He looked very small, and very nervous. He had appeared all at once, standing in my path, his gnarled hands with their whitened knuckles holding his dressing-gown tight around him. But he was brave all right. I must have looked like a lunatic.
“Get out of my way,” I barked at him.
“What’s going on here?”
His voice trembled slightly, like the hand that reached out and grabbed my sleeve. I shook him off.
“Go on! Get out of the way—”
I tried to push past him, but he moved to block me again. Over to the side I could see his wife standing framed in a dimly-lit doorway, her hands up to her face. Behind me came the sound of Kate’s slippers as she flew down the last flight of stairs. The next second she had reached me and Lucy was torn from my arms. She clung to Kate, crying with fear, while over her head Kate looked at me, with hatred. I stood foolishly clutching the hold-all, panting from exertion and emotion, and mentally cursing my clumsiness and stupidity. I wouldn’t get another chance. Kate would see to that.
A couple of minutes later I climbed back up the stairs and, following in Kate’s footsteps, walked behind her over the welcome mat.
Back in the flat she installed Lucy in the same bed as Bonnie. I saw Bonnie’s eyes flash resentment, though she put her arms around Lucy and snuggled up to her. Lucy lay crying still, her breath coming in little short, sobbing gasps. Kate watched the scene for a moment, then turned to glare at me as I stood in the open doorway. Going past me into our bedroom she returned carrying her night-dress. On the landing she stopped, facing me.
“It’s all yours.” She nodded back in the direction of the room that had been ours. “I shall be sleeping in with the girls from now on.”
“Kate—” I said—though I had nothing to say. I let my voice tail off.
“You realise this is the end for us.” She spoke bitterly. “I don’t know how you think you can ever put this right.”
I didn’t know either. I continued to look away from the hatred in her eyes, and she stepped by me and moved into the dimmer light of the girls’ room. As the door closed behind her the snap of the catch rang in the silence. I knew that nothing I said could change anything now. Not now. Not in the slightest way.
After a time I put off the lights and went into our bedroom. I lay down on the bed. But I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t. Something had to be done. And soon.
The next morning Kate said abruptly as we finished breakfast:
“I’ll be taking Lucy to school.”
“Kate, listen—” I began. She cut me short.
“I don’t want to listen to anything you’ve got to say. You don’t make sense any more. You’re a different person. I don’t know you any more.”
I sat silent, the toast before me growing cold and turning to leather on my plate. I pushed it away. Glancing up I saw that Lucy was looking at me. She hadn’t spoken to me—not a word—during breakfast. I watched now as she dropped her eyes and moved closer to Kate. How could I ever hope that she might understand . . .
A few minutes later Kate, Lucy and Bonnie had gone from the flat. In the quiet I sat still and poured myself more coffee. It was cold, but I drank it anyway.
Before I set off to the studio I oiled the lock on the front door. A day too late, of course, but still, it was one of those jobs that had to be done.
SIXTEEN
On Wednesday when Kate and Bonnie returned from taking Lucy to school they found me still in the flat. I was speaking on the phone. I had waited, listening for the sound of the front door—the signal for me to begin my act—and then launched into the middle of a perfectly one-sided conversation. Kate gave no outward indication of listening to me as she began to collect up the breakfast dishes, but I knew she heard every word I said. She was meant to.
“Yes,” I said into the mouthpiece, “of course I can get down to see you. It’s no trouble at all for me . . .” I paused, hearing just the dial-tone in my ear. “. . . Well, as soon as possible, don’t you think? . . . Yes, tomorrow would be fine.” Another pause—convincing, I hoped. “It’ll take me a couple of hours to get there. I could be with you early afternoon . . . All right, for lunch, then . . .”
When, my palm sweating, I had replaced the receiver, I turned to Kate as, carrying a loaded tray, she started off in the direction of the kitchen.
