by David Lodge
“No, not Rick. Sean. That’s why I could never touch Rick that way.”
Bernard recalled the photograph, almost torn in half, of the three children sitting in the field, the two younger ones squinting up at the camera, and the older boy grinning behind them, his hands in his pockets. An appalling thought struck him. “Ursula,” he said, “Daddy didn’t ever … did he?”
“No,” said Ursula. “But Jack knew about it.”
“It seems that it happened one summer when the family still lived in Ireland,” Bernard said to Yolande later. “They lived on the outskirts of Cork, then. It was the school holidays. A relative was dying and my grandmother was away from the house a lot, helping the family. My grandfather was out at work all day. The children were left to their own devices. Sean was the eldest, sixteen, Ursula thinks. She was seven, Daddy about twelve. Sean took advantage of the situation. He took Ursula out for walks, gave her sweets, made her his favourite. At first she was flattered. The first time he exposed himself, he made out it was a joke. Then it became a regular thing, a secret between them. When he started masturbating she knew it was wrong, but she was too frightened to do anything about it.”
“Did he do anything to her – I mean, assault her sexually?”
“No, nothing, she was quite definite about that. But he left her with a disgust of physical sex that she was never able to overcome. It ruined her marriage, she said. It put her off thinking of marrying again. She had plenty of flirtations, plenty of male admirers, she said, but as soon as they started to get physical, she would back off.”
“What a sad story,” said Yolande. “Even sadder than yours.”
“Mine isn’t sad any more,” he said fondly, stroking the dune-shape of her naked hip. They were lying on the bed in room 1509, having made love as soon as they came together, urgently and passionately this time, like lovers, it seemed to Bernard, not teacher and pupil. (Though Yolande had found an opportunity to inform him that he had adopted the missionary position – “and what could be more appropriate?” she said mischievously.) “But I agree with you,” he said, with all the fervour of a recent convert to sexual candour, “I mean, what’s a penis, what’s a bit of semen” – he lifted his sticky, detumescent member from his thigh and let it drop again – “that the sight of them should blight a woman’s entire life?”
“The physical acts are not necessarily important in child abuse. It’s the fear, the shame, that leave the scars.”
“You’re right,” said Bernard. “Ursula was convinced that she was in a state of mortal sin, never mind Sean; and since she couldn’t bring herself to mention it in Confession, for years she was in terror of sudden death, convinced she would go straight to hell.”
“Did she ever confront Sean about it in later life?”
“Never. And then he was killed in the war, and canonized by the family, and it was impossible to mention it. She’s never mentioned it to a single soul till today, can you believe that? It must be why she wanted Daddy to come out here in the first place, why she asked me to persuade him to come. She wanted to exorcize the memory, lay Sean’s ghost, by talking to Daddy. But now that the moment has come, she’s scared, and I don’t blame her. I don’t know how he’s going to take it. And on top of everything, Tess is coming out to complicate matters further.”
“What did Ursula mean, that your father ‘knew’?”
“Apparently one day he caught them in the act. Sean used to take her to an old outhouse at the bottom of their garden. Daddy went in there one day, looking for something, and they didn’t hear him coming. She remembers him blundering through the door, and stopping suddenly on the threshold, and smiling and opening his mouth to speak, and then the smile fading on his face, as he realized what they were doing. Then he turned and ran out without a word. Sean was frantically buttoning himself up. He said to Ursula – she remembers the words to this day – ‘Don’t worry about Jack, he’ll never spy.’ And he didn’t. He never said a word to anyone. At first Ursula was relieved, for she was in mortal terror of their parents finding out. But later, when she was grown up, she blamed Jack. He could have stopped it, she said, by just threatening to tell on Sean.”
“You mean, it went on after that?”
“Yes. It went on all that summer, and Daddy knew it was going on. Ursula blames him for that.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“She wants an apology. She wants an act of contrition. I’m not sure that she’ll get it.”
“You’ll have to help,” said Yolande.
“What d’you mean?”
“You’ll have to set it up. Prepare your father. See that they’re left alone at the right moment.”
