Too Close to the Sun

by Jess Foley

  Grace, avoiding answering the question, said, ‘Well, we don’t really know him, do we?’

  ‘No, but – only he never speaks in a friendly way.’

  ‘No, he doesn’t,’ Grace agreed. ‘But maybe that’s just how he is.’

  They reached the rear door and went through into the kitchen where Grace filled the kettle and put it on to boil. ‘You’re probably hungry, are you?’ she said to Billy, and he agreed that he was.

  Grace began to busy herself getting food for their midday dinner. As she washed lettuce in a bowl she said to Billy, ‘Tell me, what did Mrs Spencer have to say to you? You were with her some time. What did you talk about?’

  He had just washed his hands and was now drying them on an old towel. ‘She asked me lots of questions,’ he said. ‘Questions about school and that kind of thing. She asked what lessons I liked best. She asked me how I hurt my leg. And she asked me if I was sad at having to leave here, and I said yes. Then she asked me if I’d like to live at her house.’

  ‘Oh, she did. And what did you say?’

  ‘I said to her, “Yes, ma’am.” And she said, “Well, we’d have to see about it.”’ He paused. ‘Are we going there, Grace? Are we going there to live?’

  Grace did not answer him at once. She would have to come to a decision at some time. And there was little time left. She thought again of the house. It was such an enormous place. What must it be like to live in such a house? And to have no more financial cares, to be able to spend one’s day without stress? And what would her work consist of? – accompanying Mrs Spencer on her painting expeditions and to museums – and being a general companion and helper where she could. There was no doubt that Mrs Spencer now seemed so much more approachable. After all the stress and pressures of the last months, Grace thought, such a move could bring so much relief.

  But she could not at the same time put out of her mind her reservations, her fears. And for the most part they concerned Mr Spencer. And she thought of him again, and his hand upon her arm, upon her own hand, the lingering glance as his eyes fell upon hers.

  ‘I don’t think so, Billy,’ she said. ‘But we’ll be all right. I’ll find a good job soon, and we’ll be comfortable at Mrs Packerman’s until we find a better and more permanent place to stay.’

  All the previous day the bonfire had been burning, but now, early on Friday morning, the flames were out, and not even a thread of smoke rose up from the pile of ash. Grace stood before the bonfire’s remains. So much had been consumed. She and Billy had fed it for hours, throwing onto it all the things that they would no longer need, and which were not to be bought by Mr Clemmer the house-clearer. So old shoes, old clothes, papers, useless bits of her father’s timber, it had all gone to feed the flames. Now, in the house, in the hall, stood a box, a small trunk and a suitcase – all the effects that Grace and Billy would keep, and which would be travelling with them to Mrs Packerman’s lodging house. All the rest of the house and workshop’s effects were waiting to be collected and loaded onto a wagon by Mr Clemmer. The day before, Grace had said her goodbyes to Mrs Tanner. The woman had gone off in tears, and Grace herself had wept again.

  Moving from room to room, after they had filtered out the things for burning, Grace had again felt tears on her cheek. The reality of the change was coming through to her: soon she and Billy would be gone, would have left the house for ever. It hardly seemed like their home any more. In the bedrooms on the beds the bolsters and the mattresses had been rolled up, the sheets and blankets neatly folded. In the parlour the ornaments and pictures were neatly stacked, and in the kitchen the pots and pans and china and cutlery had been laid upon the bare table, ready to be packed away by Mr Clemmer and his helpers.

  Some things had remained the same, however. Grace had still got nowhere in her search for a position. Two days earlier she had had the second of two interviews following responses to advertisements in the newspaper columns. The first was with the mother of two small boys of seven and eight, and it would have been promising had the family not been living in the village of Collerway, which proved to be so difficult to get to that Grace was sure that she would be spending all of her wages on cab fares. The second had been in Harbrook, but the house into which she had been invited had had such a filthy appearance, and the two girls for whom the teacher was required had been so loud and coarse that Grace knew that it would never work. Which left her exactly back where she had started – and she must begin looking all over again.

