by Ruth Skrine
‘It’s all right,’ I say over his shoulder. ‘At least it has not fallen on the house.’
Mr Awful said it wasn’t safe. I rub my face against the rough material of his jacket, letting myself sink into the safety of his arms for a moment. Then I pull away. ‘I hate you. How could you treat me like that?’ My voice has none of the conviction it would have had before. Too much has happened since I discovered his perfidy. ‘With Susan, of all people. You are a bastard.’
I see him tense, as if holding back the urge to take me in his arms again. Then he sighs. ‘I know. I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry is not enough. I loved you. I trusted you.’
I turn back to the window. The storm is moving away. The sky is lighter, not only because of the space left by the tree, but from cracks in the grey clouds that are moving towards us from the direction of the church tower. I go out onto the balcony and twist to stare back and scan the house for damage. Apart from the nursery window that is flapping again, the façade looks unchanged. Quentin has pushed his way out beside me.
I wave my hand and ask if he will go in and shut the window. ‘I tried, but the fastening must have come loose. While you’re about it, could you check the rest of the house for me?’
Back in the kitchen I stand looking at the white cover of the prayer book which shines in the pale light of the candle. My grandmother said, over and over again, that I was “going to the bad”. Briony always mistrusted her, but she had favoured me and I had chosen to remember nothing but the good things.
Quentin follows me into the room. I want him to leave. I can’t get my thoughts straight with him trailing about after me. ‘I’m all right now. Please go.’
‘Meena, can’t we talk? I want to explain…’
‘What is there to talk about?’
‘I want to understand, Meena. More than anything.’
‘There’s nothing to understand.’
‘I want to understand you – why it all went wrong.’
I am surprised to find that I want to tell him, to regain that feeling of closeness that had been so wonderful when we were together. But I don’t know how to begin. With my back to him I take a deep breath. ‘I know now what made me frightened of sex.’
I feel his hand on my elbow. ‘Please tell me.’
I am shivering. He takes off his jacket and puts it round my shoulders, leading me back to the table.
‘I remembered in the nursery. It was my grandmother…’ At that moment the light comes on. My hands jump to shield my eyes. ‘Oh, turn it off…’
Quentin gets up and goes to the switch. I sit heavily, limp in the sudden darkness. For a moment I can see nothing. Then his shape emerges across the table and my words tumble out. ‘She caught me pushing a bit of sponge into my cunt. She threw me across the room, and then…’ I stop as the scene becomes clearer again. ‘After she left the baby with my parents she came back. She pulled me off the floor and slapped my leg. Then she took me into the bathroom and stood me by the sink. Her hands were rough as she scrubbed me all over. She kept saying dirty girls would never go to heaven. The soap stung.’
‘What a terrible thing to do to a child.’
‘She said I would kill my mother. That was the worst thing. And when my father died I knew it was my fault.’
‘But that’s crazy.’
I look up. His back is bent as he leans forward, supporting himself with one hand on the table, the other raised as if to ward off the knowledge of such malice. His head is tipped to the side in disbelief.
‘But don’t you see? I know I’m not mad now and that it was my grandmother who was to blame.’
Our eyes meet briefly. He gives me a tentative smile and says again that he is sorry “about everything”.
Throwing my head back I announce to the lingering shades, ‘She’s gone now. She can’t hurt me ever again. I’m free.’
‘That’s my girl.’
‘I’m not your girl.’ Jolted back to the hurt and fury he caused me the words are harsh.
He flinches as if a bucket of cold water has been flung in his face. ‘It’s only a figure of speech.’
‘It’s not fair. I thought you meant it.’
‘I did mean it.’
‘How can you say that? You don’t really care about any woman. You just “tom cat” around.’
‘That’s not true. I did love you. But whatever I tried, I couldn’t help you. I felt such a failure. I spend my life trying to get people to relax but you never responded. At least Susan wanted me.’
I bang my fists on the table. ‘I wanted you, can’t you understand? It wasn’t anything to do with not wanting you.’
‘I realise that now. I didn’t then. I was so useless.’
The sky outside has lightened so that the flame of the candle looks paler. I can see him more clearly. ‘Sit down and stop glaring at me.’
He sits, fiddling with his cuff. He looks vulnerable in his shirtsleeves. I should give his jacket back , but I don’t. ‘I suppose it wasn’t entirely your fault. I will never forgive my grandmother. How could she mess me up so completely, spoil all my chances of ever being loved or having children?’
‘It does seem incredible that anyone could behave like that.’ He is frowning again, as if genuinely trying to understand. ‘I suppose it was the relic of her Victorian upbringing. I’m not trying to excuse her,’ he adds quickly.
‘I should think not.’ I get up and walk to the sink, trying to blot out her remnants that linger inside me. I never want to remember her again. But he has started me thinking in a different way. She can’t have been totally evil; she was the one person who always seemed to love me. Perhaps in her heart she knew that she had damaged me and was trying to make up. I think of Jane and my clumsy efforts to find out about myself by watching her playing. ‘I have to learn to accept that no one is completely bad or good,’ I say to Quentin, ‘but I can’t stop hating her, for all that.’