“I’m not sure I could talk to Daddy about this. Anyway, Tess won’t let me. She’ll interfere.”
“You’ll have to get her co-operation.”
“You don’t know Tess.”
“Well, I will soon, won’t I?”
He raised himself on one elbow to stare at her. “You mean, you want to meet her?”
“Well, you weren’t planning to keep me under wraps, were you?”
“No …” he said, “of course not.” But his expression betrayed him.
“I think you were!” Yolande said teasingly. “I think you were planning to keep me a secret, the little piece of ass that you meet in the afternoons for illicit sex.” She pinched him sharply enough to make him cry out.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Yolande,” he said, blushing.
“Have you told anybody that you’re seeing me? Your aunt? Your father?”
“Well, no. Have you told Roxy?”
“She knows I’m seeing you. She doesn’t know we’re sleeping together, but why should she?”
Bernard considered. “You’re quite right, as usual,” he said. “I’ve been afraid to tell them. Have lunch with Tess and me tomorrow.”
2
FOLLOWING THE SIGNS to Arrivals at Honolulu airport, Bernard drove past a row of half a dozen kiosks selling leis, each with its own parking bay. On impulse, he stopped and purchased a sweet-smelling garland of yellow blossoms that the vendor, a cheerfully fat Hawaiian lady with a gap-toothed smile, told him were called ilima. He waited inside the terminal near the baggage carousels with other lei-bearing greeters, marvelling that it was only twelve days since he and his father had landed here, sweating in their thick fibrous English clothes. He felt as if he were hardly the same person, and not just because he was wearing shorts. The feeling was reinforced when Tess came into view and peered at the waiting crowd, plainly not recognizing him. She looked hot and lumpish, in a crumpled linen jacket and skirt, carrying a raincoat over her arm. He pushed his way forward and called her name. “Tess! Aloha!” He tossed the lei over her head, but it snagged in her wiry hair, and she had to distengangle herself.
“What’s this?” she said crossly, as if suspecting a practical joke.
“It’s called a lei. It’s a local custom.”
“It seems a shame to treat flowers like that,” she said, examining the threaded blossoms. “But they do smell nice, I must say. You’ve shaved off your beard, Bernard. You look younger without it. I didn’t recognize you. How’s Daddy?”
“He’s fine, and looking forward to seeing you. How was the journey?”
“It seemed to go on for ever. If I’d known what it would be like, I probably wouldn’t have come.”
“Why did you come, Tess?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you later,” she said.
“I came for a break,” Tess said, to Bernard’s surprise. “I came to get away from home, away from Frank, away from the family. To indulge myself for once. Sit about on the beach, or round a swimming-pool, without having to plan the next meal. I hope you’re not expecting me to keep house for you while I’m here?”
“No, no,” he said. “We can eat out. I do, a lot.”
They were sitting on the balcony of Ursula’s apartment, overlooking the swimming-pool, a brilliant sapphire rectangle set in the dark patio. Tess had su
rprised him by insisting on swimming in it as soon as they arrived home. She had cavorted in the water like a happy porpoise, emitting little sighs and cries of pleasure. While she showered afterwards, he made a pot of tea. She joined him on the balcony wearing Ursula’s flowered silk housecoat, and pronounced herself a new woman. “Of course, I wanted to see for myself that Daddy was all right,” she said. “That was the pretext. But it wasn’t the main reason why I came. Or to see Ursula. It was to please myself.”
“What about Patrick?” Bernard asked.
“Let Frank take care of him,” said Tess curtly. “I have for the last sixteen years.”
Bernard inferred that there must be some trouble between Tess and her husband, and it wasn’t long before she poured out the story.
