Whatever Happened to Margo?

by Margaret Durrell

  Being quick of action in a crisis, I threw myself out of the already open door and into their midst. My first thought was to stop an entry into the den of vice where dice were being thrown with the obvious hand of experience and an unforgivable northerner, cross-legged and completely at home, would be the immediate target for criticism. I remembered, too, that Nelson’s mother, crochet completed, was doing her weekly wash and over-large garments were beginning to fill two lines – untidily – while, unperturbed, a slippered and pyjamaed figure, beside a fertile mound of suggestive relics, filled in his lonely hours, daubing blue paint across a canvas with a lazy eye, swigging at a beer bottle and delivering an occasional threatening grunt towards the summerhouse noises.

  ‘Darling child, there you are,’ my aunt Patience sang out, complete with Pussy dangling from under her arm. I found myself enfolded in cat, perfume and bags as I welcomed her with inward panic.

  Extracting myself, I turned expectantly to receive the usual kisses, but I was clipped to a silent surprise by a glare of rapt attention and an expression of bristling disapproval, as Great Aunt Sarah’s eyes followed my bare shoulders (now tattooed by goose pimples), traipsed across a red, white and blue bosom – which Edward had remarked was ‘in its prime’ but I had wished the reflection had come from Andy – down to a mass of seductive frills and waving lace about my knees, ending with a dangerous pair of red Turkish slippers encased in sequins, giving me the tinge of a fourth-rate Carmen Miranda.

  There was no time to fumble for modesty if I was to save the situation and I threw myself across the open door on my right as if holding back a football crowd. Nelson, lifting his eyes from the table, was chanting loudly for a double six: he noted my agonized posture, sensed a crisis and, being a tactful soul at times – if it was to his advantage – scraped up the pool in a fat, hot hand and propelled himself sideways through the window, leaving his two compatriots screaming for their share.

  ‘I thought I saw a strange-looking fat boy,’ said my aunt Patience puzzled, as she pushed past me into the room.

  There was no time to answer, because Pussy, so far dangling blissfully relaxed, spotted Johnny reclining in the best chair and suddenly became rigid, her claws streaking out wickedly in a jealous urge to fight, while I was only conscious that Great Aunt Sarah, inattentive to any other drama that might be going on, had kept her beady eye on my slip in a long unblinking stare.

  ‘A most scandalous dress! Whatever is the child thinking about?’ came her comment at last, as movement was restored amidst the hissing and snarling and the soothing cries of animal-lovers trying to restore order to their pets. ‘Where are my spectacles?’ she demanded, trying to disentangle her leashes and looking hopefully down at the bulging string bag.

  Aunt Patience took no notice of her mother, as she pacified the furious bundle in her arms and commented on her entry, ‘the gardener showed me in, dear. A common sort of man, and improperly clad too – red-faced, looks as though he drinks,’ she added disapprovingly. ‘He was rummaging about the dustbins, looting no doubt, and judging by the state of the front garden, he is no good at his job. Give him notice,’ she advised imperiously, ‘you cannot afford to be slack with the working classes.’

  I thought of the back garden and my heart sank. I thought of the gardener, the blustering, blundering Mr Budden, and I feared now the consequences of my letting. Great Aunt Sarah, mesmerized, kept to her own point impatiently. ‘Margo’s going about in scantily clad dress, almost naked in fact; tempting fate, I say. Patience darling, find me my spectacles,’ she ordered, ‘I must take a better look.’

  ‘It’s not a dress,’ I said weakly, attempting to justify myself. ‘It’s a slip. I was just – um –’ How could I explain the petticoat – or the manly figure as yet unnoticed, practically at my feet.

  But my elderly relative, firm in her belief that I was caught in the act of flaunting myself in a regalia of sin, would not let the matter rest. Tossing aside my plaintive pleas she attacked me. ‘There is nothing worse than to see immodesty in a young woman! May God guide this child before the police get her,’ she added piously.

  ‘Shut up, Mummy, do. Margo will get out of that ridiculous apparel in a minute.’ Aunt Patience, who was always unpredictable, seemed for the moment to be unperturbed by my state of dress. She was busy examining the scene about her with a critical but not unfriendly eye. Finally her gaze fell on Andy, who, with the intrusion, was discreetly collecting up, in his typical slow movement, the debris that was once my wireless.

