The Moon At Midnight

by Charlotte Bingham

  ‘The thing is, sir.’ Hubert put his flower-patterned tea plate down very carefully on the tea tray and then returned to the fireplace and his seat on the sofa opposite Waldo. Following the ingestion of the muffin he was looking less pallid, his voice stronger, the look in his eye more assertive. ‘The thing is, sir,’ he said again, clearing his throat. ‘I have to tell someone, because I’m so worried.’

  ‘Naturally.’ Waldo’s brilliant eyes stared back at the young man opposite him, serious, listening, knowing that to say nothing was always better than saying something.

  ‘It’s Kim, sir, my sister. I’m so worried about her.’

  ‘Kim would be a worry.’

  ‘Our parents won’t really see just how bad it is for her. It’s not something that’s meant to get out, but – but last term she ran away from school because she was so unhappy about Jenny, trying to get to see her in hospital, but a policeman spotted her and when she went back she was put in Coventry for the whole term, and she’s covered in eczema, at least on her arms and legs, really bad. And now she’s got it into her head that she’s going to – she’s going to . . .’ Waldo leaned forward as Hubert stopped. ‘Someone’s going to have to talk to her, to stop her.’

  Judy’s mother, Lady Melton, was feeling her age, which was, unlike the temperatures outside, in the high seventies. Sir Arthur was asleep in the chair opposite her, the Daily Telegraph covering his tweed waistcoat, and a china cup beside him. All in all it was a typical scene for late winter in the old house at the top of Bexham, when old Ellen scratched at the drawing room door, and her daughter Judy was shown in.

  Before she could speak her mother put her fingers to her lips, nodding to indicate Judy’s sleeping father, and the two of them silently tiptoed out of the room, leaving Ellen to quietly stoke up the fire.

  ‘How is poor little Jenny?’ Lady Melton asked at once, as they settled down in the morning room where another fire was blazing.

  ‘She’s going to be all right, as far as her body is concerned, but her face is terribly damaged.’

  Lady Melton’s expression became grave. She came from a generation which believed that the slightest flaw could influence a girl’s chances of marrying, and so the idea that John and Mattie’s daughter would have a scarred face was perhaps even more terrible to her than it was to Judy.

  ‘Poor child.’ Her face clouded, and she looked away from her daughter and stared into the fire. ‘So much worse for a girl, I always think.’

  ‘I don’t know what to do for the best, I don’t really.’ Judy felt free to look as worried as she felt in front of her mother.

  ‘There is nothing that you can do.’

  ‘That’s why I don’t know what to do. And of course with Kim home, everything seems so much worse. She skulks about the house, won’t even come downstairs when Walter’s home for the weekends. She pretends she’s feeling sick, anything rather than face her father nowadays.’

  Lady Melton straightened up, and smoothed her tweed skirt over her knees.

  ‘She can’t be blamed for that, Judy. The guilt of what has happened must be terrible for the poor girl. And Walter, you know, has rather got it in for her just lately.’

  ‘He hasn’t got it in for Kim, Mama—’

  ‘He most certainly has. The last time he came to Sunday lunch here your father and I were quite shocked at his attitudes about the accident, and about Kim – of course she was bound to have some sort of reaction to what had happened, and although we all know that her eczema is not the end of the world, nevertheless Walter’s treating it as if it’s just a mild irritation, which it certainly is not.’

  There was a pause as Judy saw Walter from her mother’s point of view, and was vaguely shocked.

  ‘Walter can be a bit much when he’s got a bee in his bonnet,’ she conceded finally. ‘As a matter of fact so can John. Loopy says that the way John keeps going on and on about poor Max’s show you would honestly have thought that he was at the Windmill Theatre in a nude revue.’

  ‘It’s rude to move! I always remember that sketch about the dear old Windmill.’ Lady Melton gave a sudden smile. ‘I believe some quite good people got their chances there, you know, at the Windmill.’

  Judy nodded, knowing that if she waited patiently enough, her mother would give her advice.