“He’s got a girlfriend, can you imagine? Frank? My God, when he was young he was so shy he could hardly look a woman in the face. Now he fancies himself as a great romantic hero. Brief Encounter isn’t in it. It’s someone he met through the church – nice that, don’t you think? He’s always been a great one for the lay apostolate, of course, Frank. Chairman of the Parish Council. Organizer of the Covenant Scheme. Pillar of the Knights of St Columba. Out two or three evenings a week on parish business. I thought I shouldn’t complain, since it was all in a good cause, though it put more strain on me, having to look after Patrick on my own in the evenings as well as half the day. I know the girl, a silly moon-faced primary teacher, much younger than him – I suppose that’s part of the attraction, that and the adoring looks she gives him with her big cow-eyes. She baby-sat for us a few times, you see, before I found out what was going on. I thought it was rather amusing, the moony way she followed him about with her eyes. They met through the covenant scheme – she volunteered to be a canvasser, and did the rounds with him, to see how it was done. He says they haven’t slept together, and I don’t suppose they have, he hasn’t the gumption, but I know he kisses her, because it was in the letter. I found a letter in his jacket, when I was taking it to the cleaners – corny, isn’t it? A lovey-dovey love letter. He says she’s had a hard life – well, who hasn’t, I’d like to know? A broken home, parents divorced, she’s a convert, became a Catholic on the rebound from a broken love affair – a lonely heart, in other words, just looking for a shoulder to cry on. And Frank fell for it, hook, line and sinker. After doing the covenant circuit, they would go to a pub and she’d tell him all her troubles. During the school holiday, it appears, she’s been going up to the City and meeting him in his lunch hour. He’s swears it’s innocent, that he’s just sorry for her, but he won’t break it off. He says he’s afraid she’d do something desperate. Well, I thought I’d do something desperate instead, so I went out and booked a flight to Honolulu. He didn’t believe me until I showed him the ticket – an open one, he went pale at the price of it. He said, ‘What about Patrick? You can’t just leave him with me. I have to go to work every day.’ I said, ‘You’ll have to work something out, won’t you, like I have for the last sixteen years. I’m sure Bryony will lend a hand.’ That’s her name, Bryony.”
“I’m sorry,” said Bernard, when she seemed to stop, or pause. “These things are very painful.”
“What gets me,” Tess said, “is that he’s never shown a spark of pity for me in all the years of our marriage. It was always a hearty, cheerful, down-to-earth sort of relationship, ours. Practical. Commonsense. Coping with Patrick and the other children. Sex was something silent and physical, done in the dark – and there hasn’t been a great deal of that lately. Yet when he talks about her, his eyes fill with tears. Tears!” Tess seemed to stifle a sob herself, or maybe it was a scornful laugh – he couldn’t be sure, for her face was in shadow. “I said to him, ‘You never showed me a fraction of the compassion you have for that girl.’ He said I seemed so strong, he thought I didn’t need his compassion.”
“It’s so difficult to know what other people are really like,” said Bernard. “What they really want, what they really need. It’s hard enough to know it about oneself.”
Tess blew her nose on a paper tissue. “How warm it is, even at night,” she said, in a different, calmer voice. She stood up and leaned on the balcony rail. “There are two people waving over there, do they know you?”
Bernard looked, and saw the strange couple of his first evening, rather smartly dressed this time, with glasses in their hands. They looked perfectly normal. He wondered whether he had hallucinated the woman exposing herself.
“No,” he said. “I think I excited their attention once by wearing that robe. I should sit down, if I were you.”
“Needless to say, I don’t want Daddy to hear a word of this.”
“If you say so. But is that a good idea?”
“What d’you mean? Why burden him with my marital problems, especially when he’s not well?”
“Daddy’s nearly better. He’s made an excellent recovery, his physician says. He’s already walking with a Zimmer frame for ten minutes a day.”
“I don’t want to upset him unnecessarily.”
“That’s always been the way in our family, hasn’t it? Don’t upset Daddy. Don’t upset Mummy. Don’t tell anybody anything unpleasant. Pretend everything’s all right. I’m not sure it’s such a good way. Things that are suppressed tend to fester.”
“What are you getting at, Bernard?” Tess said.