  ‘Ah, I see you are having a wireless fixed. A good firm of electricians, I trust, dear?’ She gave him one of her small patronizing smiles, especially reserved for tradespeople.

  A piercing whistle, obviously intended to attract, made us all look outside.

  ‘Men whistling at her, too. It’s outrageous …’ Great Aunt grumbled distractedly, setting herself down in lines of unfriendly stiffness. I ignored the Nelson call in a flustered moment of indecisive panic. Aunt Patience’s remarks challenged my loyalty to Andy and at this moment I was unable to cope with the delicate situation. My aunt, I knew, would abhor him – it was a dismal and foregone conclusion. Watching him with pleading eyes, and feeling foolish in the gaudy petticoat and degenerate slippers, I mumbled something about the best firm in town and dismissed him callously, turning to the children who were waiting impatiently for justice to be served on Nelson. I called them forward for inspection with the usual glare of silent warning. I never saw Andy go …

  They came with reluctance, sensing that discipline was not far off, now anxious to heed the strident call of Nelson’s signal: Johnny had also heard the call. Glad to leave the chair where he was sitting in nervy misery, he tore past us and leapt through the window to freedom, while the visiting Bedlingtons, the victory theirs, sprang to fill the vacancy.

  The room, a mixture of gay colours and tempting divans, contrasted crudely with the respectable aura of Kensington. Great Aunt Sarah, portrayed as a misfit by a red divan and clustered cushions that spoke of Roman orgies, was rummaging frantically in the string bag: at last she lifted her head triumphantly and held up a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles. ‘Ah, there they are,’ she said with pleasure. ‘I knew I had them,’ and placing them above her aristocratic nostrils she reviewed the situation again fiercely, to another silencing remark from her daughter, now busy wooing my offsprings.

  ‘Dear little souls,’ Aunt Patience beamed, throwing out a pair of scented arms towards them as they sidled past to attempted freedom.

  ‘Yes, aren’t they?’ I agreed hastily, with another threatening look in their direction, while I felt with disquiet the mesmerized eyes behind the steel glued to me.

  The boys, forced to stop, greeted the visitors with pure hypocritical shyness and childish sweetness.

  ‘Being good boys, and helping your mother?’ Aunt Patience suggested lovingly. They nodded together shyly, ignoring the open sweet-scented arms waiting to engulf them. ‘And doing well at school?’ she asked brightly, dropping her outstretched arms. Two heads nodded again. Aunt Patience, working on the assumption that children can be bought, took two dim pennies out of her giant handbag and gave them one each. ‘There, darling boys, buy yourselves something nice – but not dangerous, mind,’ she added, playful as a young kitten.

  There was a curious glint in both eyes as they took the small offering; I noticed it with increasing alarm.

  ‘Ma’s got a pansy in the house – so Uncle Leslie said,’ Gerry remarked suddenly, softening towards his aunt, examining the penny carefully for fraud.

  ‘A pansy, how lovely, my favourite flower,’ Aunt Patience beamed. ‘That’s one thing I must say in Leslie’s favour, he’s got green fingers.’

  ‘And a foreign woman, too,’ Nicholas, encouraged by his brother’s confidences, added, testing his penny in a similar way in a completely brotherly reaction. ‘It’s all right, Gerry,’ he remarked, removing the coin from between his teeth, ‘it’s a good one,’ and he proceeded to pa
int a further picture of my residents with chirpy confidence. ‘There’s a painter, and there’s a mucky woman with frizzy hair. Nelson says Roger’s the most unfaithful man next door to his Pa that he knows.’

  ‘What’s that darling boy saying?’ Great Aunt Sarah asked, leaving the subject of my dress and bending forward to hear better. She was almost stone deaf.

  ‘And Ma was telling lies – you know, that man was no wireless-mender.’

  Aunt Patience gave me a quick searching look. So far she had listened to the children with frank disbelief. I looked back blankly.

  ‘… and Nelson says he’s fallen for Ma, he reckons something is going on, or will be soon.’ (Murder will be done, I thought angrily.)

  ‘What’s that? Speak up!’ Great Aunt Sarah cried. ‘I can’t hear a word. Is there no elocution taught in the schools of today?’

