Gordon Williams (6 page)

“Look, Louise, I’m getting tired of this. Being in England hasn’t made you happy, has it? All I get is this anti-American stuff. If you were so keen on England why didn’t you marry some faggot Englishman instead of a stupid American?”

“God, if only –”

“If only, if only. I know what’s bothering you, Louise. You’re worrying about old age creeping up on you
again
. Oh, la-di-da, poor little Louise’s all sad and sore, life isn’t turning out the great romantic day-dream after all, is it? You poor dear.”

“What do you know about romance, you
swot
? You live in your bloody books, that’s all you know.”

“You knew what I did for a living before you married me. Now you think you’d like a change. Well don’t take it out on me, Louise, no woman’s going to break my balls –”

“Oh, God, you’re so
trite
.” She felt the strength for argument draining away. It was all so stupid and futile. “That’s a very stupid expression. Why can’t Americans stick to castration like everybody else?”

She had hoped she was making a joke. She wasn’t. They stared at each other, as though out of breath.

“I didn’t realise you’d gone off America so strongly,” George said at last. Neither had she.

“Now I know why you didn’t ask your mother down here for Christmas,” he went on. “You were frightened she’d scare me off this damn country altogether, weren’t you?”

She shrugged. For all she despised women who cried unfairly in arguments, she found tears coming to her eyes. She realised she never wanted to go back to America.

“You don’t think I’m going to settle down and live here permanently, do you?” He sounded more surprised than angry.

“Do what you bloody like,” she said, getting up and walking quickly out of the kitchen. She ran up the stairs and slipped the bolt on the inside of the bathroom door. There she stared in the mirror at a face which rapidly became tear-bloated. She sobbed convulsively for all the things she’d missed.

“Oh Patrick, oh Patrick,” she moaned.

When he’d seen Henry Niles safely undressed and put on the bed for the doctor’s examination, Pawson told the nurse he’d be in Sister Grady’s office.

“Be good now, Henry,” he said to Niles, who nodded, seriously. Pawson looked at the thin little legs and the pale, bony body and wondered, as he had done many times before, how such a skinny little streak of nothing could have done the terrible things Henry Niles had once done.

He walked through the doors of the clinic where Henry had his weekly kidney injections and crossed the tiled landing to Ward Four.

“Hullo, Kate,” he said, leaning his head round the corner of the office door. “Time for tea, is it?”

“You’re too early,” said the small woman in the blue nursing uniform and starched cap. She didn’t look thirty-nine, he thought.

“You know I don’t come for the tea, it’s you I want to drink in.” He entered the office and sat down.

“Is it all right if I rest my aching feet?” he asked, groaning. “Don’t
think of me as a gentleman caller, I’m more your walking wounded.”

“Tuts tuts, you poor old thing,” she said, her voice noticeably Irish, a small woman with a clean, clear skin and dark blue eyes. A little beauty! Proud with it, too. But what woman worth chasing ever did give a man an easy time?

“My patient’s having his weekly miracle shot,” he said. “Looks like a White Christmas, doesn’t it? They have White Christmas in Ireland?”

“We don’t have time for such nonsense here,” she said. “This isn’t Two Waters, you know. We’ve hardly got time to look out of the window.”

“Ah begorrah, don’t give us all that old blarney. I’m in the nursing business meself, you know. I’m a sister, too. Next year I might be made up to matron. Anyway, you know what they say about nurses, we know what it’s all about.”

“Ah yes, that’s what men with dirty minds say about nurses.”

“I suppose so. They’ve never said it about me.”

How did you get round to asking a woman like Kate Grady to go out with you when you were a married man, he wondered for the ten millionth time. She liked him a bit, he knew that, there weren’t many people she encouraged to sit in her office.

“And who’ve you brought today from the snakepit?” she asked.

“Now, now, we don’t like that sort of thing. We’re very progressive, you know. As it happens there’s just the one maladjusted personality today, one of our oldest and best-loved favourites, straight from a successful season at Bedlam, good old Henry Niles. Remember him?”

She made a grimace and seemed to shudder.

“How could I ever forget him? It makes me feel nervous just having a creature like that in the hospital. Shouldn’t you be watching him
in case he... I mean, there’s a children’s ward on the next floor.”

