A Sense of Guilt

by Andrea Newman

  * * *

  Days went by and Inge did not hear from Richard. Was he back with the cow or was he alone? The suspense gnawed at her, affecting her sleep, her appetite. After so much excitement she could not bear the flatness of hearing nothing.

  ‘I have to know,’ she said. ‘Where is he? A lot can happen in a week. I can’t just sit here, I must find out.’

  The boys were eating. She looked at them in amazement. How could they eat at such a time, when her whole future, and therefore their future, hung in the balance? She didn’t remember ever being so detached when she was an adolescent.

  ‘Absolutely not, Mum,’ Karl said. ‘I’m not ringing up that wretched woman again.’

  Peter didn’t even glance up from his plate. ‘Don’t look at me, I’m too young.’

  She was very angry. ‘Don’t call her a woman, she’s a cow. And I think you are both very hard-hearted. Don’t you care that I’m suffering?’

  ‘Of course we care, but you do it so often. We run out of steam.’

  She picked up the phone, enjoying their looks of horror.

  ‘Oh, honestly, you’re not—’

  ‘No, of course I’m not. I have other ways to find out, I’m not as stupid as you think. Hullo, can I speak to Richard Morgan? It’s his wife.’

  ‘Oh, Mum…’ It was almost a wail, a pathetic chorus in unison. She was disgusted at their lack of support for her, now when she needed them most.

  ‘Then can I speak to Marion Hartley? Hullo, Marion? It’s Inge. I need to speak to Richard. It’s very urgent, it’s about his children.’ She turned her back on their outraged faces. Then Marion told her something incredible. She listened, trying to make sense of the words. ‘What? But why, what did he do?’ Marion told her more. It couldn’t be a joke, could it? Richard had always insisted Marion had no sense of humour. But if it wasn’t a joke then it was very serious. ‘Really? I must visit him, where is he?’

  She had the boys’ attention anyway.

  ‘Has something happened to Dad?’

  ‘Is he all right?’

  ‘Ssh, I can’t hear. No, Marion, not you. Please tell me everything. I can’t believe it. I want to be with him.’

  But Marion said that was all she knew. Inge put down the phone and turned to the boys. ‘It’s impossible but your poor father is in prison.’

  They looked at her with awe. ‘Blimey,’ Karl said.

  ‘They have locked him up because he hit someone on the head.’

  ‘Dad?’ said Peter, in a small incredulous voice, almost as if she had suddenly told him his father was someone else.

  ‘You remember the man who came here, the one who had a fat wife, only she didn’t come with him?’

  ‘The writer?’

  ‘The old poof?’

  Oh yes, they were listening to her now all right.

  ‘He did something very bad and your father beat him up. Maybe he dies, they don’t know yet.’

  ‘But you said they were friends.’

  ‘Dad couldn’t murder anyone.’

  She said with satisfaction, ‘You see how quickly things can change.’ She was gratified to see they were impressed as well as worried, seeing Richard in a new adventurous light.

  Peter said anxiously, ‘What will they do to him?’

  Inge shrugged. She didn’t want to think about that yet.

  Karl said with an edge to his voice that meant he was really nervous, ‘Mum, are you sure you’re not exaggerating just a bit?’

  Inge could feel her appetite returning. She stubbed out her cigarette and began to eat. The situation was so exciting. It opened up a whole new range of possibilities. And it served Felix right for abandoning her. It would show him, if he lived, that drama existed in the everyday world, drama could affect him, drama was not safely contained in the newspapers, happening to other people, or under his control in the pages of his silly artificial books. And if he didn’t live, well, it would teach him that he was mortal, which no one ever believed. It was only a pity his cock could not be grafted on to someone else.

  ‘You see, underneath, your father is really quite a violent person,’ she said, smiling and proud. ‘Perhaps he was jealous all the time.’

  * * *

  But later, when she was alone, the excitement ebbed away and she felt cold with fear. It was wonderful that Richard had done such a dramatic thing but Felix would have to live, or they might lock Richard up for years, and she couldn’t bear that. She began at once to pray to her god of vengeance for Felix’s survival.

