house of women (17 page)

wanted to take to her heels and run. Run away from the two old

women.

Run from the ambitious young man who was her husband and who was bringing fear into her existence, a horrible fear to which she daren't put a name and which had sprung into life a month ago. She wished she could talk about it to her mother, but that would be fatal. It would be equally fatal to talk about it to her Auntie May. She could to Charlie, though. Yet how could she bring such a subject up to

Charlie?

Oh, she could talk to Charlie about anything. Oh, Charlie. Charlie.

She said now, "Have you heard about Charlie?"

"What about Charlie?"

Mother and daughter were walking down the room together.

"He's going to London to give a concert. His agent phoned him last week. He won't be on the stage all the time, he said, his will be just a little spot.

He's always playing himself down. Auntie May, though, said there's only a quartet, and after he's done some solo pieces he's playing with them. Mr. Reynolds is going with him; if his legs will hold out, that is, Charlie said. "

"My! My! He's certainly going places. Well, May always said he would.

And of course he's slept and eaten with that guitar over the past five years. How many hours a day has he been practising since he left school? "

"At least six."

"Enough to drive anybody mad. But then May thinks the sun shines out of him. She must be stone deaf. For me self I could never see what's in guitar playing."

"Well, you've heard him play." They were going up the stairs now.

"Yes; yes, I do grant you he can play that thing."

They had reached the landing when the first door in the corridor opened and out stepped a man who seemed to have no connection with the boy Andrew Jones, for here was a handsome, well-built and tall man, and he was naked except for a small towel tucked round his waist. The child in his arms. She too was naked except for a small towel around her shoulders. And it was she who cried, "Oh, Grandma. Grandma. It's Christmas tomorrow." Then, "Mammy, must I go to bed?"

Neither Lizzie nor Peggy spoke, for Andrew, after one glance at them, had hurried along the corridor towards the far end where the nursery was situated.

The mother and daughter walked on towards the third door on the other side of the corridor and which led into Mrs. Funnell's room. But they paused a moment outside and Lizzie said quietly, "Does he always take his bath with her?"

Almost in a hiss now Peggy leant toward her mother and said, "Yes; yes he does. Is there anything wrong in that? She's a baby."

After a moment of looking back into her daughter's eyes. Lizzie said quietly, "She's five years old and children seem to mature quickly these days." Then, stepping forward, she tapped on the door, saying in a louder voice now, "It's me. May I come in?" And when the answer came, "Yes, yes, come in," she opened the door and they went in, to be greeted with, "And what were you standing outside whispering about?"

"Well," said Lizzie, 'it's Christmas and we wondered what to put in your stocking. "

"Don't be funny. It doesn't suit you."

"How are you?"

"Just as you see me. You're too satisfied with yourself and your life.

It won't last. Nothing does. "

"Well, Gran, as long as it lasts I'll try to enjoy it. By, it's hot in here." She waved her hand be fore her face.

"We are not as young as we were. We need warmth."

Lizzie now looked towards the three-bar electric fire. Although it was a large fire, she had never known it have more than one bar on at a time. And the same had applied to the other electric fires in the house. Things had certainly changed. Oh, she wished she was back home.

She couldn't think now that this had been her home for so long. She could say she had even hated the house; and now she had come to

dislike her grandmother, but more so to dislike Andrew Jones. When she thought of her son-in-law, how he had inveigled himself into this house and into this old woman's good books, she again felt a pity for Len rise in her. All right, he was what he was:

he wasn't fundamentally a nice man, yet, had he been greeted in the beginning by this old woman as Andrew Jones had, how different things might have been. It might not have prevented her feelings for him from developing as they had, but it would certainly not have caused a change in the atmosphere in this place, and he might have remained livable with.

"You've put yourself to bed early tonight, haven't you, Gran?"

"Well, at my age I would have thought one could retire when one felt so inclined, without adverse comment. Your tone, you know, not only suggested surprise to find me in bed, but also condemnation that I should be here. Well, I am here. Lizzie, in order to prepare myself for a long day tomorrow, which I think is a wise decision, don't you?"

