Cruel as the Grave

by Meg Elizabeth Atkins

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry,’ Liz murmured. Now that she had time to consider, she was disturbed by Helen’s appearance: the dark-socketed eyes told of sleeplessness; a deep V drew the fine brows together in irritation or anxiety.

  Obviously, she was feeling Reggie’s absence more than she would admit, and, in this case, compensating by physical exertion. Liz knew about displacement activity; when she was thoroughly fed-up or angry, she cleaned her house like a fury.

  ‘But, Liz, what are you doing here now? It’s much too early for you.’ When Liz said she had the afternoon off, Helen said, ‘You mean you Look it off to come and see if I was all right. And you must have missed lunch.’

  ‘Well... ’

  ‘You’re a very naughty girl. Go in the house at once, clean yourself up and make us both a cup of tea. By the time you’ve done that I shall be finished here and I shall organize you something to eat.’

  ‘Let me just help — ’ she went to take the fork.

  Helen wrested it back with surprising force. ‘Go along. At once.’

  Liz went meekly.

  In the kitchen, the breakfast bay was set into a window that looked on to Helen’s daintily plotted herb garden. Sitting there, Liz finished off an excellent omelette and brown bread. She had cleaned herself up, her filthy shoes were drying in the porch; Helen had put her into a pair of Reggie’s golfing socks to keep her feet warm.

  ‘Now tell me about Reggie.’

  ‘I phone him every day, he’s sounding much more himself.’

  ‘When is he coming home?’

  ‘Ah, that I don’t know. And I’m not going to press him. I don’t want him to come home before he’s ready and not be able to cope with any setbacks.’

  ‘Setbacks? You mean... gossip, rumours,’ Liz said warily, prompted to unwilling recollection of her previous weekend in Hambling. After she had left Helen — shopping, going about her errands, passing time in ordinary ways that delighted her — she had become aware of odd comments, even odder looks. She tried to tell herself she was being over-sensitive, but she knew that was not true. Some people, pressing close, emitted curiosity like a smell. Others, scarcely known, became effusive, beginning rapid, embarrassed monologues about anything; eyes met hers with diffidence, refused to meet hers at all. Afterwards, alone at home, she astonished herself by a bout of angry tears — on Reggie’s behalf, she thought, but for herself, too, because there was no challenge to meet, nowhere for her defensiveness to go except in uneasiness and scorn.

  She had made a resolution to keep the least hint of this from Helen, only to be relieved of her anxiety by Helen saying, ‘I know the whole town was buzzing with the affair — but people have awfully short memories and I’m sure it’s all died down — or very nearly. No, I don’t think Reggie’s in danger of being upset by anything like that. No, it’s Paula.’

  Liz gave a muted groan.

  ‘She says I’m being unrealistic. I say she’s being... Well, let me explain, then you can tell me what you think. You know she went to the Warners for their silver wedding. Bess Warner phoned me on the Monday to say they were all very sorry about Reggie — etcetera. I played it down, of course, but I was most annoyed with Paula, I really don’t want her chattering the length and breadth of England about our concerns, it’s too bad. I had no intention of making an issue of it so I didn’t even mention Bess had rung when I next saw Paula. But she made a dreadful fuss when she discovered Reggie was in Cheltenham — she didn’t know anything about his being away.’

  ‘No, of course, she left terribly early last Saturday morning and you and Reggie hadn’t decided he’d go to Uncle William till later. But why on earth should she make a fuss?’

  ‘Because Reggie had gone away without informing the police.’

  Liz stared. ‘But — why should he?’

  ‘Why indeed? She says the police always need to know the whereabouts of a suspect — ’

  Suspect... The word would not come out, for which Liz was thankful because she would have shouted it and Helen needed reassurance, not a lot of noise. She was so angry she could only say, ‘Let me count to ten.’

  ‘I’ll join you. One, two... ’

  They counted together. Helen sighed. Liz said briskly, ‘Reggie isn’t a suspect. She’s being ridiculous. That’s what her potty phone call was about.’

