by Susan Sallis
She put down the tea towel and the plate none too gently and tried to clasp Gussie around the waist. Gussie held her dripping hands high and turned, laughing but shocked.
‘Darling, what on earth brought that on? I like him immensely.’ She put her wet hands on the back of Jannie’s T-shirt and held her close. ‘It’s wonderful to see the two of you together. There’s a line of communication between you all the time.’ She rocked gently. ‘Yet you never exclude us. I can see he’s good and true, and everything you told us. We all need time … of course we do. He needs it to accept us – we’re not a run-of-the-mill family, after all – and we need to make room in our boat for him!’ She tried a laugh and held Jannie away so that she could see her face. ‘What was that about, for goodness’ sake? Are you just doing your drama-queen stuff or have you had a row with Robert?’
‘Don’t know.’ Jannie forced a grin. ‘Yes, I do.’ She picked up the plate and towel and scrubbed vigorously as a sign that everything was back to normal. ‘Don’t know whether I should tell you or not. I can tell you but I can’t … explain anything.’
Gussie emptied the washing-up bowl, rinsed her hands and dried them.
‘Say nothing,’ she advised. ‘It’s always the best way.’
‘No – no, it’s not!’ Jannie was vehement again. ‘However … absurd it sounds, we should share things.’ She busied herself with the other plates in the rack. ‘It’s just that something so special happened last night. It was fun, of course. I knew it would be. It was so hot – the calm before the storm, I suppose. Except I was actually asleep before the storm came.’ She glanced at her sister; Gussie was deliberately putting away the dishes, pretending that this was one of their usual inconsequential chats. Jannie cleared her throat. ‘It’s nothing really, just that it was so dark. Like Ned was saying, the clouds were building up. There was a bit of moonlight but no stars. But afterwards, when we were dressed, before we started back home, there were stars. Masses of them, right across the sky.’
Gussie straightened from a low cupboard, went to the table and sat down. Jannie joined her. They were conscious of the usual morning sounds outside; the gulls screeching and a cricket match getting under way on the harbour beach.
Jannie said, ‘What are you thinking?’
‘The same as you. That Mum and Dad are still around.’
Jannie whispered, ‘Oh my God.’ And then, ‘Thank you, Gus.’
She waited for Gussie to stand up and go on with the chores. Nothing happened for as long as ten seconds. Then Gussie took a deep breath.
‘All right. You shared with me. So I will share with you.’ She let the breath go and sat back in her chair. ‘You’re curious about Bamaluz Point, aren’t you? And it seems to be cropping up a lot lately so perhaps it’s time to … face it. It was there – looking out to sea – that I told Andrew Bellamy I was pregnant, and when I refused to agree to an abortion he pushed me into the sea.’ She ignored Jannie’s gasp and kept going. ‘You and I both know that’s not such an awful thing to do, but he didn’t know that and when I didn’t appear – because I was swimming into the cave – he thought he had killed me and he ran away. I miscarried in the cave, then when the tide went back out I came home. No one was here at the time – that was why I brought him to St Ives.’
She stopped speaking and looked at Jannie’s face, then said quickly, ‘Now you understand why Zannah tried to kill him as she did – by pushing him over the edge of a ravine and into the river below.’
Still Jannie was turned to stone.
Gussie said, as if answering a question, ‘Yes, then she saved him. She saved him because she saw what a poor creature he really was. Just as I had done when I saw him again that morning in Nice. He wasn’t worth another thought. I mean that, darling. He simply did not matter any more.’
Jannie swallowed visibly, then opened her arms wide. Gussie suddenly began to weep. She dropped to her knees and put her head in her baby sister’s lap and cried freely. Jannie said nothing.
The tears did not last; Gussie sat back on her heels and tried a watery smile.
‘It really does not matter any more, darling. It bonded Zannah and me in a strange way. It was just … the baby.’ She shrugged. ‘I won’t have children now, of course, and I would have rather enjoyed being a mother. Kate taught me so much … it’s rather a waste.’
Jannie’s face worked uncontrollably and Gussie said warningly, ‘Don’t you dare cry over me, January Briscoe!’
