The Godsend

by Bernard Taylor

  As I ate I turned now and again to look at him where he sat, his breakfast untouched before him. I was amazed at his strength of will. But he gave in. He was probably hungry. After a while he took up his fork and began to eat, although the food must have been quite cold by now. He ate slowly, mechanically, and obviously without enjoyment, and I knew that his behaviour had been no mere gesture. Still, it was beyond me. It was almost as if, being adult, I was blind to what he, in his childish acceptance of everything, was so much aware of.

  He ate his lunch alone, too.

  Afterwards, as Kate carried empty dishes out to the kitchen she stopped by his chair, looking down at him as he toyed with the remainder of his food.

  “Don’t you want it?” Her tone was softer. I couldn’t see her face but I could tell she was aware of the misery he was suffering.

  He shook his head and kept silent. The tears were not far away again, and I knew that if he tried to speak they would fall. Kate knew it too. She put down the dishes and crouched beside him. I watched as she put her arms around him, wrapping him close. He clung to her.

  “Oh, darling . . .” All the warmth was back in her voice. “You’re such a silly boy. We all love you so. Don’t you know that?”

  He said nothing, just nodded against her shoulder, his eyes shut tight.

  “I don’t understand what’s happening between you and Bonnie,” Kate went on, “but you mustn’t be unkind to her. She’s only three years old. Today. And especially as it’s her birthday. And you’re a big boy. You are, aren’t you?”

  He nodded again.

  “So, please, darling, try to be nice to her. Won’t you try?”

  “. . . Yes . . .” He spoke so softly I could hardly hear him. He held on tighter, his fingers gripping her cotton blouse.

  “Look,” Kate said brightly, “we’re going outside in a minute to play some birthday games. And we want you to come and join in. We want you to.” She looked over at me. “Don’t we?”

  “Of course,” I said. “It won’t be any good without our Sam.”

  “Will you come?” Kate asked him.

  “Yes.” His lip quivered. He was overwhelmed by the display of much-needed affection. Whatever it was that had led to his pre­vious behaviour, it was over-ruled by his present, stronger feel­ings. He’d had enough of solitude.

  “Good boy,” Kate said gently. “I knew we could depend on you.” She kissed the top of his head, gave his shoulder a little squeeze and he looked up at her and smiled. With such relief. She smiled back and stood up. “Just let me get the washing-up done, then we’ll all go out and have some fun. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He got down from his chair and ran out into the yard. Kate watched him go, then turned and looked at me. She sighed, raising her eyebrows, but I could see how glad she was that he had finally come to his senses.

  “I told you he’d be all right,” I said.

  Later, when we had stacked all the dishes away; when the dining-­room and the kitchen were tidy again; when the jellies were setting and the fairy cakes were cooling, Kate and I went into the garden. Crossing the lawn I touched Kate’s shoulder and pointed.

  “Look at him.”

  On the far side of the lawn Sam swung back and forth on a rope suspended from a branch of the stout apple-tree that supported his tree-house. Even as we watched him he stopped his swinging and scrambled up the rope, agile as a monkey, till he reached the limb above. Unaware of us, he climbed nimbly along the branch and onto the platform. As he reached it he turned and saw us. He grinned and waved.

  “Come on up and play with me.”

  Kate laughed. “You must be joking! If you think I could climb up there you must be mad.”

  “It’s easy,” he said, with some pride.

  “Yes, easy for you,” she said.

  “Daddy, you come up.”

  “Later, maybe,” I answered. “Come on, we’re going to the orchard. We need you to help us with the games.”

  As I looked up at him I recalled how I had erected the platform four summers ago. Really with Davie in mind—and how he had loved it. But only Sam would enjoy it now.

  Sam was swinging from a branch above the platform, lifting his feet clear.

  “Come on down,” Kate said. “Bonnie and Lucy are waiting for us.”

  For just a moment I saw him falter in his rhythm as he swung to and fro. I tried to read his expression but his face was shadowed by the foliage. Then, making his decision, he said, “All right,” dropped back onto the platform and came to the edge. Kneeling, he grasped the thick rope that hung almost to the ground and lowered himself, hand over hand, until he had reached the grass. He ran towards us and Kate ruffled his hair.