  ‘Kim is going through a bad time in the village, too. People make remarks when she’s in the shop, that sort of thing.’

  ‘That is only to be expected, the village is always very narrow, full of hen roost gossip, when it comes to these things. That has to be shrugged off, but so much worse for Kim that her father’s embarrassed by her.’

  ‘But he’s not embarrassed by her!’ Judy protested. ‘Walter’s not embarrassed by Kim.’

  ‘Of course he is, Judy, you’d have to be blind not to notice. Walter is embarrassed by Kim’s letting him down publicly, by her letting down the Tates, by the permanency of the damage done to her cousin, but most of all by the fact that he himself has been caught out. He doesn’t know how to go on in this situation. Everything that has ever happened to Walter has had some sort of understandable code, some set of rules that he could follow, until now.’

  Lady Melton shrugged her shoulders and Judy stared at her mother, knowing that inevitably the old lady had put her finger on the reality of the situation. It was true, everything that had ever happened to Walter, whether it was to do with the Navy, or the law, his family, the yacht club, the golf club – everything that he had done, or would do, was governed by a recognisable code. He was a gentleman. He knew how to go on. But now Kim, his beloved daughter, had been involved with a tragedy, for the first time in his life he didn’t know how to go on, because there was no specified code of conduct for him to follow, no rules to learn and obey.

  ‘What do you think I should say to him? To Walter?’

  ‘You must point out that it’s not up to him to be judge and jury on an accident. That to cold-shoulder his daughter over – put quite simply – a motor car foolishness is simply neither Christian nor acceptable. You must tell him that he has to face up to what she is going through, not think so much of himself and the loss of face he is feeling.’

  Judy turned away. ‘You’re right, Mama.’

  And she was, she was right, Judy knew that, but being right is one thing, doing and saying the right thing at the right time was quite another.

  Left with his problem, which, little though he knew it, was the same problem that Judy was facing, Waldo immediately telephoned to Peter Sykes and asked him round to Cucklington House.

  Standing in the genteel surroundings of Waldo’s house and despite his smartly tailored suit and perfect manners, Peter still looked very much the ex-mechanic tough guy, Bexham’s very own war hero. It wasn’t just that he’d lost a leg in the war, it was his whole demeanour. No matter what he wore he always looked as if he was just about to jump into a mechanic’s pit, or an armoured car. He bristled with activity. Perhaps it was because of this restless quality that he and Waldo had become instant friends. Certainly without Waldo’s help, Peter could never have set himself up in business just after the war, at a time when most cars were still on blocks, and there was nothing to put in them that wasn’t rationed, except hope.

  Despite this he had forged ahead, building for himself and Waldo, his one and only investor, a lucrative motor car business, which in due course had turned into a franchise worth thousands. It was for this reason, and many others, but most of all because they respected each other, that Peter had come round to Cucklington House the moment Waldo had telephoned.

  ‘I’m sorry to eat into your day this way, Peter, but I really need you to be here for the next hour.’

  Waldo was looking so worried that Peter put out one of his big, strong, calm hands and placed it on the sleeve of the other man’s Shetland wool pullover.

  ‘What’s the matter, Waldo? Has Jenny taken a turn for the worse?’

  ‘No, no, at least not that I know of, no, but Walter a
nd Judy’s – Kim – she seems to have, and we have to act now, in unison, before another tragedy occurs.’ He went to the window overlooking the drive. ‘Ah,’ he said, after a minute or so of watching. ‘Here she comes. Just follow me, would you? I’ll take the lead.’

  They both knew from long experience of each other’s business manners just what Waldo meant. He would speak, Peter would follow, but not add anything more. Knowing him as he did Peter was instantly aware that what was about to happen was a great deal more important than any business deal.

  As Maria showed Kim into the room Waldo stood up, and went across to greet her with the most relaxed expression possible, a remarkable piece of acting, considering how he actually felt.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Kim. Come in, sit down.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Astley, good afternoon, Mr Sykes.’