Jannie said, ‘I’m not. I promise.’ She swallowed. ‘Have you told Ned?’
Gussie shook her head violently. ‘He must never know, darling. Think about it. It would completely spoil our threesome. His anger – his disgust – would be … terrible.’
‘Of course it wouldn’t.’
‘Jannie! Listen to me! You have to promise me you will never breathe a word of this to Ned! Do you understand?’
Jannie’s silence was mutinous for just a moment, then she crumpled.
‘Yes. Of course I understand. He can be such a stuffed shirt at times.’
‘Never mind all that. I do not want him to know.’
‘I promise, Sis. I really do.’
Gussie took another of her deep breaths and stood up.
‘Come on then. Let’s go and collect the car and drive up to Zennor. We can have lunch there and go and see the Mermaid and walk to the headland – pick some blackberries. Yes?’
‘Yes.’
Jannie called up the stairs and then followed Gus up to the Scaife studio. She felt a dragging pain in her chest. She had wanted to know Gussie’s secret and now she did.
Twenty-one
AUGUST THE FOURTEENTH sounded doubtful on the long-range weather forecast.
The week before was grey and humid; the threat of thunder welcomed but never delivered. Jannie, determined to be optimistic, remarked on the profuse and brilliant patches of gorse encrusting the Island. She thought she would go into Penzance and try to find a suitably bright yellow summer dress. She became typically carried away by the idea: she would take the secateurs and cut a bouquet of gorse – wrap it in foil or something else protective – and be the first bride in the world to have a thorny bouquet. Gussie, reluctant to be any kind of wet blanket, tried to tell her that yellow wasn’t really her colour but it was Ned who decided her against a trip to Penzance in search of the dress. Without any apparent irony, he said, ‘Well, you want it to be different. This is just splendid. Poached egg on toast. No one can say humour is dead, Jan! Well done!’
Later that day she went across the landing to Gussie’s room.
‘Gus, I didn’t throw away anything of Aunt Ro’s clothes – you know, the ones Rory brought round that day. Look, this is her wedding dress, isn’t it? It’s so sixties! Like a long satin vest – totally plain. And gloves to go with it, and this little cap. If I wear it d’you think she might come? Shall I ring her?’
Gussie said, ‘You can try. I rather think the resurrection of her dress will make the occasion more unacceptable than before!’ She held the dress up and looked at it. ‘Try it on, Jannie. If it fits it will look stunning.’
Jannie wriggled her way into the slippery tube and smoothed the satin over her hips. ‘What do you think?’
Gus nodded. ‘It’s a perfect fit and it looks special. Different. There’s a sort of fishtail at the back. If only you had long hair you’d become the Mermaid of Zennor!’
‘Oh my God, that’s just right. Meant. Intended. You know what I mean.’ Jannie twisted around, trying to see the fishtail. ‘Let’s get the boys up here and see what they think.’
‘They’ve gone round to the studio. In any case, Robert mustn’t see you if there’s a chance this is to be your wedding dress!’
‘Oh, damn! That’s so silly. Rather like saying that Aunt Ro’s marriage went wrong because she wore this dress!’ She looked at herself in Gussie’s long mirror. ‘I am definitely wearing it. It’s great.’ She fitted on the pearl-encrusted cap. ‘What are they doi
ng at the studio again? They’re always disappearing round there. I wanted them to get to know each other, but this is a bit much.’
Gussie grinned. ‘I think they’re actually doing some engineering on Robert’s electronic hand. He’s had enough of Ned’s methodology, perhaps. It will do Ned good to help with practical stuff.’
Jannie pulled a face, then turned and looked at her sister.
‘Darling, are you going to be all right after the wedding? We don’t have to go away – it’s not as if it’s an actual honeymoon – just meeting Robert’s mother at the airport and spending a couple of days in Bristol getting to know her, and taking Aunt Ro out for a meal. Well, you know all that. It’s not important stuff.’
