She rushed down the hall and slammed the door shut, hoping she bumped him somewhere, then she went on into the kitchen and slammed that door shut too and went on with the cooker.
All she had said was that she was busy. That was nothing to be ashamed of, nothing she couldn’t get out of. Nobody could take offence at that, surely, and Alice hadn’t taken offence. She had sounded perfectly happy about it. No harm was done. She wouldn’t go in again but had nothing to reproach herself with, she hadn’t said anything unkind the way Stanley was trying to make out. She would tell him so. Decisive, she marched out into the hall.
‘I said nothing unkind,’ she said through the closed door, ‘it was the simple truth. You stop trying to make something of it.’
He didn’t reply. She banged the door once and said, ‘Troublemaker,’ and went back into the kitchen. Slowly, thoroughly, she cleaned each hot-plate. Next door, Alice would have put away her particular cup, the one she had admired that had come from a pottery in the country somewhere. Alice always set it out for her, together with the plate with the flowers on that was like the first china she’d ever had when she and Stanley were married. No harm was done. It didn’t take two seconds to put a cup and saucer and plate away. It was just they were always put out so nicely and now they would have to be put away. What would have been on the plate today? Alice was very good at providing tit-bits, all homemade. She always told her not to bother but she couldn’t resist the goodies put out, especially the wholemeal scones. She raved about the scones. Nobody made scones any more except from packets. It struck her as so amazing and wonderful that somebody like Alice should make these delicious scones, positively crumbling with goodness. She’d often told her she was a marvel – praise where praise was due, as Stanley would say.
He was taking a long time, on purpose to annoy her, to get at her. She wouldn’t rise to it. He could sit there for ever if he wanted to and she wouldn’t care. He was in love with that lavatory and his blessed bowels, obsessed he was. His whole day revolved round it. He kept trying to discuss his piles with her but she wouldn’t let him, she didn’t want to hear. He could go and bore the doctor if he had to, that’s what doctors were for. Yesterday he had even tried to show her his underpants which he said were bloodstained and she had snatched them out of his hands and thrown them into a corner. He had no standards, no sense of what should be talked about and what shouldn’t. Later, when she retrieved them to wash them, she had been quite alarmed to find he was right. With great disdain, feeling this was something he’d no business expecting her to do, she’d soaked them in cold water and then scrubbed them fiercely.
She was busy all the morning, extra busy, justifying her explanation to Alice. It was one o’clock before she allowed herself to pause and wondered that Stanley had managed to restrain himself from coming in to complain lunch was late. Perhaps he had – she had been banging and crashing about with her broom so that Alice would hear her. He could well have come in and she would never have heard him. He mumbled so anyway, you could hardly hear what he was saying at the best of times. She took the casserole out of the oven and lifted the lid – delicious. The meat and gravy looked beautiful, done to a turn. She marched through and put it on the table, which she quickly finished setting. ‘Lunch!’ she shouted, and sat down. With great fairness she divided the best pieces of meat onto the two plates. It steamed and bubbled most gratifyingly. Nobody could say she couldn’t cook. It made her sick watching people buy terrible things like luncheon meat – luncheon meat! – when they could buy some cheap stewing meat and make a dish like this. All it took was slow cooking and a bit of this and that added to it.
Stanley was the limit. Well, if he wasn’t going to come she wasn’t going to call him again and she wasn’t going to wait. If he couldn’t smell that smell he didn’t deserve what was on his plate. He would come trailing in clutching that wretched newspaper of his and complain he hadn’t heard her. More fool him. She ate some of the meat with relish. Very good, very very good. She couldn’t wait for Stanley to tell her so. Up she jumped and rushed to the door, shouting his name. There was absolutely no reply. Angered she tore into the sitting-room but he wasn’t there. Surely he hadn’t gone out? Breathing hard, she checked the hallstand. Both his raincoat and his overcoat were there and he was such a fusspot he wouldn’t even put the milk bottles out without one or the other on. Surely he wasn’t in that lavatory again? Back she marched and hammered on the door.
‘Are you there Stanley?’ she called. ‘Eh?’ There was no reply, but to be sure she yanked the door open. He was sitting there with his trousers round his ankles and his head on his knees.
