‘That looks a good pie,’ he said.
‘Well it won’t be if you get in the way.’
He smiled, relieved, and full of courage said, ‘Do you want me to get some new glass?’
‘Glass? What for?’
‘That broken window pane you were worried about.’
‘What broken window pane?’
There was no doubting her mystification.
‘Never mind,’ he said.
‘Riddles this morning,’ she said, sniffing. ‘Keep them to yourself when I’m busy.’
Stanley was immensely reassured. All Rose was suffering from was a little brain-storm now and again. The thing to do was to keep her busy and yet calm and just deal with things as they came and she would get over them. It helped him tremendously to come to this conclusion – slow, steady, dependable, that was the technique and it suited his nature admirably. Whenever she shouted, whatever disaster she claimed to have uncovered, he went to her side and exclaimed with her and then by degrees, promising to mend or restore whatever it was, he led her on to doing some simple household task that would take her mind off things. It worked very well but it took its toll: he felt drained after each struggle and in desperate need of comfort himself.
It was to satisfy this need that Stanley kept going to the Club on Tuesday afternoons. He only stayed one hour instead of two but it bucked him up no end. He never talked about Rose, of course, never uttered a word. People made remarks about him looking off colour but he just let them. It was very important that nobody should know how worried he was just at the thought of leaving Rose unguarded for even an hour. Before he left he always tried to make sure she was busy, actually suggesting little jobs to her so that if she had been fully herself she would have bitten his head off. He liked her to be washing clothes or tidying drawers or ironing or something like that. What he didn’t like was her just sitting and staring waiting for him to go. He couldn’t leave when she was like that – it was quite impossible. He had to hang on till she took something up or else not go at all, however much he wanted to. The prospect of what he might come back to was too inhibiting.
He knew, one Tuesday afternoon in the middle of March, that he shouldn’t go. Rose had done nothing all morning. There’d been a power cut from six a.m. to nine a.m. and another scheduled for noon to three p.m. So he hadn’t bothered trying to get her up. It was sleeting as they lay in bed, last night’s hot water bottles cold and clammy at their feet and their breath coming in frosty gasps. No point in getting up until the fire came on and the cooker and the kettle so they could make something to warm themselves up. They said on the wireless you shouldn’t leave electric appliances on during a cut, especially at night time, but they ignored that. If the fire was burning half the night then well and good. They were entitled to any heat they could get.
About half past ten Stanley came out of a lovely sleep and got up and took Rose some tea. No thanks, of course. She just lay there staring at the sleet and he left her alone and went downstairs and got some bacon going, hoping the delicious smell would bring her down, but it didn’t. He shouted up, at half past eleven, that if she didn’t look sharp the next cut would be on and she’d miss the lovely warm, but his warning had no effect. She seemed to wait till the very minute the red bars faded to black before she appeared, white-faced, dressed in scruffy, egg-stained clothes and her hair unbrushed. Without speaking, she went to the sink and started washing up.
So by three o’clock, when Stanley was due at the Club, the writing was on the wall. There she was, immobile, hands clasped in her lap, staring at nothing.
‘Heat’ll be on in a minute,’ he said, ‘and that’s us for today.’
No response.
‘Why don’t you bake a cake when the oven comes on?’ he asked. ‘I like to smell a cake when I come in. It’s a long time since you made one. You’ve got all the stuff, haven’t you?’
Not a flicker of interest.
‘Come on now,’ he said, ‘it isn’t that bad.’
At that, she turned and looked at him and began to laugh. He laughed with her at first, pleased to have made a joke even if he didn’t understand what it was, but then her laughter turned peculiar as it so often did these days, turned shrill and nasty.
‘Oh get out,’ she said, ‘get out of my sight, get to your precious club and stay there.’
‘I don’t know what you’d do if I did,’ he said.
‘Don’t you? Don’t you?’
‘No I don’t. Now come on, pull yourself together.’
In a sudden whirlwind of energy she was on her feet and rushing past him and had her hat and coat on before he was half-way down the hall after her.