“I’m going down to Cheltenham tomorrow. Marianne Shaw wants to talk to me about a couple of new books I’m to illustrate.” I didn’t often consult with the various authors whose stories I worked on, but it did sometimes happen. I had chosen this particular writer now as she was confined to a wheel-chair and our only possible way of meeting would be for me to go and see her. “I’ll probably be back about five or six . . . She’s anxious to—”
“Why tell me?” Kate said, abruptly cutting me off. “You know your own work and what you have to do. I’m not really that interested.”
Her reaction, at the moment, was all I could have wished for. She accepted my story without the least hesitation. Too readily: it was only too clear that she wasn’t interested. She carried on into the kitchen and I followed and watched her as she worked, tight-lipped, unloading the tray.
“Kate, I’m sorry,” I said.
I wanted to make her believe that I wouldn’t try another happening like last night’s. And also I still hoped, in some way, to get her to listen to me so that I could cancel the plan I had in mind. But there was not the slightest softness in her determined expression and I could see I would be wasting my breath.
“I’ll see you later,” I said. She didn’t answer.
When I went to get my jacket I found Bonnie sitting on the hall floor working on a building-blocks-construction that any eight-year-old would have been proud of. She looked up at me and grinned, sitting back on her heels.
“Goodbye, Daddy.”
She spoke purely for Kate’s benefit, I knew, keeping up her act of the innocent, misunderstood child. I had a sudden, insane urge to kick out and send her brick-towers falling, but I restrained the impulse and hurried out.
I called at the bank on my way to the studio and drew out a considerable quantity of cash. Then went on to sit before my drawing-board and try to work. It was almost impossible to concentrate, though, and when I surveyed my output at the end of the day it seemed to me dull and lifeless and far less than my best. I returned to the flat to spend long, dispirited hours where the conversation, when it wasn’t stilted, was completely nonexistent, and where the only uninhibited sound came from the radio. The evening seemed interminable, rigid with tension, and several times I felt the sweat—triggered by my own thoughts—break out under my arms. I had little appetite to eat the dinner that Kate silently served, and she made no comment as I shuffled the food around on my plate. When it came time for bed she went, as before, into the girls’ room.
I did not even have the satisfaction of knowing that one day she would understand everything; that she would realise I had acted in the only possible way. I could only prove to her that I was right by allowing Lucy to remain there and die. And that I couldn’t risk for a single day longer.
In the morning I stopped Lucy on the landing as she came pink and fresh from the bathroom.
“Lucy . . .”
She said nothing, but looked at me warily.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you the other night,” I said. “I wouldn’t ever hurt you. You know that.”
After a moment’s hesitation she nodded.
“No,” I went on, “never. I’d never hurt you. You don’t really think I would, do you?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Good. I love you. Will you forgive me for scaring you like that?”
“Yes, Daddy . . .”
I stooped and held my arms out to her. She came to me and I held her close. I kissed the top of her head. The hair at her temples was still damp from her wash and she smelled faintly of soap and toothpaste. She held on to me for seconds after I took my own hands away, and I knew
then we were all right again. As she went away from me into her bedroom I felt as if a great weight had been lifted from my mind. How she might feel towards me in the future I didn’t—wouldn’t—consider.
A while later I looked down from the window and watched as the three of them set off up the road. Kate wouldn’t dream of leaving Bonnie alone with me now while she took Lucy to school. But that was okay with me. If I never had to set eyes on Bonnie again I’d be glad.
Turning from the view of their retreating backs, I got to work. Swiftly. I packed two suitcases with Lucy’s and my own clothes and, hurrying downstairs, stowed them away in the boot of the car. I had to be quick as the school was only a short distance away and Kate and Bonnie would soon return. But I managed everything in time, and when they did get back I was tying my tie before the glass. I was not wearing my usual working-gear of denim jacket and jeans, but a tweed sports-coat and dark cords: an outfit suitable in which to visit one such as Marianne Shaw—I had to play the role fully.
As I looked at Kate’s reflection beyond my shoulder our eyes met and held for an instant. It seemed to me that she opened her mouth to speak. But whatever she had been going to say she thought better of it, and the moment passed. She turned away and went upstairs. I picked up my brief-case, my raincoat, the car keys, and I was ready.