  “Good, let’s go,” she said. He grinned, stepping out, as if he would have run on ahead, but she held onto his hand, tightly—savour­ing the contact, I knew.

  Before we got to the orchard we could hear Bonnie’s squeals of delight. We found her and Lucy chasing around among the trees and rolling in the warm, dry grass. They stopped as we approached, and Bonnie ran to us, arms outstretched, pleading to be lifted up. I chuckled and swept her into my arms, holding her there as I picked bits of grass from her new party dress. In her hair her blue silk ribbon was coming adrift and Kate said, “Hold still, darling,” and retied it, more securely.

  As I set Bonnie back on the grass Kate glanced up at the sky, smiling, creasing her forehead against the sun.

  “It’s such a gorgeous day . . .”

  “Beautiful . . .”

  She turned, eyes following Bonnie who now dashed off in pursuit of Lucy again. There was a gentle expression on Kate’s face, the smile lingering still. Absently she lifted a hand and brushed back a lock of hair. Her eyes had a far-away, dreaming look. I wondered what she was thinking of . . . If only there was some way I could make up to her for the unhappiness she had suffered. But perhaps time would do it. I could only hope.

  I sat down, the grass soft under my faded blue jeans. I patted my shirt pocket, trying to locate cigarettes, then realised I had left them indoors. I looked across at Sam: “Would you mind, Sam? . . . my cigarettes . . . ?” and he sped away, back towards the house. Kate watched him go, then knelt, picking a blade of grass and putting the end between her teeth. I moved closer, reached out and touched her hair. She smiled at me.

  “What’s up?”

  “Nothing. Just making sure you’re still there.”

  I took the grass-stem from her mouth and kissed her, just lightly, and she let her body rest against me. I kissed her eyes, her hair—gently—as if I would kiss away the past hurt and make every­thing as it was. At least, I consoled myself, everything between us would stay the same.

  Here, in the orchard, holding her to me, I felt safe, secure. Whatever changes we had had to come to terms with; whatever changes there might be in the future, I could be sure of her love. Whatever happened, I would have Kate . . .

  She had been pulling at bits of grasses and leaves—a lingering nervousness still showing in her fingers—and now she held up a little spray of greenstuff with pink flowers—“Wild thyme . . .”—and pushed the stem through a buttonhole of my shirt. “There you are . . .” She patted my chest. “Now you’re all ready for the party.” I looked round and saw Sam come through the gate carrying my cigarettes. Kate got to her feet and called out, beckoning, to Lucy and Bonnie.

  “You’re just in time,” I told Sam. “You must help us decide what we shall play.”

  “I want to stay with you,” he said.

  I was about to answer, but Kate turned and gave him a warning glance.

  “Sam, please. Remember what you said . . .”

  Lucy and Bonnie were running towards us. When they got to us, laughing, out of breath, I asked:

  “Well, what shall we play? It’s got to be something nice for Bonnie Blue.”

  “Hide-and-seek,” Lucy suggested. She pointed a finger at me, then at Kate. “But you’ve got to join in as well. Not just us
.”

  Kate laughed. “Of course we’ll join in.”

  “All right, then: Hide-and-seek.” I turned to speak to Sam, and saw that he had moved away and was now swinging on the orchard gate. “How about that, Sammy?”

  Bonnie, who had been holding my hand, released me and ran towards him, her face all eagerness. “Sam . . . Sam . . . Sam . . .” she chuckled, reaching up to him, her fingers touching his own.

  Sam stood quite still, looking at her. Then, snatching his hand away, he jumped down from the gate and ran away up the path. Kate looked after him, frowning. Her smile was quite gone. I was annoyed. Just when everything had been going so well.

  “Ah, let him go,” Kate said. “I give up. If he wants to be so stupid . . .” She turned back to us. “All right then, who’ll be first to seek . . . ?”

  “I will.” That was Lucy.

  “Right. And no peeping.” I think Kate was forcing herself to sound more cheerful for the sake of the others. Nothing must be allowed to spoil the fun. “Count to twenty, slowly,” she said, “and then come to look for us.” She added, as Lucy moved away:

  “Can you count to twenty?”