‘It’s very important stuff, Jannie, and you know it. It’s bringing the family together, making sure no one feels left out.’ She adjusted the cap slightly and passed Jannie one of the gloves. ‘And of course I’ll be all right. I’ll miss you, of course. You wouldn’t want it any other way, would you?’
‘No. I suppose not.’ Jannie wrestled with the left glove. ‘What about Ned?’
‘What about Ned? We’ve always got on well – long before you were born, I would remind you.’
Jannie stretched the left glove and shook it hard. Talcum powder flew everywhere. They both coughed and Jannie said hoarsely, ‘You know what I mean. You should tell him, Gus. It’s coming between you. He thinks you’re growing away from him because of Nine Eleven.’
Gussie said in a low voice, ‘You promised, Jannie.’
‘I know, I know, I know. And of course I’ll never tell him. But it’s there. You don’t even realize it. You should have told Mum. And Ned should take over from Mum.’
‘Ned is the very last person … the very last person …’ She coughed to a stop and they both took big clear breaths. Gussie’s face settled. ‘Anyway, I don’t actually see much of him. Really. He’s busy upstairs and phoning this Sven chap. It’s so right for him, Jannie. He’s coming into his own.’ Gussie took over the glove and began to ease a thumb into position. She went on in the same reasonable tone. ‘These are real kid, I hope you know. Before we all realized what we were doing when we wore the skins of animals.’
‘Are you trying to put me off? These are antiques. I’m going to donate the whole outfit to the museum after the wedding!’
Gussie worked in two fingers and sat back, grinning. ‘You thought of that just in time to quieten your conscience, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, but it’s a good idea, isn’t it? There are plenty of people in St Ives who remember that wedding – and all the fuss in the years afterwards. They’ll enjoy seeing the dress again.’
‘True. Very true. But you must ask Rosemary’s permission first.’
‘I will. She knows I’ve got the dress and stuff. In fact, she actually suggested I should try it on.’
‘She will absolutely love the idea of you wearing it next week. But whether she will be so thrilled about exhibiting it – I’m not so sure about that. It will remind people of her marriage to the local pirate chief.’
‘Mmm … yes. All right. I’ll save that bit until Robert and I take her out for a meal. Now can you peel me out of the gloves? We must give ourselves plenty of time to get ready next week, Gus. Dress and cap – fine. Gloves, time-consuming.’
‘Yes. All right.’ Gussie stood and began to pull gently at each finger. ‘Plenty of talc – that’s the secret.’ Her eyes met Jannie’s as she spoke that word. Secret. She suddenly enfolded her baby sister to her. ‘Dear, dear Jannie. You are so beautiful and so like your mother. Kind. So many ripples and waves on the top – deep and calm underneath – like the sea. Don’t you realize that telling you about that awful time has put it into its place? The past. Done and dusted, Jan. Honestly.’
Jannie buried her face into the long neck and concentrated on not crying. But before she let Gussie release her she whispered, ‘Ned should know, Gus. Ned should know.’
Gussie rolled the gloves carefully in their tissue. She smiled. ‘So that he can go and avenge his big sister – finish Andrew Bellamy for good and all?’
Jannie shrugged. ‘You say you’re all right. And I’m certainly not concerned with Andrew bloody Bellamy. But Ned, Ned himself, needs to know.’
Gussie’s smile disappeared. She unzipped the sheath of a dress and let it drop to the floor. ‘No, he does not,’ she said quietly.
They hung up the dress behind Gussie’s door. Jannie knew the conversation had most definitely ended.
That night she clung to Robert harder than ever.
He whispered directly into her ear. ‘I’ve never seen you cry like this, Jan. What’s happened? Have you changed your mind? I don’t care if we live in sin for the rest of our lives, if that’s what you want!’
‘I cry all the time. I’m known for being a whingeing idiot. And if you try to get out of marrying me I’ll sue you.’
‘Then that’s all right. But you don’t actually cry all the time, you know. You hardly ever cry. And your tears are very wet indeed.’ He used a corner of the bed sheet and dried her face. ‘Going to tell me?’
