by Susan Sallis
So here goes again. No more horrors; no more feelings. It happened.
Dennis Lennard used to say, ‘Don’t look at me like that, it’s your duty, my girl, and don’t you forget it.’ Worse still, ‘You’ve taken her place, you look like her, you talk like her, you are her.’ But he must have known the reality of what was happening, because afterwards, his anger knew no bounds. He always blamed her. There were beatings, and then tears, and then recriminations and promises that it would never happen again.
She protected him. She dared not let friends come too close, in case they suspected that her bruising was not a congenital condition, but one of the teachers suggested casually that she might like to board when she began the two-year A-level course.
‘I understand you live with your father in the city. A long walk. Would you like the head to give him a ring about it? Boarding would give more time for studying. And of course for leisure.’
Dennis seemed relieved by the arrangement, and she felt more protective than ever. In some way it had been her fault. He had always told her so, and his cooperation over the boarding issue proved it. He recalled that Barbara had mentioned boarding at the sixth-form college before Vivvie got her place at Cutler’s. ‘I didn’t think that would happen any more.’ He avoided her eye. ‘I shall miss you, of course, but after all I’m away in the week. We might go to the pictures or something at weekends.’
She said, ‘It will be all right.’ She hardly knew what she meant. Definitely no pictures. Her one hope of salvation lay in never seeing her father again. At one point she considered trying to become a nun. But he must have felt as she felt, because he did not try to get in touch. She spent holidays with anyone who’d have her: school friends, fellow students, teachers. And when she got older took live-in holiday jobs. All to get away from seeing him. And years later, when she wrote to tell him she was getting married, his only reply was a printed card congratulating her. She and David had been married two of their precious ten years when she received a solicitor’s letter informing her of her father’s death. There had been an accident with his crane due to negligence on his part. Even that made her physically sick, and David took over and dealt with the correspondence. He had always been understanding. They kissed. They hugged. And she told him not to worry; she was free, now. But she was not free.
She had opted for teaching because it was what she had discussed years ago with her mother. She felt at ease with children, and she would certainly never have any of her own. She was good at it; excellent at allowing them to discover things for themselves. They liked her, respected her; they would have loved her if she had permitted it. She kept everyone at arm’s length until David appeared and simply ducked under her elbow.
She told him before he could get ideas. He said, ‘Nothing to fear from me, then.’ She had no idea where the goal posts were. She looked up impotence on the internet. There were different kinds; there were no rules. ‘You mean we could be friends?’ she said.
‘Loving friends,’ he embellished. ‘Someone to stand by when we have to be counted. Someone . . .’
He hesitated, and she supplied the next line in a nasal twang, ‘. . . to be there for you.’
They both laughed, and she had been certain-sure that it was impossible for it to work. Yet it had. Until . . .
I wrote that single word and then could not go on. I had been so absolutely sure that if any rules were broken they would be broken by David. Never by me. I knew through experience that ‘men were different’. I waited for David to kiss me as a husband and not a friend. We slept in the same bed up until the last few weeks. I never moved close to him consciously, even when there was snow on the ground, but I frequently woke and found my head on his shoulder. I moved quietly away. Just once he said, ‘Surely you know by now that I don’t bite?’ I think I apologized.
We were loyal, loving friends. As the years went on I relied on that. Until. And then . . .
I cannot go on, of course. The whole idea is ridiculous. It is half-term next week, and I am driving behind Hardy’s van to Cheltenham, where we are moving Tom, the twins, Maisie and Elisabeth into the flat so close to Montpellier. I am going to think about that. Nothing else.
Twenty-two
HILDIE’S CONTRIBUTION TO the day was a wonderful and enormous casserole of venison. Hardy had done some work for a nearby National Trust property and brought home a pile of venison steaks. Viv took two marmalade sponges and a sherry trifle. Maisie had made toffees for ‘afters’. Her new school friend, known for some obscure reason as Cumber, had helped her and assured Tom that home-made toffee was perfectly all right for diabetic sufferers.