‘Here, where are you off to? You don’t know how cold it is, you haven’t been out for weeks.’
‘I know I haven’t.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Mind your own business.’
She flung the door open and a cloud of rain and sleet blew in. Anxiously, he went after her but as he reached their gate he saw her turn into Alice’s gate, saw her ring the bell, saw the door open, saw her go in. Relieved, he went back into the house, wrapped himself up more warmly, and in good heart went off to the Club.
Chapter Nineteen
ALICE’S REACTION WAS one of fear – fear, and a sense of guilt – that distressed her. When she saw Mrs P. at her door she felt as though the police had come for her, as though she was about to be accused, charged, tried, condemned, executed – and all the time unable to get them to believe in her innocence. She tried to smile, to be welcoming but succeeded only in being ingratiating. Mrs P. did not heed her greeting anyway, but rushed past and into the kitchen as though she owned it.
‘It’s lovely to see you,’ Alice said, ‘after all this time.’
‘You knew where I was,’ Mrs P. said.
‘I did come, once, but Mr Pendlebury said –’
‘Once, just once. We’ve been starved to death in that place while you were warm here. Never thought of us with your gas central heating did you?’
‘But we haven’t any heat either – it needs electricity to work the pump – we haven’t –’
‘Got a gas cooker, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, but –’
‘Nobody cares about old folk.’
‘Mrs Pendlebury, I do care but you wouldn’t let us help, you wouldn’t even take candles and a lamp when Tony brought them round.’
‘I’ve never asked anyone for anything, never.’
‘I know you haven’t – we wanted to give you them without you asking but you wouldn’t take them.’
‘You don’t know what it’s been like in there – terrible, terrible – and he doesn’t care, he goes his own sweet way – oh, it’s been murder, murder, I can’t stand it any more, and I’m dying, rotting, my body is rotting, rotting . . .’
The tears came like an avalanche. She sat at the kitchen table and howled and cried with her mouth open, ugly tearing sobs that made her cough and splutter until it was impossible to tell whether it was phlegm or grief that racked her chest and forced her to thump it again and again. Alice turned away and put the kettle on, overwhelmed by the feeling that being a spectator to this kind of crisis could only bring upon her total disaster. Her hands shook as she poured milk out and she spilled the sugar everywhere. Silently, she handed the tea to Mrs P. who took it and cried into it and then sipped it in funny little spluttering sips.
‘Mrs Pendlebury,’ Alice said, coming to sit very close to her and putting an arm round her shoulders, ‘listen carefully. You’re not well, you need to see a doctor. Remember your eyes and how pleased you were when you got spectacles? Remember how silly you said you’d been and how nice the man was? Well, this is just the same, only it’s your nerves not your eyes –’
‘No I’m dying, my body’s rotting, rotting.’
‘What’s the matter with it? Have you a pain? Where, tell me – or what is it? Is it your insides? Is it?’
‘I’
m not telling nobody, you’ll never get it out of me, never.’
‘Listen, I’ll go with you to the doctor, I’ll ring up now and make an appointment and we’ll go together.’
‘I don’t want a doctor. No, nobody can do anything. I’d do away with myself, I would, but I’m not the type, I’d never do a thing like that, never.’
‘I should think not you’ve so much to live for, you’re going to Australia soon and –’
‘Oh, that was pie in the sky, I see it all now, clear as crystal.’
‘But you’re wrong, I know you are – look, you’re depressed, we’re all depressed with this horrible weather and those awful power cuts, it isn’t surprising. When spring comes we’ll all feel better and the strike will be over soon – but you need help now.’
‘Nobody ever helped me, never.’
‘But you won’t let them, you’re too independent and brave, you’ve got to take help when it’s offered.’
‘No, I’ll soldier on, there’s no other way.’
But she stopped crying. Her chest still heaved but her face was under control and she drew away from Alice’s half-embrace.
