Jumping the Queue

by Mary Wesley

  12

  WHEN HUGH WOKE the sun was up. Below his window he could hear the gander talk, Matilda answer. The bird stood on the brick path watching Matilda hoeing along a line of spinach, her movements brisk, economical.

  Hugh pulled on his trousers and shirt and opened the door into the passage. Matilda’s door was open, the bed unmade. Hugh looked again at the cupboard, parting the dresses on the rail to see how large a space lay behind. Satisfied, he prowled round the room, glancing at her things; a silver mirror, a brush, few pots or bottles on the dressing-table. He opened a drawer full of bras and nylons. Remembering his mother’s habits, he tried the bedside table, found what he sought, a pile of snapshots. Tom, tall, handsome, fine eyes, hawkish nose, something fanatical about the mouth, a mouth that had kissed wife and daughter. Other snaps jumbled up of children, dogs, Matilda with the children, Matilda holding a puppy, scrawled on the back ‘Stub – three months’. She held the animal with more care than she did the children. Another snapshot – Tom with Louise. The photograph had been crumpled, then smoothed out. Hearing Matilda come into the house he shut the drawer, went down to the kitchen.

  ‘Sleep well?’ She looked fresh, healthy.

  ‘Very well thanks. I was prowling round upstairs. I saw you in the garden.’

  ‘It’s the best time to do chores. I’ll get breakfast.’

  ‘Have you any photos of your family?’

  Matilda looked up. ‘Try the dresser drawer. There’s an envelope on the left, taken before they all flew.’

  ‘Flew?’

  ‘Birds leave the nest. It’s the best thing.’

  Hugh opened the drawer, found an envelope. ‘Is this it?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t much care for snaps. It’s other things which bring them to mind – smells, sounds, materials.’

  ‘Claud’s dresses?’

  She laughed. ‘Of course, his dresses. That’s me. Younger.’

  A younger Matilda stared at the camera, her hair blown across one eye. ‘That’s Louise with Pa.’ The voice was dry. Louise, tall, exquisite, standing close, too close to her father. ‘Anabel.’

  ‘Oh, Anabel. It’s a bit blurry.’

  ‘It’s very good of Stub and Prissy.’

  Anabel lay by the dog and cat who stared from eternity with enigmatic eyes. Another of Anabel, a better one – one wouldn’t get much change out of her. He put the snap down and picked up the last. Two exquisite girls in jeans, long fair hair, laughing eyes, long narrow legs, the one on the left so beautiful she leapt from the snapshot, so desirable she moved him.

  ‘That’s Claud – he’s still like that.’

  ‘I’m bowled over.’

  ‘Everyone is.’

  ‘No wonder he made trouble for the girls.’

  ‘There’s always trouble,’ Matilda said.

  ‘You love him the best.’

  ‘I do.’ Matilda picked up the snapshots and put them away. ‘Yes I do.’

  Outside the house Gus honked. Matilda motioned Hugh out of the room.

  ‘You in, Mrs Pollyput?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Hugh slid into the hallway.

  ‘Post.’

  ‘Oh, George, thank you. Only bills I bet.’

  Hugh saw a man’s shadow, heard steps.

  ‘Looks like Claud’s writing.’

  ‘George, you are unethical. Like a cup of tea? Postmen shouldn’t pry.’

  ‘Wouldn’t say no.’ A chair scraped on the stone floor. Hugh risked a quick glance and stifled a laugh. This Claud’s postman? Large head, massive shoulders, ginger hair getting thin, a heavy brutish face.

  ‘How is Rosie?’

  ‘In whelp again.’

  ‘George, don’t be crude.’

  ‘She’s a bloody bitch, Mrs Pollyput.’

  ‘George, shut up! You love her. You are very happy.’

  ‘If you say so.’ George sounded sulky.

  ‘I do say so. It’s no use pretending anything else.’

  ‘It’s just this, Mrs Pollyput. Things might have been different. I feel trapped married, like every other fellow. Now it’ll be three kids. I might – well, when I see his writing, I just think, that’s all.