  Despite having known them all her life, Waldo and Peter could see that Kim of all people was reluctant to look either of them in the face as she hurriedly shook their hands before taking a place by the fire.

  As soon as he saw how soaked she was from the rain Waldo turned to Maria.

  ‘Hot chocolate I think, don’t you, Maria?’ As Maria hurried off, Waldo went on, ‘Take off your shoes, why don’t you, Kim? Go on, wiggle your toes in front of the fire. I can see your shoes are soaked through.’

  ‘It’s all right, thank you. I’m fine.’ Kim stared into the fire rather than look at either of the men seated near her. ‘Really, I’m fine.’

  Waldo said nothing, but for the second time that week his heart sank. He could see that the young, energetic, life-loving Kim that he and Peter had always taken for granted had all but disappeared, and if that wasn’t enough he could hear from her toneless voice just how deeply her depression must have taken hold.

  ‘I had a letter from Tam yesterday, Kim. He sends his love to you, and hopes you’re getting along fine.’

  This was a complete lie, of course. Since Tam had gone to America the only way his family could, or did, hear from him was if they telephoned to him. Tam was not a letter writer, and Peter knew it. What he didn’t know was why Waldo was finding it necessary to lie about such a thing.

  Maria had returned with a cup of hot chocolate, and it looked so delicious that Waldo knew that, no matter how depressed she felt, Kim would surely have to drink it, for what with its creamy frothy texture, and the sprinkling of chocolate on the top, it was irresistible. As she sipped it cautiously he continued talking to her.

  ‘Actually, Tam’s not quite the thing, yet. America is so different from Bexham. He’s having a lot of problems settling down, you know?’

  At that Kim looked round at Waldo and for the first time their eyes met, and Waldo was shocked to see how dulled was the look in her large blue eyes. She had the eyes of a prisoner, worn down by the badness of things, or maybe just the attitudes of everyone around her.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘It’s not just that everything’s so different in America, but he’s so different. He misses Bexham like crazy, as you can imagine. Misses his family, Flavia, everything, misses that sort of normality that we all take so much for granted, that everyday jam-along thing that we like to call home.’

  ‘Misses you, too, Kim,’ Peter put in.

  After that Waldo allowed a silence to elapse as the fire spat and hissed, and Kim sipped her hot chocolate, not breaking the silence until he felt quite sure that Kim was a little more relaxed.

  ‘Why I called you up to Cucklington, Kim, is a lot to do with what has happened recently. I need your help, and so does Peter. I wonder, at least we wondered, if you’d mind going round to Peter’s house on Sunday and, when the family calls Tam up, having a word with him? It would mean so much for him to hear you, I know it would. It was Peter’s idea, and I really think it’s a good one.’

  Kim looked round at Peter, her face registering surprise, and as Peter looked back at her he made sure to look calmly innocent. His commanding officer in the war had always instructed them that whenever they met with suffering, whatever else they did, to keep an even look to the eyes.

  ‘How will I get there? How would I get to Churchester, to your house?’ Kim’s tone was still listless, but the very fact that she was asking such a thing must surely be, Waldo hoped, a small step in the right direction.

  ‘Flavia and I will come and pick you up. You can stay to lunch, maybe? I mean, I know Flave would like it, that is, if you wouldn’t find it too dull, and all that?’

  The idea of not having to have lunch in company with her father was all at once so heavenly that, without her realising it, the expression on Kim’s face was already much brighter.

  ‘No, no, it wouldn’t be dull at all. In fact I’d – I’d like that.’

  ‘Well, that’s settled then.’ Waldo beamed. ‘Peter and Flavia will pick you up on Sunday, and you will stay the day and cheer up Tam when he rings at five o’clock our time. Very kind of you, I think that is, young Kim.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Kim muttered. ‘I know how Tam feels, except I’m not in America, worse luck.’

  Waldo had been careful not to look at Peter during the whole interview, but now he risked a ‘we may be home and dry’ glance.

  ‘Now, if that’s all right, Geraldo will pop you back home, and so long as your mother and father don’t have an objection, you’ll be picked up by Peter and Flavia on Sunday.’