"I am past thinking about anything, Gran, where you're concerned."

Lizzie turned from the bed, and the action provoked Mrs. Funnell to say to Peggy, "Your mother's in that kind of a mood, isn't she, Peggy?

I thought her life was now so happy and gay that she wouldn't be able to find it in herself

to be uncivil to anyone, even to her grandmother. Hm! You've been drinking again, Peggy," and she turned her head away.

"I can smell it from you, and it isn't sherry."

"No, Great-gran, it isn't sherry, it's brandy and port mixed."

"Huh! Go along with you." It was evident that Mrs. Funnell could not imagine her great-granddaughter drinking brandy and port mixed.

She addressed Lizzie now, saying, "Have you been in to your mother?"

"No; not yet."

"She's getting worse; she'll be gone long before I will. I cannot understand where her weakness comes from. There was no such

fiddle-faddle ailments on my side, nor on your grandfather's. But there she is, a rattling pillbox."

"I'll see you in the morning, Grandma," Lizzie was making for the door.

"Have you brought the presents?"

"Yes." Lizzie didn't turn round.

"And I've got yours. I spent three months knitting you a pair of bed-socks. I hope you like them."

Bed-socks. She wouldn't dare.

Peggy closed the door behind them; but Lizzie held her tongue until they had moved further down the corridor, when she said, "She gets worse; selfish to the core," and Peggy reminded her, "Well, you made your escape, Mam, but you left me with it."

"Oh no, I didn't; it was up to you. I told you at the time to stick out and then she would have to get a housekeeper in. But then, of course' she pulled a face now " I hadn't taken your husband into account, had.

I?

nor his charm or his wiliness. Anyway, don't let us get back on to that. Now I'm not going into Mother tonight; a medical lesson would just finish me. I'll say goodnight to the child, then we'll be off.

"

One of the large bedrooms had been turned into a nursery and it seemed to hold every conceivable toy a child could have. Dolls of all shapes and sizes were arranged on shelves, and an outsize doll's house stood in one corner of the room, a miniature swing in the other. There were teddy bears and pandas seemingly fighting for a place in an armchair.

There was a miniature rocking chair, and against the end wall a single bed with a miniature canopy over it. And in it now, dressed in a frilled nightie, sat the child, and by her side and combing her thick black wavy hair from her brow was her father, partly dressed in

trousers now.

"Grandma, Santa is coming tonight. Do you know what he's bringing me?"

"No, I don't."

The child bent forward now, glee on her face as she said,

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"Bread and cheese And a bottle of pop, Two boiled eggs And a mutton chop, Plain cold water in a glass.

That's only if you're good, said Father Christmas. "

"My, that's a new one. Where did you hear that?"

"Mammy reads it to me. It's in Bunty Bunny's book. And I can read it."

Lizzie turned and in a low voice said to Peggy, "They get their money easy, the ones who write that stuff."

"You going to read me another story tonight, Mammy?"

"Yes, dear, yes. Now lie down, because, you know, if you don't go to sleep he won't come."

"I'd like to see him. Couldn't you ask him to stay? He could sleep next door; there's no-one there."

"But what about all the other children he's got to see to? You know, you're not the only one."

"But she is the only one, aren't you? Aren't you, pet?" Andrew had his hand on her hair again stroking it back, lifting each strand separately.

The child looked up at him, smiled at him, then settled down into the bed. And as he tucked the clothes under her chin Peggy moved towards the door, and her mother, before following her, called to the child,

"See you in the morning, dear."

"Yes, Gran. See you in the morning, 'cos it'll be Christmas then."

"Yes, it'll be Christmas then."

They were on the stairs again before Lizzie spoke, when she said,

"He'll ruin her if you're not careful. You want to put your foot down.

He's so possessive;

it isn't right. I'm telling you; you want to put your foot down. "

"Mam." The word was ground out between Peggy's teeth.

"He ... he loves the child. Can I stop him doing that?"

