A Family Affair Page 20

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t had time to open my personal mail yet.’ She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a handful of unopened envelopes, leafing through them. ‘That looks like Matthew’s practically indecipherable scrawl.’ She slit it open with her paper knife. ‘Oh yes. You’re right. A soirée – on Saturday evening. It sounds very grand!’

  ‘Knowing Enid it will be. She’ll probably hire in catering staff all dressed in black and white and looking like penguins. Not my scene really, but there’ll be enough booze to sink the Queen Mary and the sort of nibbles you wouldn’t expect to meet face to face this side of the gates of Buckingham Palace.’

  ‘You mean canapés. You can’t have anything as common as a nibble at a soirée.’ The effort to cheer up was working; she was feeling much better. ‘I agree with you, it isn’t my scene really either, but I suppose we shall have to put in an appearance.’

  ‘In which case we might as well go together. No sense taking two cars. I’ll call for you, shall I?’

  ‘But it’s out of your way to pick me up,’ she protested.

  ‘No problem. Let’s see – it starts at eight. I’ll be there about say …’

  ‘Ten o’clock?’ she suggested wickedly.

  ‘Hmm. I take your point. But we’d better be on time. I expect the poor old boy will want us there nice and early so he can find out what’s been going on in the practice since he hung up his stethoscope. How about I pick you up at ten to eight?’

  ‘OK.’ But she was feeling a little uneasy. If Paul was going to take her to Matthew Vezey’s soirée that meant he would also be taking her home. Just the sort of encounter she was trying to avoid.

  She thought about it again now as she changed out of her linen suit and into a cool cotton dress. As long as all he wanted was to be friends – fine. Anything more …

  Her stomach clenched with the trapped feelings she knew so well. What was it with her? Why did she always feel this way when she thought someone might be taking more than a passing interest in her? She hadn’t felt it with Guy – but then Guy had been married and therefore technically unavailable. Sometimes Helen wondered if that was the reason she had been attracted to him. No ties. No pressure. No possibility of a permanent binding relationship. She’d longed for it, of course, hoped against desperate hope that he would leave that miserable wife of his for her. But if he had, if he actually had, what then? Would she have had the same reaction – wanted to run like a frightened rabbit? Sometimes Helen was terribly afraid she might, and the thought worried her. She wanted to marry and have a family. She didn’t want to be alone for the rest of her life. Yet every time the vague, unstructured longing showed the slightest sign of being realised, she panicked. What the hell is the matter with me? she sometimes wondered. But at least her fulfilled life was too busy to spend much time worrying about it.

  She went back downstairs and met Amy in the hall, hanging her sun hat on the antler stand.

  ‘I’m calling it a day,’ Amy said. ‘Time for my G and T.’ Amy had always liked her tipple but it didn’t seem to have done her any harm.

  ‘But I was coming out to do my bit!’

  ‘Well, if you really want to. But … I was wondering, Helen, what did you mean when you said you thought you might know someone who could help out with the garden?’

  Helen caught hold of the bannister knob, white-painted wood that felt smooth beneath her fingers.

  ‘It was just a thought. Cliff Button – Herby’s brother.’

  ‘Herby! My Herby?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve had to stop Cliff from driving and he’s pretty fed up about it.’

  ‘I bet he is. He was one of the first people in Hillsbridge to have a car! What’s wrong with him? Why have you had to … ? Oh, sorry! I don’t suppose you can say.’

  ‘Just as long as it doesn’t go any further,’ Helen said. ‘He’s suffering from epilepsy.’

  ‘Poor Cliff.’

  ‘He’s a wonderful gardener,’ Helen said. ‘His garden is like something out of a flower show. I suggested it might be something he could take up to fill in his time – you know, doing a bit for other people – but it never occurred to me until I came home and found you struggling so that perhaps we …’

  ‘Well, it’s certainly a thought,’ Amy said. ‘Cliff Button. He and Roly must have been at school together. They’d probably have the time of their lives reliving the old days over the onions and dahlias. The only thing is – would they ever get any work done?’