  ‘When you see Claud’s writing you should thank your lucky stars that Claud left you. God knows what would have happened. Get on with your job, George. You had a sniff of sulphur – be thankful for Rosie.’

  ‘You are right. I daresay it was the glamour.’

  ‘He’s not really glamorous, he’s a clown. He says here on this postcard he is hard up. Did you read it? I bet you did. Hard up means he’s been chucked out of another job or has quarrelled with his feller.’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Pollyput.’

  ‘Still owes you, does he? How much?’

  ‘Never mind, Mrs Pollyput. I’m sorry I read the card. It set me remembering.’

  ‘Push off, George. Give my love to Rosie.’ Footsteps faded, Gus honked, Matilda sighed.

  ‘Claud’s postman?’ She glanced at Hugh. ‘Rather unlovely.’

  ‘He picks them for contrast. Dreadful boy.’

  ‘Don’t pay his debts.’

  ‘Goodness no!’ Matilda sighed again. ‘Now. Let us be clever, make lists and timetables so that you know when to make yourself scarce, where to hide and when you are safe. You must keep out of sight until you have your money and the hunt has died down. Then if you want to move on you can.’

  ‘If you really mean it. Tell me your daily routine. I can memorize. For the unexpected I can improvise but I am worried about any consequences for you.’

  ‘I’ve told you,’ Matilda snapped, ‘I’m enjoying it. Don’t you see, you’ve given me something to do. A bit of life, for Christ’s sake. I was bored stiff.’

  ‘Okay, okay, let’s make a list then. What happens from morning till night.’

  Matilda made a list, starting with the postman at the same time each day as she was finishing breakfast so that he could be fairly sure of an offer of tea. ‘I owe it to him. Claud behaved very badly.’

  ‘Was it first love?’

  ‘It was for George. Claud’s first love is Claud. He can only hurt himself.’

  ‘And your first love was Tom?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I am.’ Matilda was overemphatic.

  ‘There must have been others before him. When you were a child were you not in love?’

  ‘No.’ Again the emphasis. Hugh waited.

  ‘There is a rota of postmen. When it’s not George’s turn they come before I am up. I never see them so you won’t have to bother about them.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘The milk comes Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. You hear the van, Gus honks, you can keep out of sight. The dustbin men come round Thursdays. You hear them miles away. That’s about all. I do my shopping in the village or the town.’

  ‘Where we met.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Anyone else?’

  ‘Mr Jones. He gives a shout when he’s some way off. He’s nervous of Gus. If I don’t answer he goes away.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Yes. Quite often I don’t answer. He can be a bit of a bore.’

  ‘Made a pass at you?’

  Matilda blushed. ‘I’m too old.’ She caught Hugh’s eye. ‘Well, he did, but I took evasive action. One must be kind. He’s got the male menopause, Claud says. Louise said the same thing.’

  ‘What other neighbours?’

  ‘Few. They wave as they go by, shout “How are you?” or “It’s a fine day.” Gus keeps them away. Nobody cares to get nipped. Gus will warn you.’

  ‘What about exercise for me?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought.’

  ‘I’ll walk at night.’

  ‘That would never do. Everyone would know. Dogs would bark. You’d be seen.’

  ‘I can’t stay cooped up. I’ll go mad.’

  ‘You’d be cooped up in prison.’

  Hugh did not rise to th
is bait. ‘I’ll play it by ear,’ he said.

  ‘All right.’ Matilda agreed, then, remembering another danger, said: ‘Never ever answer the telephone. That would be fatal.’

  ‘Do many people ring up?’

  ‘No, but if I go to London and collect your money and you answered the telephone it would be known there was someone in the house.’

  Hugh was bored by this meticulous planning.

  ‘Suppose you carry on exactly as though I were not here – let me keep out of sight. If someone does come in say I’m a friend of Claud’s or something.’

  ‘You are not his type. I’d say Mark, a friend of Mark’s.’

  ‘He has catholic tastes?’ Hugh was pleased not to be suitable fry for Claud.