‘I’m not diabetic,’ he said. ‘Bit worried about my teeth, though.’
Cumber sighed deeply. ‘Medical men always have to find objections to any food. Any food at all.’ She rolled her eyes at Maisie. ‘I did tell you.’
But Maisie said staunchly, ‘He’s all right. Honestly.’
For some reason Viv looked over at Tom, and grinned.
A removal van arrived with carpets and furniture for the bedrooms. Maisie had wanted all her own stuff, nothing new at all. ‘Home from home,’ she had said. She and Cumber disappeared into the end room and unpacked the tiny music centre. Music spilled over into the living area and so did the girls, dancing crazily. ‘We could have discos here!’ Cumber gasped, arms flying above her head.
‘What about the twins?’ Elisabeth asked.
‘What about my table tennis?’ Hildie added.
Maisie did cartwheels the length of the playroom. ‘Anyway,’ she gasped back to Cumber. ‘It’s my home! I don’t want that lot at school taking over!’
‘Don’t blame you. They’re pretty rank.’
‘Rank?’
‘Like. You know. Weeds and things.’
The girls fell on each other, laughing hysterically. Viv looked at Tom and grinned again.
Later, when tables and chairs and rugs had arrived, and they had eaten their fill and probably more, Maisie and Cumber made up the bunks in the end room, showered and put on T-shirts and leggings, which, apparently, were standard nightwear. Tom and Elisabeth fed the twins and got them ready for bed. The other three washed up and found places for everything. They thought it was time to go: everyone had a bed, and the enormous old larder was full to capacity, and everyone was exhausted. It was definitely time to go.
‘Not all at once,’ Viv said to Hildie and Hardy as she found a small cupboard that would do splendidly for the baby crockery. ‘I’ll go and say my goodbyes, and you can have another hour with them.’ She thought of the bungalow waiting for her in the twilight of this late October afternoon. Soon the clocks would go back and winter would be upon them; another winter. Two years since . . . the accident. A year since the arrival of the twins and the death of their mother. She shivered. Would she have to start running again?
Hildie said, ‘Can we come to you first of all, Viv? I’ve left my cardigan in your kitchen and it’s got the key to the garage in the pocket.’
Viv looked at her over the top of imaginary glasses; just as she had looked at David sometimes.
Hildie said, just as he might have said, ‘No, honest! And you could make a nice jug of cocoa for us, then we could go straight to bed. I can tell Hardy is on his last legs.’
Hardy was at that moment up a long pair of steps screwing some spotlights into position. ‘Poor Hardy,’ Viv commented. And went to say goodbye to Elisabeth and Tom.
Maisie ran after her in her night gear; through the living-room window and across the future play area and up the semi-circular steps to the lawn.
‘You didn’t say goodbye!’ she accused.
‘Sorry, Maisie. You and Cumber were back in your room, and . . . why Cumber?’
‘It’s her name – Miranda Cumberbatch. And we haven’t even got into bed yet. We’re going to sing to the twins. Cumber plays the double bass at school and she can make the sound with a rubber band and her teeth. She says it will soothe them to slee
p.’ She giggled. Viv giggled. Maisie said, suddenly sober, ‘It’s going to be all right, Viv. The most wonderful things have happened. First, Cumber. And then Merilees Harper. She does Eng. Lit. She knew you at your school. And she knows about David’s work. She’s going to ask you about a retrospective. Her name was Merilees McKinnon. You didn’t tell me you’d got a scholarship to Cutler’s. You didn’t tell me you’d won the Accolade for 1983.’
Viv was silent under this shower of words. When she spoke she said, ‘Merilees McKinnon. She was beautiful.’
‘She’s not any more. She was in a fire, and she had cosmetic surgery, and it makes her face still on one side.’
‘Paralysed?’
‘Yes. That must be it. But her hands are healed, and she comes to art classes with us to learn to draw and paint, and she’s still the most popular girl in the school!’ Maisie laughed again, a little uncertainly.
