After Forever Ends (7 page)

I can’t imagine how I ran up my father’s phone bill that holiday, but he said nothing about it. If there was anything I appreciated about my dad it was his ability to not be passionate about anything, including money. The night before we were supposed to return to Bennington, I rang Oliver to say good night and tell him that I couldn’t wait to see him again. His mother answered, as usual, but what she said made my guts fall to my shoes.

“Yes, Oliver is here, but he is not allowed to speak to you. May I have a word with your mother?”

I began to tremble. I was certain she was going to tell my dad that I was never to call her home again and that she would make sure that Ollie would be forbidden from contact with me at Bennington. A crushing wave of completely illogical unease swept over me. I felt my eyes burn with tears.

“I…I…” I stammered for a moment and then took a breath, “My mother is passed, Ma’am, but I can get my father if you like.”

“Oh,” She sounded incredibly stiff, “I’m terribly sorry. Yes, please, a word with your father?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I’ll go and get him.”

I walked down the hall on shaky legs and knocked lightly on his office door. “Daddy?”

“Open the door,” He replied mildly.

I made a crack and stuck my head in. He was sitting at his desk behind his computer with a pen in his hand. His rusty coloured hair was sticking up in all directions, “Daddy, I rang Oliver and his mother would like to speak with you.”

He looked up with a puzzled expression, “With me? Very well,” He leaned over and lifted the receiver of the telephone that sat on his desk. “Hello, this is Philip Cotton…yes…” He was looking at me the whole time, blankly as always. His thin lips were together in an expressionless line. “Yes…No, I didn’t know that. Oh, I understand…Yes, she’s very fond of your son…Oh, that’s too bad…Yes, we do these things as children and we learn from our mistakes… No, I don’t see that as being any problem…no, I agree completely…no, there’s no problem that I can see…certainly…yes, we’ll talk before then… fine…yes, thank you. All right then and you have a good evening as well.”

He hung up the receiver. I stood in the doorway for a moment after he returned to his work. He finally looked up, “Silvia, why are you just standing there? Go hang up the line in the front room.” I did what he told me and began to walk to my room with tears running down my cheeks. Something about my father always made me nervous. This made no sense at all being as he was about as aggressive as a blade of grass. As I passed by his still open door he called out, “Silvia, come here.”

I stopped and wiped my face before I entered, “Yes, Daddy?”

“Oliver couldn’t come to the phone because he is being punished. It seems that his brother slipped off to London after his mother forbade him and Oliver tried to cover up for him. You never told me he was an identical twin,” My father said this without a hint of humour. “It seems that all of your bells to his house have made his parents a mite curious about you. They’d like to meet you. I told them it would be fine for you to visit his family at Easter. They’re South of here and don’t like the idea of sending you home on a night train, so she said you could stay there a day or two in the extra room,” My heart leapt. I felt the blood rush to my face. Daddy’s expression did not change, “I said it was fine, Darling.” He paused, “You’re growing up, Silvia, and it’s happening faster than I imagined.” I thought that a normal father would have hugged his daughter. Mine simply said, “It’s getting late. You need to get to bed so you can get off to school on time. It’s a long drive and I have to drop you off early.”

“Right,” I answered, “Good night, Daddy.”

“Good night, Dear.”

I closed the door and ran down the hall to my room doing my best not to whoop with joy.

The final term at Bennington that year was as rough as the winter that accompanied it. A blizzard hit the day after our return, dumping so much snow on the quad that no one could pass across it without sinking to their hips. In Lance Crosby’s case, he sank to his chest and stood shouting until Alexander yanked him out and piggy backed him to class. The snow didn’t have the decency to melt, either. In fact, it began to fall again two days later and alternated with Arctic winds for the next three weeks. Headmistress Pennyweather sent word home to our parents to send good winter clothes, but they made little difference against the elements. For three months, we trudged through the frozen tundra to classes and day after day, we ended up soaked to the skin after we thawed out in our seats. A number of illnesses spread through the corridors and each one of us found the other sniffling and coughing.

“I don’t get sick!” Alexander proclaimed as Madame Pennyweather hauled him off from the breakfast table to the hospital wing. He’d been suffering for two days with a fever, sore throat and chills and now was slightly green with pinkish circles under his eyes. He hated going to see any kind of a doctor and was having a wobble about it, “Can’t you tell I’m just pretending so that I can get out of class?”