‘Oh!’ she gasped, and closed the door quickly. ‘I don’t know how you can.’ Then she remembered that blood and said, ‘Your dinner’s on the table anyway so hurry up.’
She sat down at the table again but didn’t touch her food. She felt dizzy. Clearing her throat, in preparation she knew not what for, she got up again and returned to the lavatory. ‘Stanley?’ she said, uncertainly. ‘Are you all right?’ She would have to open the door again. With reluctance, she swung it open. He’d passed out. Biting her lip, she bent down and lifted his face up. If she wasn’t careful she was going to knock him off the lavatory and-never get him up again. The mechanics of trying to look at him and get his trousers up without looking at him and the shame of the meat steaming to waste so preoccupied her that the awfulness of Stanley’s predicament took a long time to make any impression on her. Most of all she felt furious. He was a ton weight for such a small thin man. His inert body was so heavy and clumsy she could hardly manipulate it at all. It was only when she’d got his clothes in some kind of order and had him lying on the floor that she began to feel frightened. She wanted, rather late, to scream but knew she wasn’t a screamer. She told herself that firmly. She wasn’t a screamer. The lavatory was full of bright red blood which she flushed away with her eyes closed. What should she do? Phone the doctor of course. She stepped over Stanley to go to the phone, thank God they had a phone, in the old days you just ran for your neighbour. Her legs were weak. They would hardly take her down the hall. She was going to have to pull herself together. Trembling, she lifted the phone and dialled. They took a long time to answer.
‘Dr Thompson’s surgery.’
‘I want the doctor,’ she said.
‘Doctor’s out on calls, who’s speaking please?’
‘Mrs Pendlebury,’ she said. ‘I want the doctor.’
‘Doctor is out, can you ring later?’
‘Thank you,’ Rose said, and put the receiver down. She was shaking all over. ‘Oh dear,’ she kept saying, ‘oh dear, dear,’ and her hands were up to her face, kneading it. That damn phone, she hated phones, in the old days . . .
She flung open the front door and ran down the path, her slippered feet skidding on the thin layer of ice. She rushed along the pavement grabbing handfuis of privet as she passed and then into next door’s path and up it and a hard hand down on the bell. ‘It’s my husband,’ she was saying, before the door opened. ‘It’s my husband.’ When Alice stood in front of her all smiles and rosy cheeks and nods she just went on repeating it like an idiot, over and over again, and then she began to cry and clutch Alice and pull at her, like a dog unable to communicate anything except the terrible, urgent need to be followed at once.
Chapter Twelve
ROSE WENT TO bed that night on her own for the first time in fifty-one years of marriage, but she was glad to be alone. The whole day had been such a strain with all the different kinds of fuss that had gone on, so much coming and going and talking, talking until her very hearing seemed affected. All she had wanted for hours and hours was to be on her own, the very thing everyone seemed to be conspiring to prevent. Only Alice had been her ally, her protector, dealing firmly with the doctor and the hospital people and Elsie, all of whom thought she should have someone to stay with her. No, Alice had said, her clear voice cutting through the muddle, no, she wants to be on her own, let
her be on her own, we’re right next door and if she knocks we can hear. It had satisfied them, even Elsie who had looked daggers. She was on her own, and now, in the creaky quiet and the darkness, she could begin to go over everything and sort it all out.
She wanted to be chronological but no matter how she tried to begin at the beginning it was the end that filled her mind. Stanley, lying in that hospital bed like a shrivelled sparrow, his nose just peeping over the white blankets, his eyes heavy lidded and yellow. It had given her a pain in her inside just to see him like that, even though the doctor said it was nothing in the least serious. He’d had an internal varicose vein that had ruptured and caused a lot of bleeding and he’d passed out with the loss of blood more than anything. They’d deal with that and she’d have him home before she’d time to miss him. She believed them but at the same time resented their assurances. Who were they to say it wasn’t serious? They talked as though passing out stone cold for hours on end was nothing. What was serious she would like to know? And why had it happened? That was another thing that needed going into – he’d been going to the doctor for months with those piles, why hadn’t something been done? He hadn’t been looked after properly, he was just an old man and nobody cared. It was a scandal, it made her blood boil, it made her want to shout at them with their smiles and their arm-patting.