Viv hugged her briefly. ‘You’ll be all right with her. Give her my phone number just in case she’s serious about the retrospective. I would like that more than almost anything else.’
Maisie glowed at the words and the hug. Unexpectedly – shockingly – she took Viv’s hand and kissed the knuckles. Then, covered with embarrassment, she turned and disappeared into the house. Viv walked to the gate, located her car and got into it. Just for a moment she had a sense of a future; it was there, waiting for her if she wanted it. People like Maisie and Elisabeth; the Hardys; even, possibly, the unknown couple in the background – Maisie’s father and stepmother Margaret . . . they could be part of it. But she would have to do more than try to forget the past; she would have to absorb it in some way, accept it. No more running. Acceptance. And then moving on.
She wound down the window and adjusted the side mirror and took a deep breath of the air, with its hint of winter. She whispered into the oncoming night, ‘Dammit! I’ll have to write it out, won’t I? Just like Maisie seeing the Northern Lights in those straggling nasturtiums, I have to see something – something – redemptive – in what happened.’ Just for a moment she dropped her head to her chest and closed her eyes. Then she sat up very straight, wound up the window and put the car into gear.
The Hardys drew up outside the bungalow fifteen minutes after she had put the car away and let herself in. Needless to say the cardigan was nowhere to be seen. ‘It must be in the van somewhere,’ Hildie said, feigning bewilderment.
‘Never mind. I’ve the garage key on my ring.’ Hardy sat at the kitchen table; he did indeed look tired. ‘It’s been a good day.’ He smiled at both women. ‘They’re going to be all right there. That little girl will hold them together. And her friend, Cucumber, she fitted in like a hand in a glove.’
‘Cucumber?’ asked Hildie incredulously. Viv was pouring cocoa from a jug and slopped it on to the table. Hildie marvelled loudly that when the majority of people began to lose their hearing, they did just that. Lose it. Hardy had to be different, of course; Hardy had to add a syllable where none was. Hardy protested.
‘She’s long. And she’s sort of curved – that’s probably from playing one of those great violin things – and she’s green.’
‘Green?’ Hildie queried again, on a rising note.
‘Well, simple, direct. She don’t try to act like a twenty-year-old.’
Hildie looked at Viv. ‘He’s right. Do you suppose it was Cucumber and not just Cumber?’
Viv’s eyes were streaming tears of laughter. She said, ‘Her name is Miranda Cumberbatch.’ And they all clutched each other and laughed helplessly.
But the next day was Sunday, and she was due to see Juniper. The weather was good. She pushed the wheelchair to the lane and the wall, and they paused and looked across at the two islands and the Welsh coast. All of it appeared to be hanging in the pearly air a few feet above the sea.
Viv said curiously, ‘How would you describe those colours, Juniper? The sea isn’t grey or blue, and where does it end and the sky begin?’
‘Use your common sense, my girl. Them islands come out of the sea, so that’s where it ends. And the colours is all different greys. We haven’t found labels for all those greys, yet. The colours of the air and water. Them’s the colours you’re looking at.’
‘David would spend hours mixing paints to get the colours to his satisfaction. And even then he wasn’t satisfied.’
‘Course not. If he’d been satisfied he would have been God.’
‘Oh Juniper . . . there’s a chance, just a chance, that his stuff could be exhibited.’
‘Would that please you?’
‘Of course. He was so well known for his cartoons. No one knew, or wanted to know, about the other work.’
Juniper made a noise expressing disinterest, then said, ‘What I want to know is, why did you get that there door knob? Jinx did tell me you had it and gave it to him to give to me. That was a nice thing to do. But why did you have it in the first place?’
‘I don’t really know. I thought it was simply a token. Jinx said it was like carving initials on a tree. You know the sort of thing.’
‘It was more than that, my girl. It were my mother’s wedding lines in one way. She wanted a ring and she got a door knob. But it meant a lot to her, because it was all she did have. Cept me of course.’ Juniper tried to cackle a laugh.
Viv said, ‘I’ve given up trying to work it out.’ She paused. ‘You must feel I’ve . . . taken something that has nothing to do with me.’