  ‘Mark is straight hetero.’ Matilda smiled. ‘No problem there.’

  ‘I thought this Mr Jones fed Gus for you when you go away –’

  ‘He thinks I’ve given him away.’

  ‘Won’t he find out?’

  ‘Damn! Of course he will. When I go you’ll have to avoid him.’

  ‘I expect I shall manage. What would you be doing if I were not here?’

  Matilda glanced at the kitchen clock. ‘I’d go to the village, do a little shopping, come home, have a snack, work in the garden, snooze in the sun, go to the sea if it’s fine.’

  ‘Then why don’t you do just that?’

  ‘There’s you.’

  ‘Don’t bother about me. Let me manage. I’m not half-witted. If you go to London I will be deeply grateful. I swear I won’t be seen. Why not go and do your shopping – carry on as usual?’

  Matilda looked doubtful, then agreed. Hugh watched her drive down the lane with relief, glad to have the house to himself. The fuss she was making was tedious, all the more irritating since he felt he should be grateful.

  He sighed and set about exploring the house. He felt it impossible to believe Matilda had really swept herself away. There must be clues to her character that she was unconscious of leaving. He remembered exploring his home as a child, his discoveries among his parents’ possessions. The thought of his mother, lovely, young, made him pause. She had been old looking up from the sofa, really old. The recollection of her sitting there, eyes full of terror rid him of any wish to pry on Matilda. He would do it later, in a better mood. He wandered back to the stream in the copse, Folly at his heels. If he stared long enough at the running water he would stop seeing his mother’s hands, rings loose on old fingers. The rings, in his childhood, had fitted tight. She had pulled hard to get them off. ‘Try them on your thumb, my love,’ she had said. ‘Try them on your thumb.’ He looked at his hands. None of those rings would fit now. He sat watching the water flow past, the dog beside him, companionable, alert, quizzing a black and green dragonfly zipping up and down the water.

  Presently Gus floated past, proudly paddling.

  ‘Goose murderer,’ Hugh called to the bird. ‘Goose assassin.’ Gus barely turned his head, floating on to land further down to crop grass on the bank.

  ‘Thinks he’s human,’ Hugh said to the dog. ‘Thinks himself like us, free to take life.’ The dog looked up at him briefly, then lay in a ball against his thigh, her nose under her tail, the warmth of her body consolatory.

  Gus finished cropping grass, crossed the stream and waddled back to the cottage past Hugh who heard him honk as a car passed along the lane.

  The gander set up a different honking when Matilda returned. Hugh heard her voice raised in greeting. Followed by the dog, he went to meet her.

  ‘I’ve bought stocks of food for you for when you’re alone. Tins and dry stuff. You won’t have to shop. I won’t be away long. D’you think you can manage with cold food?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘If you have the fire the village will see smoke and if I’m away someone may come and look.’

  ‘I’ll be all right.’

  ‘It’s rather drear but –’

  ‘Less drear than the nick.’

  ‘There’s that. Oh, by the way, Mr Jones – he sees UFOs.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘UFOs. He’s given up telling the police because they laugh but he still tells me. It’s just possible that he may appear suddenly then –’

  ‘What do you do about it?’

  ‘I pretend to take an interest. Tom did. He always took note; it’s a neighbourly act.’

  ‘Do I hide?’

  ‘He can appear silently on bare feet. It’s awkward. Even Gus has missed him on occasion.’

  ‘It’s a hazard I must take.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Gus honked. ‘Telephone.’ Matilda ran to answer it.

  ‘Hullo? Oh darling!’ – a cry of joyful greeting. ‘How lovely to hear your voice. Where are you? In England . . . how long for? Oh . . . shall I see you? Oh, I see . . . yes, of course, too busy . . . no, no, of course you must . . . yes . . . no . . . no, of course not . . . yes, I’m well, of course I am . . . yes . . . no . . . really? . . . well, best of luck, it sounds a brilliant idea, quite honest too . . . what? . . . I said quite honest too . . . must rush . . . goodbye.’ He heard the telephone ping as she rang off. Several minutes passed before she came outside.