I found her in the girls’ bedroom, making the beds. I stood in the doorway and watched her as she moved briskly about. Perhaps there was still time—still a chance to let the light of this incredible reality stop the corrosion that was destroying us. No. When I said, “—I won’t be too late back . . .” she just nodded and went on smoothing pillows.
I drove first to my studio and packed into the boot of the car all the working materials I thought I might be likely to need over the next few weeks—assuming I could ever get my hands to stop shaking long enough to use them. I hoped, prayed, that what I had in mind wouldn’t take that long, but I had to be prepared for all contingencies. Locking the studio securely behind me, I set off back in the direction of Lucy’s school.
“She’s in Miss Blandings’ class.”
I walked along the warmly-polished corridor with the headmistress, Mrs. Aldrich, at my side. She was a straight reed of a woman with a kind smile and a taste for heavy jewellery. The carefully-casual waves framing her face bounced slightly in rhythm with her energetic, springing step. A couple of minutes earlier, facing me across her office desk, she had seen at once from my expression that something was wrong, and accepted immediately the story I gave that there was a “little personal family difficulty . . .” Then, with my murmurs of “illness” and “close relatives”, she had reacted with a kindness and sympathy that left me feeling a heel for lying to her. But it had to be.
Now she stepped in front of me, tapped on a glass-panelled door, opened it and went in. I followed.
The gentle hum of children’s voices hushed as we appeared, and eager faces looked up with bright expectancy. Lucy sat close to the window, I saw, and she looked across at me and gave me a very small, shy smile. At the same time the girl who sat behind reached forward and gave her a little nudge in the back. Miss Blandings—not more than twenty-three and all straight dark hair and loose woollies—came towards us.
“Lucy’s father has come for her,” Mrs. Aldrich told her, and then beckoned to Lucy to come forward. “Pack up your work, dear, and bring your own things with you.” Lucy, colouring-up, but enjoying (I could tell) being the centre of attraction, stood at her desk, collected her books together and put them away. “And your coat, dear, don’t forget,” Mrs. Aldrich went on. “Your daddy’s come to take you home.”
While Lucy went self-consciously to the rows of coats hanging at the back of the room, the headmistress turned to Miss Blandings. “Lucy won’t be back for a day or two,” she flicked at me a little sad smile of understanding, then added: “I’ll explain later.”
Outside in the corridor I held Lucy’s satchel while she did up the buttons on her mac. “That’s it, my dear,” Mrs. Aldrich nodded, “it’s none too warm out today.” She accompanied us then to the main doors. As we shook hands she said, “I hope everything turns out all right . . .”
I answered, “Thank you. I hope so too.” I did, desperately.
“What’s the matter?” Lucy asked me as we crossed the playground hand-in-hand. She seemed to have got over her fear of the other night and now appeared quite excited at the idea of being taken out of school in the middle of class. She looked up at me with large, soft, enquiring eyes. “What’s up, Daddy? Why have I got to go home?”
“We’re not actually going home,” I told her. “We’re going away.”
“Away?” The thought made her chuckle. She gave a little skip. “A holiday? It’s too early for a holiday. It’s not half-term till next Monday.”
“And you’re all on holiday then?”
“Yes, for a whole week.”
Well, that was something. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about her schooling for a few days.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
I wished I knew. “You’ll see. You just wait till we get there. You’ll like it.”
There was a sudden palpable hesitation, a faltering in her step at my side, and I saw the wariness back in her face.
“Don’t worry,” I said, smiling to dispel her fears, “we’re going to have a lovely time.” Then the tightness vanished and she relaxed again. “Come on!” I said, generating her excitement, “we’ve got to hurry!”
We passed through the school gates. I unlocked the car and Lucy got into the front passenger seat and I buckled her in. She was all smiles and twitters.
“Nobody at school goes away for holidays this early in the year,” she said. “Are we going for a long time?”
“A little while.” I switched on the ignition, put the engine into first and pulled away from the kerb. When we turned right onto the main road, she said quickly:
“What about Mummy and Bonnie? Aren’t we going to collect them? We can’t go without them.”
“No . . . we’ll be seeing them later.”
“When?”