So he told her about Ursula and her two brothers, that summer in Ireland long ago, and his theory that it was the main reason why Ursula had wanted to see their father before she died. Tess was silent for some moments after he had finished. Then she exhaled, a long, whistling breath. “Uncle Sean. I never knew him, of course, but everybody in the family always spoke of him as if the sun and moon shone out of his eyes. They said he was a wonderful man.”
“Well, maybe he was a wonderful man,” said Bernard. “But he was a disturbed adolescent, and Ursula suffered for it.”
“It will kill Daddy to have this brought up now,” she said.
“Nonsense,” said Bernard. “He’s as tough as old boots. Anyway, it’s not as if he abused Ursula himself.”
“No, but he connived at it. He’d die of shame if he thought we knew.”
“Well, that’s tricky, I agree. But I don’t know whether Ursula can handle it on her own. I’ll have to ask Yolande’s advice.” The name slipped out unintentionally.
“Who’s Yolande?”
“A friend of mine. I’d like you to meet her. We could have lunch together, tomorrow.”
“You mean someone you met here, in Hawaii? Who is she?”
Bernard could not suppress a nervous giggle. “Well, actually, she was the driver of the car …”
“The car? You mean, the car that knocked Daddy down? You’ve become friendly with a woman who nearly killed him?”
“I think I’m in love with her, as a matter of fact,” said Bernard.
“In love?” Tess gave a shrill laugh. “What’s come over you men, suddenly? Is it the male menopause or something they’ve put in the water, or what?”
“I don’t think it can be the water supply,” said Bernard. “Frank being in England, and me being in Hawaii.”
Tess slept till he woke her the next morning at ten, and after breakfast he drove her to St Joseph’s. Their father was exercising with the Zimmer frame when they arrived, taking slow hesitant steps in the middle of the room, with a physiotherapist in watchful attendance. Tess burst into tears as she embraced him. When she recovered her composure, the first thing she said was, “Your hair needs cutting, Daddy.”
“We can arrange that,” said the physiotherapist. “There’s a barber who visits the hospital.”
“No,” said Tess, “I always cut his hair. If you would bring me a pair of scissors and something to put round his shoulders, I’ll do it now.”
So they brought her a pair of scissors, and a disposable paper cape that did up at the back, and drew the curtains round Mr Walsh’s bed, and Tess began to trim his hair. The task seemed to soothe
them both equally.
After a few minutes Bernard left them alone together, and went to sit outside the hospital entrance, on a stone bench in the shade. A taxi drew up and deposited two people whom he recognized as Sidney the heartcase and his wife Lilian. When Bernard hailed them, they looked at him with puzzled alarm, until he reminded them who he was.
“Oh yes, I remember you,” said Lilian. “You had your father with you. How is he enjoying Hawaii?”
Bernard told them about the accident, and received their commiserations.
“Sidney’s been in the wars too, haven’t you, love?” Lilian said.
“I’m all right,” said Sidney, unconvincingly.
“He had one of his turns.”
“Angina,” Sidney interjected.
“Had to be rushed to hospital,” said Lilian. “That’s why we’re here. Come back for a check-up. How has your holiday been otherwise?”
“I’m not really here on holiday,” said Bernard. “We came to see my father’s sister. She lives here.”
“Does she really? I don’t think we could stand the heat, could we Sidney, day in day out. But it’s what you’re used to, isn’t it? Now my son, Terry, he’s treating us to this holiday, he lives in Australia normally, and he’s in his element. Down at the beach every day, surfing. He’s there now, him and his friend, Tony. Mr Everthorpe – d’you remember him on the plane? – he wants to get them on his video. Terry was going to bring us up here in his hire car, but I said, no, you go and have a surf, Terry, let Mr Everthorpe take your picture, and we’ll have a cab. Does your auntie like it here?”
“She certainly used to. I’m afraid she’s not very well now. She’s in a nursing home.”
“Well, it never rains but it pours, does it?” said Lilian. She began to edge away from Bernard, towing her husband by his sleeve, as if Bernard’s family misfortune might be contagious.
“Going to the party tomorrow evening?” Sidney asked him.
“Party?”
“The Travelwise do.”
“Oh, that. Maybe. I did get an invitation.”
