Brief Encounter

by Alec Waugh

  ‘But you didn’t take one or two. You took many, many more.’

  ‘I know, I know; but I was feeling so depressed, with poor little Tommy sobbing there. If one or two were good for me, how much better three or four would be. So in the end, I took the lot.’

  ‘And how many did that amount to?’

  ‘ ’Ow can I tell. The bottle was half full. There may ’ave been twenty: may ’ave been thirty, maybe twenty-five. I finished the bottle, I know that. I shall ’ave to get another bottle. I suppose the old prescription will ’old good.’

  Anna closed her eyes. She was hopeless; she was worse than hopeless. ‘But Mrs. Gaines,’ she said. ‘You must realize that that was very wrong. You’re acting like a man who thinks that because one glass of whisky does him good, ten glasses will make him ten times better.’

  ‘Just what my Bill says.’

  ‘And you know how that works out.’

  ‘Suppose I do.’

  But there was a puzzled expression on her face. Anna could see that she was unconvinced. ‘Doctors measure out their medicines very carefully: they know exactly how much you can take and how much you can’t. Do you realize that you are only alive now because you took too many pills. If you had taken half that amount you would have killed yourself.’

  ‘That’s what the nurse told me.’

  ‘I don’t know what the right dose should have been. It’s different for everybody. If the doctor had wanted you to kill yourself he’d have fixed exactly the right amount for you. Thirteen perhaps, seventeen perhaps. Who knows. You do see that, don’t you, Mrs. Gaines?’

  ‘I suppose I do.’

  ‘You’ll promise me, won’t you, not to do anything like this again?’

  ‘I promise you; yes, I’ll try. I know I will, but it’s easy to say this now; when I’m with you and you’re so sweet, well I believe it. But when something goes wrong again, and it will go wrong again; how can it not go wrong, Bill being the way ’e is. I can’t say what I will do next time ’e blows up.’

  Anna closed her eyes. There was nothing to be done about Mrs. Gaines. She would muddle through, somehow. The worst did not happen to women like Mrs. Gaines.

  ‘Who’s looking after your family in the meantime?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Tommy, as far as I can tell.’

  ‘But isn’t he at school?’

  ‘ ’E says that there are other things ’e must do first.’

  ‘I’ve got to see Tommy again sometime.’

  ‘He’ll be coming round this afternoon, most likely. In fact, for certain.’

  ‘About what time?’

  ‘Round about half past four.’

  ‘Why don’t I come at about five and take him out to tea.’

  ‘ ’E’d like that. I know ’e would.’

  Tommy was thin, almost weedy and bespectacled. It was not the first time that Anna had seen him, but it was the first time she had been alone with him. She took him to a cafeteria. ‘I’m not very hungry,’ she said. ‘I had a big lunch and I’ve got a dinner waiting for me at home. So let’s each get ourselves a plate. I’ll just toy with mine and then you can take it over.’

  She piled on her plate what she thought he would like but that he would hesitate to order for himself. She chose a chicken salad, a slice of paté and a couple of bananas. If he didn’t want the bananas, he could slip them into his school satchel, which he still carried although he was staying away from school.

  Tommy himself returned from the counter with sausages and mashed potatoes, and a slice of chocolate cake.

  ‘Those should go well together,’ Anna said.

  ‘How much are you going to have of yours?’

  ‘Very, very little, a couple of mouthfuls of chicken salad and a very little of your chocolate cake.’

  ‘Oh, goodie, goodie.’

  He ate with a rewarding relish, concentrating on his food. He seemed quite at ease.

  ‘I’m worried about your mother,’ Anna said.

  ‘I’m worried too.’

  ‘And I’m a little worried about you, too.’

  ‘About me. I’m all right.’

  He spoke Anna noticed with a much more educated accent than his parents. There was no reason why he should not, as people used to say “improve himself”. It all depended on whether he really worked during the next few years.

  ‘You must put in all the time you can at school. You do realize that, don’t you?’

  He nodded but his concentration was fixed upon his plate.

  ‘You like school, don’t you?’ she said. ‘You enjoy the lessons.’