  * * *

  By the time they arrived at Victoria, Sally had really had enough. Jamal seemed to have spent the entire journey staring at her, holding her hand, or trying to make conversation, when all she could think about was Helen. There was some dreadful nightmare going on at home, some awful piece of news that Helen was keeping from her; she could tell from her voice. Perhaps Helen was ill. Perhaps she had just found out she had some dreadful disease with only months to live and she was trying to break it gently. God, she couldn’t bear it if Helen died. Or perhaps they were getting divorced. That would be bad enough. How would she ever find the strength to see Helen through another divorce? It simply wasn’t fair to expect that of her. She had been through enough already.

  Jamal said, ‘Don’t you have time for a coffee?’ and he sounded plaintive, which enraged her still further.

  ‘I’d rather get straight home. Mum sounded really odd on the phone. I’m sure there’s something wrong.’

  ‘Well, if your step-father still hasn’t come home, of course there is.’

  Why did he have to say banal obvious things like that when he was really intelligent? Was it something to do with being foreign? ‘No, it was more than that. There’s something she isn’t telling me.’

  ‘Did you ask her what it is?’

  ‘No, I ran out of money.’ As if she could ask a question like that on the phone.

  He laughed. ‘You always do that with your mother.’

  ‘So what? Why is that funny?’

  ‘I thought maybe you didn’t really want to talk to her.’

  ‘And that’s a joke, is it?’ It was amazing how insensitive he could be. Couldn’t he see how worried she was?

  ‘No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  They marched on. The station was crowded, noisy and dirty after Sussex. She was suddenly very tired and her head ached with anxiety. She wanted to be home, to know what was going on. And she was afraid to find out. She could feel more demands would be made on her. She would be expected to be grown up all over again and she still wasn’t ready.

  ‘Shall we go out somewhere next week?’ Jamal asked in quite a normal voice, as if nothing at all was wrong.

  ‘I don’t know, till I find out what’s going on at home.’

  ‘Shall I ring you tomorrow? Oh, you still haven’t given me your number.’

  It was all too much. She stood still, and put down her suitcase and rucksack. Travellers rushed past them in all directions. He turned back to see why she had stopped.

  ‘I’m going to be awfully busy,’ she said. ‘What with Mum and that reading list we got and…’ How dreadfully his face changed: all the light went out of it. ‘Jamal, I’m sorry. I like you very much but I think we should sort of give it a rest for a bit.’

  ‘You don’t want to see me any more?’

  Oh God, this was awful. It was like Chris all over again and she still didn’t know how to do it. She tried to be gentle and ended up with a worse mess. ‘It’s not that. I just want a break.’

  ‘Is it because I said I was falling in love with you?’

  ‘I just think we should see a bit less of each other, that’s all. I mean next term as well. I think we should just be friends and see other people.’ She knew she was saying too much but it seemed impossible now to stop. She wasn’t even sure how much she had planned and how much he had provoked in the last hour. ‘I mean it’s sort of too soon to get tied down, and if you’re going
to have an arranged marriage eventually you ought to be making the most of your freedom.’ It sounded terrible. She hadn’t meant to say all that. She hadn’t even known she was thinking it. But there was an element of relief as well, of a problem solved, a burden put down. She hated giving pain but even more she hated people clinging on to her.

  Silence. She couldn’t look at him. She wanted to run away.

  ‘Don’t you dare tell me what to do,’ he suddenly shouted in an embarrassingly loud voice. ‘I’ve been useful and now it’s over. I’ve served my purpose. That’s it, isn’t it?’ People were staring at them and still he went on. ‘I’ve been an escort at your mother’s show, so you didn’t have to go alone, and you could make your old lover jealous, and I’ve let you show me how clever you are in bed, so you could prove everything was still working properly, and now you want to get rid of me, you’ve had enough.’