There is silence between us.
‘Do you still hate me, too?’
I turn to see a bleak look on his face. Is it really too late to start again with him? If he didn’t love Susan…‘Are you going back to Janice?’
‘I have to try. I go home every weekend. She lets me in now, but still doesn’t like me living here with two unattached women.’
‘You’ll have to stop thinking of every girl you see as “your girl”.’
‘Not every girl.’ He gets up and comes to put an arm around me. ‘You are very special, you know.’
It is no good. I have to pull away. ‘Don’t do that.’
‘Sorry.’ He props himself up on the edge of the sink and looks steadily into my face. ‘If only… but it is just not possible. I have to make my marriage work. I miss the children too much.’ He walks to the window. ‘I have stayed on here as long as possible in the hope that we could become friends again. In the morning I will see what I can do about the tree. I could probably cut up the side branches, but the trunk is enormous, we’ll need a professional for that.’
‘It’s my problem. I’ll deal with it.’
‘I am only trying to help.’
‘I know.’ I move to his side. ‘I think the rain has stopped. I’m going to look at the damage. Want to come?’
We walk towards the back door together.
Chapter 22
I look down on a patchwork of fluffy clouds. In the gaps there are spots of white fluorescent paint, waves caught in the sun on the blue that is the English Channel. Towards the horizon the clouds bank into mounds that could be icebergs floating in a sea of more cloud, flat and grey in the middle distance. Seldom have I been aware of so many different levels, like the depths of the past. The horizon holds the ancestors, winking Duncan and guilt-ridden Henry. In the middle distance my grandmother, smoothed into flat greyness. She probably could not help herself, but her phobias blighted my life.
The 737 climbs steeply and passes into a dense layer of cloud. The promise of the sea disappears and I am suspended
in a fog of grief as the aircraft continues to climb, the stewardesses still strapped into their seats. So many tears for my mother that have not been shed. My ears are popping, despite the fact that I am chewing one of the toffees that Susan pressed into my hand before I left. She knows about things like popping ears.
Now we are levelling out and the fields of France appear in miniature below us. The seat belt signs have gone off and there is a stir in the cabin. I settle back in the window seat, close my eyes and wait for the drinks to appear.
My last two nights were spent with Briony. My plans for a new life stunned her. When she wasn’t totally immersed in the baby she fussed me with questions to which I had no answer: Why was I going? How long would I be away? What would I do when I came back? The guilt of deserting her, and Julie and Jane, gnawed at me when I was most excited. For the first time in my life I have discovered what I want to do for myself – for me alone. Although I try to convince myself that I will have more to offer everybody when I come home, the new experience of satisfying my own wishes leaves my conscience restless.
They all came to see me off at the airport, Julie clutching my grandmother’s prayer book. I had taken it to a bookbinder who mended the spine, for a price. As I moved towards the entrance for passengers only, Julie waved it high above her head. She is in the grip of a religious phase, brought on by the need, I suspect, to control her jealousy of the new baby. She will treasure the legacy with more care than I could ever have given to an object soiled by bitter memories
Briony was fiddling with David in the sling on her chest. She didn’t look up in time for me to catch her eye before I turned the corner and they disappeared from view.
In the queue for security a young boy was swinging on the webbing that kept us in line. One of the movable posts tipped over and I almost fell. His father grabbed my arm while scolding the boy. I said it didn’t matter, the waiting was difficult and had they a long journey ahead? The small, automatic contact with a stranger kept the tears at bay so that, by the time I got through to the departure lounge, the agony of separation was dulled.
My thoughts drift back to my last evening with Susan. She spoiled me with a special meal and champagne. As we sat drinking coffee I was seized with a longing to see inside the house – just one more time.
‘Have you still got those keys?’ The agent took all mine on the day the contract was completed. Susan fetched them and held them out.
‘Thank you. I won’t be long.’
‘Shall I come with you?’
‘This is something I have to do alone.’
She nodded and pressed a torch into my hand. At one time she would have insisted on coming with me, or at least questioned me to find out exactly why I needed to make the visit. If she can learn to keep her mouth shut she could be a good counsellor.
No lights shine out of the naked windows. I know the Awfuls are planning many alterations before they move in. Still, someone may be watching from the houses on the other side of the street, twitching the curtains. Looking down across the valley it is easy to forget that Oakdene no longer sits within the privacy of its own land on all sides. The ring holds a variety of keys. I am the intruder now as I open the back door. Keeping the beam of the torch low, I start up the stairs. As I pass the places where the portraits hung I risk a quick flash at the walls. Large pale patches are outlined by frames of dirt. No one will know that Duncan hung here, his wife by his side. At the spot where Henry gazed out at me, his book in his hand, I touch the cobweb-covered plaster with my fingers. ‘It’s all right Henry, I forgive your fling with Emily – for what that’s worth.’
The nursery is just an empty room. No ghosts have stayed to haunt it. The window lets in more light now the oak tree has gone, but when I look out from my bedroom the loss stabs me more deeply. New vistas over the field are lit by a three-quarters moon that slants across the valley. Never again will the tree provide that lift of the spirit that was the nearest I ever got to that state of prayerful adoration that my grandmother found so sustaining.