  He nodded, his mouth was full and he had been taught not to speak when his mouth was full. ‘I’m good at lessons, miss, that’s why,’ he said at length. ‘You’re bound to like something that you’re good at.’

  ‘Then why miss school?’

  ‘I’m needed at home.’

  ‘But your mum won’t be in the hospital much longer. Once she’s out of the place, you won’t need to bunk off anymore.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘There’s a lot to do at home. Four other kids, as well as the baby.’

  ‘Your mother managed before when your father was out to work every day. He never helped her in the house.’

  ‘He wouldn’t, would he?’

  ‘Then why can’t she manage again without him?’

  Again Tommy shook his head. ‘Things were different then. Dad used to break out Friday nights. But he was always back by Sunday. At the latest. He’s been with this person for three weeks. She’s younger than my mum, too.’

  ‘Do you think he wants to marry her?’

  ‘Maybe, who can tell. But she wouldn’t want to marry him, unless she’s daft. He isn’t any catch for anyone. She’s pretty, too. She’s out for fun, and any little pickings that there may be, not that there can be many of those, not from a man like Dad. She’ll soon be off.’

  ‘Then all your mother has to do is wait.’

  ‘That’s what I tell her but she’s taking it bad, real bad. If I’m not there to help, she sits staring out of the window. Everything would fall apart.’

  ‘But, Tommy, you are only eleven.’

  ‘I’m the eldest, stands to reason that I’m the one to look after things. Don’t you want that chicken salad?’

  ‘No, thank you very much, I’ve had all I want.’

  ‘Then I’ll help myself.’ He leant across the table, took her plate and swept its contents on to his.

  He spooned a huge blob of mayonnaise on his salad. His appetite had not been diminished by the sausages and mashed potatoes. She wondered if he got enough to eat at home.

  ‘What’s your favourite subject?’ she asked.

  ‘History. That’s what I really like. Geography now, I’m not good at that because I can’t draw maps. I never mind missing geography.’

  In a very few minutes, his plate was empty.

  ‘Wouldn’t you like an ice cream?’ she asked.

  His face brightened. ‘That’s exactly what I would like,’ he said.

  Mrs. Harris was surprised to see Anna that evening in the station buffet.

  ‘Three times within three days. We do feel honoured.’

  Anna smiled ruefully.

  ‘There’s so much more work each week in that bureau that I go to. People seem to get themselves into more trouble all the time.’

  ‘And you’d think that with our welfare state they wouldn’t have any trouble. I remember how my father used to talk. Such a very little is needed to make the world such a fine place to live in. Free hospitals, that’s what he wanted more than anything, and free insurance when you are out of work; equal chances for everyone. He was great on that. And now that we have got all that, nobody says thank you for it. Takes it as a matter of course. And grumbles because there isn’t more of it.’

  ‘That’s how it is, Mrs. Harris. That’s how it is.’

  ‘It’s a poor wind that blows nobody any good though. I certainly do appreciate your
visits. Once a week wasn’t enough; not nearly enough it was. I only wish I saw that doctor oftener.’

  ‘What doctor?’

  ‘The one that took the grit out of your eye.’

  ‘Oh, that one. Doctor Harvey.’

  ‘Harvey. Is that his name. Harvey, I must remember that. I like to know who the people are I serve. Dr. Harvey. Such a gentleman. And so good looking too.’

  ‘Yes, isn’t he?’

  ‘Do you know where his practice is?’

  ‘Near Basingstoke. He comes into the hospital once a week to see special patients that he has sent here.’

  ‘Oh, that explains it. Once a week, you say.’

  ‘Yes, Wednesday is his day.’

  ‘Wednesday. But that’s the same as yours.’

  ‘Yes. That’s my day. Wednesday.’

  ‘What a coincidence.’

  ‘A very lucky one.’

  ‘Lucky?’

  ‘I enjoy my chats with him.’

  The station announcer’s voice rang through the room. ‘The train that is now approaching the station is the boat train express.’ The boat train express, that was the start of everything. She listened to it roar through. How quickly it went. And in another minute, he would be announcing the Basingstoke, Woking, London train; three minutes more and it would be her turn for Eastleigh, Shenley and Southampton.

