Camomile Lawn

by Mary Wesley

  ‘Nothing, sir.’

  ‘Well, where was I? Oh yes, nowhere, so I didn’t give up, I’m not German, not that they’ve given up but they will, mark my words. I went along to the House of Commons and found that chap Calypso married and two friends of his. Good bar they’ve got there, by the way, and bingo, what do you think? This fellow, member for some Home County or other, tells me the Erstweilers are being released and arriving in London the day after tomorrow and none of those fellows sitting on their arses wound in red tape had heard, I ask you, what is the country coming to? Any more of that gin?’

  Oliver poured the last of the gin into the outstretched glass. ‘So you’ve got the Erstweilers out?’

  ‘That’s what I said, made myself clear, didn’t I? I may have lost my leg but not my wits. Can’t see what’s so funny. Can’t think why you are all laughing.’ Putting his empty glass carefully onto the table, Richard Cuthbertson leant back, slid from the kitchen chair onto the floor and lay prone.

  ‘Mind the leg.’ Sophy hopped behind Oliver and the twins as they carried the unconscious figure up to bed.

  Eleven

  ‘TRY AND RELAX.’ THE lady doctor smiled down at Polly. ‘That was my idea in coming here.’ Polly lay on the couch.

  The lady doctor stood warming her hands. ‘There, my hands are warm. I have always thought touching patients with cold hands the height of cruelty.’

  ‘Our doctor always made us jump as children.’

  ‘A man, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes. He gave us disgusting medicines, too.’

  ‘There, my dear, how’s that? Feel comfortable?’

  ‘Will it stay in?’

  ‘Goodness, yes. Now try it yourself, don’t hurry, remember what I said.’

  Polly tried. ‘That right?’

  ‘Perfect. Do it again to make sure. I don’t want you getting home and panicking.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll panic.’

  ‘I expect not. How old did you say you are?’

  ‘Nineteen.’

  ‘Are your parents pleased?’

  ‘I haven’t told them yet. My father’s a doctor. He’s been evacuated with his hospital, Mother’s with him.’

  ‘You seem the sort of girl who knows her own mind.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘I hope you will both be very happy. It’s two people’s job to make a success of it.’

  ‘I realize that.’ Polly got off the couch. ‘Thank you very much.’ She smiled warmly. ‘The war doesn’t help,’ she added.

  ‘The war shouldn’t be allowed to destroy values.’ Seeing Polly’s face, the doctor added, ‘That’s my only bromide.’

  ‘I’m hanging on to my values.’ Polly held out her hand. ‘Thank you very much for your help.’

  The older woman looked thoughtfully at Polly’s green eyes, bright hair. They shook hands. Her values are not the usual run of the mill, the doctor thought. She rang for the next patient. While she waited she watched Polly skip down the steps into the street and run a few yards before crossing the road. Rather a monkey, that one. She wondered what Polly was really up to. She had not seen any reason to tell her that she had trained with Martin. Any child of Martin Cuthbertson’s would be likely to manage her own business.

  Polly went alone to see The Wizard of Oz and was singing ‘Somewhere over the Rainbow’ when she let herself into her parents’ house. She shut the street door and fumbled her way round the house, drawing the blackout curtains before switching on lights. A musty smell of tobacco and alcohol seeped down from the floor above her parents’ room, which she had made her own since there was a telephone beside the bed. She cursed Oliver and the twins who had disturbed her on their way up the night before. She had left without waking them that morning. She ran up to Walter’s room to fling open a window. A bitter wind blew in then sucked out the sour air. A lump on one of the beds groaned. Polly spun round. Unable to see, she tripped over an obstacle wrapped in cloth and fell full length on the floor.

  ‘Curse it!’

  ‘Who is that?’ A grumpy voice she recognized as her Uncle Richard’s emanated from the bed. Polly disentangled herself from his trousers, drew the curtains and switched on the light.

  ‘Uncle Richard, what are you doing here? I fell over your leg.’

  ‘Arrived last night. Must have overslept. What time is it?’