  Now, standing before the bonfire’s grey ashes, she knew that only minutes remained before Mr Clemmer would be there. And even as the thought went through her head she heard the sound of a wagon and horses pulling into the yard and then Billy was there, running to her, telling her that the man had arrived.

  Mr Clemmer appeared, driving a wagon pulled by two hefty mares, and accompanied by two of his sons, both freckled, powerful-looking young men, who were leaping down from the wagon even before it came to a halt.

  It was three o’clock before Clemmer and his helpers had finished. And during the hours they had sorted and packed, piling everything from the small house and the workshop onto the wagon until in the end both house and workshop were bare and every square inch of the wagon was packed. Throughout the whole process Grace and Billy had sat on one side on the old bench in the yard, watching as the men moved back and forth. And then at last Mr Clemmer had come to her and, taking out his purse, counted out coins into her palm, the amount agreed between them. She put the money into her own purse alongside that given to her by Mr Timmins and Mr Spencer. As small as the total sum was, she had never had so much money in her life before. Not that it was all hers; an equal part belonged to Billy, and in time he must have his share.

  And then she and Billy were standing side by side on the cobbles watching as the effects of the only home they had known in their lives was borne away.

  When the wagon had turned the corner out of sight, Grace gave a deep sigh and, with some trepidation, entered the cottage. She was fearful of seeing it without all those things that had given it meaning. And followed by Billy she went from room to room. Everything was bare. The floors were bare, the walls were bare, and in the rooms their hushed voices echoed, and their footsteps rang in the hollow spaces. A few minutes and it was enough. The place was not their home any more.

  ‘Billy,’ she said, turning to her brother who stood beside her looking around with a tearful, wide-eyed, bewildered expression, ‘let’s go and get the fly and leave.’

  Leaving their belongings in the hall, Grace and Billy left the cottage to walk to the far side of the village – only a short distance away – to the stables of the fly proprietor, Mr Hammond. He was out on a call when they arrived, but his wife said that he was expected back very soon. So the two waited together until, after some fifteen minutes, the cab came into the yard. Two minutes later, Grace and Billy were on board and being driven back to Bramble House.

  On arrival Mr Hammond helped load on board the pair’s trunk, suitcase and box, and then, with the doors of the house securely locked behind them, Grace climbed up into the fly beside her brother.

  On the way through the village Grace had the fly stop for five minutes at the churchyard while she and Billy went inside. There, standing beside the graves of their mother and father, the two said their goodbyes, Grace bending low over the earth to whisper, ‘We don’t know, Pappy, when we’ll ever be round this way again.’

  And then they were climbing back into the cab once more, and the cab was setting off. It was no good looking back, Grace said to herself as they left the village; that part of her life was over.

  In Corster the fly waited outside Mr Grennell’s office while Grace knocked and went in. Grennell was, as before, sitting behind his desk, and Grace noticed that he could hardly bring himself to meet her eyes as she opened her bag and took out the keys to the house. She placed them on the desk before him. ‘I would like a receipt, please,’ she said, and he nodded, and said at once, ‘
Ah, yes, of course.’ And straight away he took up a sheet of paper and began to write out a receipt for the keys. As he blotted the ink he said, looking up at her, a solicitous note in his voice:

  ‘Will you be all right?’

  ‘Will I be all right?’ Grace frowned. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.’

  He held out the receipt and Grace took it from him. ‘You have somewhere to go, have you?’ he said.

  A small ironic smile touched her mouth. ‘Whether I have or have not, Mr Grennell,’ she folded the receipt and placed it carefully in her bag, ‘ – I can’t see that it can matter at all to you.’

  He flushed, the colour rising in his pink face. ‘Well, I – I would not wish to see you turned out onto the street …’

  ‘The thought didn’t bother you before, sir,’ Grace said, ‘and I don’t see why you should concern yourself with it now.’ She turned and moved to the door. In the doorway she turned. ‘I shall not starve, Mr Grennell. And neither will my brother. And neither will we go without a roof over our heads. Rest assured on that. And as we shall not meet again you may also rest assured that I shall never again make the mistake of asking you for anything.’ With her words she turned and stepped out again into the sunshine.