“If you are I’ll see to it you get an award,” She stood only above his elbow, but she had him by the waist and was commanding his pace, “Come now, Alexander, your mother’s not here so let me care for you in her stead. She‘d never forgive me if I let one of her sons expire in the cafeteria.”

He gave her a look that was almost tender, “I’m not dying.”

“You will if you continue to disobey me!”

Alex laughed softly, but surrendered to her authority.

It turned out the poor boy had strep throat and a touch of tonsillitis. They admitted him promptly to the infirmary. It wasn’t more than three hours later that Oliver went in, hand covering throat, and was trailed shortly after by Lance. The next afternoon Merlyn followed. With some rest and antibiotics they were all back on their feet within a few days. I managed not to get what they had by some miracle, but about a week later I got a nasty cough that wouldn’t let go and by the end of February, I was choking on harsh yellow mucus with every breath I took.

Never one to get very sick, I didn’t recognize what was happening to me or that I was rapidly becoming more and more ill until one fine Monday morning I spiked a high fever and could hardly get out of bed.

“You need to go to the nurse,” Sandra told me as she dressed, “You’re off colour, Sil. You sound like you’re dying. You were up all night again, weren’t you?”

“Yes. I know I need to go to the nurse, but I have an exam,” I choked on my own words and had to sit back on my bed. “I’ll go after that.”

“Oh, please promise me!” She picked up her book bag and stood beside the bed, hovering over me like a mother hen. She pressed the back of her hand to my forehead, “I’m so worried about you!”

“Aren’t you late for a meeting?”

“I am,” She dropped her hand, “Will you be OK if I leave you?”

“I’ll be fine,” I told her, tugging an arm into my jumper. “Go.”

I knew I was overdue for breakfast, but I didn’t seem able to pull myself together. I was hot and disoriented and couldn’t keep a pace without having to rest every few seconds and cough until I couldn’t breathe. I got dizzy when I bent over, but I finally got my shoes on and headed out the door and over to the dining hall.

I was at the top of the stairs going into the cafeteria when Headmistress Pennyweather came up with a group of first years trailing behind her. “Good morning, Miss Cotton! Running late? Mister Dickinson looks positively lost at his toast without you!”

I started to say hello, but suddenly there was three of her quivering on the stairs before me.

“Miss Cotton?” I watched the three headmistress’ faces go from smiles to frowns, “Goodness! Are you all right?”

I don’t remember fainting or falling down the steps. What I do remember is waking up in the hospital wing with Oliver and Alexander sitting by the side of my bed. My fever had left me unable to tell which one was which. I shook my head to clear it, but ended up just lying there and watching them talk.

“Hi-ya, Sil!” The one leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees and looked very excited to see me.

“Are you feeling better, Sweetie?” The other performed the exact same gesture, except he put his hand over mine.

“We’ve been worried about you!”

“I told you to see the nurse last week,” A cool hand smoothed back my hair. My vision was a bit blurred, so I wasn't sure which one had done it, “Madame Pennyweather’s been dashing in and out to check on you all day. She just left.”

“Quite annoying, really. You know she kept you from going all the way down the stairs? Bad fall you had. Fever caused you to faint. Rumour has it your legs went up over your head. Bunches of first years were chattering about your yellow knickers. Sorry I missed that. Not the fall, but seeing your knickers. Your legs up over your head especially, though.”

“Shut up, you foul git!”

“Sorry,” He shrugged, “But we’re right glad you weren’t hurt, Sil.”

My bout with bronchial pneumonia landed me two weeks in the hospital wing where my greatest joy was Oliver. When the nurse, Madame Dupree, realised I was his girlfriend she started having trays delivered to him so we could share our meals together. We’d sit and do our coursework and we’d chat and laugh until Madame Witherspoon, the night nurse, chased him out for curfew.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” He’d promise, “Get some sleep, Sil. Get better so I can have you back. I’m really lonely without you.”

Of course, Sandra would pop in with armloads of coursework and an earful of the latest gossip for me. Or Lance would stop by with Merlyn to say hello and sit a bit. It was at all times nice to have them come. Lance was always bringing me magazines he’d nicked from the common room and Merlyn would smuggle me apples and caramel dip from the kitchen.

