by Rachel Cusk
‘No,’ said Martin, loudly. ‘Can we just drop it?’
‘No, we can’t just bloody drop it,’ said Pamela. Her voice bolted with anger from her throat so suddenly that it made me jump. I could feel the sofà begin to vibrate beneath us. ‘Stella’s been very kind and left everything to come all this way just for you, and you can jolly well give her a proper welcome.’
‘Brrr!’ said Mr Madden, looking at the ceiling.
Martin had put his hands on the wheels of his chair and begun to rock himself back and forth.
‘You will damn well apologize to Stella!’ said Pamela.
Martin continued to rock, his head buried in his chest and his hair flopping to and fro over his face.
‘Go on!’ said Pamela. ‘Or it’s supper on a tray in your room! I’m not having this sort of behaviour in my house. I’ve got a good mind to send you back to the centre and you can bloody well stay there overnight.’
‘It’s fine,’ I interjected; I was, as you can imagine, extremely uncomfortable.
‘No it’s not fine!’ snapped Pamela, turning her angry, wrinkled face towards me.
‘Darling,’ said Mr Madden hopefully.
‘Sorry, Stella,’ said Martin loudly. The words came from his chest, so low was his head bowed. ‘All right?’
‘Thank you,’ said Pamela.
Martin muttered something.
‘What was that?’ said Pamela.
‘Nothing,’ said Martin.
‘I heard you!’ said Pamela, her body rigid beside mine on the sofà. ‘Go on, say it out loud, you coward!’
Martin raised his head slowly and looked at her. His eyes were positively frightening.
‘Silly cow,’ he enunciated clearly.
There was a terrible moment of silence. Then, to my astonishment, Pamela burst out into loud laughter. Martin’s eyes, which had been dark and narrow, dilated with humour as he looked at her and his mouth split like a wooden mouth into a huge smile. The two of them looked at each other, laughing.
‘When’s dinner?’ said Mr Madden.
‘In a minute,’ said Pamela, still laughing. She leaned over and pulled Martin’s hair affectionately. ‘You are a bloody nuisance.’
‘Bloody bloody,’ said Martin.
I had become very nervous during this exchange, and was gripping my drink and sipping from it as if it offered some refuge from the inappropriateness of my presence at a family quarrel. It was a great relief to me when Pamela rose and summoned us all to dinner. I left my glass on a side table, as the others had done, and turned to file out after Pamela. Martin, however, unnoticed by me, had spun his wheelchair around the back of the sofa as a short cut and emerged from behind it in my path. Fearing a collision, I stopped and let him go first. He didn’t look at me, but sped off into the hall, with Roy trotting heavily behind him. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Mr Madden dutifully gathering the discarded glasses onto his tray.
‘Do you want a hand?’ I said, in an attempt to ally myself with him.
‘What?’ He looked up, surprised, as if he had thought himself alone. ‘No, no, just go ahead, I’ll be along in a minute.’
In the hall, there was no sign of Pamela and Martin, and my solitary steps were loud as I headed for a doorway at the end. Again, however, I seemed to have become lost. The door opened only on to a cupboard, filled with umbrellas and coats and the ends of hockey sticks. I returned to the hall, and as I could see no other door but that leading to the drawing room, had no choice but to await Mr Madden. After long minutes, during which I stood agonized in the hall, he appeared with the tray, and I thought I saw in his expression a slight exasperation at the sight of me.
‘Lost again,’ I said quickly, with a laugh.
‘We’ll have to draw you a map, won’t we?’ he replied, really quite cheerfully. ‘We’re eating in the kitchen tonight, I think. It’s through here.’
I concentrated closely, not wishing to be so foolish again. Mr Madden pushed with his shoulder against the wall on the right, and as he did so I saw my mistake. Part of the wall was in fact a door, panelled with dark wood like the rest of the wall and thus camouflaged from view. Also, it had no handle, being a swinging door, which was why Mr Madden had been able to open it by pressure from his shoulder. I followed him through it and it swung shut behind me. We were now in a dark antechamber. Mr Madden opened the door directly in front of him, and there we were in the bright kitchen. Pamela and Martin were at one end of it, close together as if they had been talking. They were not talking now. Pamela looked around and smiled. There was something in her smile, taking in both of us as it did, which unnerved me.