  “I should think so!” Lucy’s voice was full of indignance. She tossed her head with a tcchhh of scorn, and then closed her eyes, leaning against an old plum-tree. “Starting now,” she said, and began to count in slow, sonorous tones: “One . . . two . . . three . . .”

  Bonnie must have played the game many times before, I thought, watching as she scuttled away, giggling, to hide, but even so, her sense of involvement surprised me in such a young child. As she hid in the long grass at the base of an apple-tree, Kate crept hurriedly away towards the bushes that ran along the bottom of the orchard. I moved back through the orchard gate and along the path to the lawn. When I got there I heard Lucy’s distant cry of “Here I come! Ready or not!”

  As I stood deciding on a likely place to hide, a slight movement above and to my right drew my attention to the tree-house. Sam was perched up on the platform looking down at me, his eyes peering through the screen of leaves and apples.

  “Come on,” I said. “Come on down. We’re having a lot of fun.”

  He said nothing. Just looked.

  “Come on down, Sam. Why not come and join us.”

  Slowly he shook his head.

  “Oh, well . . .” I shrugged off his stubbornness. “Do as you must.”

  For a moment or two longer he continued to look at me, then retreated away out of sight. After a pause I moved towards the tree, resolved to climb up and talk to him, ask him Why? What was happening . . . ? I had just reached the foot of the tree when, with a triumphant shout, Lucy leapt out from among the bushes and grabbed at my shirt.

  “Got you!”

  She took my hand then, and led me down towards the orchard. When I looked back Sam was not to be seen.

  “That wasn’t really fair,” Lucy was saying. “It was too easy. You weren’t really hiding.”

  “You were too quick for me,” I said.

  In the orchard again it was my turn to be the seeker. Lucy pushed me towards the plum-tree.

  “Now close your eyes tight, and don’t look round!”

  I said to Kate, “She’s so bossy. I don’t know where she gets it from. Certainly not from me.”

  “Oh, listen to Mr. Placid talking,” Kate said. Then she added: “Have you seen anything of Sam?”

  “He’s up in the tree again.”

  “Did you talk to him?”

  “Yes. He won’t come down.”

  “I’ll make him,” she said, and began to move away. I stopped her.

  “Leave him. Let him get on with it. Let’s play our game.”

  Lucy was growing impatient with all the talk.

  “Daddy, close your eyes!” She gave me a nudge in the back. “And start to count. And no cheating.”

  I laughed, shut my eyes, leaned my head against the rough bark and began to count in a loud, slow, theatrical voice. Against my own sound I could hear the whispers, squeals and giggles as the two girls dashed excitedly away.

  I counted even more slowly towards the end, trying to build up the suspense:

  “. . . Eighteen and a half . . . eighteen and three-quarters . . .” and at last I got to twenty, opened my eyes and yelled, “Here I come! Ready or not!”

  Kate was easy to find. I discovered her crouching behind the garden shed. I said laconically:

  “Really, my dear, you’ll have to learn to do better than that.”

  “Oh, hang it all . . .” With a little laugh she got to her feet. She pulled a face. “I just don’t have any imagination, that’s my trouble.”

  “Pity.”

  “Yes, it is.” She leaned down and brushed a smudge of earth from her knee. “To tell the truth, I’m rather relieved that you found me so quickly. That was not the most comfortable position I’d chosen for myself. Also, it’ll give me a chance to look in the kitchen. I’ve yet to add the roses to Bonnie’s cake.”

  “You can’t go yet. It’ll be your turn to seek next.”

  “Oh, you’ll manage. And they’ll understand if food is involved.” She started to move away from me. I reached out and took her hand, holding her, drawing her back.

  “Suppose I won’t let you go . . . ?”

  She smiled, shrugged. “Well, you’re bigger than I am.”

  “Yes.” She felt very slight in my arms. I caressed the soft firmness of her small breast, holding her tight to me.

  “The children . . .” she muttered. I kissed her, moving my hand inside her blouse. I bent my head and kissed her flesh, sweet-scented, just above the line of her brassiere. She said again, “Alan, the children . . . darling . . .”

