‘I was here all the time,’ Stanley said, smiling, ‘looking in the window.’
‘You were a long time,’ his voice said, close to her.
‘Where have you been?’ she shouted. ‘I’ve been waiting and waiting.’
‘How silly,’ Rose stormed, ‘as if I’d expect you to be looking in the window. Come on, let’s get home, sharpish.’
They got home. Stanley was breathless with the rush. Tea was slammed on the table. He ate his fruit cake cautiously. Rose, he saw, was apparently ravenous. She devoured four big sandwiches and two pieces of cake with impressive speed and energy. He cleared his throat.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ she snapped.
‘Nothing. Just a frog. I think I’m getting a cold.’
‘Oh, you and your colds,’ she scoffed. ‘You always think you’re getting colds. Some of us have things a lot worse to worry about but we manage not to moan.’
There was a long silence. Stanley knew he couldn’t stay at the table much longer. There could be no harder job in the world than extending sympathy to Rose.
‘How did you get on, then?’ he asked, determined to get it over with.
‘I’m going blind,’ Rose said. ‘There’s no two ways about it. Blind as a bat, that’ll be me.’
‘Is that what he said?’ Stanley asked, shocked.
‘It’s not what he said that matters,’ Rose told him, ‘it’s what he meant.’
Stanley digested this before he spoke again.
‘All the same,’ he said, ‘what did he say?’
‘I’ve got cataracts,’ Rose said, ‘both eyes.’
‘Oh, them,’ Stanley said, his relief making him forget to tread warily, ‘they’re nothing – half the Club have had their cataracts done, I’m sick and tired of hearing about them. A few days in hospital eating grapes and Bob’s your uncle.’
Rose put her tea cup down with such care that Stanley found himself mesmerized.
‘Stanley Pendlebury,’ she said, with dreadful menace, ‘never mention that club of yours to me again, or anybody what goes to it.’
‘Anyway,’ Stanley said, squirming, ‘it’s nothing to worry about. Cataracts don’t make you blind, not in this day and age. You’ve got the wrong end of the stick. Didn’t he give you any specs?’
‘Yes.’ She hated having to speak about them.
‘Well then, there you are. You’ll be right as rain when you get those. You scared me for a minute, Rose. Don’t do that ever again. You brought me up short and, I don’t mind telling you, I don’t like it one bit.’
She went on sitting at the table, her hands clasped round the cup she’d so carefully lowered to its saucer. Her eyes misted over as she thought of what darkness lay before her and not all the reassurance in the world could have consoled her. Stanley was not worth arguing with when she saw how emphatically she was doomed.
Chapter Nine
IT TOOK ROSE some time to grow accustomed to what she thought of as a death sentence, but once she had come to terms with the certain awfulness she must face, it gave her a sense of advantage that she almost relished. She never mentioned the cataracts again to Stanley – she didn’t need to. Instead, she developed a way of looking at him through half-closed eyes whenever he grumbled about his colds or his back or his piles that silenced him at once. He might have proof that cataract operations were as common as tonsils, he might know there was nothing to it, but all the same it was an Operation. Did he have an Operation hanging over him? Well then. Rose’s practised glare suggested both the question and the answer.
She didn’t tell anybody else. George and Elsie came round one Sunday afternoon – they must be missing Dolores – and she didn’t mention it to them though they remarked on her spectacles. Rose just said that yes they were a help and left it at that. She didn’t want anyone to know and start making comments. They would know soon enough and meanwhile she didn’t want sympathy. The only person she felt tempted to tell was Alice but she stifled the temptation. It would be unfair to burden a stranger with such miserable knowledge, though she was slowly beginning to feel that Alice was about as far from being a stranger as one could get. She was so considerate and kind, always so welcoming, and what Rose couldn’t get over was that the girl seemed to like her company. When Stanley asked what they’d had to talk about in there all that time Rose said everything. They discussed everything. He could snigger at the thought but he would be astonished at the range of topics covered in their regular Wednesday morning sessions.
