‘Well,’ said Lizzie, ‘it’s Christmas and we wondered what to put in your stocking.’
‘Don’t be funny. It doesn’t suit you.’
‘How are you?’
‘Just as you see me. You’re too satisfied with yourself and your life. It won’t last. Nothing does.’
‘Well, Gran, as long as it lasts I’ll try to enjoy it. By, it’s hot in here.’ She waved her hand before her face.
‘We are not as young as we were. We need warmth.’
Lizzie now looked towards the three-bar electric fire. Although it was a large fire, she had never known it have more than one bar on at a time. And the same had applied to the other electric fires in the house. Things had certainly changed. Oh, she wished she was back home. She couldn’t think now that this had been her home for so long. She could say she had even hated the house; and now she had come to dislike her grandmother, but more so to dislike Andrew Jones. When she thought of her son-in-law, how he had inveigled himself into this house and into this old woman’s good books, she again felt a pity for Len rise in her. All right, he was what he was: he wasn’t fundamentally a nice man, yet, had he been greeted in the beginning by this old woman as Andrew Jones had, how different things might have been. It might not have prevented her feelings for him from developing as they had, but it would certainly not have caused a change in the atmosphere in this place, and he might have remained liveable with.
‘You’ve put yourself to bed early tonight, haven’t you, Gran?’
‘Well, at my age I would have thought one could retire when one felt so inclined, without adverse comment. Your tone, you know, not only suggested surprise to find me in bed, but also condemnation that I should be here. Well, I am here, Lizzie, in order to prepare myself for a long day tomorrow, which I think is a wise decision, don’t you?’
‘I am past thinking about anything, Gran, where you’re concerned.’ Lizzie turned from the bed, and the action provoked Mrs Funnell to say to Peggy, ‘Your mother’s in that kind of a mood, isn’t she, Peggy? I thought her life was now so happy and gay that she wouldn’t be able to find it in herself to be uncivil to anyone, even to her grandmother. Hm! You’ve been drinking again, Peggy,’ and she turned her head away. ‘I can smell it from you, and it isn’t sherry.’
‘No, Great-Gran, it isn’t sherry, it’s brandy and port mixed.’
‘Huh! Go along with you.’ It was evident that Mrs Funnell could not imagine her great-granddaughter drinking brandy and port mixed.
She addressed Lizzie now, saying, ‘Have you been in to your mother?’
‘No; not yet.’
‘She’s getting worse; she’ll be gone long before I will. I cannot understand where her weakness comes from. There was no such fiddle-faddle ailments on my side, nor on your grandfather’s. But there she is, a rattling pill-box.’
‘I’ll see you in the morning, Grandma,’ Lizzie was making for the door.
‘Have you brought the presents?’
‘Yes.’ Lizzie didn’t turn round. ‘And I’ve got yours. I spent three months knitting you a pair of bedsocks. I hope you like them.’
Bedsocks. She wouldn’t dare.
Peggy closed the door behind them; but Lizzie held her tongue until they had moved further down the corridor, when she said, ‘She gets worse; selfish to the core,’ and Peggy reminded her, ‘Well, you made your escape, Mam, but you left me with it.’
‘Oh no, I didn’t; it was up to you. I told you at the time to stick out and then she would have to get a housekeeper in. But then, of course’—she pulled a face now—‘I hadn’t taken your husband into account, had I? nor his charm or his wiliness. Anyway, don’t let us get back onto that. Now I’m not going in to Mother tonight; a medical lesson would just finish me. I’ll say goodnight to the child, then we’ll be off.’
One of the large bedrooms had been turned into a nursery and it seemed to hold every conceivable toy a child could have. Dolls of all shapes and sizes were arranged on shelves, and an outsize doll’s house stood in one corner of the room, a miniature swing in the other. There were teddy bears and pandas seemingly fighting for a place in an armchair. There was a miniature rocking chair, and against the end wall a single bed with a miniature canopy over it. And in it now, dressed in a frilled nightie, sat the child, and by her side and combing her thick black wavy hair from her brow was her father, partly dressed in trousers now.
‘Grandma, Santa is coming tonight. Do you know what he’s bringing me?’
‘No, I don’t.’
The child bent forward now, glee on her face as she said,
‘Bread and cheese
And a bottle of pop,
Two boiled eggs
And a mutton chop,
Plain cold water in a glass.