‘That’s how it is, isn’t it? Dun’t matter now, of course, cos it’s back where it belongs. And it weren’t your fault – I’m not blaming you. Nothing like that. I just wondered . . . well, I just wondered.’
‘Yes.’ Viv sat down on the seat, which had lost a slat since her last visit. ‘What are you going to do with it?’
‘Keep it with Mam’s things. I did think I might get you to take me down at high tide and lob it over into the sea. But . . . well, it was hers.’ Juniper sighed. ‘It will go to my daughter. Afterwards.’ Viv nodded and Juniper added quickly, ‘Less you got any other ideas.’
‘Well . . . I did wonder whether it should go back. Just in case anyone ever needed it again.’
‘Ah. I thought that, too. But who’s going to get cement to set two feet under water?’
‘They never filled it. The tide comes over the top and drains out again. I reckon Hardy would do it. Hildie would persuade him.’
‘An’ if she can’t I will.’ Juniper looked very happy at the thought of a fight. She missed her wrangles with Jinx more than anything. ‘This time next week it’ll be dark at half past five. We could all go down with a torch.’
‘What on earth do we say if the police turn up?’
‘Easy. You’re burying me alive!’ Juniper cackled happily. ‘There’s always something to laugh about if you try hard enough!’
Viv stored this remark away for Maisie, and stood up, ready to push the wheelchair down to the bungalow and coffee. ‘I’ve got chocolate biscuits,’ she said.
‘Not allowed them,’ Juniper objected automatically.
‘Oh dear.’ Viv grinned down at the headscarf. ‘Never mind, I’ll eat yours as well as mine.’
‘Just cos I’m not allowed them dun’t mean I’m going without!’ Juniper tilted her head and looked upwards. And they both laughed.
Twenty-three
Vivian’s story
HARDY HAD CHANGED. I had always known that he understood how things were, that even his silences were full of implicit understanding. But now, he spoke his feelings more often.
He said, ‘Well, I’m not saying I won’t do it. And I’m not saying I don’t believe all this ghost stuff – Hildie has dropped enough clues for me to pick up that you bin having a bit of a time of it.’ He gave me a glance from beneath his brows, as if he expected me to collapse in a heap. ‘What firms it for me is Juniper Stevens. No one is more down-to-earth than Juniper Stevens – unless it were that John Jinks. I din’t know much about him, and I’ve lived near Juniper most of my life.
’
He paused for a long time. Hildie and I both started out holding our breath, but had to give up. Hardy believed in taking his time.
Eventually he put his hands on the table and said, ‘All right. Though if anyone catches us we’re going to look right fools.’ He looked at Hildie. ‘Do it really matter? Can’t you get old Juniper to chuck the damned thing over into the sea? You know you could.’
Hildie said stubbornly, ‘I dun’t think that’s quite right, myself. But it were given to Juniper’s mother in the first place, then – and this is the most important – it were somehow taken out of that wall and landed up on this very kitchen table.’
She, too, placed her hands on the wooden top next to her husband’s. She said, ‘I think Viv must have the final say-so.’
I had given it some thought, and felt that whichever way we chose would be all right with David. But Juniper wanted this, and so did Hildie.
I said, ‘I plump for putting it back where it was.’
Hildie nearly cheered. She said, ‘Tomorrow night there should be a decent moon, and it’s still dark early. We’ll bring Juniper down here for tea and load the wheelchair into the van, and I can stay with her on the little promenade while you two go down with the cement and the tools.’
‘Juniper?’ Hardy and I spoke in unison.
‘Of course. We have to be together for this.’
I almost laughed, because it was so obvious Hildie was going to enjoy the whole thing as an adventure.
And so it was.
We had tea. Juniper produced the door knob, and we passed it around, thinking our own thoughts. It would probably be the last time I would see it. I remembered it pressing into my chest and hurting that night when David and I had flowed into the air together. Like swans. Like the aurora borealis. Not for the first time I realized how privileged – honoured – I had been. I had touched the everything.
