Coming Home (84 page)

Biddy looked at the dog. Her dog. She said her name, and Morag sat up, smiled at her and thumped her feathery tail. The eye in the white side of her face wasn't quite the same colour as the eye in the black side, and this gave her an engaging expression, as though she were winking.

Biddy said to the dog, ‘You are rather sweet.’

‘She adores you. I can tell.’

Bob, returning from his shoot, was so delighted to find his son waiting for him at home that he scarcely noticed the collie. And by the time he realised Morag was to be a permanent fixture, Ned had cleaned his gun for him, taking the wind from his father's sails and putting Bob in no position to raise objections.

Which did not mean that all doubt was allayed.

‘Won't make messes, will she?’

‘Of course not, Dad. She'll do it all in the garden.’

‘Where's she going to sleep?’

‘The kitchen, I suppose. I'll buy her a basket in Bovey Tracey. And a rug. And a collar and a lead. And a feeding bowl. And some food…’

But, Bob realised, Ned had already spent much time and money on Morag, to say nothing of vet's bills, as well as squandering a precious long weekend leave in order to bring the dog home to his mother. The thought of further expense, all to come out of Ned's hard-earned sub-lieutenant's pay, was more than his father could stand.

He said, ‘No. I shall buy them.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Now. Saturday evening. We've just time to nip down to the ironmonger's before the shop closes. You may choose the dog's accoutrements. I shall foot the bill.’

That had all happened two months ago, and now Biddy could scarcely imagine life without Morag. She was a sweet and undemanding creature, loving to go for long walks, but perfectly happy just playing about the garden, if one did not happen to feel like going for a walk, or wanted to play bridge with one's friends instead. This afternoon Morag had missed out on a walk because, despite the fine weather, Bob had spent most of his time indoors, clearing papers from his desk, turning out cupboards, throwing out worn or unwanted items of clothing. With all this accomplished, he had turned his attention to the garage, sorely in need of a good spring clean. To deal with the resultant rubbish, he had built a bonfire, and anything that couldn't be burnt, like broken scythes, old petrol cans, a two-wheeled tricycle, and a rusty lawn-mower, he had piled outside the back door, awaiting the next call of the dustbin lorry.

The inference of all this was only too clear to Biddy. She understood her husband very well, and knew that private, gnawing concern and anxiety could only be dispelled by furious physical activity. Watching him through the kitchen window, her heart became heavy. It was as though he knew already that war was inevitable and was now bent upon clearing the decks of his ship before battle commenced.

But finally, there was nothing more to be done. He came indoors for a restoring cup of tea at the kitchen table, and they were there together when Judith's telephone call came through. The telephone was in the hall, and Biddy went to answer it. When she returned, ‘Who was that?’ Bob asked.

Biddy sat down again, and took a mouthful of tea, but it had grown cold. ‘It was Judith.’

‘What did she say?’

‘She wants to come. Here. Now. Today. She's driving up from Cornwall in her car. She says she'll arrive about ten o'clock.’

Bob raised his thick eyebrows. ‘What's up?’

‘No idea.’

‘How did she sound?’

‘All right.’ She thought about it. ‘A bit bright-voiced. You know. Brittle.’

‘Did she say why she wanted to come?’

‘No. No details. She said she'd explain when she arrived.’

‘Was she phoning from the Carey-Lewises?’

‘Yes.’

‘Something must have happened.’

‘Perhaps she's had a row with her friend, Loveday. Or blotted her copy-book in some way.’

‘That doesn't sound like Judith.’

‘No, it doesn't does it? Never mind, whatever the reason, she's coming. She can help me make black-out curtains. I bought a bale of the horrible black cotton, but I haven't got around to cutting them out yet. Judith's a whiz on the sewing machine.’ She stood to empty the mug of tepid tea down the sink, and then to pour a fresh brew from the teapot. Morag, hoping that she was about to be given something to eat, sat on the rag-rug and gazed at Biddy. ‘It's not suppertime yet, you greedy thing,’ Biddy told her. ‘Dear doggie, Judith hasn't met you yet. She doesn't even
know
about you. If you're nice to her, she'll maybe take you walks.’ She straightened, and leaned against the sink. ‘I don't even have to make up her bed, because Mrs Dagg did the spare room on Friday morning. She was coming to stay later on anyway, and we'd planned to go to London to buy gear for Singapore. So it's just a question of putting the dates forward.’ Across the table, she met her husband's eye. ‘Oh, Bob, it's no good jumping the gun, getting too concerned. Whatever. We'll just have to see.’

‘If something really is wrong, she mightn't want to tell you.’

‘She will. I'll just ask her. We have a good relationship. Anyway, I can't deal with hidden undertows or unspoken feelings.’

‘Be tactful, my love.’

‘Darling, of course I shall be. And you know I adore the child.’

Just after eleven o'clock, by which time Biddy was beginning to be anxious, imagining accidents and empty petrol tanks, Judith arrived. From the window, Biddy saw the beams of the car's headlights coming up the hill, and heard the approaching engine. She stood, and swiftly left the room, crossing the hall and switching on the light that hung over the front door. Standing in the blowy darkness, with Morag at her heels, she saw the little Morris come through the open gate.

The headlights were switched off, the door opened and Judith emerged.

‘Oh, darling, what a relief. I almost had you dead.’ They hugged. ‘Did you have a dreadful journey?’

‘Not too bad. Just long. And I said I'd be here about now.’

‘I know you did. Just me fussing.’

‘The last bit is so windey. At one moment I thought I'd lost the way.’ Judith looked down. ‘Who's this?’

