‘Those were your words.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what you were thinking. I really don’t,’ he went on, holding up his hands in exasperation, ‘but I know it’s caused us one hell of a lot of trouble.’
Phyllis turned and noticed Jean watching her and made a show of waving her hand dismissively at Charlie before turning her back on him trying to show Jean how unbothered she was by what he had said, but as she came towards Jean, her thin grimace of a smile suggested she was deeply upset about Charlie’s remarks towards her husband. Jean’s thoughts were back on her brother again and she had winced at Charlie’s mention of his being effeminate. As Phyllis came back into the bedroom Jean tried to picture her with her brother, but it was difficult to conceive of Harry being able to handle a woman as temperamental as Phyllis, let alone being the father of her child. The child. Jean’s eyes flashed towards Phyllis’s middle and she saw the hint of a bump. It disturbed her to think of something living being both visible and hidden all at once.
Phyllis guided Jean back into the room and shut the door. She sat her back on the bed and then sat herself on a tiny stool in front of a cluttered dresser.
‘Why did your brother call you?’
‘Because he was worried,’ Jean said, not looking at Phyllis but acutely aware now of Phyllis’s belly.
‘But we don’t really live together anymore,’ Phyllis said, confused.
‘You were at the theatre together. You ran off.’
‘I didn’t run off. We got separated. And I had told him I wasn’t staying at his anyway. Not after…’ She stopped again. ‘What has your brother told you exactly?’
Both of them looked at each other and Jean could tell that they were searching for information without wanting to have to ask for it, but she was intent on interrogation. She knew it would be easier to walk away and assume the worst of Phyllis, to foist upon her the blame for the mess they were all in, but she knew that not to ask would only result in more agonized uncertainty.
‘Is what Charlie said about Harry true?’ Jean asked.
Phyllis became a host of moving limbs and made for the safety of her lipstick and powder. She began to paint her face without looking at Jean.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Is he?’ but she couldn’t speak the words for her eyes were still on Phyllis’s belly.
‘He’s a complete mess is what he is. I don’t understand how you don’t know that about him. The fool was going on last week that he was going to join the Communist Party of all things. But he’s only saying that to provoke me. More nonsense comes out of that man’s mouth than anyone I’ve ever met.’
‘Why did you break up then? You have broken up?’
Jean watched as Phyllis turned up her chin so that she could see her lips in a small mirror she was holding. She started to apply a thick layer of lipstick to her mouth with slow and deliberate movements. The scene reminded Jean of her little herringbone mirror, and she supposed Phyllis would have liked nothing more than to have had a pretty sister-in-law to parade around town.
‘It really isn’t my job to tell you. You should speak to your brother. Why should it be my responsibility to explain things?’
‘It’s a simple question.’
‘For simple people it might be.’ Her irritation seemed to grow quickly and Jean knew she had to proceed with care if she was to get anything useful out of her.
‘But Charlie clearly thinks of you and him being together?’
‘Yes, we have a kind of a thing going on. Does that upset you? Of course it does. But Harry knows about it. He doesn’t know Charlie but he knows there have been others. I have never really lied to him on that score. If anything it is the other way round. We tried to make a go of it early on, but Harry and I just aren’t compatible with one another. I suppose if anyone has a right to feel upset it is Charlie, but then he sees things in a very black and white way. If only Harry had the strength to stick by his convictions then things would have been much simpler. Now they’re just a bloody mess. I had to leave him. That’s all there is to it really.’
Jean noticed the last phrase. It was one of Harry’s verbal habits.
‘If you wanted to be with Charlie why didn’t you tell Harry? Let him be free of you. That would be the kindest thing,’ Jean said. ‘Now you have the baby to think about.’
‘I was going to…I mean. I am going to but something has come up just now,’ Phyllis said, looking into the mirror with an anxious expression.
‘More important than your marriage and your child?’
‘Why can’t you keep your nose out of this? Go back home to your rich husband and stop worrying about things that really are nothing to do with you.’
She got up from her stool and went to the door with the intention of asking Jean to leave. It was clear to Jean that Phyllis was almost at breaking point and that for all her demurring and cattiness, she was barely holding things together. She had probably been cooped up in this grotty little room for days and had been working herself up into a frenzied state.
‘I’ve left my husband,’ Jean said.
Phyllis stopped and stared at Jean. As the words sunk in, Jean began to feel that there was strength in saying them but that she would have to repeat the phrase many more times before she could believe it. She felt the stirrings on joy in having finally staked a claim to her independence, but, while she drew power from it, she had no idea how she might use this power, or what kind of person she might become. Phyllis looked at her with suspicion, her eyes turned to the door and her hand working at some imaginary mark on the wood.
‘You’ve left him? What do you mean?’ Phyllis said, finally.
‘I came down to help Harry but really it’s because I have nowhere else to be. I can’t be near him anymore. He kept me in that bed for nearly nine months. And for what?’
Phyllis moved away from the door.
‘You’re sitting there telling me to go back to Harry and yet you have done exactly the same thing.’
‘I’m not saying that. I lost our child. You understand? Three weeks ago my life with him ended and I can’t go back.’