Quite how the sessions had become regular Rose didn’t know. She didn’t admit to herself that they had until Stanley began to refer to her being off on her ‘usual’ Wednesday jaunt and she had realized it had become a weekly event. It immediately worried her that she might be imposing, but Alice made such a point of saying, ‘See you next Wednesday,’ that she knew she was not. How a young girl like that could want an old fogey like her for coffee every week she didn’t know, but for once she was not disposed to smack her luck in the face.
The first Wednesday she went – to return the jug – she had been so nervous again that she hadn’t enjoyed it, but after that, knowing that she had been particularly invited – indeed, that she had what you might call an appointment – had helped her relax. But she never acted as though she owned the place, was never familiar. She always rang the doorbell even if the door was open, as it often was. She always waited to be asked to sit down. She never settled herself as though it was her own home. Though she might unbutton her coat and remove her gloves she never, ever, took off her hat, however much Alice begged her to. She knew, even if Alice did not, what dangers lay in being too friendly.
It was exciting being in Alice’s house. All around things were happening at such a rate. Each week there was some new piece of decoration to admire or some new object to go into ecstasies over. Rose did not stint her praise. It was such a tonic to be surrounded by lovely things and her tongue tripped over adjectives she hadn’t used in a decade. Then there was Amy, growing so fast with a new accomplishment to demonstrate to Pen each visit. Rose learnt things with her all over again and had infinite patience in teaching her long-forgotten skills. Much cuddling and kissing cemented the friendship until Rose felt an icicle had melted somewhere within her. It troubled her that she could not give more to Alice, the source of all her new happiness, when so much was being received and she began to fret over the lack of balance in their relationship, without putting such a label on it. What could she do? Gifts were out of place. Should she have Alice and Amy to her house? Etiquette might demand that she should but she shrank from it.
Alice unexpectedly gave her a lead. She confessed, in mid-December, to a great feeling of boredom with everything – she felt so dull and lifeless and couldn’t be bothered to think about Christmas or Amy’s birthday or anything. Rose was quick with her advice.
‘You should get out more,’ she said, briskly, ‘a young girl like you. How often does that husband of yours take you out I should like to know?’
‘Not often. It’s Amy – she wakes up such a lot at the moment I don’t like to leave her with a babysitter. She has such nightmares.’
‘Leave her with me,’ Rose said, promptly. ‘She wouldn’t mind waking up with me here, not Pen.’
Alice was silent.
‘Of course, if you’d rather not –’ Rose said.
‘No, no – it would be lovely – if you’re sure it wouldn’t interfere with your evenings –’
‘It would be a pleasure,’ Rose said. ‘What’s the use of us sitting in there with that damn telly on?’ She had only lately felt free enough to swear in Alice’s presence. ‘We might just as well be here doing somebody a good turn.’
Alice again did not reply as quickly as Rose would have expected, but then she managed just in time to say, ‘Thank you – that’s very kind. I’ll see which evening Tony can get home early. You’re sure Mr Pendlebury won’t mind?’
‘Why should he?’ Rose said. ‘It doesn’
t make any difference to him.’
That was how she introduced the subject to Stanley.
‘It won’t make any difference to you, I should hope,’ she said aggressively, ‘but we’re going next door one evening soon.’
‘What?’ Stanley said, ‘Have we been invited to a do?’
‘No we have not, don’t talk so vulgar. We’re going to do that girl a good turn. She’s looking quite peaky so I told her to get herself out for an evening with her husband and I’d look after the baby.’
‘Did you now,’ Stanley said, ‘quite right too. It’s about time we were a bit more neighbourly.’
‘I hope I’ve always been neighbourly,’ Rose said. ‘I hope I’ve always seen where my Christian duty lay and that you don’t need to teach it to me.’
‘No,’ said Stanley, and, ‘Do a good turn, that’s my motto.’ He paused. ‘Only thing is –’ he began.
‘Trust you to object.’
‘I’m not objecting. What I’m saying is, where do I come into it?’
