The House Martin

by William Parker

‘You are Teasdale?’ asks the young man with wrap-around sunglasses and dark curly hair who emerges from behind a tinted windscreen. He’s already opening the boot without waiting for a reply.

  ‘I most certainly am,’ I say, trying not to grab the door handle too quickly. He swings my case into the air, catches it on his thigh and expertly directs it into the boot.

  Charlie and Whippet sit side by side, watching me in the car as it backs into an alleyway to turn. They’re wearing an expression of concern and disbelief, ears pricked as they listen to the familiar sounds of abandonment. As the taxi pulls away up the hill, I look back at them one last time and chide myself for not saying goodbye. I begin to raise my hand in a gesture of farewell, but let it fall back into my lap when I glimpse the young man pushing his sunglasses onto his head and observing me in the rearview mirror.

  IV.

  Courtlands School, May,1968. The next day.

  I’ve got three photos of Mummy with me at school. They’re in my little blue album that I keep in the bag under my bed. It’s only a small one for putting favourites in, probably for when you’re going away. There’s only room for about ten photos, and I’ve not even got that many. There’s one that my dad took of me at the bottom of the stairs of the Boeing 707 when we were leaving Beirut, and another of my cat Nurbanu, looking out of the top of a flower pot and taken on the same day—the last one of her ever. I’ve got one of me on Abdul’s shoulders and another one of Granny when she was young and had a sports car.

  The first photo of Mummy is when she was a little girl, and it’s so old now that it’s gone quite brown. She’s sitting on a little stool in a dark room, and her hair is very short and completely straight—not curly like it is now. I think she’s only about four years old, but still, if you look closely, you can see that it’s her.

  Both the grown-up pictures of Mummy were taken when we lived in Beirut. All the best pictures are from Beirut, and the ones I’ve got with me are just one or two of them that I’ve chosen from my big album at home. The first one is of her on a balcony high up at the front of a beautiful house.

  I remember that day. We drove high into the mountains where there were huge trees and it got cooler and cooler the farther up we went. My dad stopped the car at some massive iron gates that were opened by guards, and then we went up a long drive to a very big old house with flowers growing up the walls and windows in the shape of arches. A servant in a white jacket opened the car door for us. Then, a very tall man with a moustache came down the steps from the house and kissed Mummy’s hand and spoke to her in French. Later she told me he was a sort of prince and the head of a very important tribe. He was so powerful that he could have people killed whenever he wanted, and however nice he was to us, he was also known to be ‘very ruthless’. That’s what Mummy said about him, but I don’t know if that’s true or not. He seemed ever such a nice man to me. There were two girls there who were his daughters and about the same age as me. To begin with they were very shy, but when I’d been with them for a while they started talking Arabic and French so I couldn’t understand, but it didn’t matter. They showed me all the rooms in their house—which was really a palace, Mummy said. There were rooms as high as the sky with beautiful Persian carpets and very low sofas and tables with great vases of flowers and bowls of sweets and fruit. In the garden there was a shady pond with a little fountain and some of the biggest fish I’ve ever seen in my life. We stayed there all day, for lunch and tea, and before we left we went onto the balcony so we could see all the way down the mountain. It must have been my dad again who took a photograph from the drive below. He took lots that day.

  Mummy’s very beautiful in it. She’s got a black dress on and is wearing a shiny white scarf round her head and neck. One of her hands is resting on the railing, and the sun’s shining off the rings on her fingers as she looks out into the distance. The Prince is next to her, and he’s looking at her out of the corner of his eye. After we said goodbye to him and his daughters on the steps of their lovely house, we got into the car to drive away. Suddenly the Prince ran down the stairs and put his hand through the window to give Mummy something. It was a little black box. He put it into her hands and said ‘This is something to remind you of the Cedars of Lebanon for the rest of your life,’ and she said, ‘Oh my dear, Prince, thank you so very, very much,’ but she didn’t dare open the box until we were quite far away down the road from his house. That’s when she got the brooch that she loved best of all her things. All the way back home she just stared at it in its little box saying ‘Oh my goodness’ over and over again, and my dad kept saying, ‘We’ll have to return it, of course.’