  ‘Wednesday,’ Mrs. Harris was repeating, ‘and it’s Friday today. So that means I shan’t be seeing you for another five days.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Unless there’s a crisis.’

  ‘There’s always the possibility of a crisis.’

  ‘The train now approaching Platform No. 2 is the 18.22 for Eastleigh, Shenley and Southampton.’

  She rose to her feet. ‘Good evening, Mrs. Harris, until Wednesday evening.’

  ‘And let’s hope that doctor, yes, what’s his name, my memory, my memory, ah yes, I’ve got it, Harvey. Let’s hope that Dr. Harvey will be here to keep you company.’

  ‘I hope so too. Goodbye.’

  She was conscious of Mrs. Harris’ eyes following her out on to the platform. A nice piece of gossip for her, Anna thought. Well, and why not at that, what else had Mrs. Harris got to do but gossip about her customers. Gossip. Gossip. Gossip. If it wasn’t one person, it was another. Dolly Messitor indeed, seeing her go to those mystery players. You couldn’t keep out of gossip. You couldn’t avoid mistakes, coincidences. Mrs. Gaines having that crisis on the very day she had been ‘bunking off’. And this was the life that now awaited her. A constant being on her guard.

  ‘Hullo, hullo,’ she called out from the hall. There was no answer. Graham should be back by now. She went into the kitchen. There were signs that Ilse had been preparing dinner. The oven was on, and a joint was roasting. The table had been laid. The stopper had been taken out of the decanter to let the red wine breathe. Everything was in apparent order. They managed all right without her.

  ‘I need a drink,’ she thought, ‘and a strong one, too.’

  She turned the whisky bottle a second time over the ice. She poured only a very little soda on it. She took a long deep sip. It sent a welcoming shiver along her veins. She could understand how Mrs. Gaines’ Bill felt on Friday evenings.

  She sat there, sipping quietly.

  Her glass was half empty before there was a clatter: the sound of voices, the grinding of wheels on gravel. She got up. She walked out on to the drive. They were all there together. Ilse, the boys, Graham. They were flushed and they seemed excited.

  ‘Where on earth have you all been?’ she said.

  ‘On the cricket field. We’ve been having nets. We believe we’ve discovered a new bowler: quick, not slow: if he was slow, these yokels would cart him into the next village. But he was quick, in the way Frank Foster was. I’ve heard my father talk about him. A quick left hander. There’s nothing like it. He comes in at you fast. He hits you on the inside of your leg. That stings. You start to draw away: then he sends you the one that straightens out, and your middle stump goes flying sideways. That’s what we think we’ve found. He’ll play havoc with Alderster on Saturday.’

  She had seldom seen them all so excited. She did not grasp the technicalities of a fast left hander who straightened the ball out. All this was basically foreign to her. What did she know what they were all about, these English. But her heart responded to them. She was happy that her sons were Englishmen.

  ‘Well, here you are and what’s it to be now?’ she asked.

  ‘Get them to bed quickly,’ Graham said. ‘Then let’s have ourselves a drink, you and I.’

  Ilse took charge of the children, then he followed Anna into the TV room.

  His eye rested on her glass.

  ‘You’ve started in already,’ he remarked.

  ‘Did you expect me to wait for you?’

  ‘Of course not, of course not …’ he paused; his eye rested on her glass. He could guess by its colour what it was. He seemed about to say something: Then he checked: does he think I’m taking too much, she asked herself. Is he watching me? Is he starting to feel suspicious? Is he? Why shouldn’t he? But again, why should he? What excuse have I given him: it’s just that … she checked. She had given him cause to be concerned.

  Was he noticing that she was drinking stronger drinks and oftener. He had always thought of her as an Italian, with her Negronis and her campari sodas.

  ‘Sit and talk to me,’ she said, ‘for a moment.’

  He brought over what looked like a strong scotch and soda.

  ‘How has it been with you?’ she asked.