  Back in the fly she gave the driver the address of Mrs Packerman’s lodging house and they set off once more.

  They were hot and perspiring when they finally sat down in the room at the lodging house, and they were grateful and relieved to see the last of travelling for a while. It seemed to Grace that they had constantly, since that morning, been on the move. But now Mrs Packerman’s handyman had brought up their box, trunk and suitcase, wheezing asthmatically as he did so, and after lingering in the room for a gratuity when the job was done, had left her and Billy alone.

  ‘Well,’ Grace said, falling into a rickety chair by the window, ‘we’re here at last.’

  She looked at Billy as he sat on the bed. There appeared to be no relief or gladness in his face. Getting up, she went over to him and sat beside him.

  ‘It’ll be all right,’ she said. She bent her head, trying to look into his lowered eyes.

  ‘Yes.’ He nodded.

  ‘It will be all right,’ she said. ‘Truly it will.’

  ‘I just wish we could go home.’

  She was silent at this. They could never go home again. There was no longer any home to go to. But he would accept this in time. Together they would make a new life, and they would be happy.

  There came a knock on the door, and the next moment Mrs Packerman was pushing open the door and stepping over the threshold. She had merely, she said, wished to check that they were comfortable and had what they needed. Grace assured her that they were fine, and were, thankfully, now starting to relax.

  ‘There is just one other thing,’ Mrs Packerman said, ‘ – the matter of the rest of the month’s rent. As I told you, if you remember, payment’s due a month in advance.’

  Grace had not forgotten, and from her purse she carefully counted out the sum and placed it in the woman’s hand.

  ‘Thank you, my dear,’ Mrs Packerman said, ‘it’s as well to get these things out of the way. When I go downstairs I’ll write you out a receipt.’ She paused, smiling a wide smile with lips closed. ‘And another thing to mention is that I don’t allow food up in the rooms.’ She shook her head. ‘Can’t afford to do it, dear. Start that and you run the risk of attracting the rats, and I like to keep a clean house, as you’ll appreciate.’ She looked from one to the other. ‘Though that doesn’t mean you’ve got to starve, does it? So what about something to eat, my dears? It’s after six o’clock. Have you eaten today?’

  Billy had eaten a pie bought from a shop in the town earlier on, but Grace had eaten nothing since breakfast. Well, they would certainly be needing to eat something before too long, Grace said. Mrs Packerman then suggested that she provide them with supper, which she could have ready for them in an hour, for very little extra payment.

  So it was that just after seven o’clock Grace and Billy found themselves sitting side by side at a long table in Mrs Packerman’s dining room, eating a meat stew and vegetables. The meat was stringy and Mrs Packerman hadn’t spared the gristle, but the vegetables were acceptable, and Grace and Billy managed to eat their fill.

  Later, in their room, Billy lay back on the bed, fully dressed, while Grace sat at his side on the bedside chair.

  In the light that filtered in from the lowering sun Grace looked at her brother’s face. He lay with his eyes closed, saying nothing.

  ‘I know this isn’t what we want,’ Grace said. ‘But we don’t have to stay here for ever. It’ll only be for a few weeks. And we’ll get used to it too.’ She looked around her at the humble furnishings, her glance taking in the bruised, scratched furniture, the cracked jug and wash basin on the washstand, the thinness of the blankets, the dullness of the white ticking on the bolster. That they had come to this, she said to herself. But she must not be despondent. She must keep a positive attitude, if only for Billy’s sake.

  ‘We’ll feel better in the morning,’ she said. ‘And tomorrow I must write to Aunt Edie and tell her where we are. Yes, and also I’ll buy the newspapers and see what advertisements there are for positions. I’ll soon find something, you’ll see. And I don’t have to be a teacher; there are all kinds of jobs that I can do. And when I do get something we’ll find a much nicer room.’

  ‘We could have gone to stay with Aunt Edie,’ Billy said. ‘She would have looked after us.’

  ‘No, Billy,’ Grace said, ‘I’m afraid we couldn’t ask that of her. Her cottage is so small, as you know, with only the two rooms. There wouldn’t be room for us, and besides, she suffers so from her arthritis. We can’t ask anything of her. Poor woman, it’s as much as she can do to provide for herself and Tippy.’

