough? It wasn’t long, but it was better than nothing.
‘Do that, then,’ Polly said. ‘It will do for a start. You've got to think about getting out and about more. You don’t want to spend all your days and nights tied to an ailing woman and a – a – And Denny.’
‘I don’t mind,’ Sheila said quickly.
‘But I mind!’ Polly snapped. ‘I mind very much. Remember that.’ She softened her tone. ‘I only want the best for you. I want you to be able to go out like other girls and –’
‘I am able, I just –’
‘I’m tired,’ Polly said. ‘Don’t stand there arguing with me. Get along to the library and find me some nice books to read.’
‘All right, Mum.’ Sheila recognized the finality in her voice and turned away.
‘Oh, and Sheila –’ Polly said casually. ‘I may go to bed early, after all. If Denny and I aren’t up when you get back, don’t disturb us. An early night won’t do him any harm, either.’
‘All right, Mum,’ Sheila said again.
Polly sat in the bedroom chair until she heard the front door close behind Sheila. Then she went to the window and watched Sheila walk down the path, saying the last goodbye that had to be a silent one.
You’ll understand, Sheila. Perhaps not at first, but later. It’s the best thing I can do for you. And for Denny. Perhaps, some day, you’ll even forgive me.
After Sheila was out of sight, Polly moved slowly away from the window. To the hiding place.
It was such a small pile of powder to carry such finality. A teaspoon, maybe. It was strange to think that it would put an end to both Denny and herself.
Don’t think about it – it’s too late to think about it. She drew a deep breath. Concentrate on the mechanics, now. One step at a time. That was the way to go. To go –
First – she stood and gathered up the separated capsules – dispose of the evidence. If Sheila should find them both asleep, she’d think nothing of it. But if she found those tiny empty tell-tale cases in the rubbish, she’d know something was wrong.
They were a full handful. She fumbled to collect all the elusive bits of gelatine casings, but her hands were trembling. Some dropped, rolling over the dressing-table and on to the floor.
She stooped and gathered them up – surely that was all of them. From force of habit, she straightened slowly, although the familiar pain was missing, had been missing for some hours now. She wasn’t fooled. It was just the same thing as the way a bothersome tooth stopped aching when a visit to the dentist was imminent. It was just a trick of the mind and body – not a spontaneous remission, not a cure.
She flushed the toilet, but only a portion of the capsules disappeared. At least half of them had filled with air and were bobbing mockingly in the bowl. She waited for the cistern to fill and tried once more. Again, some stubbornly refused to flush away.
Did it matter? They were only gelatine, after all, meant to dissolve in liquid. Wouldn’t they just be shapeless blobs by the time Sheila got back? She’d never be able to tell what they had been – if she noticed them at all.
She pulled the chain frantically again, aware that she was half-sobbing.
‘Mum? Mum?’ That was Denny, drawn away from his television, coming up the stairs. ‘Mum?’ Worried about her. Upset, without knowing why, by the unaccustomed overactivity of the plumbing.
‘It’s all right, Denny.’ She went to the top of the stairs. ‘I’m here. I’m coming down now and make us some nice cocoa. Then we’ll get to bed and have an early night.’
For a moment, Denny looked as though he might protest. He always hated going to bed early – just like a child. And nothing to be wondered about, he was a child. Her child. And she’d take care of him.
Unexpectedly, Denny capitulated without argument. ‘All right,’ he said docilely.
‘You’re a good boy, Denny,’ Polly said. ‘Come up and get into your pyjamas now and I’ll bring up our cocoa in a minute.’
She heard him climbing the stairs as she went back into her room. Such a good boy, such a wasted life. What couldn’t he have been, if only he’d had the brain to match that fine body?
Careful, mustn’t spill any, or you might not have enough. She picked up the saucer of powder and went downstairs into the kitchen.
Carefully, even more carefully, she carried the tray with the two cups of cocoa upstairs. And a packet of biscuits for Denny – he loved chocolate biscuits so. He could eat his fill of them tonight without reproach. So long as he drank his cocoa with them.
Denny was already in bed, the covers pulled up around him. He usually delayed, stalled, wasted time. But tonight, he’d got straight into bed, meek as a lamb.
For a moment, the old reactions swept over her and she began to worry that he was sickening for something. Perhaps she ought to check his temperature.
Then the rattle of cups from the tray in her hands brought her back to the present, to the here and now. It didn’t matter if Denny was coming down with some illness. They neither of them were going to be here long enough for it to matter to them.