  “They’ll wait another moment,” I said. Suddenly I wanted her so much. I knew I couldn’t do anything about it, but I wanted her, right there. I felt her come closer to me, and I pressed my own hardness against her pliant body. “You want to as well,” I said.

  “Yes.” She nodded, whispering. “But we can’t. Not now . . .”

  “No, not now.” I kissed her again. “But later . . .”

  Off in the distance came Lucy’s voice: “You’ll never find me, Daddy!”—prompting me to hurry up and seek her out, growing tired of waiting.

  “There’s your cue,” Kate said, and I shouted out:

  “Yes, I shall! Any second now . . .”

  I released Kate from my arms and she tripped off through the brambles. She smiled at me over her shoulder, then disappeared round the corner of the shed. I saw that the thyme she had put in my shirt button-hole had been crushed, the scent drifting up more strongly.

  Going back into the orchard I moved in the direction from where I thought I had heard Lucy’s voice, peering up into the low-branched trees, looking for some tell-tale patch of colour among the foliage. Nothing. I circled the orchard again, then decided that she must have changed her hiding-place. I returned to the garden, calling out in a sing-song voice, full of melodramatic menace.

  “Lucy Locket, I shall find you . . . I’m coming for you . . . Oh, Lucy . . . Oh, Loooooooooocieeeeeee . . .”

  I paused every few minutes to listen for any sound of breathing or stifled giggles. But there was nothing at all. I carried on like an idiot.

  “Lucy Locket, I shall find you . . .” and then: “Bonnie Blue-hoo, where are you—hooooooo? Little Bonnie, here I cu-huuuuuuuuuuuuummmmmmm . . .”

  At last, approaching the redcurrant bushes, I heard from their midst a little squeaking giggle, breathless with suppressed excitement. Leaping into the centre of the patch I pounced on Bonnie as she tried to burrow deep amongst the leaves.

  “Gotcha! Bonnie Blue is mine!”

  She shrieked in terror-stricken delight, her laughter gurgling, bubbling up like a spring. Grabbing her, I held her to me in a great rush of affection.

  “I’ve caught Bonnie!” I sang out. “I’ve caught Bonnie!”

  In my arms she giggled and chirped, her yellow curls swinging ab
out her mouth. I brushed the locks back from her pink cheeks. “You’ve lost your ribbon,” I said. I set her down on the ground again. “Come on. Now you must help me look for Lucy.”

  “Look for Lucy!” she echoed. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” and we moved hand in hand across the path, through the gooseberry patch, and back to the shed, but still there was no sign of her. As we approached the lawn I thought suddenly of Sam’s tree-house—she might be hiding there.

  It was only about seven feet from the ground, and by leaping up I could just see the rough surface of the makeshift platform. Empty.

  “Where can she be . . . ?” I said.

  “L-u-c-y . . .” Bonnie let go my hand and calling in her little piping voice, went to poke about in the brambles that grew along the hedgerow. “I’ll find her!” she assured me. “Lucy . . . Lucy . . . Lucy . . .” I grinned at her enthusiasm and turned away.

  And it was then that I saw him.

  “. . . Sam . . . ?”

  He was lying near the bole of the tree, partly concealed by nettles and the long grass. He looked much too still.

  “Sammy . . . ?”

  The voice in my parched mouth didn’t sound like my own. I felt sick.

  I stepped closer, bending into the nettles, careless of the leaves that stung my hand. His soft cheek was warm beneath my fingers, but I knew the warmth was going, that it wouldn’t return.

  TEN

  There is a pigeon hopping on the sill of the window that overlooks the patch of concrete down below. He has only one foot. Over his bobbing head I can see a corner of the Power Station and endless rows of London houses. I know I’ll never get used to the view—though he seems well at home with it. He adopted us soon after we came here, arriving regularly every day for food, and we felt sorry for him. I admired his ability to survive the competition from his better-equipped mates and we fed him willingly. Not now, though. He gets no joy at all these days, and not on that window sill. Already his visits are becoming less frequent. He’ll give up soon and try somewhere else.