‘I knew you’d try to get out of it. Full of words that’s you but when it comes to deeds, oh no.’
‘All I’m asking is why me? I mean to say, it’s you that’s babysitting, correct me if I’m wrong, so what do you want me for?’
‘I can’t very well go on my own,’ Rose said.
‘Why not?’
‘It would look funny. And besides –’
But she couldn’t finish. Stanley always had to have things spelled out for him, especially the things you were trying not to spell. She didn’t want to tell him she wouldn’t feel safe on her own in charge of a two-year-old. Anything might happen. With that Operation hanging over her she might go blind any minute. She might, with her dodgy legs, collapse on the stairs. Somebody might break into the house and she’d be defenceless. The telephone might ring and she was useless on the telephone – somebody might want to leave a message and Stanley with his office training would come in handy. Surely he could see why she needed him without her having to underline her own deficiencies? Perhaps he finally did, for he never mentioned it again, beyond inquiring whether by any chance that young couple had a colour set? Rose said she had no idea and would consider it an impertinence to ask. He would just have to wait and see.
The night duly fixed was Thursday. Rose was glad. She had never liked Thursdays, but now she would have something to do. She made Stanley have a bath on Thursday morning specially. It was ages since he’d had a proper bath, she knew that for a fact. He got himself in that bathroom and locked the door and the taps ran for ages but she knew perfectly well he hadn’t soaked himself properly. This time there was to be no mistake – she wasn’t going to take him next door not sparkling from head to toe. She ran the bath herself and put a little T.C.P. in the water to freshen it and then ordered him into it. She would have liked literally to stand there till he stripped naked and climbed in, but he refused and she did not push the point beyond making a few remarks about trusting him and not being easily fooled and so on. His clean underwear was all laid out for him, and his suit and shirt. He could polish his shoes himself – at least that was something he did do well. You could always see your face in Stanley’s shoes even if the rest of him made your face burn with shame. He could do hers while he was about it and save her the trouble. She had enough to do in the circumstances.
Alice had said seven-thirty would be lovely, so at seven-thirty precisely the Pendleburys rang the doorbell. Rose felt a little tense and anxious, especially when nobody came to the door at once. Stanley put his hand out to ring again, but she stopped him. Once was enough. It was cold standing on the doorstep, and humiliating. The first doubts began to cross her mind. Well, whatever happened it had been her own fault, walked right into it she had, thrown over the principles of a lifetime . . .
The door opened with a rush and Alice stood there almost sobbing with guilt.
‘Oh,’ she gasped, ‘I’m so sorry – the telephone rang at the same time as the doorbell and I had to answer it because I knew it would be Tony – I’m so sorry – how dreadful to keep you waiting – please come in –’
They went in. The warmth from the newly installed central heating wrapped itself round them and made Rose breathe easier. There was a bustle of activity while Alice took their coats and then a moment of hesitation not knowing what to do. Stanley half turned to go through the wrong door and though she knew she had made the same mistake once Rose was hard on him.
‘Not there,’ she said, scathing, ‘the kitchen’s through here.’
‘I wish we had the sitting-room ready,’ Alice said. ‘It seems dreadful sticking you in the kitchen but I’m afraid there isn’t anywhere else.’
‘The kitchen will suit us fine,’ Rose said, pleased to be putting somebody at their ease. ‘We don’t stand on any ceremony.’
‘You’ll help yourself to tea, won’t you?’ Alice said. Stanley said yes at the same time as Rose said they wouldn’t need any. ‘I’ve put a tray out so you don’t have to look for anything.’
‘Very nice,’ Stanley said.
‘You shouldn’t have bothered,’ Rose said. Both their eyes took in the tray in the centre of the wooden table with all sorts of things on it. Stanley was fairly certain he could see chocolate Bath Olivers which he adored, though they threatened to split his teeth, and Rose didn’t need her glasses to know homemade gingerbread when she saw it.
‘Amy’s asleep,’ Alice was saying. ‘You know her room don’t you Mrs Pendlebury?’