  ‘Sevenish.’

  ‘I’ll be up for breakfast.’

  ‘Supper. It’s seven in the evening.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her uncle dragged himself into a sitting position. Polly had never seen him grey and unshaven.

  ‘We were celebrating. I remember that. I wonder how I got here?’

  ‘I heard Oliver and the twins making an awful noise going to bed. I suppose they were putting you away.’

  ‘Where’s Sophy?’

  ‘The twins took her back to school this morning. That was their plan. They were all asleep when I went out.’

  ‘She was pleased about the Erstweilers.’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘They are out, getting out. What day is it?’

  ‘Wednesday.’

  ‘Tomorrow they get to London.’

  ‘How thrilling! Did you do it?’

  ‘Pulled strings, made a fuss, got drunk, I remember now, brandy with Calypso’s Hector, gin when I got here, haven’t been drunk since 1918, not like that, what will Helena say, I ask you?’

  ‘No need to tell her. Why don’t you have a bath? I’ll see what I can find for supper. There’s a razor of father’s somewhere.’

  ‘Feel woeful.’ Richard Cuthbertson lay back with a groan. ‘Woe, woe.’

  ‘I’ll mix you some Alka Seltzer. When you’ve had a bath come down and have supper. I live in the kitchen nowadays.’ Polly went for Alka Seltzer and stood over her uncle as he drank it.

  ‘My God, how disgusting.’

  ‘It helps.’ Polly waited while he drained the glass.

  ‘I remember now, I had a few whiskies before going to the Home Office. You won’t tell Helena?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘They all laughed last night when I told them what I’d said to those bureaucrats, found it funny. Helena finds me funny too, can’t think why, I never make jokes, do you find me funny?’

  ‘Not at the moment. Come down when you’re ready, Uncle. I’ll make some soup.’ Polly left him.

  In the kitchen she laid places for two and started preparing a meal, humming Judy Garland’s tune as she worked. She was disturbed by a ring at the front door. She called up the area steps: ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It’s me, Calypso. Can I come in?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Calypso felt her way down the area steps.

  ‘We are far more likely to break our necks doing this than get bombed. I’ve laddered my stockings tripping over the kerb.’

  ‘That’s not like you. Come in. What’s the matter?’ Polly looked at her cousin. Something was wrong. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Just felt I’d like to see you. Hector’s in the House, thought a chat would be nice. I’ve hardly seen you since I married.’

  ‘What with your marriage and my job it’s not easy. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. Oh, are you expecting somebody?’ Calypso looked at the table. ‘I don’t want to butt in. Shall I go?’

  ‘It’s only Uncle Richard. He’s got the hell of a hangover, he seems to have been boozing with Hector. He’s in London getting the Erstweilers out from the Isle of Man. I found him in bed when I came in. Last night Oliver and the twins who were here put him away. I only just found him.’

  ‘Are they here now?’

  ‘No, they took Sophy back to school on their way to their station and Oliver had to be back in his camp.’

  ‘What fun. I wish I’d seen them all.’ Calypso sounded wistful. Polly made no comment.

  ‘The twins did come one evening and Olly rang up but I was doing something else. What a pity.’

  ‘They can alway
s come here. I’m alone. I’ve given them keys. Walter has his, of course.’

  ‘Polly—’ Calypso took a deep breath. ‘I’ve got to tell somebody.’

  ‘Fire away. Stay to supper, won’t you?’ Calypso looked awful, hunted, her normal bright confidence gone.

  Richard came into the kitchen. ‘Hullo, girls.’ He kissed Calypso’s proffered cheek. The girls exchanged glances, the moment for confidences passed. During supper Richard told them all he had done for the Erstweilers, finishing his account with a compliment. ‘Damn good chap, your Hector. Couldn’t have managed without him, you’re a lucky girl.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Calypso. ‘Yes, of course.’

  Helena telephoned from Cornwall. Polly called Richard to speak to her. The girls listened.