She exempted the nurses. They had been lovely, everything they always said nurses were, regular angels of mercy, so kind and gentle with Stanley and so sympathetic with her. Even the sister, the one in blue, had been nice to her when she didn’t know the ropes, no starch in her at all but sit-where-you-like and a cup of tea while she waited for them to see to Stanley. They had helped her get over her terror of the place. They seemed to know, without her saying anything at all, that she’d never been in a hospital before, not even to visit and that was the truth. She’d always managed to keep out of them, thank God. Just leaving flowers or a little gift at the reception desk had always been enough for her. The smell, the trolleys, the uniforms, the paraphernalia of illness, even at a distance, had sent her running out. When her time came she had resolved to die at home rather than be meddled about with in there. Now, of course, she would have to get over it. Stanley must be visited. She mustn’t shirk her duty, but even knowing about the nice nurses wasn’t going to make it easy.
Rose moved about in her bed. She knew she always looked untidy in bed. Tossing and turning as she did the covers all came out and some fell on the floor, and the rest got pushed into a big bundle. Now Stanley hardly disturbed his bed. If it wasn’t for airing it she need hardly have made it. He just lay there, rigid, his toes turned up at the end making a small lump, but otherwise the counterpane smooth and unwrinkled. When they’d had a double bed she had felt guilty messing the bed up so much when he lay there so neat. Often she would have heaved over and taken every blessed sheet and blanket with her leaving him totally uncovered, still lying there immaculate and immobile. At least missing him in the room wasn’t as bad as missing him in bed. It had been a good idea getting single beds, they had both slept better at once and she had regretted it had taken them so long to get round to it. Convention, that was all that had kept them in a double bed, convention and economy.
Gradually, she began to settle down and feel more familiar with the events of the day. She could start to remember things people had said and think about them. Elsie had said Frank should be told. Typical, damn silly idea: she’d squashed it straight away. What could Frank do stuck in Australia? The doctors said it wasn’t serious, so why frighten Frank? All drama, that was Elsie. Wait till Stanley was himself and heard about it, he’d give Elsie some stick. Trying to get in on the act, that was all. Who’d roped Elsie in anyway, who’d told her, how had she come into the picture? She must have done herself, she realized. It was that woman at the hospital, not the nurse, the one in ordinary clothes who took all the particulars, she’d asked about other relatives and Elsie had come up. She’d given them Elsie’s name and address, she supposed. Now she thought about it, that person had asked her if she would like her sister-in-law informed and she’d said yes because she’d felt it would seem funny if she said no. They caught you out those people, caught you when you were least prepared and then there was Elsie and everyone watching. They had kissed – well, embraced. Awkwardly. Elsie had drenched herself in scent. The smell was so strong and fresh that Rose just knew she’d rushed into her bedroom and put it on before she came to the hospital. She despised Elsie for that, and for the state of excitement she’d been in. It hadn’t fooled her, that little speech about being so sorry and anything-we-can-do. No, she’d seen through it. Elsie had come for the pleasure of it. She wasn’t upset, not if she’d had time to put more scent on. George had had more decency. He’d held her hand really nicely and squeezed it and shaken his head without saying a word. Actions spoke louder than words.