There is no reason to go into the loft. The trunk that held the papers has been empty for weeks and I have not bothered to remove it. Everything of interest has gone to the city archivist, together with the memoirs that have been such an important part of my life for the last nine months. There they will accumulate dust until Julie, or some other descendant, feels the urge to explore them. Is an interest in the past always sparked by some personal quest?
The top bathroom looks strange without the seal curtains. At the last moment I used them to wrap the portraits of Duncan and his wife and send them to store with the things that will furnish my new home one day. I walk past the door to the green bathroom needing no reminder of the place where I discovered my body was normal. When I meet a new man there is a chance now that I will be able to make love with him.
In my mother’s bedroom, regret for the lost years seeps over me. I squeeze my eyes tight as I remember snuggling into her side, relishing the few moments before the tempestuous Briony wakes and demands her attention. I would welcome some image of her holding the unblemished hairbrush but I am reminded that visions do not come when they are called.
The house smells musty and exudes an air of blank neutrality. The spirits of my family have departed. All that is left is a lingering sadness for the loss of what has passed and can never come again. The building needs others to move in before it can live once more. Stone and wood and plaster have no life of their own and there is nothing to hold me in the place any longer. Only the creak of familiar floorboards breaks the silence in the expected places as I walk down the stairs. With a resolute tread I go out, clicking the door shut behind me.
Going round the side, I stand for a moment on the terrace. The leaves on the trees in the field are so thick I can hardly see the weir. Using Susan’s torch to avoid the cowpats, I walk down to the little path that leads to the water. With my shoes off and my trousers rolled up I step in. The water is colder than I expected. The summer sun has not warmed it at all.
In order to balance on the slippery surface, I put the torch in my pocket and extend my arms. As my toes explore the stones to find a safe hold for my next step, a white shape appears and sails slowly along in front of me. A swan is showing me the way.
Gradually I inch forward, my moon shadow going before me with its outstretched arms waving up and down like a child pretending to be an aeroplane. It is a long way, even longer now than when my legs were so short. Then my father had been solid in front of me, his arm stretched back to grasp my hand in his. He was so strong, so safe. Now I am alone.
The familiar fall of water soothes my ears. The trees thrust giant shadows across the smooth expanse of river stretching away into the distance above the weir. My tiny figure, its arms waving, dares to challenge the secret night. I don’t look at the water falling away at my side. One false step and I could go crashing down and lie at the bottom, cold and lifeless, as I had once seen myself. I will not believe in premonitions; they are for the mentally deranged. I carry no genes to push me down that road. As the certainty grows inside me, standing there with frozen feet, strength flows to the tips of my fingers and up to the top of my head.
I am not half way across yet; the choice to return is still open. I hesitate. The swan turns in a slow circle, content to wait until I have made up my mind. It is madness to try and do this at night with no one to rescue me if I should fall. I look at the bird again. The creature has taken the trouble to come and guide me. It will be disappointed if I turn back. ‘Come on Meena, you can do it.’
I go on. Now I am past the half way mark. My breathing is shallow, a breath to each step. I have been counting for some time, in a rhythm that carries me forward. The swan leaves the merest trace behind him, a faint ripple on the glassy surface. There are no ducks or moorhens to keep me company. They must all be asleep, sensible birds. One, two, at last the bank is coming nearer. Perhaps twenty steps left, ten, five and I am there, clutching at an overhanging branch
to pull myself onto the dry land.
I have walked the weir again. The grass is damp but I take no notice and sit to dry my feet with my jacket. The swan curls up with his head under the wing, waiting for me to brave the return journey. The house looks down from the hill, the edge of the roof lit by the moon, but the face in shadow.
I am still worried that I should have left Henry’s record buried within its walls, but then it could be discovered by strangers. The sun was setting as he had walked down to the ferry on that evening when he heard Emily talking to his dog. Was she on this side of the river, or the other? I had imagined her on the same side as the house, but she could have been walking across the field where I am sitting.
Moonlight is so different to sunlight. I have never bathed in it before. I raise my arms and wriggle my legs, watching my pale flesh move in the strange glow. The air around me is warm, but the beams from the moon carry no heat. I look full into the face of the dim light, surprised that it does not hurt my eyes. Although it is strong enough to outline the trees and hedges, the shadows are much softer than those produced by the sun. The light does not threaten to reveal secrets that are better kept hidden.
Jane found the courage to reveal her secret – by running away. I am glad I was too much of a coward to voice my hidden fears. Sitting in this field, where I watched the caterpillar with my father, the memory of my suspicions troubles me again. The nearest I ever came to blurting out my shame was on my last visit to Aunt Beth. Though my doubts had never been openly acknowledged between us, I was trying to find words to express my certainty that he was innocent: ‘I want to thank you for that holiday in Cornwall.’ We were walking round her garden, arm in arm. ‘It wasn’t just the rest and exercise. Talking to you helped me to sort out my mind.’