She pillowed her cheek against his shoulder. She almost told him. Then she said, ‘Nothing to tell. Except that it’s not going to happen – Ned and Gussie. It’s Gussie’s fault, really. She looks at Ned and sees her young brother. And he must see himself that way, too, because otherwise he’d burst through all the reserves and – and – pure silliness – and just grab her and – and – fall in love!’
‘Just like that?’
‘Exactly like that. All this living together and taking care of each other … He offered to cut her split ends the other day, for the wedding. And when she said no he was aggrieved; said he always had done and what was different now! He knows what is different now. And she must know subconsciously otherwise she would have let him get on with it!’
‘Split ends?’
‘Hair. Pay attention, Hanniford! She can’t just let the plait grow and grow. The ends of the hair split and have to be cut off and it’s not as easy as it sounds, and Ned started doing it when he was thirteen. Oh God!’ She rolled her face over and wept again, and Robert kissed her pale hair and was grateful that it was short.
The weather improved and they spent a day in the sand dunes at Porthkidney. For the first time since they had left Hartley, Robert took two sticks and with some difficulty stumbled slowly over the soft sand to where Ned had opened a special folding chair, higher than most. With exaggerated aplomb Robert hooked the sticks over the back of the chair, held the arms and lowered himself into the seat. They all cheered and more tears gathered in Jannie’s eyes.
‘I’ve been practising in the studio,’ he said. ‘Ned found the sticks and I told him about the therapy I do at Hartley, and he said, go on then and I did!’
Ned said disgustedly, ‘You even sound like Jannie these days!’
Everyone laughed again.
Later, they swam into the surf and rode the waves back, then there was lunch and a sleep. When they woke the tide was too close for comfort so they decamped and drove over the moors, looking at the ancient stone maidens, the quoits, the burial chambers. They continued down to Zennor and Robert used his sticks again to climb the steps and look at the wooden mermaid carved in a pew end.
‘Can’t imagine what anyone saw in her,’ was his comment.
But when they parked on the homeward stretch and looked across the patchwork of fields dotted with unidentified stones, he was more interested. He fished his binoculars from the map pocket. ‘I see what you mean about the glory gates.’ He fiddled with the adjustor. ‘There’s a sheepway across these fields and the stones follow its line … four of them …’ He panned his binoculars across the enormous scape of sea and land. ‘Now … if there were two pillars, one each side of the track, wide enough for a wheelchair … you’re sure they had a special place – a special kissing gate?’
‘We’re not sure of anything. It’s one of the bees your future wife gets i
nto her bonnet.’
‘It’s not a scientific investigation, Ned!’ Gus protested.
And Jannie said, ‘They always made a fuss about kissing gates – wouldn’t go through them without obeying the rules—’
Gussie interrupted again. ‘More than that too, Jannie. There was always plenty of kissing with those two. This was something else … something they saw – a view – a view that was special to them.’
Ned said reluctantly, ‘Yes, they were always framing views, weren’t they? Dad did it so that he could really inspect everything.’
Jannie said, ‘And Mum said it was like making pieces of jigsaw and putting them together. Oh my God.’
‘What?’
She looked round at all of them. ‘Supposing, just supposing that the gates of glory – the ones Father Martin and Mr Selway were talking about – supposing they are the – the – completed jigsaw.’
Robert grinned, all ready to laugh with the others, then let his grin die on his face. Nobody spoke.
Gussie said at last, ‘Was that why they jumped like they did – as if they were jumping into the sea?’
Ned said, ‘It’s rubbish, of course, but that last bit makes sense. And it was quite a private thing. Dad didn’t want to be seen getting into the water. Mum had to shove him off the chair usually. But we know they jumped off Clodgy at high tide. Often.’
Jannie wanted to tell them all that she knew and where to look for that precious viewpoint, that special glory gate. She held her breath.
Gussie said quietly, ‘That is how it was. I know it.’ She looked at Jannie and smiled. ‘Breathe, darling. You’ve been right all along. We might never find it but we know it’s there. Somewhere.’
Jannie let her breath go and still said nothing.
Ned looked at Robert. ‘Sorry, old man. All that wet fern and all those flies – all for nothing.’