Alexander came and went as his muse led him. He walked in one day and dropped his book bag on the floor, “Oliver is beginning his detention for mouthing off at Professor Wilkins this morning. The lard arse gave him three hours over three days because Oliver called him a pompous, pretentious, self-satisfied fascist arsehole. A bit severe a punishment if you ask me being as it’s the truth. Although Ollie did say it to his face, which was not the cleverest thing he’s done lately.” He tossed his coat over a chair, “He sends his best to you though. He’s mad about you. It’s Silvia this and Silvia that. Best I can do to compete with him is coming to see you when he’s not around.” He reached into his bag, “I brought you crisps and a Coke,” He set them on the table beside the bed, “And a cherry tart. I picked one up from the lunch queue for you. I know how you like them. And I brought that book you wanted,” He handed me a hardbound novel, “Sandy rented it. She can’t come by today as she has a meeting with the Community Buttlicker's Association of Bennington or one of her other high society non pol female social groups anyway.”

I laughed and began to choke immediately, “Thanks, you’re very thoughtful,” I said as sincerely as I could while coughing, “Seems your brother and you have been on a roll with trouble.”

“Ollie’s been on a roll. He’s been in a right creative spurt, he has. It’s difficult to resist him when he offers such great solutions to boredom, so that’s why I’ve been on the spot a time or two lately. Blame him, he’s the bad egg,” Alexander was in one of his serious moods. His handsome face was almost devoid of expression, which was an indication that he was on edge, “Would you mind if I sat here and read for a while? The common room is crowded and our dormitory smells like a chip shop thanks to some stupid first year misusing the poppity-ping in the room below us. Stinks like hell.”

“Not at all. I’d love to have you. Are you all right? You seem tense.”

He pulled up a chair and took out a paperback novel. Alexander and I shared a love of fiction. “No,” He slouched deep in the chair and tossed one leg over the other, “I’m fine. Just looking for some quiet. These people annoy me.”

“It’s definitely quiet here.”

He opened the book and pulled out his page marker, leaning back in the chair. He didn't look at me when he spoke, “When I’m through with this, you have to read it, Sil. I think you’d like it very much.”

“Who is it?”

“Vonnegut.”

“Oh, I love him,” I picked up the book he had gotten for me and opened it to the first page, settling in to read. I noticed the cover of his book, “I think I’ve read it. Is it the one about the Armenian?”

“Yes.” He mumbled. “You have good taste in books.”

Within seconds, both of us were lost in our stories.

I enjoyed spending time with Alexander. He had a reputation for being nasty and licentious, but when you got him by himself and really took the time to get to know him, Alex was actually introspective and bright. I wouldn’t call him sensitive. If he liked you he was less likely to be beastly, but he was quiet by nature and easily flustered by having too many people around him so the environment at Bennington often set him on edge. For some reason my presence seemed to soothe him.

Oliver had even noticed and commented about it. “My brother listens to you,” He said once in amazement after I had talked Alex down from a near violent episode with another student, “It’s incredible. Alex never listens to anybody.”

Even as much as I enjoyed having Alex around, the happiest nights were when it was just Ollie who came by. Oliver and I had a way of making each other laugh over silly things. In fact, I think that summed us up right there. Silly. Oliver and I were silly together. We laughed so hard and had so much fun people thought we were mental, but neither of us cared. We thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company. I really had no idea why somebody as wonderful and as popular as Oliver Dickinson would come by every chance he got to see me and show such devotion to a complete nobody, but I wasn’t going to argue. By that time I was totally lost to him. I was in love.

There were other times Oliver was unable to come and see me during the two weeks I spent in the sanatorium. Miserable, they were. I hated being apart from him for more than a night. It was like an aching empty spot in my gut, like I was hungry, but a deeper pain. I thought at times the way I felt when he was not there was unhealthy, a sort of obsession, and that I needed to get myself in balance. No boy could be the centre of the universe, I swore, not even him. Funny, sweet, easy-going, good looking and wonderful as he was, we weren't exactly the same person. There was him and there was me. I could exist without him. I knew that. I had to be able to. But I just wasn't so sure that I could exist without us.