"There is love and love, girl, and his feelings go beyond it. It's possessiveness, pure and simple, possessiveness. You needn't be here, as far as I can see; you didn't give her birth, you didn't carry her; she's his. I've been wanting to say this for a long time. "

"Well, it's a pity you said it now. I've got my life to live and it's in this house, and I say again, you left me a legacy and I've got to manage the best way I can. So, Mam, keep out of it, will you? Keep out of it."

"Yes, dear. I'll keep out of it." Lizzie marched ahead now and, on reaching the drawing-room door, she pushed it open, saying, "We're going."

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And within three minutes they were out of the house and into the car, and only then did Henry ask, "What's it all about?"

"I've been told once more to mind my own business. But there's a business going on there that somebody should put a spoke into, before something happens and a life is destroyed."

"What are you meaning?"

"Emma, the child: she's being utterly controlled by him, in all ways.

You know why she didn't want us to go up into the bathroom? Because he has her in the bath with him. "

"Well, she's ... she's only a child."

"She's five years old! And do you think, if this has been going on all the years it must have, he's going to stop now? I tell you I'm

worried."

"Well, what can you do about it? Nothing. It's their business. As I see it, it's up to Peggy, and knowing her I can't see that she'd let anything happen that wasn't above board."

"Henry, she can't stop it. That's what's the matter with her. I've noticed the change in her over these last two years."

"Come on. Come on. We've got to go there tomorrow, so' he took his hand from the wheel and gave her a quick pat 'put your neb under your wing until after the holidays and see what transpires then."

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Christmas Day turned out to be a success, both at dinner time and in the evening. The credit for the laughter at the dinner table could be said to be shared between Henry and Frank Conway.

In the evening, after the first stiffness wore off and charades were introduced, the party went with a swing. The child was not present: her father had taken what he termed a very tired little princess upstairs, given her her bath and put her to bed.

During the Christmas dinner Andrew had kept a low profile, as it were, but in the evening he had played host under the admiring gaze of Mrs.

Emma Funnell. And the feeling this generated in both Lizzie and Peggy was much the same: resentment and a dull anger directed, if anything, more against the old woman than the young man.

Boxing Day, like all Boxing Days, was a day of clearing up and trying to get through leftovers.

The day following Boxing Day the new help arrived. Her name was Mrs.

Rosie Milburn. She was plump and fair, with a pleasant face. And from the

beginning Peggy sensed her kindly disposition and felt they would get on well together.

Rosie lived with her bachelor brother at the other end of the town.

And after her first day's work, which proved her promise that she liked housework, Peggy plied her with what was left of the Christmas fare.

Her grandmother was now on her feet again;

in fact, she had got on her feet on Christmas morning. It was strange, the quick turn Victoria Pollock's illnesses conveniently took. She too had taken to the new helper. As for the mistress of the house, she seemed to be withholding her opinion: new brooms literally always swept clean, she warned.

Andrew's opinion of the new help was that she looked well fed, but he had then further remarked to Peggy that he hoped, now that she had help, he would benefit for, being less employed, she would be less tired. To which and looking him straight in the face, she had

answered, "Don't count on it, ever." And grimly he had retorted,

"Well, you know what that'll drive me to." And she had answered, "The sooner the better. I would have thought you were already known there, anyway."

On New Year's Eve, and out of the blue, he told her he was going to a party and he didn't know what time he would be back.

They were having a cup of tea in the drawing- room. The cup was

halfway to her mouth when she said, "We won't be seeing the New Year in then?"

"No; well, not here."

"Does Great-gran know?"

"Yes; she knows, and she doesn't mind; she acknowledges the custom is dying out fast. She'll be in bed, anyway; as will your gran. So what would you have the two of us do sitting here alone and saying, " A Happy New Year, dear, nineteen seventy-four"?"

"We always have May and Frank in."

"Oh yes. May and Frank. And don't forget Charlie, dear Charlie, the great musician. Look'he got to his feet " I've had enough of May and Frank and Charlie, all I'm going to have. Things are going to be different, and you've only got yourself to blame for that, haven't you?