‘Well,’ she said, with a semblance of normality, ‘how’ve you all been keeping?’
‘Fine, thank you. Amy’s started nursery school.’
‘You’re getting rid of her quick.’
‘She was longing to go – all her friends do.’
‘Keeping up with the Joneses. Well, times change.’
‘Come in and see her.’
‘Yes, I will.’
‘Come today, for tea. She’s at Sam’s now but she’ll be back at half past four.’
‘I might. I’ll see. Well I’d best be going, hadn’t I.’
‘No – you stay as long as you like, I’m only doing odd jobs that I don’t really want to do.’
‘No, I’d best be going.’
She sat on for a while, watching Alice take cutlery out of a drawer, reline it with fresh sticky-backed plastic, and replace the cutlery. Her eyes, red-rimmed and still watering, seemed mesmerized by the knives and forks. Several times she reached out and helped pile spoons up, taking an obvious pleasure in fitting bowl to bowl and handle to handle. Alice made the job last as long as possible, measuring and remeasuring the plastic and fitting it most carefully. When the job was done, she put the drawer back in the unit and immediately took out another, full of dusters and tins of polish and pegs and other kitchen utensils. They hadn’t said a word.
‘They’re so boring, these jobs,’ Alice said, at last, feeling it was important to get on a casual footing before Mrs P. left, important to fill her mind with chatter of one sort or another so that she might forget what had gone before.
‘I like tidying,’ Mrs P. said, abstracted, ‘always did. Here, give me them dusters. They need washing, I can see that.’
‘Yes, they do. I’ll fill the machine with that kind of thing and do a whole dirty load.’
‘Hand washing’s the best.’
‘But dusters don’t need the best, do they?’
‘I’ve had some of my dusters twenty years and that’s with hand washing.’
‘But think of the time it’s taken.’
‘Time’s cheap. I’ve plenty of time.’
‘When you were young you can’t have had – you must have wanted to save time then.’
‘What for?’
‘Well, to do other things with, things you enjoyed doing – playing with Frank, reading, going for walks, that kind of thing.’
‘Time was never any problem.’
They stuck on that. Mrs P. had all the dusters soaking in a bucket before Alice could stop her and they even laughed together over the sight of Mrs P. still with her gloves on dropping the dusters into the soap and water. Yet Alice’s unease deepened rather than lessened. Mrs P. was hanging on for something she couldn’t work out. She felt this was her last chance – something must be said or done before it was finally too late. But what? What could she say? What could she do? There seemed an impasse she couldn’t get over. Mrs P. was on the other side holding her hands out and she couldn’t reach.
‘I’d better be going,’ Mrs P. said, sighing. ‘Stanley will be back soon wanting his tea.’
‘You won’t stay till Amy comes then?’
‘No. My miserable face is no sight for a child.’
‘Your face isn’t miserable.’
‘That’s a matter of opinion. I’m going anyway. Thank you for the tea. I’m sorry I bothered you.’
‘You didn’t bother me. I’ve worried and worried about you ever since – ever since Christmas, but I didn’t want to interfere, you seemed so –’
‘I hope I never bothered anyone.’
‘No, you don’t, but I worry about you, I wish all the time there was something I could do.’
‘Nobody can do anything.’
She looked as though she might cry again but stopped herself in time and marched out. Alice followed her, trying to think of something to say and failing.
All Mrs P.’s jumble of words came back to her the rest of the day. She fed and bathed and read to Amy in a daze, incapable even of focusing properly. She had to stop herself over and over again from doing stupid things, and it wasn’t till much later when Amy was safely in bed and Tony not yet home that she saw the significance of Mrs P.’s unexpected visit. Surely she wanted her, Alice, to take charge? Surely it was the only way she knew of saying she needed help and none was forthcoming? Within a few minutes of this thought Alice was convinced it was right. She must call a doctor. Without any doubt it was her absolute duty. But who was Mrs P.’s doctor? She couldn’t remember. Only Stanley would divulge that. She must see Stanley, find out who their doctor was and call him, or better still get Stanley to call him.