  She looked down at his face now, and saw his lower lip quiver. He looked full of tears. Oh, Billy, don’t cry, she said silently. She herself felt so emotional that she knew that with his first tear her own defences would go.

  Grace lay on the bed, Billy beside her. She could tell by the sound of his breathing that he was not asleep. She knew that, like herself, he was unable to relax.

  From below came the sounds of voices, of people going past the house at the end of the day. From further off came the striking of a church clock telling the hour of eleven. The cotton on the pillow beneath Grace’s head was coarse, and the pillow itself smelled slightly of singed feathers.

  ‘Grace …’ Billy’s voice, whispering.

  ‘Yes, what is it?’ Grace whispering too.

  ‘I can’t sleep.’

  ‘Come cuddle up a little. And just try to relax.’

  He snuggled up to her for a moment, and kissed her on the chin. Then, turning away, he lay curled into her body, spoon fashion, her arm around him. In moments he had drifted off to sleep.

  The night was so warm and Grace had awakened. Surfacing from sleep in the warm night, she scratched a particularly aggressive little itch about her midriff. Beside her in the bed, Billy had moved a little away from her, unconsciously, in his sleep, putting space between the heat of their bodies. He slept restlessly, tossing a little, his head moving on the pillow, hands rubbing at his body beneath the thin sheet. It was the heat, Grace thought, making him restless.

  She lay there thinking of the day past, of all that had taken place. She had seen the last of her home in Green Shipton, something undreamed of a month ago. And now here she was, sleeping in a strange bed in some cheap lodging house with her brother, trying to make ends meet and think up a future for the two of them. She reached down and, through her nightdress, scratched at her upper thigh, and then, drawing up her leg a little, at a spot behind her knee. She supposed she would get used to the bed in time, though it was nothing like as comfortable as the ones that Mr Clemmer had carted away that afternoon.

  Opening her eyes she looked around the room, all shadows and recesses in the pale light that crept
in between the thin curtains. The place would not do for them to live in for very long. It was not just a matter of it being strange, she realized; it was so different from the home they had known that she was sure they would never get used to it. She scratched again, at an area just below her breast, and noticed that Billy, in his sleep, was scratching too.

  And then Grace was lying staring up into the dark, eyes wide, and feeling sure that she could feel something moving on her body. Quickly her frantic fingers were pulling up her nightdress and touching her skin, and then she was feeling the tiny, firm shape – no bigger than the head of a hatpin – that had leeched onto her flesh and was gorging on her blood. She caught it between her trembling finger and thumb, squeezed it, and felt it burst between her fingertips like a tiny ripe fruit.

  In a moment she was moving, climbing over Billy’s stirring form to get out of bed and stand on the threadbare piece of carpet that served as a bedside mat. Hands shaking feverishly, she felt for the matches and candle, and lit a match and set it to the candle’s wick. Then, lifting the skirt of her nightdress she looked at her bare right leg in the pale light. She could see small red blotches up her calf, and when she pulled up her sleeve she could see more bites on her arms. She had been bitten all over.

  And then from behind her came Billy’s voice, waking, bewildered, irritable: ‘Gracie, I’m itching. Everywhere I’m itching.’

  And letting her nightdress fall she turned to him and saw him sitting up in bed, scratching at his belly and his thigh.

  ‘Get up, get up.’ Grace pulled the covers away from his body, and as he moved aside she took up the candle and held it over the sheet where they had been lying. And she could see them, the bedbugs, running from the scene, little dark, round, swarming creatures, all running for cover from the light and the cooler air. In just three or four seconds there was not a single one to be seen.

  Dawn came and found Grace and Billy sitting on the only two chairs in the room, both fully dressed. Having drawn back the curtains they had been there for hours, speaking barely a word, sitting side by side, waiting for the first faint glimmer of sunrise to touch the horizon. When it did, Grace reached out and took Billy’s hand. He looked at her, acknowledging her look of relief. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, pressing his hand, ‘soon we can leave.’