That’s only if you’re good, said Father Christmas.’
‘My, that’s a new one. Where did you hear that?’
‘Mammy reads it to me. It’s in Bunty Bunny’s book. And I can read it.’
Lizzie turned and in a low voice said to Peggy, ‘They get their money easy, the ones who write that stuff.’
‘You going to read me another story tonight, Mammy?’
‘Yes, dear, yes. Now lie down, because, you know, if you don’t go to sleep he won’t come.’
‘I’d like to see him. Couldn’t you ask him to stay? He could sleep next door; there’s no-one there.’
‘But what about all the other children he’s got to see to? You know, you’re not the only one.’
‘But she is the only one, aren’t you? Aren’t you, pet?’ Andrew had his hand on her hair again stroking it back, lifting each strand separately.
The child looked up at him, smiled at him, then settled down into the bed. And as he tucked the clothes under her chin Peggy moved towards the door, and her mother, before following her, called to the child, ‘See you in the morning, dear.’
‘Yes, Gran. See you in the morning, ’cos it’ll be Christmas then.’
‘Yes, it’ll be Christmas then.’
They were on the stairs again before Lizzie spoke, when she said, ‘He’ll ruin her if you’re not careful. You want to put your foot down. He’s so possessive; it isn’t right. I’m telling you, you want to put your foot down.’
‘Mam.’ The word was ground out between Peggy’s teeth. ‘He…he loves the child. Can I stop him doing that?’
‘There is love and love, girl, and his feelings go beyond it. It’s possessiveness, pure and simple, possessiveness. You needn’t be here, as far as I can see; you didn’t give her birth, you didn’t carry her; she’s his. I’ve been wanting to say this for a long time.’
‘Well, it’s a pity you said it now. I’ve got my life to live and it’s in this house, and I say again, you left me a legacy and I’ve got to manage the best way I can. So, Mam, keep out of it, will you? Keep out of it.’
‘Yes, dear. I’ll keep out of it.’ Lizzie marched ahead now and, on reaching the drawing room door, she pushed it open, saying, ‘We’re going.’
And within three minutes they were out of the house and into the car, and only then did Henry ask, ‘What’s it all about?’
‘I’ve been told once more to mind my own business. But there’s a business going on there that somebody should put a spoke into, before something happens and a life is destroyed.’
‘What are you meaning?’
‘Emma, the child: she’s being utterly controlled by him, in all ways. You know why she didn’t want us to go up into the bathroom? Because he has her in the bath with him.’
‘Well, she’s…she’s only a child.’
‘She’s five years old! And do you think, if this has been going on all the years it must have, he’s going to stop now? I tell you I’m worried.’
‘Well, what can you do about it? Nothing. It’s their business. As I see it, it’s up to Peggy, and knowing her I can’t see that she’d let anything happen that wasn’t above board.’
‘Henry, she can’t stop it. That
’s what’s the matter with her. I’ve noticed the change in her over these last two years.’
‘Come on. Come on. We’ve got to go there tomorrow, so’—he took his hand from the wheel and gave her a quick pat—‘put your neb under your wing until after the holidays and see what transpires then.’
Two
Christmas Day turned out to be a success, both at dinner time and in the evening. The credit for the laughter at the dinner table could be said to be shared between Henry and Frank Conway.
In the evening, after the first stiffness wore off and charades were introduced, the party went with a swing. The child was not present: her father had taken what he termed a very tired little princess upstairs, given her her bath and put her to bed.
During the Christmas dinner Andrew had kept a low profile, as it were, but in the evening he had played host under the admiring gaze of Mrs Emma Funnell. And the feeling this generated in both Lizzie and Peggy was much the same: resentment and a dull anger directed, if anything, more against the old woman than the young man.
Boxing Day, like all Boxing Days, was a day of clearing up and trying to get through leftovers.
The day following Boxing Day the new help arrived. Her name was Mrs Rosie Milburn. She was plump and fair, with a pleasant face. And from the beginning Peggy sensed her kindly disposition and felt they would get on well together.
Rosie lived with her bachelor brother at the other end of the town. And after her first day’s work, which proved her promise that she liked housework, Peggy plied her with what was left of the Christmas fare.