‘Oh, there you are,’ she said.
We ate at the large kitchen table, myself and Mr Madden on one side, Pamela and Martin, who ate with his wheelchair drawn up to the table, on the other. The food was excellent – country food, I suppose you would call it, in that it was quite plain – and with it we drank red wine. I cannot tell you how much I drank, for Mr Madden seemed to be refilling my glass without my really taking account of it, but after a while I felt less nervous and rather remote. I wondered whether I would always eat with the Maddens, and decided straight away that I would not – my cottage had its own kitchen, after all, and I remembered something Pamela had said about coming over in the evening and watching television if I wanted to, which sounded more like the exception than the rule. It then occurred to me that the meal might be docked from my wages, and I experienced considerable anxiety attempting to estimate its value. I realized then that the Maddens hadn’t made my position quite clear to me. In my mind I recalled the advertisement anew – I could remember it word for word – and found it interesting to notice how different the few lines I had scanned so closely for clues seemed to me now that I was actually here.
WANTED: Kind, intelligent and considerate girl to help parents with their disabled son. A good companion is mainly required, but there will also be some menial duties. Aptitude for the country life an advantage. Driving licence essential. Accommodation and small salary provided, as well as one free day per week.
We had progressed to the gooseberry pie by now, and seeing the advertisement as if before my eyes I began to choke on a mouthful of it. I had, unfortunately, received a shock at the very moment when a large piece of pastry was making its way down my throat, and with the surprise it lodged there, causing me to cough loudly. There was a clatter as the assembled company laid down their spoons.
‘Goodness!’ said Pamela.
‘Hold still!’ said Mr Madden, grabbing my arm firmly.
‘Give her a good slap,’ said Pamela.
Mr Madden administered a firm pat to my back and the piece of pastry flew into my mouth. I closed my Ups tightly to prevent it from travelling out onto the table, and managed awkwardly to swallow it.
‘All right?’ said Mr Madden.
‘I’m fine,’ I said, coughing slightly. My eyes were watering. The imprint of Mr Madden’s fingers remained warm on my arm. ‘Thank you.’
As you can imagine, I was mortified by my performance, even though the Maddens had been very kind; except for Martin, whose eyes I had felt unmoved upon me as I choked. There was something malevolent in his gaze which turned even the smallest and most natural gesture into a false act. There was a flutter around the table, nevertheless, as a result of my accident, and in these distracted seconds I was able to return undetected to my contemplation of what had precipitated it. The fact was that I had no driving licence. Of course, it occurred to me that I might have misremembered the advertisement, for my ability to drive had not actually been mentioned by the Maddens in my dealings with them thus far; but in my heart, I was sure that the words I had recalled were correct. I found it hard to picture my original reading of the fatal fact; or rather, I remembered it glancingly, like something casually and unconsciously witnessed which later becomes crucial evidence. I shook and dredged my memory, wanting more from it than it seemed to contain. I had just, I supposed, trodden the requirem
ent underfoot in my great hurry for the job; and the Maddens had, of course, assumed that I wouldn’t be applying for it at all had I not possessed the specification which was, though ‘essential’, too mundane to mention.
Horror upon horror unfolded in my thoughts as I considered the consequences, and had the Maddens not now been engaged in a lively conversation on another matter, I believe I would have confessed my deception there and then. As I have often found to be the case, however, having missed my moment I found myself less and less able as every second passed to hold on to the courage necessary to an act of assertion. This first compromise with falsehood led to others, and as one minute became ten I found my revulsion for untruth slowly settle into a sly accommodation with it. I was already thinking how I could get around the obstacle without actually declaring it, and as my mind was working in this devious manner Pamela looked at her watch.
‘Bedtime for you, young man,’ she said. She stood up and began piling plates on top of one another. Roy, perhaps with the hope of availing himself of the meal’s detritus, issued from his basket and drew sniffing to the table.