‘Chocolate biscuits, Denny.’ She set the tray down carefully on the bedside table. ‘Your favourites. You can eat all you want tonight. It’s a special treat.’
‘Not hungry.’
But, automatically, his hand reached out and closed around three biscuits.
‘You can’t drink lying down like that. Sit up now, or you’ll get biscuit crumbs all in the bed.’
‘I’m up! I’m up!’ He wriggled to a sitting position as she bent over him, clutching the bedclothes defensively around his middle.
‘Then have your cocoa.’ She handed it to him, watching him take the first big gulps.
‘That’s right, Denny. Drink it down. It will –’ her voice shook – ‘it will help you to sleep.’
Denny lowered the cup thoughtfully and took an enormous bite of one of his biscuits. She put the packet on the table beside him. ‘Have all you want, Denny.’ And she picked up the tray with her own cup of cocoa. If she stayed here and watched him, she’d never be able to go through with it. She’d dash the cup from his hand. And what would be the good of that? It would only mean she had the whole thing to do over again later.
In the doorway, she paused and looked back. ‘Have you said your prayers tonight, Denny?’
His startled look, his quick guilty nod, told her that he hadn’t. But he’d say them, now he’d been reminded.
‘Don’t forget to make a good Act of Contrition,’ she said, and closed the door behind her.
Perhaps she ought to make one herself – in case it would do any good, in case it might mitigate any of the circumstances. But she’d come to this decision – this deliberate sin –after too much thinking and planning. Could there be any forgiveness for her under those circumstances?
‘Oh, my God, I am heartily sorry –’ As she sipped the cocoa, her mind slid into the old familiar formula – ‘for having offended Thee. Because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell; but, most of all –’ Oh, Denny, Denny.
The cup was empty, she should wash it out. But she should write a note to Sheila, too. She fumbled in the dressing-table drawer for notebook and pen.
‘Dear Sheila -
‘I’m sorry for having to do this to you. Try not to blame me too much – ’
The letters blurred before her eyes. That stuff had never worked so fast before. Of course, she’d never taken so much of it before.
Dear God, I’m not ready! I’ve got to try to explain, so that Sheila can understand. I’ve got to –
The dressing-table tilted away from her as she fell back on the bed. The tiny part of her mind that was still conscious noted with clinical precision the onset of the heavy, stertorous breathing that meant she was sliding into a coma.
DENNY
She had gone. Denny absently took another gulp of cocoa as he listened. He heard the door of her room close and knew that she would not be stirring again tonight.
He set down his cup carefully, slightly surprised to find himself still holding the chocolate biscuits. He took another bite, cramming them all into his mouth – they were pretty crumpled up, it would just upset everybody if he tried to put them back into the packet. Mum and Sheila got awfully upset about little things like that.
Throwing back the bedclothes, he slid quietly to the floor, peeling off his pyjama jacket. It had been a tight fit over his clothes – good job Mum hadn’t noticed. He’d been worried for a while, but she’d seemed to be thinking about something else.
(‘Make a good Act of Contrition.’) Denny’s forehead wrinkled. Did Mum know what he had been doing today? Or did she suspect that he was going to sneak out of the house tonight and go back to Merelda’s?
Mum wouldn’t approve, he knew. Not of any of it. Not of going to tea with Merelda, even. (‘Don’t go bothering people, Denny. They’ve got more to do than to be bothered with the likes of you.’) But Merelda wanted him. She needed him. He was going to scare the bad man for her. With the gun. Mum wouldn’t approve of that, either.
He folded the pyjama jacket neatly and placed it underneath the pillow with the pyjama trousers. He didn’t bother pulling the bedclothes back into place – he’d be going straight to bed, probably, when he got back, and nobody would know.
He yawned. He was pretty tired. It had been a busy day.
Maybe some cocoa would help wake him up a little. (‘Drink it down. It will help you to sleep.’)
Denny paused in mid-swallow and let the rest of the mouthful squish between his teeth back into the cup. He couldn’t go to sleep now. He had too much to do tonight.
But Mum had said to drink up his cocoa. She’d be mad when she came to call him in the morning and found he’d let it go to waste. (‘It’s a sin to waste good food, Denny. Lots of boys and girls all over the world would be glad to have it.’)
Of course, he’d drunk an awful lot of it. He squinted at the level of the liquid judiciously. Yes, lots. Would she really be mad if every last little bit wasn’t gone?