Phyllis looked away from Jean and then shifted back towards the stool, feeling as though the room were too small to contain the both of them. She reached down to her bag and pulled out a small hip flask and handed it to Jean. Jean unclasped the lid and took a sip.
‘Is this neat gin?’ she said, her eyes watering.
‘Just drink it,’ Phyllis answered.
Jean took another sip and then handed the flask back to Phyllis, who was tempted to take a sip herself but resisted.
‘Harry told me about the miscarriage.’
‘It wasn’t a miscarriage. It was a stillbirth. It’s a different thing,’ Jean explained.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s done with now. But Frank and I, there’s really no way to go on with it as far as I can see. But Harry, he’s a good man. And he told me that you are going to have a child.’
The colour slipped off Phyllis’s face so that the lipstick she was wearing stood out on her face like a fresh cut. She looked like she was going to be sick and Jean could see that her hands were shaking. And then Jean realized what Phyllis had done.
‘It is Harry’s child, isn’t it?’
Phyllis’s hands began to shake more.
‘You must go. It’s such a mess.’
Jean felt sick too.
‘Dear God, so Charlie is the father?’
Phyllis nodded.
‘I don’t know why Harry thinks it is his, but I am afraid it’s not.’
Phyllis stood up again but this time she moved to the bed and sat beside Jean.
‘Did you tell Harry it was his?’
‘Everything is such a mess and Charlie is already in enough trouble,’ Phyllis said, feeling her cheeks. ‘Are you warm? Or is it me? I feel hot all of a sudden.’ She put her hand to her cheeks and Jean could see she was flushed. ‘
Look, I need you to do me a favour. I need you to explain to Harry why I can’t come home right now and it is for his sake. I don’t know how he can think the baby is his, but it isn’t. It’s impossible.’
‘Impossible?’ Jean responded.
‘Yes.’
Phyllis reached out and took hold of Jean’s hand.
‘Look, I know you don’t particularly care for me, but I want you to understand that I do care about Harry and that there is something going on now that I don’t want him involved with. I promise you I will explain it to him but not just now. You should go and look after each other.’
Jean’s eyes glanced down once more at Phyllis’s belly and Phyllis noticed.
‘How far gone are you?’ Jean asked, tentatively.
‘Just over three months. Would you like to feel?’ she said, pulling Jean’s hand towards her belly, but Jean withdrew it sharply, stood up and went to the door.
‘I am afraid I have to tell him you’re here. I have to inform the police too. Whether you like it or not I’m involved.’
Phyllis stood up angrily.
‘You silly cow, you have no idea. All right. Let me show you why your brother really wants to find me. He’s not interested in me at all.’ She went over to the dresser and from underneath it she pulled out what was presumably her handbag. Opening it up, she put her hand in and pulled out a small collection of envelopes tied together with a piece of yellowed string. ‘This is what your brother wants. You can take a couple with you. I’m keeping the rest as insurance. If you want to know what your brother is, read them.’
Phyllis threw them down on the bed and Jean picked them up, squeezing the bundle between her fingers. She untied the string and looked at the address on the first envelope. It was addressed to Harry. There were others too addressed to another address in London but it was a postal depot. She removed a letter from the first envelope. It was dated May 1947.
Harry,
I discovered your address from the landlady of your last place. It’s a little childish to go moving without even telling me, don’t you think? I thought I would write first this time. The last few weeks have been hell but then that will come as no surprise to you. I have been trying to cope with what you said but the abruptness and cold manner in which you ended it has made me question your motives and feelings. It strikes me as an overreaction and I want to remind you that you too felt as strongly as I did. But I won’t get into accusations now. I will just ask you to think about what we both want and need. Be sure to understand that my feelings towards you will not change.
Sorry. I’m sorry. I just reread this. What a vainglorious moaner I am. Look, I want to see you. That is what I want. I think you probably want that too. There must be a way for us to work through this, to find a way to be together.
Yours,
Freddie.
‘Freddie and Harry go back to 1943. They were together in France. Harry told me that it meant nothing to him, but then why did he keep those letters? Now you can see why it’s impossible for us.’
Jean found the letter difficult to put down and read it through twice, although her eyes only managed to flit across the words. There was too much information to take in. Her mind ran back over that last time he came home before heading to Normandy. She remembered how much it had bothered Harry, but she also recalled that there was something in her brother that had changed. It was a physical alteration as much as anything, which she had put down to his army training, but now she wondered if it was something else. He had been freer in his movements and he had stood taller, as if he had simply decided to assume the role of a man. She thought too of the days after Harry had left for training earlier than he had initially said and now it seemed here was the answer.
It was too upsetting for Jean to accept. She threw them down.
‘I don’t know what you think these are,’ she said.
‘Don’t play the fool,’ Phyllis retorted. ‘You can’t play that old provincial nonsense with me. I know you can see it in him. And if you need further proof, then you should know that the morning before I left I caught him in bed with my friend Michael.’
Jean couldn’t bring herself to say anything. All she could see was Michael’s bed and the slippers and his garish furniture.