Inevitably, after a lot more going over jumbled pieces, Rose had come to Alice, which she’d been trying not to. Her debt was so enormous she was scared to look it in the face. That girl had been a brick. Rose could still feel the relief that had come over her from the minute Alice took control, for that was what she had done. In she’d come, into this house, and pushed Rose into a chair (where she knew she’d sat and cried but she wasn’t going to dwell on that) and then she’d lifted the phone and dialled 999 and given all the particulars so coolly. Yes, an ambulance please, a gentleman unconscious. No, I don’t know what’s happened, his wife is much too upset to talk about it. So authoritative, so calm, and referring to Stanley as a gentleman unconscious. She’d tell Stanley about that later. The whole embarrassment of how he’d come to be unconscious was avoided and she was glad. Then, in the few minutes before the ambulance came, Alice had been so quick-witted, packing a bag for Stanley – heaven knew where she’d looked and what she’d found – and finding the front door key and helping her into her coat so that when the ambulance arrived they were all ready. She’d closed the sitting-room door while they got Stanley into the ambulance too – that was appreciated. She didn’t want to see him on the stretcher. Had she said that to Alice? She couldn’t remember. Anyway, she never did. Alice drove her to the hospital in somebody else’s car. Whose car? She didn’t know, but it wasn’t Alice’s. And where had Amy been? She didn’t know that either. Alice had arranged everything. Is this your daughter the person who took particulars had asked? No, but it could have been the way she’d behaved, the way she’d looked after her. Who said young people didn’t care these days? Rose squashed the feeling that she had.
Kindness. Plenty of it. Home again, the electric fire still on, running up terrible bills all that time but the warmth was welcoming. Elsie and George sent packing. Oh, she supposed she had been rude. Well then. Wasn’t she entitled to be in the circumstances. ‘I can see we’re not wanted,’ Elsie had said, ‘though some people would have thought you’d prefer your own family at a time like this to outsiders.’ Thank God, Alice had been out of earshot, putting the kettle on, or her feelings would have been dreadfully hurt. Fine repayment that would have been for all she’d done, hearing herself called an outsider. Rose knew she’d deliberately raised her voice when she told Elsie off and said, ‘She’s the best friend I’ve ever had and just you remember that with your outsider talk. Now then.’ And Elsie had left, barely able to get out that she’d ring in the morning and if needed was there. Then there had only been Alice. And herself. Something had had to be said. Oh, she’d tried so hard to say it, to get it out. She’d struggled and struggled and sought for words but her mouth was full of saliva and they were drowned in it. All she’d said was, ‘Thank you for everything, dear’ – oh, so humiliating in its inadequacy! And dear, to call her dear! Such a sloppy, silly swipe at affection. Why couldn’t she have found eloquence? Alice had smiled and said, ‘Please,’ and shook her head and then the tea was steaming between them.
Further back, Rose instructed herself, go further back. She screwed her closed eyes up and clenched her teeth. It
was all a judgement, it had all happened because of her not going next door at eleven o’clock. There was no escaping the connection. ‘They’ had been watching. She’d been mean and spiteful and thought horrible thoughts and this had happened to punish her. She had spurned Alice Oram and kicked and reviled her and then this had been sent to make her crawl, to make her prostrate herself in the dust of shame. The irony was not lost on her for want of knowing the word. It was fitting, she saw that. Nothing could have been more just. She’d paid a great price for her nastiness and still hadn’t done. Alice hadn’t realized, though, that was one blessing – she didn’t know Rose was never ever going into her house again, of that she was certain. She’d covered up well for herself. Alice had really believed she was busy, which was a mercy. She need never find out. Only Stanley was in on her secret and there was no one more willing to forget than Stanley.
Everything had changed, of course. She saw as clear as daylight the trap she’d been about to walk into. She’d even laid it herself. It had been set up after poor little innocent Amy’s party when she had said to herself, I’ve been made a fool of. She’d thought she saw it so clearly. Those young people had been fooling about with her. She’d become a game, something to be taken out when things were dull. She’d got all puffed up and conceited, she’d been taken in and started copying them, getting big ideas, imitating them like a monkey in the zoo going through a human tea party. Stanley had pulled her up just in time that night when he threw his ballpoint down. She’d seen it then. Wanting white walls indeed! Wanting big bare windows! Wanting self-coloured fitted carpets in smart shades! Wanting pinewood in her kitchen! Wanting to have coffee mornings! And who, she had asked herself, is responsible for this ridiculous carry-on? Alice Oram. No hesitation – Alice Oram. She’d known there was something behind all that buttering up. A laugh, that was what had been behind it. She’d even remembered seeing her smile and wink at somebody across the room while she was talking to that Charlotte woman. She’d winked, proof as plain as you like. She’d scolded herself for being so slow to see it. Her love for Amy had blinded her to the obvious.
The Seduction of Mrs Pendlebury Page 17