“Ah, Henry’s past all that,” he said, grinning. “His day is over. I don’t think he even remembers he’s a killer. When we got him he had the mind of an eight-year-old child, you know? I think he’s regressed since then. Oh yeah, life would be easy if he was the worst we had to handle.”

For all her starchy perkiness and brisk competence he knew she was like everybody else. They pretended to be horrified but they were mad keen to ask questions about what went on in Two Waters.

“But how can they tell when a case isn’t dangerous any more?”

“I think they just guess, like the rest of us. You should have a look at him, he’s nothing any more. Pathetic. If he wasn’t Henry Niles they’d probably be thinking of letting him out. But the public wouldn’t stand for it. They’ve got long memories for that kind of thing. By the way, I’ve been wanting to ask you this before, how would you like to go out with me some night? We could drive somewhere, a pub, or go to the pictures, whatever you fancy. We could discuss the latest trends in progressive medicine...”

His voice lost confidence.

“Oh,” she said, looking at the papers she’d been working on. “This is a bit sudden, isn’t it?”

“Course it isn’t. You know very well it isn’t.”

“Are you sure you’re in a position to take somebody out?”

“Oh, so you’ve found out then.” He smiled without having intended to smile. “You’ve been checking upon me?”

“Oh no, I just happened to hear somebody say you were married, that’s all.”

“I see, just casual information. Well, it’s true.”

“She doesn’t understand you, is that it?”

“No, she understands me too bloody well. You won’t believe this, but we’ve lived together in that house for eighteen months and we haven’t said a word to each other. Not a word in eighteen months! Notes. We pass notes. I’d often read about things like that, suddenly I realised it’s
us
.”

“Why don’t you leave?”

“It’s difficult, isn’t it? She won’t leave and I’ve got to stay in the house, there’s nothing else at the institution. We’re sort of stuck.”

“But why do you want to go out with me? I’m no young thing.”

“I fancy you, I always have.” He put his hand on his nose, as though trying to hide behind it. “I could have left but I’m a coward, I suppose. I want to get a divorce, though. Would you marry me if I got a divorce?” She made a little face, looking down at her papers. He’d made a fool of himself. He felt his face going red. “Didn’t you ever think it was funny, me always coming with the Wednesday run, me being a senior nurse? It was to see you, that’s why. Anyway, I’m sorry I –”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m off tonight as it happens. You could wait for me down the road, at the corner, you know, where the garage is?”

“You mean, you will?”

“For a nurse you took a long time to ask.”

For grown-up people they were both ridiculously nervous, he thought.

“It isn’t only the inmates who’re daft,” he said. “I thought you’d probably report me to the Superintendent.”

“I’ve always wanted to go out with a matron,” she said.

He wanted to take hold of her hand.

“I’ll have to get back to Two Waters and see Henry put away and then get back to the house and change and get the car – I could be
back by half-past six. Is that all right?”

“Watch the roads, won’t you? I think they said they’ll freeze up tonight, even if there isn’t any more snow. Maybe we should put it off till another –”

“Not on your – I mean, no, I’ll be all right. Half-past six.”

When he’d had tea he went back to the clinic ward to see if he could hurry them up. He felt like shouting the good news all over the hospital.

It was half-past two. Through the big ward windows he saw the first flakes of snow.

Bill Knapman and Charlie Venner left the Dando Inn around halfpast three, the new snow already lying about an inch deep on the step at the back entrance. Bill Knapman took a rag from the floor of the car and wiped the windscreen.

“It’ll be worse before it gets better,” he said to Charlie. They’d had several whiskies with Harry Ware. Neither of them felt like work. “Better come back with me, have a quick drink. I’ll better get down the road with the hay for the sheep before it piles up again.”

“I’ll bet that gang went back to Tom’s place,” said Charlie. “Tom’ll be dishin’ up the scrump.”

“Worse’n sheep dip, his stuff. Good for strippin’ paintwork I reckon.”

On the way up the road from Dando Monachorum they saw the American professor’s girl walking by herself. She turned her head away as they came alongside her. She wasn’t far from home and Bill Knapman decided not to stop and ask her if she wanted a lift.

“What’s wrong wi’ her then?” asked Charlie.