  ‘Yes, of course I’m here, couldn’t get in at Sarah’s house, they’ve shut it up. What? Tomorrow I’m meeting the Erstweilers and will bring them down with me, tell the Rector. What? When? Who? How ridiculous. One of those buggers must have done it to annoy, sitting there swathed in red tape—I told them—what? Not till tomorrow week? How did you find out? They telephoned Floyer? Why not me? I’m the one who’s on the spot. I’m the one who’s made all the running, well, not running, not with my leg, how could I? Polly fell over it. What? Oh all right, I’ll come home. Yes, tonight. I—’ He turned to the girls. ‘Cut off, goddammit. They aren’t getting out until tomorrow week and travelling via Bristol, I ask you. They get a train pass. Helena seems to want me home, didn’t know where I’d got to. I’d better catch the night train.’ He spoke forlornly.

  Polly said, ‘It’s only one more week, Uncle, you’ve done marvels. It’s thanks to you they are getting out.’

  ‘I’ll take you to Paddington. I’ve got Hector’s car round the corner,’ Calypso offered.

  ‘What about—’ Polly began to speak but Calypso shook her head. ‘It was nothing, nothing important.’

  Presently Polly watched Calypso, driving Hector’s Lagonda, their uncle beside her, vanish in the blackout.

  ‘Poor Calypso,’ said Polly out loud in the freezing street. She had never felt sorry for her cousin before. ‘I wonder!’ Indoors she went to the telephone and dialled thoughtfully.

  ‘Sorry I couldn’t ring before. I found my uncle here in bed.’ The telephone crackled. ‘Not my bed, one of the spares.’ She listened, then, ‘Well, I’m rather depressed. I came in full of zeal, went to see The Wizard of Oz, was all cheerful and relaxed, but not only was there Uncle Richard, you know who I mean, one leg, I tripped and fell over it. How? In the dark. No, not particularly funny, no, it just wasn’t. Then Calypso came along, yes, the beautiful cousin you want to meet. No, she was not at her best, she looked terrible, well, worried, fraught. She was just going to confide when Uncle interrupted us so we couldn’t talk. No, she clammed up. No, I can’t imagine what it is, she’s got everything. Well, I know she’s not got you. Yes, I promise you shall meet her, blast you. Yes. No, what I’m trying to say is not tonight. Because I’m feeling sad. Oh, really—do you think so? Cheer me up? Does it? All right, then, come along. I see I’ve got a lot to learn. Don’t forget I’ve got to clock in at my office at nine. All right, all right. No, I’m not joking. I can’t see it as funny.’

  But forty years later, on her way to the funeral, Polly laughed out loud and her daughter in the back seat asked: ‘What’s the joke, Ma?’

  ‘Only something in my distant past. You wouldn’t find it amusing, just something I learned.’

  ‘You always said you were dead bored at lessons.’

  ‘Not on that occasion.’ Stifling her laughter, Polly snorted like a horse.

  Twelve

  WHEN CALYPSO HAD HER stroke in 1979 she was completely paralysed for two days, unable to speak but able to see and hear. Bored by what she heard—everyone within earshot was cagey—and only able to see part of the room where she lay, she nerved herself to think back while she could and remember what had happened. She had long been aware of self-deception and wilful forgetfulness, a self-preserving double standard. As a convert to Catholicism, she was aware of her deceptions even in the confessional, of making her sins sound droll, therefore less serious. She was always angry when the priest could not share her view. Now, convinced she was dying, she cast her mind back to the moment she had realized that she had grown up and must manage by herself. When she made a rapid recovery her first words addressed to Hamish, who was sitting by her bed, were: ‘It was the night I put Uncle Richard on the night train. I got him a seat but I couldn’t get him a sleeper.’ Her speech was only slightly slurred and that left her after a few days. All that remained was a slight stiffening on one side of her face and a small limp.

  ‘I’m not dying,’ she had added, watching Hamish’s expression. ‘It takes three.’ Hamish, at a loss, had said: ‘Three what?’ looking at his mother with pity. Calypso answered ‘Strokes’, and drifted into a healing sleep.