  ‘My fault. I refused to listen, I told her not talk nonsense. I never imagined she would pester you at school. I did think she might try to get hold of Reggie — so I telephoned Uncle William and told him to say that Reggie was out if she phoned.’

  ‘Good.’ Liz thought it over. ‘That’s what you meant by setbacks.’

  ‘Yes. It’s so unnecessary, and it could upset Reggie — just for some bee she’s got in her bonnet. She says I’m shielding him — and deceiving myself about the reality of the situation.’

  ‘Paula doesn’t care about reality, she cares about meddling. I’ll talk to her.’

  ‘Oh, darling, would you? I’d be so grateful. I’m heartily sick of arguing with her.’

  Liz considered Helen; with the relaxation of tension her face had become pale and worn. ‘That’s why you didn’t answer when I phoned — why you took yourself off to the end of the garden. You were hiding.’

  Helen looked sheepish.

  ‘I certainly will go and see her. Now.’ Liz paused, thought. ‘No, tomorrow. She’ll know I’ve seen you. If I go rushing off to her she’ll think she’s got us both in a panic. Tomorrow. Ummm, supposing she phones this evening. Or comes round here.’

  ‘She very well could.’

  ‘We — ell... I know, we’ll go out — have dinner somewhere. Then she won’t know where we are.’

  ‘What a nice idea. My treat. Yes, I insist. What fun — we can both hide — and have a jolly nice time while we’re about it.’ Helen’s smile had a glint of mischief.

  ‘Oh, Helen, that’s better. You were so on edge. You must put your mind at rest — she’s absolutely wrong. And how dare she call Reggie a suspect.’

  ‘She did apologise, said it was an expression she used without thinking. She really was sorry. And she does try to help. One must make allowances.’

  ‘Why?’ Liz asked balefully.

  ‘I’ve tried to explain before. About the way it always affected her — being sent away so young.’

  ‘How could it have been helped? You couldn’t — ’

  ‘I know, it was unavoidable. Father wouldn’t have been... There was never any kindness in this house, Liz. She was much better off, growing up with other children, having a happy family life. But she’s always felt — pushed out. She’s never said so, she would regard it as disloyalty to the Warners, but it’s there. That’s why she’s so...’

  ‘Rebarbative is the word you’re looking for, I think.’

  ‘Unkind,’ Helen reproved softly.

  ‘But true.’

  Helen did not argue.

  Seven

  Liz thought she loved Hambling so much because her hold on it had always been precarious. Her restless, unhappy mother, moving house so many times during and in the intervals of two deserting husbands, had taken her backwards and forwards, in and out. She swore she spent her childhood watching Hambling recede through the window of a bus, a car, a train, knowing fragile friendships lost, knowing the familiar would use her absence to rework itself into the strange.

  She was never sure whether she loved the place for itself, because it was enchanting, or because it meant Helen and Reggie. They stood in place of a family for her. She had never known her father, being only a year old when he absconded; there had been a stepfather of brief duration who hadn’t wanted her. Her mother died when she was in her last year at university; by then, her loyalties were entrenched. She had the most insecure recollection of Helen’s wispy and ailing mother. A long and complicated memory of ruses, fibs and fast footwork that kept her out of the terrifying old man Willoughby’s way. And what could only be regarded as a series of mental collisions that characte
rised her relationship with Paula. Paula always bullied her. There was nothing personal in it — Paula, with the maniacal assertion of the righteous, bullied everyone. The trick was to develop defences. Rather to her surprise, Liz, grown up, discovered she had, although they weren’t always reliable and in times of stress diminished to the simple urge to pick up the nearest heavy object and fell Paula with it.

  On a Saturday morning Paula would not be at her office. She had a computer software business in Hambling, originally with a partner. There had once been talk of expanding, opening another office in Chatfield, but the partnership had broken up, with the acrimony inseparable from all Paula’s doings. The partner moved to Chatfield. Paula stayed on in Hambling, retaining the marital home as part of her divorce settlement.