  ‘Jamal, please. Don’t shout.’ She felt herself blushing. It seemed quite out of character for him to make such a scene in public. He had turned into someone she didn’t know.

  ‘Why not? I can shout all I want. I’m not English. I’m not a hypocrite.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

  She was shocked to see he had tears in his eyes.

  ‘Don’t you think I have feelings too?’

  She couldn’t make it all right. She picked up her suitcase and rucksack and walked as fast as she could towards the tube, fearing he would run after her. But he didn’t.

  * * *

  Richard liked the court. He liked the familiar look and smell of it, the way that everyone had a job to do. Only his position in it was different this time, but it was still like coming home. The formality of it comforted him. His mother’s curtains or three-piece suite, always slightly too big for the room, might have had the same effect.

  It didn’t take long. He listened to what was said and he agreed with it. He looked at all the people doing their duty and he admired them, he thought they were right. He felt safe. In a little while it would be over.

  * * *

  Helen broke the news as gently as she could but really she was waiting for Sally to hug her, to rush across the room and tell her it would be all right. She wanted Sally to behave like a mother, although her own mother would never have behaved like that. Instead she saw Sally’s attention fixed on Felix, hardly hearing what had happened to Richard. There was no hug. ‘Why ever didn’t you tell me?’ Sally said.

  ‘I’m telling you now.’

  ‘I knew something was wrong on the phone. Is Felix going to be all right?’

  God, it was hard to take after all the waiting. ‘Is that all you can say? You might spare a thought for Richard.’ And me, she thought, like a child. What about me?

  Sally was looking very angry, as if Helen had done her some harm. ‘Well, both of them, of course, only he’s not hurt, is he? Can I see Felix?’

  ‘Don’t be bloody stupid. You and Elizabeth, one each side of the bed? Terrific.’

  ‘But he might die.’

  Helen abandoned what was left of her self control. ‘I’d love him to die, only that wouldn’t help Richard. Can you imagine what it’s been like for me, trying to pretend to Elizabeth I don’t know why all this happened?’

  Sally’s expression hardened. ‘Oh, I see. It’s all my fault, is it?’

  ‘Well, you did have something to do with it.’

  ‘I got rid of my baby, isn’t that enough for you?’ Sally suddenly shouted. And burst into tears.

  Helen watched, not going to comfort her. She felt envy and irritation. She felt isolated. ‘You’re lucky to be able to cry so easily,’ she said after a while. ‘I wish I could. If you’d only left Felix alone, I’d still have a marriage.’

  Sally stopped crying, almost, it seemed, out of shock. ‘Is that really how you see it?’

  ‘Tell me another way,’ Helen said wearily.

  Much to her relief the phone rang, before they could say any worse things to each other. It was John Hartley, and she listened to more bad news, letting it wash over her, watching Sally wipe her eyes and blow her nose. How lovely it must be to let all your feelings out like that. She was strung so tightly she might snap. She had waited all this time for Sally to come home and now she was no help at all. Too much to expect.

  ‘Who was that?’ Sally said, looking anxious, when she put down the phone.

  ‘Richard’s lawyer. Oh, don’t worry, nobody’s dead.’ She could hardly breathe. ‘Just no bail for Richard. They won’t let him out. Remanded in custody for another week.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They want him to see a psychiatrist. They think he’s mad or dangerous or suicidal. God knows what they think. Oh, what does it matter? They won’t let him out, that’s all.’ She was very tired. On it went. On and on. At some level she had imagined him home tonight.

  Sally said, ‘I’m sorry.’

  Helen sat down and put her head in her hands. She said, ‘Can we start again? I didn’t like all that very much.’

  After a moment, not quite soon enough, Sally came across the room and hugged her. She felt very solid. Helen hung on to her tightly and let the tears come.

  * * *

  Elizabeth saw the consultant next day. An older man with a bedside manner, gained no doubt from familiarity with his own bedside, a man exalted enough not to be woken any more in the middle of the night. She gazed at him, imploring him with her eyes to tell her good news.