  Helen laughed. ‘I can just picture it. And they say women are the ones who do all the talking!’

  ‘Should I ask Herby to ask him to come and see me? Or would you rather put it to him?’

  ‘I think it might be best if I did,’ Helen said. ‘I don’t want him to think I’ve been talking about his problems to all and sundry.’

  ‘I’ll leave it to you then,’ Amy said. ‘Offer him seven and six an hour. That’s what I pay Roly. On second thoughts – make it five shillings. After all, Roly’s been here a long time.’

  ‘That’s still very generous, Amy. I think he’ll jump at it.’

  ‘Mmm. Oh – and Helen … I was thinking …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Perhaps I ought to come with you tonight if the offer’s still open.’

  ‘Of course it is.’

  ‘Maybe Mum and I will be civil to one another if you’re there to referee.’

  ‘Amy, she is just going to be so pleased to see you,’ Helen said.

  ‘Oh, David, I’m so frightened!’ Linda said.

  They were in her front room, not alone in the house tonight – her mother and father were in the living room – but they wanted some privacy anyway. As soon as he’d arrived this evening David had felt the tension like a living thing, making the atmosphere in the house as strained as the lingering heat of the day made it close. It pressed in on him, that atmosphere, claustrophobic and charged, quite the opposite of the usual feeling of cheerful, anything-goes that usually prevailed in Linda’s home.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he had asked, apprehension prickling in the pit of his stomach.

  For a moment no-one answered him, then Linda’s mother said: ‘She’s got to see the doctor tomorrow.’

  The load lightened a little.

  ‘Oh … you don’t know anything yet then?’

  ‘Not yet, no,’ Linda said. She looked very pale, but otherwise practically normal. In fact there was an almost translucent glow to her skin which made her look, he thought, even more beautiful.

  ‘There was a note through the door,’ Doreen said. ‘Just a note, making the appointment.’ There was a small tremble in her voice and without having to be told he realised the significance of what she was saying. The doctor must have had the results of Linda’s tests back and wanted to see her urgently.

  ‘Right,’ he said, and the apprehension was back in the pit of his stomach.

  ‘I don’t like it,’ Doreen said.

  ‘Come on now,’ Jim said soothingly. ‘There’s no sense getting in a stew. You might be worrying about nothing.’

  Doreen averted her eyes impatiently. How can you be so calm about it? that look said. You might think I’m getting in a stew about nothing; I know different.

  ‘Do you want a cup of tea, David?’ she asked.

  ‘No … no.’

  ‘There’s one in the pot. I’ve had the kettle on ever since I found that note. I don’t know what I’d do without a cup of tea.’

  ‘You’ll turn into a tea leaf yourself, our Doreen,’ Jim said with a heavy-handed attempt at humour. ‘I don’t know what colour your insides must be.’

  ‘I don’t want any, thanks, Mrs Parfitt,’ David said, and Linda tugged at his arm.

  ‘Let’s go in the front room.’

  Now they were there, however, her brittle façade had crumbled and she clung to him, her face buried in his shoulder.

  ‘I’m so frightened, David!’

  He could feel the slight tremble that was sha
king the whole of her body. In his arms she seemed very fragile. He thought that if he held her too tightly he could snap her in two.

  ‘Don’t, Linda,’ he said, worried himself and at a loss to know how to comfort her. ‘I expect your dad’s right and there’s nothing to worry about.’

  ‘He’s whistling in the dark. He always does that.’

  ‘But at least wait until you hear what the doctor has to say.’

  ‘I know what she’s going to say.’

  ‘How can you know that? She didn’t know until she had the results of your tests, and she’s a doctor!’

  ‘I don’t mean I know exactly. But I do know it’s serious. Know, David, not just think, or fear. I can feel it in here …’ She pulled away from him, pressing her hands to her midriff, then moving them to her temples. ‘… and here. It’s like a weight, pressing down on me. I can’t explain. But I know, all the same. I didn’t need a note about a doctor’s appointment to tell me. I knew already. There’s something seriously wrong with me, David.’

  Her conviction panicked him.