  It stood in a shrubberied square of handsome houses with front gardens neat behind ornate iron railings. Paula — despising the middle-class attitudes of her neighbours, their endless striving to repair, restore — insisted her house proclaim its honest-to-God simplicity. It did this with faded paint, ill-fitting curtains and — a new addition that appalled Liz — the front garden full of piles of bricks, clearly visible to passers-by. The spacious porch was a lumber room of cardboard boxes and bin liners stuffed full of clothing for jumble sales, refugees, anyone Paula could find unfortunate enough to require them. A small gate and path, once used by servants and tradespeople, led round to the side door, which was reached through a long glass porch. This was stacked with fridges, washing machines, tables, chairs, bundles of bedding and curtaining, rolls of carpet — all waiting to be passed on to the deserving. Eventually.

  Determined not to throw herself into whatever part Paula had scripted for her, Liz said by way of greeting, ‘Paula, what on earth are all those bricks in the front garden? Are you going to have some work done?’

  ‘Oh, those. They’re from the old property that’s being demolished behind the Eire Station. Charlie Willis bought them, to make ornamental brick paths in their new garden.’

  ‘But they haven’t moved yet.’

  ‘No, that’s the trouble. He’s nowhere to put them, so I said I’d store them for him.’

  It was typical of Paula, her kindness and wrong-headedness. It would be a waste of time to point out to her that in doing a favour for a friend she had made her garden look like a tip and probably enraged her neighbours. She did so much for other people she often got into terrible muddles and became upset when anyone criticised her. It was true there were times when it was difficult to tell where kindness ended and meddling began.

  The kitchen was old fashioned, high ceilinged, the walls emulsioned in rectangles and triangles of orange, purple and green; the open shelves were crammed with utensils, pans, crockery; the Aga was always, mysteriously, not working. Paula made something tasteless called coffee in large, chipped mugs and sat down at the cluttered table with Liz. She had a short, thick, restless body, a plump face on which there was always a searching expression, and beautiful chestnut hair forever spilling out of clips and combs.

  ‘Now listen, this is serious, Liz. For Christ’s sake I tried and tried to get you last night. Do you know, do you know Reggie’s done a runner?’

  Very deliberately, Liz said, ‘Paula, if you don’t stop this histrionic rubbish I’ll get up and walk out. Reggie is staying with Uncle William in Cheltenham. He couldn’t be more visible. Or anywhere more respectable.’

  Paula regarded her without speaking, her face grave and knowing. At last, she said, ‘Ah, yes. I should have realised. Helen’s got at you.’

  ‘Helen does not “get at” anyone.’ Liz felt her teeth gritting.

  ‘You were with her last night and she insisted everything’s perfectly normal. Don’t say it is, Liz, because much as you want to play her game you can’t pretend nothing’s happened. Somehow, desperately unjust as it is, Reggie’s been linked with this dead woman and everyone’s talking about it. He’s on the verge of a breakdown. And he has run away, hasn’t he? He always does. He’s never been in a mess like this before, but other things, stupid money things, getting in the wrong sort of company — somehow he’s always managed to leave it to Helen to clear up the mess. And she has. But this time it’s different and it’s come really close to her.’

  ‘Yes,’ Liz said unhappily, thinking of the Helen of yesterday, the woman exhausted with overstrained nerves. She sat silent beneath Paula’s gaze. Oh, God, what else is she going to say that’s got too much truth in it?

  ‘She protects him, and she needs him, too. You know and I know they live in a cocoon. Left-overs from the 1930s. What single, sensible notion have either of them got between them for dealing with 1990?’

  ‘I think you’re exaggerating a bit — ’

  Paula made an exasperated noise. ‘Of course you think I’m exaggerating — that’s because you’re as bad as they are half the time. You encourage them in all these outworn notions of gentility and reputation and — ’

  ‘Hang on, hang on. I respect the way they choose to live their lives. I don’t encourage them to ignore reality.’

  ‘They don’t need any bloody encouragement. And yes, you do.’

  ‘How, for God’s sake?’

  Paula’s long-drawn out ‘We — ell... ’ made it so obvious she was casting about that Liz was on the point of saying See — regrettably aware they were behaving like two small girls in a playground — when Paula said, ‘All that business in the summer with Wilfred Heatherington.’