‘Why?’ wailed Martin, fondling his muzzle. ‘It’s still early!’
‘I’ll take him up,’ said Mr Madden, stretching his large frame and yawning. He got up and, pushing back his chair and walking round to the other side of the table, grasped the handles of Martin’s wheelchair. From my seat I could see them both, father and son, and although Martin appeared to submit willingly to the prospect of his removal, this sudden vision of his dependence aroused my pity. For a moment I forgot my troubles, feeling nothing but shame for my early dislike of the boy. His eyes met mine, and seeing as Pamela was distracted by the clearing of plates I risked giving him as kind a smile as I could summon. After the smile had been there for some time, I saw that he was not going to smile back. Then, to my dismay, he put out his tongue; quite slowly, and not at all secretively, as if he didn’t care who saw him do it. His tongue was long and thick, like a dog’s, and I found it difficult to dislodge the memory of it even after he had replaced it in his mouth.
‘Goodnight, darling,’ said Pamela, bending down from behind him to deposit a kiss upon his head. An unpleasant smirk appeared on Martin’s face. Mr Madden began wheeling him towards the door. ‘Say goodnight to Stella, you rascal!’ cried Pamela.
‘Goodnight, Stella!’ called Martin mockingly from the door, without turning his head.
I stood up and began clearing plates from the table. I was desperate to be away from the house and on my own; parched of my own company, I felt as if I could drink down hour after hour of solitude. To my disgust, I saw that Roy had risen on his hind legs and was licking the insides of the dishes on the sideboard.
‘Oh, you revolting creature,’ said Pamela genially, apparently with no intention of stopping him. ‘Don’t worry about Martin,’ she added, to me. I saw that she liked to think of herself as being able to read other people’s minds. ‘He’s a little monkey. He likes to give everyone a real going-over before he lets them anywhere near him. He’ll be devoted to you before long, I promise you.’
‘I liked him,’ I said, weakly.
‘That’s very sweet of you,’ said Pamela. ‘He’s a dear boy. He can be very rewarding.’ She turned around abruptly and caught me leaning against the table. ‘Poor Stella, you must be exhausted after an evening in this madhouse. Why don’t you just turn in?’
‘I ought to help,’ I said, hoping that she would refuse.
‘Don’t be silly. Piers loves fussing about down here late into the night. He contemplates the meaning of life and all that. We’ll just put everything in the sink for him.’
Almost resentfully, I resumed my clearing. Seeing my opportunity, however, I decided that this might be the time to approach Pamela about my duties.
‘What time shall I be here tomorrow?’ I said.
‘Tomorrow?’ Pamela looked surprised. ‘We aren’t expecting you tomorrow. It’s your day off on Sunday.’
‘Oh,’ I said, overwhelmed by relief.
‘Of course, you’re free to wander over. We’ll be having people for lunch, but you can come and go as you please. You’ll probably want a day to yourself just to get your bearings.’
‘All right.’
‘On Monday we’ll start properly. Martin’s usually raring to go by about eight thirty. Poor Stella!’ she said. Pamela was remarkably self-sufficient in conversation, and seemed to require few prompts from her interlocutor. ‘We haven’t really explained anything to you, have we? It’s all been such a rush, I can’t quite keep track of things.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. Hearing my own voice, I was shocked by how terribly dull I sounded. ‘It’ll all work itself out.’
‘But it won’t!’ said Pamela sharply. ‘Don’t you see that with a boy like Martin, things can’t just be left to work themselves out? It all has to be carefully planned and considered. He’s quite helpless without us, and he needs his routines, so don’t think that we can just muddle along somehow, or work it out, as you say, as we go along.’
Things had suddenly, and without my quite knowing how, taken a turn. I felt my heart begin to pound again with embarrassment and anxiety. Pamela did not appear to be entirely in control of herself.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘Well,’ said Pamela, unkindly. ‘Just so long as we understand one another.’
‘If you could just tell me,’ I continued, close to tears, ‘what exactly his routines are, then I’ll find things much easier.’