  ‘As it is most days. You’re the one that pulls the changes. How has it been with you?’

  She told him how it had been with her. She told him of her visit to the hospital; then of her lunch with Tommy.

  ‘You took him to the cafeteria?’ he asked.

  ‘I felt I had to see him. I didn’t know where else to see him. You, when you have to make contact with a man, take him to a bar. Me, when I’m dealing with a boy like this. I give him food. It’s a question of breaking down barriers, isn’t it? You give a man a gin and tonic. I give a boy a sausages and mash.’

  He laughed. She was a lively customer all right.

  ‘I’ll join you in a whisky and soda and catch up with you,’ he said.

  Seated beside her, he looked at her thoughtfully. ‘I don’t want to interfere,’ he said, ‘but aren’t you taking Mrs. Gaines a little over seriously.’

  She hesitated. What could she say to that?

  ‘It’s the first time I’ve ever had to deal with a suicide attempt. If I were a Samaritan I suppose that I’d be used to it. But as it is … you know … the boy … I worry about that boy quite a lot.’

  There was a fond, there was a very thoughtful expression on Graham’s face.

  ‘Mightn’t there be something I could do,’ he asked.

  ‘Such as.’

  ‘Divorce proceedings … Maintenance, legal aid generally. You say the boy’s bright. The council has a scheme for sending bright boys to school and paying the fees.’

  Anna closed her eyes. There it went again. It all seemed so simple in terms of grants and subsidies. But when it came to a real situation, that was not quite the way it was.

  It was so simple in one way; so complicated in another.

  ‘She doesn’t want a divorce,’ Anna said. ‘Her husband couldn’t pay maintenance. The boy wouldn’t leave home. It’s the boy who keeps that home together …’ She paused. ‘I wonder if Alistair could do as much,’ she said.

  He stared at her, astonished. ‘Alistair, what on earth has he got to do with this? Alistair keep the home together … but … what on earth made you think of a thing like that?’

  ‘I don’t know, I don’t know.’ She checked: a hopeless expression on her face.

  Alistair and Tommy. What resemblance between them was there. Yet they both might have to pick up the cards in an awkward situation. What role would Alistair feel h
e had to play, if some equivalent situation might be found in their own family. Suppose Alistair were to be left to look after Dominic if she went away. But she wasn’t going away, of course she wasn’t. Her place was with Alistair and Dominic and Graham. Nothing could alter that.

  ‘I hate your having to wear yourself out with this tiresome business,’ Graham said. ‘Three days in succession. It’s too much. Let’s hope it’ll stop your idea of taking on that extra day. You have dropped that idea, haven’t you?’

  She shook her head. ‘If anything these three days have made me feel I ought to take on that extra day. I do seem to be needed there. After all it’s only because I went away early that Mrs. Gaines got into this mess.’

  ‘You surely aren’t going to blame yourself for that?’

  She did not answer him. She could not answer him. She could not tell the truth. She could not be open with him. She was lying when she had said that she was planning to take that extra day because she had come to feel that she was needed in the bureau. She needed an extra day for her own devices; so that she would have two chances a week of meeting her doctor.

  ‘Thank heavens, you haven’t got to go in tomorrow. You’ll have the whole weekend free … you won’t be going in till Wednesday, will you?’

  ‘No, I shan’t be going in till Wednesday.’

  Wednesday, that was five days away. And last Wednesday was only two days away. It was only three days since she had been sitting here over her evening drink, thinking ‘Tomorrow I’ll be seeing him.’ She had been so happy and expectant. With such a pride in herself. How would she be feeling in four days’ time. Once again she would be thinking, ‘Tomorrow I’ll be seeing him.’ In what mood would she be thinking that.

  XIII

  Tuesday was a dull, grey day. After tea it began to rain: a gentle persistent rain that might clear up during the night, or might lead to a solid spell of rain: the kind of weather that so often came in August. In many ways, August was one of the worst months for holidays.

  She woke on the Wednesday morning to the sight of rain drops on the window. He’d probably welcome that. At last he’d be able to take her to the George and Dragon.