You couldn’t tell. She got upset awfully easily these days. The least little thing set her off. Maybe she’d even cry again.
He couldn’t stand that. He forced another swallow down.
But he couldn’t go to sleep, either. Not now. He yawned again. There was just one thing to do.
He opened the window wider. Slowly and carefully, so that it didn’t make any noise. He hadn’t done this since he was a real little kid.
He leaned out, holding the cup as far away from the house as possible, and tossed the remains of the cocoa into the yard below. He listened anxiously and relaxed when he heard it splash on the ground. It would have been awful if a sudden gust of wind had blown the dark liquid back against the side of the house to stain it, giving him away.
Drawing back into the room, he probed thoughtfully with his forefinger at the sludge at the bottom of the cup. Did he have time?
There was a store of sugar in one of his drawers. If you stirred a couple of spoonfuls into the residue of the cocoa, you got a delicious chocolate syrup.
Still considering this, he licked the finger. It tasted funny. Bitter. Too bitter. It would probably take all the sugar he had left to get it sweet enough. Maybe he’d better not bother.
Besides, there wasn’t much time. He yawned again and reached for his airline bag. He ought to be starting on his way. If only, he rubbed his eyes, if only he just didn’t feel so tired.
Maybe if he took the packet of biscuits with him, munching them might help him to stay awake. He bent over to unzip his airline bag and was suddenly, unsettlingly, dizzy.
Maybe he ought not to go out tonight, after all. Maybe he ought to go back to bed. Maybe Merelda wouldn’t mind if he went and scared the bad man tomorrow night, instead.
Considering this, he lifted the airline bag on to the bed where he sat and opened it there. That was better. When he didn’t have to bend over, he didn’t feel so dizzy.
Although– He yawned again and reached to put the packet of biscuits into the bag. Suddenly, he was wide awake.
How had that got in there?
The soft blue chiffon clung to his fingers, the faint scent of remembered fragrance floated upwards to him. It was almost as though she were in the room with him, her tiny hands clinging to his, her greeny-blue eyes upturned trustingly.
Merelda.
Her scarf. How had it got into his bag? Had it fallen in, somehow, when she was helping him with his coat?
He pulled it completely out of the bag. A stub of tawny-gold chalk fell to the floor beside the bed. The chalk the colour of her hair. Funny though he felt, he couldn’t leave it lying there. It would be like leaving Merelda lying on the floor, in a way.
Carefully, he bent and retrieved the chalk. Straightening up, dizzy and sleepy, he leaned against the bedside table. Its smooth brown surface seemed to beckon him. He wanted to rest his head on his arms and sleep.
But Merelda was waiting for him. Trusting in him. Absently, he traced the outline of her hair on the table-top, the soft curling tendrils as they had swept from her forehead to the nape of her neck, shimmering against the blue of her scarf.
Her scarf! Was she waiting for him so trustingly? Or had she missed her scarf? Did she, perhaps, think that he had ta
ken it deliberately? Stolen it?
He must go to her and explain. He snatched up the airline bag, desperately ramming the scarf and biscuits into it. The stub of chalk fell back on to the floor, splintering, while the main bit rolled under the bed-he didn’t notice it. He had to go to Merelda.
Opening the bedroom door, he paused and listened. No sound came from downstairs – Sheila hadn’t come back yet. Across the hall, a faint rumbling – Mum was snoring. She always claimed she didn’t, but now he knew better. It was too bad he couldn’t wake her up and prove it, but people stopped snoring as soon as they awoke, and she wouldn’t believe him.
Besides, she’d want to know why he was still up, and what he thought he was doing.
On tiptoe, he started down the stairs, but they seemed to sway under him. He caught the banister rail in time to keep from falling. More cautiously, he descended the remaining stairs.
The front door seemed an awfully long distance away. Aiming himself at it, he was aware the lurched the way the men leaving pubs lurched on Saturday nights. Did they feel as tired as he did? As sleepy and dizzy?
The door knob slid round in his hand, then caught and held, swinging the door open. He wanted so much to sleep.
Loath to leave the light and warm safety of home, he hesitated in the doorway a moment, groped for a biscuit and crammed it into his mouth, heedless that a good half of it had fallen to the floor. That helped a bit.
Merelda was waiting. He took a long, uncertain breath, and staggered towards the gate.
MERELDA
For once, she didn’t waste time in the bedroom, postponing her return as long as possible. Not when he might decide to start telephoning his friends with the good news.
Pretty Lady Page 8