“Oh girls that age, no understandin’ them,” said Bill. “The wife’s very nice, y’know.”

“Aye, her’s English. What’s he like, I never spoke to him, some do say he wouldn’t give you the time of day.”

“Keeps to himself, that’s right. Not the kind to push himself in. Could be worse. Remember that bloke who had Trencher’s couple of year ago, what was his name, Buckteeth hyphen Scratcherley?”

“Buckley-Hitchings? The R. A. F. bloke?”

“Yeah, funny bugger he were, second day he moved in he was up at us, said he’d heard tell I made cider, could he have some? No holdin’ him, was there?”

“He didn’t last long. Neither will they lot.”

“Maybe not. Though her’s very nice.”

“Aye, her’s English.”

Karen Magruder thought she might throw a fit of temper and refuse to go to the Christmas party. She knew Bobby Hedden and his gang would be there and they wouldn’t be nice to her. If it hadn’t been for what Daddy had said to her before they left home she would have screamed and screamed and
screamed
.

“You might not find things so nice at first in England,” he’d said. “You’ll have to make new friends. I’m sorry about that but it’s going to be a big thrill for your mother. You’ve got to help to make it nice for her. England’s her home, where she was born. She hasn’t been home to see it for years and years. I’m counting on you, Karen.”

“But this is our home,” she’d said.

“Yes, but your mother’s first home was in England. She’s looking forward very much to showing you all the places she knows. It’ll
be a big thrill for her. And for you. You’ll promise me, won’t you, you’ll do everything you can to make her vacation as wonderful as it can be?”

“Oh yes. I wish we could take Sue-Anne with us. She’s my
real
friend.”

Karen kicked the snow. She decided she’d walk back to the house and look at her calendar. If there was time she’d write another letter to Sue-Anne. The last time she’d looked at her calendar there were only eight months before Daddy said they were going home again.

Poor mother. It couldn’t have been very nice for her to grow up in England...

Louise Magruder lay trembling on her bed. The words grew louder and louder in her mind...
I won’t go back
...
I won’t go back
...

Downstairs she could hear the tapping noise of George’s typewriter. What a cold-blooded fish he was. What on earth had ever possessed her to marry the bloody man? Her mother had been right, damn her. Marry your own sort, it’s best I always say. That was Mummy! She was sure now she’d only married George to show Mummy she had a mind of her own. Of course! The whole thing had been a silly bit of adolescent rebellion. God, she was tired of him. She thought of Patrick...

When George had come home that afternoon and told her they were going to a party for Ryman the poet she had been so annoyed she could have killed him.

“Oh God no! I thought we were going to have a night on our own. Don’t you ever get tired of that same bunch of bores?”

She could hear the stridency in her own voice, but there was no stopping herself. She didn’t care that George was hurt – he was
typically American, anything that upset his
wonderful
home and their
wonderful
relationship came as a deep shock. She often thought that every tiff they had was in some way an insult to the American way of life.

“You’ll enjoy it,” was all he’d said. So smug! Patronising.

“I will not. Can’t we ever have one night away from all this bloody togetherness? What’s wrong with you, George, d’you think they’ll call you a commie if you avoid them for once?”

“Don’t be silly.” Jesus, always so damned
patient
. “I promised Hal, this guy Ryman’s a bit temperamental by all accounts. Hal’s relying on you to give him support, you know, both of you being English?”

“Ryman’s
Irish
.”

“You know what I mean.”

“We all look alike to you, is that it?”

“Come on, honey, it won’t be that bad.”

“If I go I promise you now I’ll get bloody drunk.”

“What an adolescent thing to say! Of course you won’t get drunk. Leave that to the poets.”

They’d been married seven years then and she hadn’t been home for over two years and one way or the other she was fed up. That was the summer Karen had had her sulking fits.

The Sapersteins had invited just about everybody to meet Patrick Ryman, obviously because Hal thought there was safety in a large crowd, Ryman having established a reputation which travelled the college circuit in advance. She’d never known the Sapersteins to supply so much booze to so many people and that was saying a lot, for any time you went to their house you could count on Hal pumping it into you as though prohibition was coming back. Even George had been known to get a little high at the Sapersteins.