  The next photo must have been taken by my dad as well, and I think he was actually in the swimming pool at home when he took it. Some of it you can’t see very well because there’s a bit of dazzle on it and a splash of water as well. Mummy’s sitting on a chair right by the side of the pool. She’s wearing a white dress with huge blue spots on it called polka dot, I think, and her legs are crossed. One of her shoes is dangling off her foot. She’s got her head thrown back and she’s laughing and laughing. In one hand she’s holding a glass, and you can see the ice in it, and the other hand is on the shoulder of a man who’s in the seat next to her. He’s leaning right forward and looking up at her with a beaming smile. It’s him that’s made her laugh. Jerry Paxwell. That was his name. He was always at our house. My dad used to joke to me about it and call him ‘your mother’s beau’. Mummy liked him because he made her laugh. But you can see from the photo that he was in love with her. That’s what I think. Everybody loved her, though. He wasn’t the only one by far.

  That was in the olden days. When I close my eyes and think of Mummy, that’s how I see her still. I wish, I wish we could just go back to our old life in Beirut. Everything would be alright if we could just go back. I know it would.

  I’m in sickbay. I’m sitting up in bed, and I’ve been trying to read a book. It’s Peter the Whaler which is one of my favourites, but it’s not really going in very much so I’m looking at my little album instead. The thing is—I’m not really sick, so I’m feeling a bit silly about being in bed in the middle of the day when everyone else is in class.

  When Mr. Burston brought me back from the park yesterday, Miss Carson and Miss Newman were both waiting for me in the hall. As I came through the door, I started to get all strange because suddenly I couldn’t breathe and my hands went numb and there was blackness and stars in my eyes. I nearly fainted actually, and I could hear myself trying to breathe as if I was in the distance and not in my own body. I started to get more and more frightened because I was thinking that I was really ever so close to dying and my spirit going away from me. But it wasn’t at all the same as when I get my asthma because there was no wheezing sound. Anyway, Miss Newman ran up the stairs to get my inhaler just in case, and I did do a puff of it.

  They sat me down in the same big old chair that I was in when I was waiting for Mummy, and they made me put my head between my knees. After a bit I started to get my breath back, and I could see properly again. When I’d been sitting there for quite a long time, Miss Newman helped me up the stairs to surgery and sat me down with a glass of water. I can’t remember it all so clearly, but when we got there Miss Carson was already talking to the doctor on the telephone. She was listening to what he was saying for quite a long time, nodding her head and tapping her pencil against the top of the table. Miss Newman had her hand on my shoulder and was moving her thumb up and down my neck very gently while she was listening to the conversation. They were being very kind to me so I knew they thought that I wasn’t very well.

  ‘He’s fine now, Dr. Spears, much calmer. Much, much calmer.’ When she put down the telephone, Miss Carson told me that I was to rest in sickbay till at least the next evening, and that the doctor was going to come and see me in the morning.

  So that’s why I’m here. I’ve never been ill enough to be in sickb
ay before, actually. It’s my very first time in this room. It’s very comfy. There are thick red curtains that go right down to the ground and don’t let any light in whatsoever when they’re drawn. So last night, after Miss Carson said goodnight and turned out the light, I lay in the bed with my eyes stretched wide open. For a while there wasn’t the slightest bit of anything that I could see until I got used to it, and then only the tiniest bit where the curtain was moving in the wind. I like that, though. It’s cosy, like the house martins’ nests, or where the squirrels lived in the tree before it was blown down.