  Fortunately Pussy, leaping away from the soft bosom to scratch herself, decided to be sick over the carpet with a throttling noise that caused a much-needed distracting element.

  ‘The poor darling creature’s been sick,’ Aunt Patience wailed, forgetting the subject under discussion.

  ‘I’m not surprised in a dress like that,’ Great Aunt thundered. ‘Probably pneumonia,’ she added, callously determined on my fate as, blessing Pussy’s unhealthy stomach, I tore off to get a cloth, calling for the children to follow from between clenched teeth.

  ‘Go down the garden and stay there, and take Nelson, and don’t start the monkeys chattering,’ I hissed, shutting the back door firmly behind them. I turned and rushed to the bathroom, tore off my petticoat and threw it to the ground. I’ll never wear that thing again, I thought, kicking it aside and struggling into a sober black dress hanging on the door. Not only had I presented myself as a bawdy Jezebel and probably lost any money that might have been left to me in the event of death, but I had lost Andy too. I moaned silently, distressed at having proved myself to be a person without loyalty – and so soon after we had buried our differences.

  Collecting up a large cloth, a bowl of water and a bottle of disinfectant, I returned to the scene of chaos to redeem the situation if possible.

  Aunt Patience was petting Pussy gingerly: the cat gazed suspiciously about her with narrow, sick eyes.

  ‘Dear, dear, Pussy,’ I said sweetly.

  ‘Do you think she needs a hot-water bottle?’ her guardian asked, anxiously protective.

  ‘A decent dress is what she needs,’ Great Aunt Sarah said firmly, back to a mood of destructive criticism.

  ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ I answered the first question, as I bent over the steaming mass without a tremor; the rearing of babies, and being schooled by a zoological brother had robbed me of a sensitive stomach. My only hope lay in keeping my aunt talking briskly about Pussy’s health but aunt, satisfied that Pussy was not running a temperature or ready for the little plot at the bottom of her walled garden, turned her attention back to me. ‘What were the children saying?’ she asked, a little confused now, stroking the animal’s head and reorganizing it on her lap.

  ‘They love to tell stories,’ I said innocently. ‘You know, Arabian Nights stuff.’ I dismissed them with a merry little laugh.

  ‘Really, dear?’ Aunt was immediately bright with interest. ‘Perhaps they will be writers, and a credit to the whole family.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps,’ I agreed thoughtfully, and sprinkled Dettol about the carpet. ‘Are you staying long?’ I asked desperately.

  ‘Only for the weekend, dear. We thought it would be such a nice surprise for you.’

  ‘It is,’ I said feebly.

  ‘And now dear, take all that unmentionable stuff away, then come back and sit down; I want to know all about everything. Are the notices up? and who are your paying guests? and are you making money?’

  ‘In a dress like that,’ Great Aunt Sarah reminded us, ‘she’ll get no guests. Only …’

  ‘Do be quiet, Mummy, business first and other things after.’

  ‘But you must tell her, Patience dear’ – she insisted as though my whole future depended on this one item.

  ‘Tell her what?’ her daughter asked impatiently, anxious to get to the more important subject of my finances.

  ‘About the dress, the other dress. Margo must not be allowed to go about like a Nell Gwynne.’

  ‘I really think the old lady is going off her rocker,’ Aunt Patience remarked to me aside, ignoring her mother and seemingly unperturbed by this possible mental condition, showing all the signs of going into a remarkably good mood.

  It was a purely Nelson-like reflection, and the unexpected struck me as funny. My floundering spirits rose a little against the still nagging doubts of Andy’s disgust. I patted her hand fondly, with sincere promises of future modesty, enquiring tentatively where they were going to stay.

  ‘An hotel. A good family hotel, with good solid plain food,’ she went on. ‘We motored down quite pleasantly with only one incident. An ill-bred monster backed into my front mudguard. I’ve taken his name and address and will sue him.’

  I smiled tolerantly. ‘Good for you,’ I said, and wondered what news I could possibly tell her.