  ‘Well, your husband’s still unconscious,’ he said, smiling encouragingly, ‘but we’ve got the results of the scan so you can relax a bit.’

  She felt herself daring to breathe.

  ‘No blood clot. No brain damage. Nothing nasty like that.’ He looked at her kindly, as if she were a child waking from a nightmare. ‘Of course he’s not out of the wood yet but it looks hopeful. As far as we can tell.’

  She couldn’t say anything. She just smiled.

  ‘Best to err on the side of caution, of course,’ he said. ‘Then, God willing, you get a nice surprise.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘Yes.’

  * * *

  A nurse was taking Felix’s pulse. ‘Can you open your eyes for me, Felix?’ she kept saying in an encouraging yet oddly detached voice. ‘Mm? Can you try?’ She was young and pretty. Elizabeth wondered if Felix could tell. Would he wake up faster for a pretty young nurse? Could his unconscious subconscious register that much? Were his instincts still alive and well? She would gladly grant him access to every woman in the world if he would just wake up and be all right.

  ‘Has he woken up at all?’ she asked in an ordinary voice, as if it were trivial.

  ‘Not yet, but we like to keep trying.’ The nurse bent over him again but in such a practical way that it occurred to Elizabeth she perhaps didn’t realise how beautiful he was.

  ‘Are you going to wake up for me, Felix?’ she said again, as if he were just any old patient. ‘Can you squeeze my hand?’

  There was no response.

  ‘Oh well,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Maybe next time.’

  Elizabeth sat down beside the bed and held his hand. He had particularly nice hands; they had both often admired them and agreed it was appropriate for a writer. Her own hands were broad and ugly. Working hands she called them. Helen’s hands were different again, the squat, practical hands of the painter or sculptor. She had seen them on plumbers too, with a sort of utilitarian beauty about them. No. What had happened there? She mustn’t think about Helen. Not now.

  A sound, a movement. It was too wonderful to believe but it was true. It was Felix waking up.

  The nurse said brightly, ‘Oh, isn’t that nice? He did it for you.’

  Elizabeth started to cry. ‘Oh, Felix,’ she said. ‘Your timing’s wonderful.’

  * * *

  She had to do something when visiting time ended. Not that he had spoken or sat up or anything miraculous like that, but there had been that sound, a murmur, meaningless, of course, and
he had moved, it showed there was hope, he was coming back to her and she wanted to give thanks. She bought flowers. She drove around. She found herself outside Helen’s house. Forgiveness, she thought. If I can be generous then God will be too. I can’t live without Felix. I love him so much. Do other people feel like this?

  Helen came to the door. She looked surprised. She smiled but she looked wary, even reluctant.

  ‘He’s woken up,’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘Oh good,’ said Helen, with a tight smile. ‘I’m glad for you.’

  She really does hate him seriously, Elizabeth registered. It wasn’t a joke or a tease. There is something enormous here. ‘So I brought you these.’ She gave Helen the flowers. ‘Thank you. They’re lovely.’

  ‘I felt so high. I had to do something to celebrate. I mean, I could have just rung you up but… After all, it’s good for Richard too, isn’t it?’ Perhaps Helen had had bad news. She must ask. ‘How is he? Have you heard anything?’

  Helen’s face closed down. ‘Remanded in custody for a week. And he doesn’t want to see me.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ A greater effort was called for. ‘Look, Helen, about the other night. I said something I shouldn’t have said and I’d like to take it back. Can you just put it down to the stress of the moment?’

  ‘Of course,’ Helen said. ‘It’s all forgotten.’

  It was odd to be still on the doorstep. Normally she would have been asked in at once. There was music from upstairs, too, well, not really music, odd sounds, a beat.

  She said bravely, ‘I still think there’s something you’re not telling me but it’s not what I said.’

  Helen looked cornered, angry. ‘Honestly, I don’t know any more than you do. It’s something between the two of them. Men can have secrets too, you know, just like us.’

  It didn’t feel right at all; ‘I expect you’re trying to protect me,’ she said, ‘but I’m a bit old for that.’