  When they brought me here last night, I had a real surprise because guess what? Jollo was sitting up on the pillow waiting for me! At first I was a bit shocked because I don’t really like people to know about him, and suddenly there he is right out in the open and sitting up all threadbare and tatty on the pillow! Then I was suddenly a bit worried about that because it means that they must have looked in my bag, and I’m not very sure that I like to have anyone at all see in there. But it wasn’t actually till this morning that I discovered that not only was Jollo in the room but my whole blue bag was underneath the bed with my radio not confiscated or anything! And that means I was able to wind up my clock like I do every single morning, and it will still carry on its ticking that started at home.

  There’s a rug on the floor, a bit the same as the big one downstairs in the hall but with more colours in it, and a wicker chair in the corner by the window with a red cushion that matches the curtains. That must be for the visitors when they come to see you, and so that’s probably where my dad will sit when he gets here. Miss Carson told me he was coming when she came to take my tray away after breakfast.

  ‘Why’s he coming to see me, Matron?’

  ‘Because he’s been worried about you, of course—like all of us.’ I tried to tell her that I was quite sure I wasn’t the least bit ill, and she said that was for the doctor to decide.

  I think I was a bit rude to the doctor when he came after breakfast. I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, actually. I think he was sitting in the wicker chair, but I’m not sure because I went under the sheets and turned my head away from him and was just looking at a little bit of the wall that I could see through the blanket all the time he was talking to me. I thought he was going to ask me some questions about Mummy, and I had told myself before that I just was not going to say anything at all about all the things that happened yesterday. He didn’t ask me though, but I just wasn’t in the mood for talking, that’s all. He was asking me things about whether I was happy or not, or if I was worried. He was using a nice soft voice, but still I never looked at him once. When the room went all quiet and I heard the door closing, I pushed back the blanket to have a look, and he wasn’t there anymore. He hadn’t used his thermometer or stethoscope or tapped my chest or put the air pump thing round my arm or any of the usual things that happen when you go to the doctor. I thought Miss Carson would come in and tell me off for being rude, but she never did. I heard whispering voices outside the room, and when she opened the door to come in, I was able to see the back of the doctor walking away along the corridor carrying his black case. I think he was the same one who came to give us injections last term. I recognised him from his brown suit and wavy grey hair. Then Miss Carson told me in a very serious voice that the doctor had ordered ‘complete rest for the whole of today and tomorrow.’

  The funny thing is that he’s not left me any medicine that I have to take, so I don’t see what the point of me being here is. I’ve not been sick, and I haven’t even got a temperature.

  Everyone’s in class now, and it’s gone really quiet. Surgery’s right at the other end of the corridor so I can’t hear Miss Carson and Miss Newman talking, and this is a day when there’s no cleaning going on in the school. It’s a bit like I’m the only person in the whole wide world. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing, though. Perhaps Mrs. Marston will come up and set some work for me or something. Probably I shouldn’t be looking in my album. I should be doing some schoolwork instead of being treated as a sick person.

  There’s a knock on the door. Perhaps the doctor’s come back with his stethoscope. I push the album away and quickly open Peter the Whaler. There’s another knock, the door opens just a bit, and a head comes round. It’s my dad.

  ‘Hello, there, Ben…’

  ‘Oh, hello, Dad,’ I say in a surprised voice as though I didn’t know I was expecting him. He comes into the room and closes the door with both hands so as not to make any sort of noise. He’s got his briefcase under his arm, but he’s not wearing his office clothes today.

  ‘Well, I say! Look at you sat there in the lap of luxury. How are you feeling?’

  ‘I’m fine, Dad. I’m not ill at all, actually. It’s for just in case, I think.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what Mr. Burston’s told me. Just had a cup of coffee with him. Quack’s been to see you, I hear…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Quack’s been. The doctor?’

  ‘Oh, yes. He said I was absolutely fine. There’s no problem at all but just to stay here till tomorrow.’

  ‘Good, good, good,’ he says. He’s nodding his head up and down and looking round the room. ‘This really is rather nice, isn’t it? I think you’ve fallen on your feet here, Ben.’ Then there’s a long pause, and I don’t know what to say.