“In a day or two.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Well—three or four days.”
“When we’re there?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Well—first Mummy’s got to finish off some work. Some of her writing. Then she and Bonnie will join us.”
This appeared to satisfy her—at least for the moment, anyway. I turned to look briefly at her, aware that I mustn’t allow her to see any signs of fear or tension in my face. I could see none reflected in her own. She seemed happy and excited still. I grinned at her.
“You wait, later we’re going to stop and buy you some nice new clothes. Wouldn’t you like that?”
“Really?” Her eyes sparkled. She was so completely feminine—always, from a much younger age showing a real concern over her appearance, always insisting on “looking nice”. Now, the sudden prospect of new clothes was very appealing.
“I’d like a new dress,” she said.
“You shall have one. New shoes, too, perhaps. Who knows?—maybe even two dresses.” Why not? I asked myself—I had a wallet full of money and credit cards.
We stopped at a large department store—happily for me it was fairly crowded—and selected a number of purchases. Lucy had new shoes and her two new dresses, as well as a selection of underwear, socks, a blouse and skirt, and slippers. It would be enough to go on with; we could buy whatever else might be required when—and if—the need arose. Carrying the packages between us we headed back to the car and drove away.
She talked happily for some while as she sat beside me. She was obviously delighted with our purchases. For her, I could see, there was a holiday atmosphere about the trip. Later, her chatter stopped and I realised she had fallen asleep. I took my hand from the steering wheel and gently smoothed the top of her head. Her hair was very soft under my palm. Nothing mus
t happen to her, I told myself grimly. Nothing would happen to her. I wouldn’t let it. And to that end I was determined that she and Bonnie must never be allowed to live together again. Because all the time they were alone Lucy would be in danger. And who could watch over her every single moment? No, whatever happened I had to protect her and this, for the time being, was the only way I could think of. I didn’t see that I had any choice, not right now. In a while, perhaps, we’d be able to go home again. Kate would surely see, by my present actions, that my words couldn’t be taken lightly. She would have to take me seriously. She would have to listen to me now. She would have to try to believe me. And she would have to give Bonnie up. Just as I had been given no choice, so I would give Kate no choice.
But even so, I wondered, supposing she refused? Then we might never return. And what if Lucy never saw Kate again? I pushed the thought away, it was too disturbing, but it came back, persisting. What would happen? Certainly Lucy would resent me for it—probably hate me—once she had come to realise what I had done—that I had taken her away from her mother. She wouldn’t understand my reasons, of course. I sighed, gripping the steering wheel. So be it. If it was the only way. It was better that Lucy learned to live without Kate than not to live at all.
Following the traffic signs, I set my course for the motorway. Birmingham was a big enough city.
I found us a room in a small, brightly painted bed-and-breakfast house in Edgbaston; the house the only bright spot in a grey-looking street which, if it had seen better days, surely hadn’t seen them within living memory. It wasn’t what I would have chosen, but the first two places I tried were full, and I was too tense and nervous to keep looking.
The room Lucy and I were shown into was, so I was assured by Mrs. Hooper, the landlady, the best room in the house. It was also, she added, the largest. I’m sure she spoke the truth, but what she didn’t take into account was the amount of furniture she’d managed to cram in there. After allowing room for the chests of drawers, the wardrobes, the two beds, the numerous unmatching chairs and the tables of varying sizes—and all set against a background of the busiest floral wallpaper I’d ever seen—there wasn’t that much space for actually moving about. The walls themselves were dressed with at least twenty pictures of the worst Victorian vogue, while the surfaces of the inelegant furniture were laden with what seemed an unending array of empty biscuit tins, obviously chosen for their decorative lids depicting ladies in crinolines and fluffy kittens with ribbons around their necks. Mrs. Hooper was Welsh, and although she ventured the information that she had lived in the house “for donkeys’ years”, she still managed to sound as if she were on a day-trip from the Rhondda Valley. She had wispy grey hair, a sharp nose, and a ferocious little mouth which, when smiling, somehow managed to completely transform her otherwise rather forbidding exterior.
The Godsend Page 14