Her grandmother was now on her feet again; in fact, she had got on her feet on Christmas morning. It was strange, the quick turn Victoria Pollock’s illnesses conveniently took. She too had taken to the new helper. As for the mistress of the house, she seemed to be withholding her opinion: new brooms literally always swept clean, she warned.
Andrew’s opinion of the new help was that she looked well fed, but he had then further remarked to Peggy that he hoped, now that she had help, he would benefit for, being less employed, she would be less tired. To which and looking him straight in the face, she had answered, ‘Don’t count on it, ever.’ And grimly he had retorted, ‘Well, you know what that’ll drive me to.’ And she had answered, ‘The sooner the better. I would have thought you were already known there, anyway.’
On New Year’s Eve, and out of the blue, he told her he was going to a party and he didn’t know what time he would be back.
They were having a cup of tea in the drawing room. The cup was halfway to her mouth when she said, ‘We won’t be seeing the New Year in then?’
‘No; well, not here.’
‘Does Great-Gran know?’
‘Yes; she knows, and she doesn’t mind; she acknowledges the custom is dying out fast. She’ll be in bed, anyway; as will your gran. So what would you have the two of us do sitting here alone and saying, “A Happy New Year, dear, nineteen seventy-four”?’
‘We always have May and Frank in.’
‘Oh yes, May and Frank. And don’t forget Charlie, dear Charlie, the great musician. Look’—he got to his feet—‘I’ve had enough of May and Frank and Charlie, all I’m going to have. Things are going to be different, and you’ve only got yourself to blame for that, haven’t you?’
‘I don’t consider I’m to blame for anything that has happened since you came into this house. You’ve manoeuvred everything very nicely. You’ve hoodwinked a silly old woman into believing you are what you’re not.’
‘Oh. Is that it? She would love to hear herself called a silly old woman. Now let me tell you something. Her kindness to me is because I’ve expanded those works. Profits went up by ten per cent last month and your stepfather got the credit. But who did the groundwork? Who suggested the alterations, and saw them through? I’m telling you, if anybody should be running that place, it’s me.’
Her cup clashed into the saucer. She rose to her feet, and she growled at him, ‘That’s your aim, is it? Oh yes, I can see it now: right from the beginning, that’s been your aim; but let me tell you, Henry is too well ensconced in that job and unless you would like to try and kill him, as my father did, you’ll stay put where you are.’
He was gaping at her now, then his eyes narrowed. ‘Your father tried to kill him?’
‘Yes. Yes; you didn’t know that, did you? But he wanted that job so badly he was willing to kill for it. Now why don’t you try the same? You’re young and strong; your swimming has put muscles on you. Go on, knock him off. But be clever and do it like Dad did; arrange it so it looks like a burglary.’
Quietly now, he said, ‘You’ve kept that close, haven’t you?’
‘It was best kept close.’
‘Does Great-Gran know?’
‘Yes, she knew, but she wanted things hushed up, so when Mam said she was marrying Henry she didn’t protest over much, because Mam was in such a state then she would have brought the whole thing to light. And there’s one thing that Great-Gran can’t stand and that’s adverse publicity in any way. Remember that, Andrew, adverse publicity in any way. And so she wouldn’t like to know of your visits to a certain house in Bog’s End, would she?’
The colour flooded his pale face and he barked at her, from low in his throat, ‘Who drove me there? First, it wasn’t good for the baby you were carrying; afterwards, post-natal depression. Another excuse. If I hadn’t had my child to take my mind off things, God alone knows what I would have done to you.’
‘Your child? Yes, you’ve said it, your child. She’s my child, I bore her. Don’t forget that, and don’t go too far. There’s something I’m going to have out with you, but not tonight, not this night. Perhaps we’ll start the New Year with it. Yes, yes; perhaps we’ll start the New Year with it. Now you’d better get out to where you are going before I change my mind and dash upstairs into Great-Gran’s room and tell her where you’re going first, before you join your men pals. And I’m quite capable of doing it. Don’t forget that.’
She watched his whole body stiffen, his fists clench at each side of his hips, then his big soft-lipped mouth, the feature that marred his otherwise handsome looks, stretch wide as he ground his teeth one set over the other. But her eyes never left his face, and he turned from her and marched from the room.