  ‘But you seem so much better,’ he said helplessly. ‘You look better, really beautiful …’

  ‘And I feel better. These last few days I’ve almost been my old self. But I think that’s just an illusion. When you’re really ill you don’t necessarily feel a bit worse and a bit worse each day until one day you keel over dead. At least, I don’t think that’s how it is. There are bad days and there are better days. But you’re still on the same track, like a runaway train that can’t stop.’

  ‘Linda!’ he said sharply. ‘For goodness sake!’

  She gulped. ‘I don’t want to die, David.’

  ‘Stop this talk of dying!’

  She didn’t seem to even hear him; she was sobbing softly now as she spoke.

  ‘I don’t want to die! I’m twenty-one years old! There are so many things I want to do – so many! I want to get married, have my own home, children. I want to see them grow up, take them on holiday to Weston or Weymouth, fill their stockings at Christmas, make jellies and blancmange for their birthday parties. I want you, David, properly, not just in the front room when Mum and Dad are out, or in the back row at the pictures. I want to see the garden covered in snow, and the first crocuses when they come out and hear the birds and feel the sun on my face. I don’t want to die! I’m not ready! Not nearly ready!’

  ‘Shh, Linda. I won’t let you die.’ He said it fiercely, and she sobbed again, her body shuddering.

  ‘What can you do? What can anyone do!’

  ‘Linda, for God’s sake, this is silly!’ Helplessness was making him angry. ‘Will you stop this silly talk?’

  But she was past reasoning with.

  ‘It just keeps going round and round in my head. All the things I want to do, all the things I’ll miss. It’s not fair, David. It’s not fair! I had such plans! What I’d wear when we got married. I even cut a picture out of a magazine of the dress I wanted – white, ballerina-length … with little puff sleeves. I was going to have three bridesmaids – your Jenny, for one – and have them one in pink, one in blue, and one in yellow. Not green, because green’s supposed to be unlucky. Unlucky! And we’d have a reception in the big room at the George and drive off for our honeymoon in a car with “Just Married” painted on the back and a string of tin cans trailing behind and … and now it’s not going to happen. Any of it!’

  ‘Linda!’ he said.

  Such a short time ago talk of marriage would have scared him rigid. Now, suddenly, he too was more afraid that it might not happen than that it would. ‘Linda,’ he said, ‘you’ll have your dream wedding, I promise.’

  ‘How can you promise something like that?’

  ‘Because I can. You’ll have your dream wedding, whatever the doctor says tomorrow. I give you my word.’

  She stopped crying, looking up at him with eyes that were puffy but full of dawning wonder.

  ‘You mean … ?’

  ‘I mean I’m going to marry you, Linda, and no bloody doctor is going to stop me.’

  ‘Oh, David!’ she said.

  He held her and kissed her, tenderly at first, then with growing urgency. And as he felt her fragile body pressed against his he prayed to a God he had not known he believed in that he would be able to keep his promise.

  ‘Jenny! You look absolutely super!’ Heather said.

  Jenny flushed with pleasure at the compliment. She was wearing a seersucker dress with a design of tiny sprigs of mauve and blue flowers on a white background, very full-skirted from a nipped-in waistline, and a small stand-up collar. She was on her way to what had been billed as a ‘Summer Spree’in the water meadow belonging to the church, ostensibly to help run one of the stalls, in fact to meet Jimmy. Over the past weeks, Jenny had become adept at gaining freedom to be with him by means of the most unlikely excuses.

  The trouble was she wasn’t sure she actually wanted to be with Jimmy any more. The first novelty had begun to wear off and she found that much as she liked him she didn’t actually really fancy him. At first it hadn’t mattered much; she enjoyed his company, he took her mind off Barry and gave her the status amongst her peers that came from having a boyfriend. But now she was beginning to feel restless and, worse, a little repelled by him – especially when he kissed her. As long as she could close her eyes and pretend he was someone else, it wasn’t too bad, but pretending was becoming less and less easy and Jenny had begun to feel trapped.