  ‘I bought these for you,’ he says and he opens his briefcase and takes out a brown paper bag. I can see into the opening. It’s a packet of chocolate fingers. He stretches out his hand towards me. I stare at the packet for just a moment, but when I put my hand out to take it I’m just a bit too late because he’s already putting them on the little side table next to the lamp and the jug of water that Matron left for me.

  ‘You can enjoy those later.’ he says.

  ‘Thanks, Dad, I will,’ I say, and I can feel that I’m beginning to blush a bit.

  He walks over to the window and looks out. ‘I say! What a splendid view of the river.’

  ‘Yes, it’s really nice, isn’t it?’ And then no one says anything again.

  ‘Did you come in the car?’ I say so that the silence will stop.

  ‘Yep. Straight over the river. Marvelous, the suspension bridge, isn’t it? Saves hours and hours.’ He’s still looking out of the window, and now he’s put his hands in his pockets. There’s another long silence.

  ‘So, you’re feeling okay then, are you?’

  ‘Oh yes. Absolutely fine. Back to lessons tomorrow.’

  He sits down in the wicker chair for visitors. His hands are still in his pockets, and he makes a sighing noise like you do when you first sit down to show you’re quite comfortable. He’s looking all around but there’s not even one picture on the wall for him to talk about. I wonder what I should say now, because quite soon I’m going to have to ask him about yesterday.

  ‘Sorry to hear about Granny’s visit having to be cancelled. I hear you had a nice day out with the Harmans though. All worked out in the end…’

  I know I’m supposed to talk about that day now, but I’m just not able to think about it quickly enough. Instead I say nothing, and the silence fills the room like a balloon that’s filling up with far too much air and might be about to burst.

  And then I say ‘Dad…’ and I know that I’m going to ask him about yesterday.

  ‘Yes?’ he says straightaway. Suddenly his face looks different. I open my mouth to speak again, but nothing comes out.

  ‘Yes, Ben, what is it?’ He takes his hands out of his pockets while he’s sitting there and weaves his fingers together on his lap and starts twiddling them up and down, and his knuckles go white.

  ‘Why did the police arrest Mummy? Where have they taken her?’

  And then he tells me the story. I know he doesn’t want to say any of it, but he just has to. It’s like he’s taken a huge breath and ha
s got to say it once and for all. He doesn’t take very long and starts to use that same voice he uses in the study at home when he’s trying to get me to work harder. It’s loud, and he’s not looking at me while he’s speaking. And then it feels so funny because we’re talking about Mummy, and it’s been a strict rule that we’re never ever meant to.

  My dad says Mummy hasn’t been living at home since nearly the beginning of term, since just after I came back to school. He’d noticed some time ago that she really wasn’t coping terribly well, and so he’d mentioned to her that it might be an idea for her to have a complete rest at a very nice sanatorium that Dr. Scott had told him about. She hadn’t really wanted to go, but in the end he’d managed to persuade her. It’s a place where they specifically deal with people who are ‘emotionally exhausted’. Everything had been going fine, and she’d seemed much better when he saw her just a few days ago.

  But yesterday morning, she’d just disappeared.

  ‘She obviously decided she wanted to see you, Ben.’ Dad’s voice suddenly sounds different and softer, and he looks straight at me. ‘She just walked out early yesterday morning without telling any of the staff. They thought she must have gone for a walk round the grounds, but they couldn’t find her. The first thing I knew about it was when Headmaster phoned my secretary yesterday to say that she was due here to take you out for lunch.’

  ‘But I don’t understand why the policemen had to arrest her, Dad. She hasn’t done anything wrong.’

  ‘They didn’t arrest her, Ben. It was to protect you both. She’s been so unwell recently, you see. The police just needed to check that you were both alright.’

  I look out of the window, and there’s another silence but not a horrible one like it was before. And then I think about whether I’ll ever get to see Mummy again.

  ‘But where’s she gone now, Dad? Where have they taken her?’

  ‘She’s back at the hospital. Safe and sound. Getting the best treatment there is for her sort of condition.’