  Taken by surprise, Liz concealed — she hoped — her awkwardness. ‘There wasn’t any “business” with Helen and — ’

  ‘Exactly. Exactly. There might have been if you’d just left them to get on with it —’

  ‘They had no intention of getting on — ’

  ‘But no, you were always hanging around — you and Reggie “making up foursomes” but he just does what anyone tells him to do, anyway. Oh, come on, admit it. You can’t accept — you’re just plain embarrassed at the thought of a woman of Helen’s age having a sexually fulfilling relationship with a man — a man of his age, too. You think it’s not quaite naice — ’

  ‘Don't tell me what I think, Paula. I’ll tell you any embarrassment I feel is this prying into something so personal — ’

  Paula smiled her pinched, patronising smile. ‘So mealy-mouthed. Are you trying to tell me you didn’t influence Helen?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t influence her. I wouldn’t dream of speaking to her on the subject. And if I remember, Paula, you had a great deal to say against Wilfred. He was an adventurer — after the Willoughby money — ’

  ‘Somebody had to protect Helen’s interests. I had to make sure. No one knew anything about him.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, loads of people know all about Wilfred — he lived here once, years ago. He’s still got friends all over the place. His daughter’s lived all her married life over near Tatton Park. He’s got more than enough of his own to buy and sell Woodside’ — a wild overestimate, but Liz was heading for incoherence, so badly did she want to drop the subject. Paula persisted in old arguments. She could keep them going for months, years, long after everyone had forgotten what they were about. This was one of her favourites; from time to time she accused Liz of all sorts of things — never of what really happened, because, of course, she didn’t know; but she had the tenacity to hang on until she found out something. Anything. Or made it up.

  ‘I have to go to the loo, ‘Liz said. Only by physically removing herself could she stop Paula staring into her face so intently.

  She made for the downstairs cloakroom. The house smelt sour, the lavatory smelt worse. She found she actually wanted to pee — anger, or guilt, had been at work on her bladder.

  Wilfred. Sexy, gallant Wilfred. No one knew... ‘Liz, dear girl, I shall have to leave. Go home. There’s some talk starting, people are putting the wrong construction on this. I couldn’t bear Helen to be hurt or embarrassed.’

  ‘I know what you mean — it’s all right now, but i
f you stay much longer... We’ll all miss you. Have you — have you got someone in Hampshire? Oh, I shouldn’t ask that, should I?’

  ‘Why not? The answer’s no, anyway. Delightful as she is, much as I admire and respect her, it isn’t Helen I’m lusting after. It’s you, Liz.’

  A furious inner response: excitement and alarm. He’s seventy. He’s adorable. I wonder what it would be like... This is dreadful I would never, never hurt Helen. She said all the right things; he agreed they were right, wistfully. Amongst his goodbye presents to them all — a beautiful double string of pearls for Liz.

  She went briskly back to the kitchen, rinsing her hands under the tap, wondering absently how even Paula managed to accumulate so much washing up. ‘Paula, God knows how we got sidetracked on to this — it’s just a silly waste of time. Let’s get back to where we started.’

  ‘About them being so unworldly. It’s up to ns. We have to stand between them and the nasty old world.’ Paula did not regard this in any way incompatible with her assertion that by doing exactly that, Liz had interfered, irretrievably, with Helen’s happiness. Liz almost screamed aloud.

  ‘Well, I have to agree, they’re not awfully well-equipped... What I was thinking — if I go along with what Helen wants, it’ll comfort her to think eventually everything will be all right. I don’t know what else to do, Paula.’

  ‘No, I don’t, either,’ Paula murmured, making Liz stare in surprise. It was unthinkable — Paula without an instant solution. ‘Look, mightn’t it have been better, really, if Reggie had told the police he was going away?’

  ‘Why on earth should he? He doesn’t have to report his movements, he’s not a suspect. They just questioned him that once and they haven’t bothered since. Just to eliminate him from their enquiries.’

  Paula squawked with unamused laughter. ‘But why? They never gave a reason. They should have told him why they found it necessary to question him. Helen doesn’t know, does she?’