  I’ll have to tell him, Jenny thought. I’ll have to tell him I don’t want to see him any more. But each time it came to the point, she couldn’t bring herself to actually speak the words. The thought of the hurt look that would come over his good-natured face was more than she could bear. Tonight, she thought. I’ll tell him tonight … And put off the moment by calling in to see Heather and baby Vanessa on her way to the church meadow.

  ‘You like my dress then?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘It’s gorgeous. Mum didn’t make that, did she?’

  ‘Yes, she did actually.’ They exchanged a look and giggled. Whilst Carrie was a meticulous needlewoman, her creations were not known for either their flare or their fit – Carrie usually insisted on making garments a little on the generous side. ‘You don’t want it to pull,’ she would say.

  ‘You look champion, my old Dutch,’ Walt said from the depths of his armchair.

  ‘Is Vanessa in bed?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘She is – the little monkey,’ Heather said, but she was smiling. Motherhood suited her. ‘She’s been into everything today.’

  ‘Like what?’ Jenny always loved to hear about the exploits of her niece.

  ‘Pulling my gloving out all over the floor, mainly.’ Heather indicated a large brown paper package stacked in the corner behind a chair. Since having Vanessa, she took in ‘out-working’from the glove factory where she had used to be a machinist. ‘Do you want to go up and see her?’

  ‘Yes please,’ Jenny said.

  ‘Go on then – but don’t wake her up whatever you do. It’s such a job to get her to go to sleep these light nights.’

  Jenny went upstairs to the small bedroom which always reminded her of a tree house because of the way it looked out directly into the branches of the tall old planes in the garden. She pushed the door open and tiptoed in.

  Jenny stood for a moment looking down at Vanessa, feeling her stomach twist with an emotion she would have described as love had it not been for the fact that she believed love was what she had felt for Barry. Perhaps, she thought, tenderness was a better word. Jenny was very into words these days. Vanessa was so small, so vulnerable, so perfect. Jenny could well understand why Heather looked so content these days. One day, she thought, perhaps I’ll be lucky enough to have a little girl of my own just like her.

  One day. But not yet. Not for a long time.

  She kissed a finger and laid it on Vanessa’s warm soft cheek. Then she tiptoed out of the room.

  Heather had the package of gloving on t
he table now, tying it with string ready to go back to the factory. She was humming to herself. Again, Jenny thought how lucky she was – a picture of contented motherhood.

  She knows exactly what she wants from life, Jenny thought, and she’s mostly got it. Not much spare cash, perhaps, not even a home of her own, but a nice husband and a beautiful daughter. No worries for her about exams and homework and boys and dates. No worries about deceiving Carrie.

  Lucky, lucky Heather!

  Stalls had been set out around three sides of the Church Field – trestle tables laden with books and home-made jam and bric-a-brac, interspersed with sideshows such as Roll the Penny and a complicated-looking contraption of loops and dips of wire around which a circle of wire on the end of a stick had to be passed without ringing a bell which signified that contact had been made.

  Jimmy and some other lads who had volunteered to help with the Skittle for a Pig competition were already there, lounging around the sharp end of the makeshift board alley to return the balls as they thudded into the pile of sandbags and reposition the nine skittles in their traditional diamond pattern. They were all experienced at doing this; most of them earned a shilling or two pocket money each week sticking up in the local pubs and clubs, all of which boasted a skittle alley and ran at least one team in the skittle league.

  Jenny skirted the stalls and joined the boys beside the bales of hay which had been piled up behind the sandbags to ensure no heavy skittling balls could go flying off like loose cannons into the field beyond. At once, Jimmy jumped up, grinning his pleasure.

  ‘I was beginning to think you weren’t coming!’

  ‘I called in to see my sister on the way. How’s it going?’

  ‘OK. Are you going to have a go?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Why not? There’s a ladies’prize and so far the top score is only seven.’

  ‘I can’t play skittles!’

  ‘Course you can!’

  A ball thrown by a sturdy-looking man came whistling down the alley, glancing neatly off the front pin and scattering the others across the board. The boy who was sticking up jumped for his life and a shout went up from the business end of the board: ‘Spare!’