  ‘That was Claud.’

  ‘Too busy to see you?’

  ‘Yes. He has a new venture. So like Claud. It’s brilliant. I hope it makes him lots of lolly.’

  ‘I talked to my mother like that.’ Hugh watched her.

  ‘Me too, but I hated mine and she me, whereas Claud –’

  ‘Is too busy.’

  ‘I had to be quick to be the first to ring off.’

  ‘I noticed.’

  ‘I used to drag on until he said, “I must go now, Mama.” I’ve learned. I’ve learned to be the first to ring off.’ She looked sidelong at Hugh for approval. ‘It’s hard learning not to be a bore. I damn near invited him to my funeral but –’ She began to laugh.

  ‘What’s the joke?’

  ‘His new venture. He’s buying up old gravestones with beautiful inscriptions to sell to Americans. He’s going up to Yorkshire where they are turning several graveyards into car parks.’

  ‘Who sells them?’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t ask!’ Matilda broke into cheerful giggles. ‘An impoverished curate perhaps? The Church of England doesn’t pay well, so –’

  ‘If you found some round here?’

  ‘I’d see him then of course. He might even stay the night and charge up the County Hotel to an expense account.’

  Hugh said nothing.

  ‘It does prove it’s time to be off.’ Matilda sounded almost pleased as she reversed disappointment to hope.

  ‘To London?’

  ‘To the next world.’

  ‘Will he phone again?’ Hugh found himself hating Claud.

  ‘No, no, that’s my ration.’

  13

  TWO DAYS PASSED. The weather stayed hot. Her feeling of trepidation subsided; Matilda grew calm. Hugh gave no trouble. He ate sparingly, slept a lot, spent hours out of sight in the copse with the dog. In a conscious effort to act normally Matilda worked in the garden, shopped in the village, read the papers, watched television, went to bed, got up at her usual time, cleaned the house in a desultory manner and cooked meals for herself and Hugh. She decided on action.

  ‘I must ring up John/Piers, he always gives me a bed in London. Tom and I always stayed with him. He was my friend but became more Tom’s. I’ll telephone tonight and fix it. It’s a very comfortable house. Perhaps you know him? John seems to know everybody, he’s very social.’

  ‘No, never heard of him.’

  On the line from London John was warmly welcoming. Of course she must come. When? Soon? ‘Come soon, I’m going away, come before I go. I’m very busy but we can have the evenings together.’

  ‘That would be nice.’

  ‘How long can you stay?’

  ‘Oh, not long, a night or two.’

  ‘Nonsense, you must stay at least ten days, get back in
to your London ways. Mrs Green will give you breakfast in bed. We will cosset you.’

  ‘Would Monday be all right?’

  ‘Of course. I shall expect you in time for dinner. You’ll take the usual train?’

  ‘I expect so.’

  ‘Monday evening then.’ John rang off.

  Matilda looked at Hugh. ‘Did you hear him? He has a very loud voice, always has had.’

  ‘Every word. What does he do?’

  ‘Some branch of the Treasury. He wanted the Foreign Service. He was disappointed. We met when we were young. His aunt was a friend of my mother’s. He’s rich, rather an old woman, likes his comforts, won’t ever come here, it’s not grand enough. He likes birds and fishing. Tom and I could never decide whether he liked girls or boys or neither. That side of him is non-existent, he’s sexless.’

  ‘Or it’s carefully hidden.’

  ‘That’s what Tom said – carefully hidden. He always pretends he is something to do with Intelligence, it’s his sort of snobbery.’

  ‘What form does it take?’

  ‘He talks as though he knew about spies, defectors to and from Russia, the C.I.A., French Intelligence, even Chinese. To hear him talk he might be all the M.I.s rolled up in one umbrella. He carries an umbrella, wears a bowler.’ Matilda laughed. Hugh liked to see her laugh; she had small teeth, unhorsey.

  ‘He’s an odd man,’ Matilda went on, ‘good-looking in a way. He always talks as though he knows me better than I know myself. He also knows the children better. He knew Tom better, too.’