  It was a struggle to get Richard on the train, carrying his overnight bag in one hand, holding on to his arm with the other. The station swarmed with soldiers, sailors, airmen, a large proportion drunk. They overwhelmed the civilians and smelled different. Calypso supposed the materials their uniforms were made of absorbed the smells of beer and tobacco differently from civilians. She dragged her uncle along to the First Class carriages. ‘Get in here, Uncle Richard, I’ll find you a seat.’ She pushed and shoved, popping her head in and out of carriage doors. ‘Is there room for my uncle? He’s lost a leg, he can’t possibly stand all the way to Penzance.’

  Taken aback by her beauty, made to feel guilty about the leg, a competition took place to surrender hard-won or booked seats. Calypso thrust Richard into a corner seat, crying: ‘Thank you, thank you, how kind of you. He’s not feeling very well, so it’s specially kind. Come and see me when you’re in London, won’t you? Oh, I am grateful.’ She kissed Richard, hissing in his ear, ‘Don’t you dare give them my address. Goodbye, Uncle Richard, goodbye,’ and leapt from the train as the guard blew his whistle. Watching the overladen train snake away into the dark she stood feeling totally alone, frightened but defiant. Now, she had thought, and remembered it all those years later, now I must live.

  And if Uncle Richard hadn’t interrupted us and I’d asked Polly’s advice and taken it my life might have been entirely different. She thought, recovering from her stroke, that it was better that she had made her own decisions. There was nobody to blame but herself. Waking, she saw that Hamish still sat beside her bed. He must be anxious. He was also easily bored, taking after her.

  ‘Why don’t you read a book?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you mind?’ He hated the twist in her lovely face.

  ‘Why should I mind?’

  ‘Seems a bit insensitive.’

  ‘I’m not sensitive but I keep my promises.’

  ‘Of course. Don’t tire yourself talking.’

  ‘It’s wonderful to find I can. You are a promise.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Glad I made it.’ His mother’s eyes smiled. He felt closer to her than he ever had. Perhaps she was dying? Hamish bent and kissed her.

  ‘Not dying yet.’ Her twisted mouth smiled. ‘Not this time.’

  She had gone home after putting her uncle on the train, taking the Underground from Paddington to St James’s Park, then walking through the dark streets. She put her key in the door and pushed it open. Hector was standing in the hall.

  ‘I thought you were visiting your constituency.’ Calypso was suddenly very tired.

  ‘I decided to go tomorrow instead.’

  ‘Oh.’ Calypso walked past him and up the stairs.

  ‘I wanted to say I’m sorry.’

  She stood on the stairs looking down. ‘Do you behave like that often?’

  ‘I thought you’d walked out on me.’

  ‘Do you behave like that often?’

  ‘Not very often. Darling, I wanted to say I’m sorry.’

  ‘Now you’ve said it.’ She started on up the stai
rs.

  ‘Calypso, I’ve said I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Calypso, I’m sorry, darling, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Why didn’t you warn me?’

  ‘If I had you wouldn’t have married me.’

  ‘Oh yes I would.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘For your money.’

  ‘Bitch.’ Hatred stretched between them, tangible, horrible. They stared at one another across the chasm. ‘It’s my fault,’ he said.

  ‘Mine too, now.’ Infinitely tired, Calypso held the banister. ‘I’ve been putting Uncle Richard on the night train.’

  ‘Oh my God, it started with him, stupid man trapped me in the bar.’

  ‘So I gather.’ Coldly she spoke, she felt numb with misery. ‘I’m cold, I’m tired.’

  ‘It won’t—’

  ‘Oh yes it will. I may be only nineteen but I know it happens again and again. I know that much—I’m twenty next week.’

  ‘Twenty. Oh God, Calypso, don’t leave me.’

  ‘I’m not leaving you.’

  ‘Why not?’ He stood in the hall looking up at her, eyes strange under the thick eyebrows. ‘Daphne left.’

  ‘I’m not Daphne.’

  ‘I didn’t love Daphne. I do love you.’