  Great Aunt Sarah, reassured by my contrite promises, sank back, quiet at last; her age was telling on her, I realized with sudden pity, for she was indulging more and more in refreshing snoozes, yet the ageless skin belied my thoughts, as I inspected the recumbent figure, while my mind completed a mental list of my lodgers, wondering who I could exhibit at this precise moment.

  Roger perhaps, with his cultured voice; he was after all reputed to be the illegitimate child of a Lord and a Cochrane girl, and I felt that the title outweighed the facts – there was no need for my aunt to know every detail. His appearance was against him though; she would never appreciate the unwashed look, and those pyjamas would have to be changed. Nelson and his mother were out of the question; so was Edward. He would undoubtedly be dismissed as ‘one of those’. Paula and Barry, officer class, with their perfect diction would pass – but they were still at the beach. Jane’s standing as a nurse would hold her in good stead, they could talk about kidneys: Aunt loved to talk about her kidneys, only one of which worked as far as I could gather. Gordon too, walking with a new dignity now that he had gained considerable prestige with his inheritance, would certainly impress my aunt if only in a purely business field; she would no doubt be delighted to advise him on how to invest his money. I could present him as ‘the fertile seeds of virtue’, of an aging C of E parson, or a Canon perhaps, or we might rise to Bishop. But he, like Roger, would have to go through a soap and water process first. Judy and Blanche, though ladylike, were too openly glamorous and would probably be suspected harlots at once. They were most likely in a state of in-between dress anyway, which would, without doubt, send Great Aunt Sarah into another storm.

  ‘There’s that fat boy,’ Aunt Patience interrupted, pointing towards the garden.

  ‘Really?’ I said, as if the sight of a fat boy was something unusual. ‘I wonder who he is?’ I remarked, going to the window. ‘Go away and stay away,’ I hissed softly, ‘and take that “sale” notice down too, quickly, before it is noticed.’

  Nelson dropped back heavily and left without argument. He knew I meant it. I pulled The Times and Good Housekeeping into view, thankful that Edward’s porn photos were safely locked in his bottom drawer – he had refused me permission to destroy them. Having organized a cup of tea, and with my aunts busy refreshing themselves, I slunk away for a few moments to bring my rent books up-to-date and place the notices Aunt had supplied in strategic positions, just in case they wandered. Feeling that I now had everything in hand, I sped through the house looking for Gordon, Jane, those that could show themselves, and warn with tactful kindness those who were forced to remain obscure.

  Edward was temporarily and safely occupied, I thought thankfully, my ear to the door. ‘As I was saying,’ came his drawling voice, unusually loud, ‘the general theory is that if you mix that blue you’re s
willing up with yellow ochre, you’ll get that bilious stalemate you have produced; so I can’t possibly agree about the degree of blues felt by vision – stand still do – no the other arm a little higher …’ ‘Mind the pins,’ – that was Olwen. ‘Do you want me to fit you or don’t you, imbecile woman?’

  It was obvious that Olwen suffered for a perfect fit, and that he and Roger were discussing art separated by the length of the garden. I tiptoed away and mounted the stairs. I’d never counted them before but I did so now with malice aforethought, hoping my relatives would balk at such a feat after a day of steaming car travel. I passed my hand over a thin trail of dust and wiped it clean, and bumped into Mrs Williams looking as though she had just been rescued from drowning.

  ‘That Nelson,’ she said, ‘’e’s a mucky one,’ and I watched her depart to the garden, a trail of water in her wake. The usual scathing tones of Mr Budden contradicting his wife on some trivial point came from behind his closed door. ‘Odious man,’ I said aloud, passing on by Barry and Paula’s silent room. The girls, tired but unwilling to go to bed, were twittering together, still enjoying the news of Gordon’s fortune and discussing the best ways to spend it and which dresses heightened their sex appeal. I gave them a quick summary and warning, and we giggled together like schoolgirls.

  Gordon was nowhere in sight, where was he? Perhaps in with Andy? I began to worry as I made for the next door, and knocked timidly; the door of the smallest room where so many world problems were thrashed to a conclusion at all hours of the day or night. Andy was lying back on the wide divan, the covers ruffled beneath him, blowing pensive smoke rings. The shell of a wireless waited attention beside him and there was an unusual air of subdued inaction about the place. From outside floated in the voice of Edward, Roger and the tired subservient pipings of Mrs Williams.