‘Course I do,’ Rose said. ‘Don’t you worry. ‘I’ll keep popping up.’
‘Well,’ Alice stood in the centre of the kitchen, ‘I’ll be off then. I’m meeting Tony at his office to save time. We’re going for a meal and then to the theatre – I’ve left both telephone numbers beside the phone itself just in case you need me. And we won’t be late – eleven at the latest.’
‘You be as long as you like,’ Stanley said. Rose wished he hadn’t and frowned.
‘Right then,’ Alice said, but still she didn’t go.
‘Off you go,’ Stanley encouraged her.
Finally, the door clicked and she was gone. They both stood still for a few minutes looking about them.
‘They’ve done it up nice,’ Stanley said, admiring the white walls. He touched one to see whether the rough effect was paper or paint.
‘Don’t you touch a thing,’ Rose warned. ‘We haven’t been asked in here to leave dirty marks everywhere.’
‘Shall I take the rocking chair?’ Stanley said.
‘Take what you like.’
‘My mother used to have one like this,’ Stanley said, rocking gently, ‘and President Kennedy I do believe.’
‘Which do you fancy yourself as?’ Rose said.
Stanley laughed. ‘I don’t know that I could sit in it all night though. Here, you have a try.’
Rose sat in it but her legs were too short to rock it with so she was permanently thrown back. ‘I’ll have this other one,’ she said. ‘Here, pass me that tea towel there and I’ll spread it on the back. I don’t want to mark it leaning back.’
‘Should have those thingummies we have,’ Stanley said.
‘Nobody has those any more,’ Rose said. ‘They’re out of fashion. Things aren’t looked after any more, nobody cares about marks except me. It’s the look of things, that’s all anybody cares about.’
‘I wonder,’ Stanley said ‘where the telly is?’ He tried to sound casual and failed.
‘Don’t know,’ Rose said, smirking. She had noticed the absence of the box before him.
‘They must have one,’ Stanley said.
‘Why? Why must they? There’s no law saying everyone has to be glued to that thing night and day like you. I expect they read a lot instead.’
‘You should have told me,’ Stanley said, angry.
‘I didn’t know.’
‘You should have found out.’
‘I don’t see – ssh – listen – that’s the baby. Right.
Up I go. You sit here and don’t move. You’ll only frighten her charging about if I have to bring her down.’
The stairs made her pant, she took them at such speed. There were lights on all the way up but she clung to the banister all the same, not trusting her eyes. Outside Amy’s door she stopped. Didn’t want to burst in wheezing like that. Calmness was the thing – a nice feeling of reassuring calm. The crying wasn’t too bad now but she thought she’d rather deal with it before it got worse. Quietly, she pushed open the door and peeped in. Amy was standing in her cot, thumb in her mouth, her eyes quite closed. Rose crept across the floor to her and went down on her knees. Singing softly, she pulled Amy away from the bars and when the little body collapsed onto the blankets she pulled them up over her, still singing, and patted her back. The crying stopped. She stayed there a while longer, and then got up. It was easy. She’d always had the touch with children. Even as a girl she’d been able to get other people’s babies to sleep when she wasn’t much more than a baby herself. The midwife used to say Rose Carson went in as she went out.
There was a lovely smell in the room that Rose couldn’t quite define – a warm, powdery, sweet smell. She wanted to stay there, but she would have to go. Stanley could not be left to his own devices in a strange house. She pushed back the damp curls on Amy’s forehead and went out. At the top of the steps, she paused. Unmistakable sounds of somebody’s telly wafted upwards. Down she charged, bouncing on the stairs with rage, practising aloud what she was going to say to Stanley. God knew where he’d found it – it made her feel sick to think what trespasses he had committed – but need he have it on without any care or consideration?
‘Stanley!’ she shouted as she rushed through the door. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘It’s your favourite programme,’ Stanley said. ‘Quick, sit down.’
He was sitting a few inches away from a portable television set that he had perched on the very edge of the table. Rose leaned over and moved it back.
The Seduction of Mrs Pendlebury Page 12