She slept quite well once that had been resolved. Tony, bored as ever by the topic, had been surprisingly supportive, even offering to call the doctor himself, but she felt she could do it better. At ten the next morning she watched for Stanley going for his paper. He was late, but then he was probably waiting for the mist to clear. When at last she saw him shuffle out, she was ready to follow him, her shopping basket in her hand. It was easy to catch up with him, easy to say cheerfully, hello, Mr Pendlebury, easy to fall into step with him. Only what she meant to say was difficult.
‘It was nice to see Mrs Pendlebury yesterday,’ she said when they were almost at the corner.
‘Yes. Does her good having a chat.’
‘She’s quite a stranger now.’
‘Well, the weather’s been bad and she’s had a few off days.’ Stanley was amiable, quite relaxed.
‘Does she ever see your doctor about – about her off days?’
‘No. She doesn’t believe in doctors and she might be right.’
‘Who is your doctor? Mine’s Graham.’
‘Thompson. Nice young chap. In partnership with Dr Hall. We’ve always had him.’
‘Has Mrs Pendlebury ever seen him?’
‘Oh yes – broke her leg once, years ago, and he came then though in the end she went to the Outpatients. That’d be 1962 – no, 1963.’
‘And hasn’t she seen him since?’
‘No, I don’t think she has, been no call for her to really.’
They were at the paper shop. Stanley was perfectly willing to stand and talk for ever but they were getting no nearer the problem.
‘Mr Pendlebury,’ Alice said, standing fully in front of him and lowering her voice though there was no one at all about, ‘I think you should take Mrs Pendlebury to see Dr Thompson or get him to come to your house. She’s not well, really – I’m so worried about her.’
‘Oh no need to worry,’ Stanley said, smiling. ‘You let me do the worrying. There’s nothing wrong with her that a spot of sunshine won’t put right.’
His complacency and the sheer stupidity of his attitude gave Alice courage.
‘I’m sorry to contradict you but I think she’s very ill, physically and mentally.’<
br />
She saw at once she should never have used the word mentally. Stanley immediately straightened himself up, took his hands out of his pockets and said, ‘Mentally? What’s she been saying?’
‘She said she felt she was dying.’
‘Rubbish. When did she say that?’
‘Yesterday. She was very upset.’
‘Well, that’s it, isn’t it? We all say things we don’t mean when we’re upset. She was upset yesterday, I remember that. Yes, she was a bit off colour. You don’t want to take any notice what she says when she’s off colour, it doesn’t mean a thing.’
‘But it does – she meant it. She said her body was rotting away.’
‘She’s never been in better health –’
‘Then she’s – sick, sick in another way.’
‘Sound as a bell.’
‘She said she wanted to commit suicide.’
‘Now that’s enough!’ Stanley was sharp. He glared at Alice. ‘Enough’s enough.’
‘She did say that and I didn’t know what to do. Please, Mr Pendlebury, don’t be offended – I only want to help. She really must see a doctor or something awful will happen.’
‘Not while I’m there. I’ll look after her. It’ll all pass over.’
‘I don’t think it will.’
‘You’re entitled to your thoughts. I’ll see you’re not bothered again.’
‘It’s not a question of being bothered – I want to help. I feel she came in to me for help.’
‘She came in because I was going out, that’s all. I won’t go out again.’
‘But that’s silly – you need to go out. Mr Pendlebury, we heard her that night in the garden, and the banging and crying – it all adds up, she’s really in need of medical attention.’
‘It won’t happen again.’
‘That’s not the point, I’m trying –’
‘I’ll have to get my paper. They’ll be sold out.’
She waited, quite determined. Her feelings of affection and sympathy for Stanley were waning fast. He took an age and she knew if there had been another door to the shop he would have gone out by it. When eventually he emerged, his normal bland smile had been replaced by a look of hooded hostility.
The Seduction of Mrs Pendlebury Page 29