  Kim stood up quickly. ‘No need for anyone to drive me, really. I’d actually rather walk.’

  ‘It’s all right.’ Waldo looked at her. ‘He’ll just drop you at the end of the lane. It’s still pouring down. Don’t want to waste all your good work on those toes of yours now they’re dry, do we?’

  Some few minutes later Kim left the two men, and was duly driven home by Maria’s husband. As soon as he heard the front door close Waldo went to the drinks tray and immediately poured Peter and himself a Scotch.

  ‘What was all that about, Waldo?’

  Peter drank his Scotch gratefully and stared at Waldo. He’d known from the first that something pretty serious was going on, but even while Kim was with them and he’d been following the conversation he couldn’t have said precisely what it was, only that he was needed.

  ‘That, my dear Peter, was all about Miss Kim Tate, who, it seemed, was contemplating ending it all – and by that I mean her life, Peter.’

  Peter stared at Waldo. ‘Young Kim? Young people don’t commit suicide, Waldo.’

  ‘Unfortunately young people commit suicide all the time, Peter, and that is precisely what she’d told her brother that she intended doing before the end of the holidays, before she was sent back to school. She couldn’t stand the isolation any more. School’s been hell, no one speaking to her, all that. She was apparently planning to throw herself over the railway bridge in front of the London train.’

  ‘Teenagers. They’re always threatening things, but they never do them,’ Peter protested, but his face lost colour as he thought of Tam and his loneliness, the distance between them.

  ‘Wrong again, Peter. They do it all the time, believe me. Don’t worry, I think we’ve saved the day. I doubt that she’ll do anything now. You see, in order to take her life she would have to be concentrating on her own mental state. I therefore fixed on a simple strategy. I attracted her attention away from herself and towards someone else, i.e. Tam, who is not suicidal, but, as I understood it from you, naturally enough, very homesick. So now they can talk to each other on Sunday. That’s why I needed you here. To distract her from her own troubles, tell her about Tam.’

  ‘He sounds all right, when I phone him, he sounds fine.’

  ‘He’s sure to be homesick as hell, Peter, believe me. Do me a favour, get the two of them talking again, and leave the rest to me.’

  ‘What’s the rest, Waldo?’

  ‘The rest is getting Kim’s mother to see sense, take Kim away from school, and let her loose in some other place, well away from Bexham.’

  ‘No one knows
I’m here. I came round the back lane.’

  ‘Everyone knows you’re here. This is Bexham, after all.’

  Waldo laughed, but Judy found she could hardly smile. She felt guilty enough coming round to talk to Waldo, rather than Walter, about their poor daughter, but what could she do? The mere mention of Kim’s name nowadays seemed to make Walter instantly angry, although Judy sensed that in part he was angry at himself, but helpless to actually do anything.

  ‘Stay right where you are. I’m going to make you a martini, just how you like it.’

  As Waldo went to mix the drinks Judy found her eyes turning to the portrait of her old friend over the mantelpiece. It was a brilliant painting of Meggie. As she stared up at it she couldn’t help herself envying beautiful enchanting Meggie for being Waldo’s great love, the girl whom he still mourned, his wife of only a few days. Lucky Meggie for dying, lucky Meggie for staying beautiful and not growing older, lucky Meggie for staying as everyone would always remember her, loving life, while laughing at it, defying the fates, brave and loyal, not as Judy felt now, got down, helpless, not knowing which way to turn.

  ‘They shall not grow old as we grow old . . .’ she murmured as Waldo handed her the perfectly made drink, and then as she sipped it she couldn’t help thinking how Waldo made drinks better than anyone she’d ever met. Waldo’s drinks were not the sock-you-in-the-taste-buds drinks of the older military and naval men of Bexham. Waldo’s drinks took into account that women didn’t always like drinks that would make them end up, as Meggie used to put it, ‘pulling your nightdress on over your ballgown before trying to comb your hair with your toothbrush’.