‘But he told me he didn’t have an affair.’
‘To him it probably wasn’t. There are things that go on Harry’s head I cannot begin to make sense of,’ Phyllis said. ‘I was absolutely furious. I hit him. I told him there and then that I’d had enough. That’s why it’s impossible that he is the father. And that’s why I can’t be with him,’ she continued, attempting to speak calmly but Jean could sense that she was worked up.
‘Why in God’s name did the two of you marry?’
Even as she asked the question Jean could feel it being redirected back towards herself, as she realized her and her brother’s failure to understand themselves had brought them to their respective crises. There was a further dull recognition of the unhappiness of her mother and father’s marriage, something she had felt often if never quite articulated. She looked at Phyllis with a growing resentment.
The door opened from the outside and Charlie stuck his head in through the gap.
‘I’ve had enough of this gossiping. What’s going on?’
‘Jean is going to tell her brother where we are,’ Phyllis said. ‘I don’t know what to tell her to make her stop.’
‘She can do what she likes. We’re leaving in an hour,’ Charlie said, his voice flat.
‘Look, whatever is going on with these people, you need to speak to the police. There is no good in running off. Is it to do with Vincent Moss? Why would he care about your relationship?’
Both Phyllis and Charlie glanced at each other.
‘I’ll show you out,’ Charlie said.
He pushed the door fully open and stood stiffly, as though he were part of a regimental parade and waited for Jean to move. Phyllis got up and thrust the letters into Jean’s hands and went out into the hall.
‘Jean, I know you feel loyal to your brother, but for all our sakes, please don’t get him involved,’ Phyllis pleaded. ‘It isn’t safe for him or for you.’
Jean looked wearily from Phyllis to Charlie and then at Phyllis once more. She could feel the weight of Harry’s letters in her hand but had nothing more to say. She felt Charlie’s hand on her, edging her towards the door.
‘Come on,’ he said.
‘Charlie, let me speak to her,’ Phyllis said.
‘Let her be. We’ll be gone in an hour. If she is foolish enough to call the police…’
‘Wait a minute,’ Elma cried. ‘She cannot bring the police here.’
‘She won’t. She won’t tell anyone because if the police find out what her brother is, he’ll be ruined,’ Charlie said, simply, knowing that it would cloud Jean’s thinking. ‘Now Phyllis, go and pack your things. I want you to be ready to go.’
Charlie escorted Jean to the door of the flat and opened it. She stood on the threshold not wanting to leave but Charlie gave her a shove.
‘Get off me,’ she said, but Charlie had lost his calm and took her firmly by the wrist so that she was compelled to move with him. He pulled her down the concrete steps to the front of the flats.
‘You need to stop. This isn’t about your brother anymore. Phyllis is in serious danger and I’m the only one who can look after her.’
He opened the door and pushed her out and she stumbled slightly but to her shock there were a pair of hands to meet her.
‘All right Charlie?’ a voice said.
A figure stepped out of the fog. It was Vincent Moss. He must have trailed them from The Angel. His associate Kenneth was with him.
‘How do you two know each other then?’ Vincent asked.
‘This is Jean,’ Charlie answered quickly.
‘Well Charlie, it’s not polite to go pushing women around like that. You should show her some respect.’
; ‘We’re in a rush. Jean has to catch a train back to her folks.’
‘But I thought you were meeting your brother?’
‘I was,’ Jean stumbled, ‘but he got caught up in traffic because of the smog and Charlie offered to give me a lift to the station.
‘And where do your folks live, Jean?’ Vincent persisted.
‘Norfolk.’
‘This isn’t your place is it Charlie?’ Vincent said, looking up at the Victorian flats.
‘No. A friend of my mother’s lives here. I was just checking she was all right, what with this weather,’ Charlie said, with a calm voice which both impressed and unnerved Jean.
‘Mind if we pop up and say hello?’ Vincent said, stepping forward slightly.
‘Is there something wrong? It’s just I thought we discussed everything already. You were going to drop the car round at eight weren’t you?’
Vincent gave a twitch of a smile and glanced at Jean.
‘Everything is fine. But Newman would like a word. I came to take you back to yours. Newman will meet us there in an hour.’
‘He’s coming over?’ Charlie said, looking ruffled.
‘Yes. He wants to talk a few things over. We can drive you there in a minute. But I’d like to meet your mother’s friend if that’s all right?’
‘She’ll be taking a nap,’ Charlie said.
‘I just want to put my head round the door. It won’t take a minute,’ Vincent said.
They began to walk up the stairs with Charlie taking slow heavy steps. Jean could tell that he was trying to work out what to do but she couldn’t see there was any way out. They could hardly knock on another door and what if Phyllis opened the door. She wanted to run ahead and warn them but she could feel that Vincent was right behind her.
Once again they were standing outside the door to Elma’s flat. Charlie knocked twice and waited and then he knocked again. There was no answer. They waited.
Vincent came to the door.
‘What are you playing at Charlie?’
‘Nothing. Perhaps she’s taking a bath.’
The Smog (A Jean Clarke Mystery Book 1) Page 14