As if she had just been in actual combat she dropped down onto the couch and sat gasping, drawing in long, shuddering breaths. She wanted to cry. Oh, how she wanted to cry. But in a short while, once he was gone from the house, she’d have to go upstairs and read to her daughter and she knew that already the child was sensitive to her feelings: she would say, ‘You sad, Mammy?’ or ‘You vexed with me, Mammy?’ And she would have to smile at the first question and say, ‘Oh, no, no, of course not. I’ve got a bit of a headache, that’s all.’ To the second, she would enfold her in her arms and say, ‘No, darling, I’m not vexed with you. I could never be vexed with you.’ And her daughter would put her arms around her neck and hug her. But only, as the last time she had done that and had kissed the child, to be told, ‘You have a nice mouth, Mammy; Daddy’s mouth is wet.’ She shuddered with the feeling that ran through her at the picture the childish words conjured up.
Something would have to be done, and soon. But what? What? Whom could she talk to? There was no-one to whom she could confide, ‘I’m afraid of my husband’s affection for his daughter…my daughter.’ To whom could she say that?
She didn’t know how long she lay there, but when the door opened she started, then relaxed as she saw it was her grandmother.
Victoria came up the room and seated herself on the couch, and without either greeting or preamble, she said, ‘I’ve had indigestion ever since Christmas Day. I shouldn’t eat that kind of food; yet other people can. Why should I be like this?’
But when there was no retort from her granddaughter, she turned her head and looked at the young woman lying with her back against the head of the couch, her eyes closed, the muscles of her jaws showing white thr
ough the skin, and, her tone changing, she enquired, ‘What is it, dear? What is it?’
‘Nothing, Gran, nothing.’
‘Oh, you can’t hoodwink me. Things aren’t right between you and him. He’s off again tonight, I see; tonight of all nights. Of course, I wouldn’t have stayed up. I never do now; I hear the bells and the hooters from bed. But that’s me. I’m no longer young. Still, even when I was young’—she was talking as if to herself now—‘I could see no reason to stay up just because a date was changing, starting all over again, one, two, three, four, five. But then you’re different, you’re young.’
She was looking at Peggy again. ‘And you never seem to have any fun, do you, dear?’
She reached out and took Peggy’s hand. ‘You know what I think? I think you should never have married Andrew. He’s changed this house. Do you know that? Oh, Mother is over the moon with him; but I’m not, Peggy. No; I’m not. Between you and me, I’m not. I don’t know, there’s just something about him. I won’t say it’s slyness but it’s something. And you don’t get on, do you? And then there’s Emma. He’s obsessed with that child. Do you know that? He’s obsessed with her. It isn’t right. There’s something not right about the way he goes on with her. He’s promised now to take her swimming.’
Peggy opened her eyes and turned her head sharply and looked at her grandmother. ‘When did you hear that?’ she asked.
‘Oh, I heard him talking to her. “I’m going to take you swimming in the baths,” he was saying. “You’ll like that. You’ll love that.” That’s what he said. I’ll tell you what. You go over to May’s, they always have a bit of a carry-on on New Year’s Eve, and I’ll keep awake and see to Emma.’
‘Thanks, Gran; but you know I never leave her alone at nights, and you’re bound to drop off.’
‘I’m not bound to drop off.’ Victoria’s tone altered. ‘Look, my dear, I’m not in my dotage yet, and I know I’m a grumbler and a complainer. You could say the only form of comfort I’ve got are my complaints; I’m forever complaining about my complaints. Oh, I know all about myself. Oh yes, I do, dear. And so, look, I tell you what. Later on you can bring her into my bed and then go over there and see the New Year in. Now you’re not to say no. All right, if I fall asleep she’ll fall asleep, too. And you know, dear, I’ve been a mother. I had your mother as a baby, and you know something? She howled for the most part of her first two years. I never knew what it was to have a decent night’s rest. Oh, your grandfather took his turn. Give him his due, he was very good. But you see, I was a mother, I’ve had a baby, I know all about it. Even when you were small and Lizzie had a bad time of it, I saw to you. Oh yes, I did.’ Her head was bobbing up and down now, and Peggy, smiling wanly, nodded in return, saying, ‘Well, I can’t remember what you did in those early years, Gran, but I remember how you used to bounce me on your knees in time with “To ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross”.’
The House of Women Page 14