This comment was clearly spoken in my own defence, making it evident to Pamela that it was through her fault, not mine, that my sense of my own duties was muddled. I had judged her to be a good-natured woman, but whether through tiredness or simply the wearing off of her initial veneer of politeness, I now saw that she had somehow become committed to a brittle and ill-tempered mood which my very presence was guaranteed to inflame. Even her figure seemed to have taken on sharp edges and angles, and as she spoke she gestured quite violently with her thin hands.
‘Stella, I really didn’t expect to have to mollycoddle you and lead you by the hand every minute of the day. We need to have someone here to help us, not double the load. If you don’t think you’re going to be up to it, and be able to take responsibility, then you’d better tell me now rather than later.’
‘Mrs Madden,’ I said. The evening had taken on a surreal character. I was unable even to gauge my own mood, and just then had no idea of what I might do. We had both, I remembered, been drinking, and I for one felt no confidence in my ability to keep my temper. ‘I think you might be getting things a bit out of proportion.’
It really seemed possible, in that moment, that I might have a fight with Pamela. The lateness of the hour, the featureless darkness outside the kitchen windows, the despoilt table and blur of food and drink; all this, as well as our unfamiliarity with each other, seemed to permit anything. She wouldn’t look at me, and was furiously busying herself at the sink. ‘I don’t see how I can take responsibility if you haven’t explained what you expect of me. Perhaps,’ I said, ‘we had better both just go to bed, and talk it all through in the morning.’
Pamela did not reply.
‘Would that be all right?’ I persisted.
‘Look,’ she barked suddenly, her back still to me. She stopped what she was doing and leaned with both her hands on the kitchen counter, her head down. Her shoulders were rigid. ‘Just be here at eight thirty on Monday. Do you think you can manage that?’
‘Yes,’ I said. I was both furious and upset. I could not understand how all this had taken place. ‘Goodnight.’
She said nothing, and did not turn around. I hurriedly left the kitchen, and through some stroke of instinct or good luck found myself immediately outside on the gravel path. I ran along beside the hedges in the dark, my heart jammed against my ribs, my breath heaving in my mouth, my head awash with confusion. The black mass of trees flew by me and sud
denly I was at the cottage gate and then through it, and then thudding up the path to the door. I opened the door and slammed it behind me and tore up the narrow stairs, without switching on the light, to my bedroom. There, in the dark, I threw myself upon the bed and wept.
Chapter Five
Some time later – perhaps only three or four hours, I thought, as it was still dark (it was late July and the mornings came early) – I woke up. I was very confused when I opened my eyes. I did not recognize my surroundings; partly because they were unfamiliar to me, and partly because the darkness of the countryside is far blacker than that of town. Indeed, for a few moments I was quite terrified, for when my eyes opened I appeared to see nothing more than when they had been shut. I opened and shut them a few times, unable to transcend my need to apprehend the physical world. I was lodged so deeply inside myself that my consciousness was in that moment but a simple junction of the senses, like that of an animal. I thought at first that I had gone blind, and then that I was dead and in my own grave. Presendy I heard a faint rustling of leaves outside my window, and from this single clue was able slowly to piece together my circumstances.
This process was arduous, and as each block was put in place I felt as if I were struggling beneath an increasing burden, like a packhorse being loaded up with cargo. I began with the fact that I was lying in a strange bed wearing my nightdress. Struggling to remember changing into this nightdress, I came instead on a recollection of lying crying on the bed, and with a contraction of the heart plunged anew into the terrible scene with Pamela, which was webbed in my thoughts with the viscous confusion of a dream. It took me some time to disentangle its reality, but finally I possessed it in all its terrible clarity. Like an awful jewel, I worked it into the setting of the day before, the arrival at Franchise Farm, my first meeting with the Maddens, the cottage where now I lay. Monumental as all this already seemed, it lacked, I felt, the sinister adhesive of truth. There was more to my misery; but unable to bear the thought of being roused further from the anaesthetic of confusion, I attempted to coax myself back into ignorance and sleep. The face of the boy, Martin, sprang upon me, however, like that of a ghoul. My eyes snapped open again, and the tide of an irresistible alertness rose in my stomach.