‘Morag. Our dog.’

‘You've never had a dog before!’

‘We've got one now. She's Ned's.’

‘What a sweet person. Hello, Morag. How long has she lived with you?’

‘Two months. Come on, don't let's stand here and talk. Where's your luggage?’ Biddy opened the back door of the Morris and pulled Judith's case off the seat. ‘Is this all?’

‘It's all I need.’

‘I hoped you were going to stay for
ages.
’

‘You never know,’ said Judith, but there was no laughter in her voice. ‘Perhaps I will.’

They went indoors. Biddy locked the front door behind her and dumped the case on the bottom stair. In the glare of the rather cold hallway light, they stood and looked at each other. Judith seemed all right, Biddy decided. A bit pale, and much thinner than when Biddy had last seen her, but not ill or anything. Not ill, nor apparently trembling on the verge of tears. But perhaps she was just being brave…

‘Where's Uncle Bob?’

‘Went back to Devonport after tea. You'll probably see him next weekend. Now, what would you like? Food? Drink? I can give you some soup.’

Judith shook her head. She said, ‘Bed. Just bed. I'm exhausted.’

‘Do you need a hot-water bottle?’

‘I don't need anything. Just a bed and a pillow.’

‘Up you go then. Usual room. And don't get up in the morning. I'll bring you a cup of tea about nine o'clock.’

Judith said, ‘I'm sorry.’

‘For heavens sake, what for?’

‘For springing myself on you.’

‘Oh, don't be ridiculous. We always love it when you come.’ But sentiment, at this late and vulnerable hour, must at all costs be kept at bay. Confidences and confessions could wait until the morning. ‘Now, off with you. Go and get your head down. And sleep well.’

‘I will…’ Judith gathered up her suitcase and trod up the stairs. Biddy watched her go. Suddenly, Biddy longed for Bob, and wished that he had not had to go. In lieu of his comforting presence, she poured herself a whisky and soda and, carrying her drink with her, went to the kitchen, put Morag to bed, locked doors and windows, and finally took herself upstairs. On the landing, she saw that Judith's bedroom door was shut. From beyond the open window an owl hooted, but all the house was silent.

It was not Biddy who awoke Judith, but the dog. In her sleep, she was aware of the rattle of the door as Morag scratched upon it, and then a thin, insistent wheeking. Scarcely conscious, Judith climbed out of bed, staggered to open the door, let the dog in, shut the door, and fell back into bed again. Almost instantly, she was fast asleep once more. When, at nine o'clock, Biddy officially woke her, bearing the promised cup of tea, Morag was curled up at the end of Judith's bed, a warm and heavy weight on her feet.

‘I couldn't think where she'd got to,’ Biddy said, putting the cup of steaming tea down on the bedside table. ‘I let her out to do wees and then she disappeared. I thought she'd gone rabbiting, but she must have sneaked back into the house.’ She neither scolded Morag nor hauled her off the bed, simply telling her she was a very clever doggie, and then went to draw back the cretonne curtains, letting in the light of the new day. (My first day without Edward, Judith thought, and wished that it hadn't had to start so soon.) ‘It's a bit misty, but I think it's going to be fine. How did you sleep?’

One step at a time. That was the only way to get through such an unbearably miserable vacuum. Judith made a huge effort and sat up and punched the pillows into position, so that the slats of the bedhead would not dig into her shoulders. ‘Like a log.’ She yawned and pushed her hair out of her face. ‘I was exhausted.’

‘You must have been. Such a drive on your own. You looked drained.’ Biddy came to sit on the side of the bed, adding yet more weight to the creaking springs. She wore linen trousers and a checked shirt, as though she were about to step out of doors and get on with a bit of haymaking. Her curly hair, once so dark, was beginning to show threads of grey, and she had put on a bit of weight, but her face was just the same, with lipstick and laughter lines and bright eyes. She said, ‘I've been having a look at your little car. It's too sweet. You must love it.’

‘Yes, I do.’ Judith reached for her tea, which was hot and very strong. Biddy waited for a moment, and then said, ‘Do you want to talk?’

Judith's heart sank. She tried stalling. ‘What about?’

‘Talk it through, I mean. Something's happened. A row with Loveday perhaps? Or is it more far-reaching than that?’

Her perception, like a needle, was both sharp and painful. ‘What makes you say that?’

Biddy became a bit impatient. ‘Oh, darling, I'm not a dimwit. And I'm also a mother as well as an aunt. I don't enjoy undercurrents of feeling, nor nervous silences, nor sulks…’

‘I'm not sulking…’

Biddy ignored this, ‘…and it's not in character for you to make impulsive decisions. So tell. Whatever it is, whatever caused you to leave the Carey-Lewises in such a hurry, I shall understand. My own life was never unblemished. In fact, it's scattered with spots and boils. And it
is
better to talk.’

Judith made no reply to this. She drank her tea and tried to marshal her thoughts. Biddy waited patiently. Beyond the window the sky was misty, but the air warm. The small bedroom — light-years away from the beautiful room at Nancherrow that was hers alone — was a bit cramped and shabby, but comfortably familiar, because this was where Judith had always slept when she stayed at Upper Bickley, and nothing had been changed, nor improved, nor refurbished in any way. The cretonne curtains did not match the patterned carpet; the candlewick covers on the twin beds were primrose yellow, and the wallpaper striped in blue and white. Interior decoration had never been Biddy's forte. But there were marguerite daisies in a jug on the dressing-table, and over the old-fashioned fireplace, hung a picture of a harbour, with blue sea and fishing boats, which was good for looking at just before you fell asleep.