Authors: Margot Livesey
Homework (30 page)
It was late in the day when I roused myself. The office was emptying fast, as it always did on Friday afternoons, but I had several letters that had to be sent out before the weekend. After my hours of daydreaming, I did not finish until almost eight. By the time I arrived home, Jenny was in bed. Stephen had saved some stew for me, and while I ate he told me about an invitation he and Deirdre had received to describe their tutoring program at a conference of Scottish schoolteachers.
“That sounds great,” I said. “Did you manage to speak to Helen?”
He nodded. “She thought we'd been too precipitate and that I should wait until Jenny had got used to the idea and then ask her again. She could go next weekend, or even the one after.”
“So she wasn't upset by Jenny's refusal?” I asked.
“I suppose she was, but she was quite calm about it. She said that in a way she wasn't surprised. We ought to have remembered that Jenny hates changes.” There was a note of satisfaction in Stephen's voice. I realised that he was pleased rather than otherwise by Jenny's refusal. Soon after I finished eating we went to bed.
At first I did not know what had woken me. Stephen was sleeping quietly beside me, and I could tell, without looking at the clock, that it was the middle of the night. Then I heard the slightest of sounds. I wondered if it could be Tobias, but I knew that he was as usual safely shut in the kitchen. I lay still, listening. It was possible on the carpeted floor to move almost soundlessly, but suddenly I was convinced that Jenny was in the room. I measured each breath in and out, trying not to betray that I was awake. After a few minutes a small white figure flitted past me. I heard her feet tapping lightly on the bare floorboards as she moved across the hall.
I could feel my heart shaking in my chest. What could this mean? I was certain now that the night before, Jenny had also come to our room. She was up to something, she had some scheme in mind, but I could not imagine what it might be. I kept feeling that I was on the point of understanding what she was about, and then, like the remnant of a dream, the thought would vanish before I could fully grasp it.
In the morning Jenny slept late. Stephen and I had finished breakfast by the time she came into the dining room. I was sitting at the table, pretending to read the newspaper while I waited for her. Stephen was putting up cup hooks in the kitchen. As Jenny sat down, he called to me, “Will you come and see if these are spaced right?”
I got up and went to look at his handiwork. “Yes, they're fine.”
He began to hang up mugs one by one on the neatly spaced white hooks. On the counter beneath was a row of tiny piles of sawdust.
I returned to the dining room and stationed myself in front of the gas fire. I had gone back and forth as to whether to mention the events of the night; I was afraid a confrontation might be exactly what she wanted, but I also feared that my silence might licence her to proceed with impunity. Too often
in the past I had been silent at the critical moment. “Were you ill last night?” I asked. “You came into our room, but you left before I could say anything.”
in the past I had been silent at the critical moment. “Were you ill last night?” I asked. “You came into our room, but you left before I could say anything.”
Jenny paused in the middle of pouring out her cereal. “I don't know,” she said. “I woke up, and I was in your room. Then I went back to bed.”
I had spoken loudly so that Stephen would hear my question. Now he appeared in the kitchen doorway.
“What time was this?” he said. “I didn't hear anything.”
“It was about twelve-thirty,” I said. “Jenny woke me by coming into our room.”
“I don't remember anything, except going back to bed, and my feet were cold.”
“You must have been sleepwalking,” said Stephen. “I did that occasionally when I was your age.”
All alone in the middle of the table, Jenny sat looking at her father with an expression of interest. Here he was providing her with the perfect explanation. I was struck dumb. Sleepwalking had never occurred to me, either as reality or as fiction; Jenny had, if nothing else, been much too purposeful. Then I thought that the news of Stephen's exploits had not come as a surprise to her. Such family stories are often repeated, and most likely she had been reminded of this one on her recent visit to Joyce and Edward's.
“Where did you sleepwalk?” she asked.
“Once I woke up in the garden. Another time Joyce found me in the pantry, and everyone teased me that it was a way to get late-night snacks.”
“That wouldn't work for me because the cupboards are all too high.” She voiced this standard complaint with mock grumpiness.
“Maybe you could try the fridge,” said Stephen. Jenny giggled and wrinkled her nose. “Have you ever done this before?” he asked.
“I don't think so, but perhaps I wouldn't know. Maybe I could walk somewhere and get back to bed without waking up.” She smiled at me. “Did I scare you?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. I looked at her without smiling; she knew that I spoke the truth.
Later, when Stephen and I were drinking coffee in the dining room and Jenny was in her room, he said, “Tell me again what happened.”
“There's nothing to tell. I woke up, Jenny was in the room, and before I could say anything she had gone back to bed.” I held my cup tightly. I wanted to say, “There's no reason to believe she was sleepwalking,” but I knew that from Stephen's point of view there was every reason.
“She must be really upset about Helen.” His face was frowning and intent.
“Why did you sleepwalk?”
“I think it was the summer my parents announced that I was going to boarding school; I felt as if I was being sent into exile. Anyway the question is not why I walked in my sleep twenty years ago but why Jenny does now.”
“The two might be connected. Maybe sleepwalking is the sort of thing that's hereditary, so Jenny is more likely to sleepwalk than most people, and if you walked in your sleep for no very traumatic reason, then maybe she is too.”
He shook his head. “It still seems too much of a coincidence.” He straightened his glasses, drank some coffee, and stared off out of the window. Jenny's decision about Paris had vindicated Stephen. For the first time she had chosen him over Helen.
Danger was close; I could smell it, I could feel it fanning our hair. And Stephen too, in spite of his pleasure in Jenny's choice, sensed that something was awry, but like a befuddled lighthouse keeper he kept looking in the wrong direction, beaming the signal inland, unaware of the ships drifting onto the rocks below.
Â
Â
When Jenny emerged from her room she announced that she wanted to go to the library. Stephen was working, and I said I would go with her. While she looked at the children's books I consulted the young, dark-skinned man seated behind the information desk.
“Sleepwalking,” he murmured. “I imagine the best place to look is under âSleep.' I can show you where that is.” He came out from behind his desk, and I followed him to a far corner. He indicated half a dozen books on the bottom shelf. I thanked him and pulled out a paperback called
Sleep
. There were several entries for sleepwalking in the index. I turned to the first one.
Sleep
. There were several entries for sleepwalking in the index. I turned to the first one.
“Sleepwalking as an occasional event is normal for most children. There is a strong tendency for it to run in families. Among some children it is an indication of emotional disturbance. The child may walk about with a blank expression, mumbling to himself. He may fumble with objects and bump into things but generally avoids major obstacles. He may appear distressed and preoccupied. Attempts to waken him meet only very gradually with success. Left to himself he will return to bed after some minutes. In the morning there is a complete lack of memory for the events of the night. Occasionally he may have injured himself and the sleepwalking is not without danger through a liability to falls through windows or down stairs.”
I was gazing at these words when Jenny came up behind me. “I've got my books,” she said.
I checked out
Sleep
, and we walked home together. Jenny chatted animatedly about what she was going to give Joyce and Edward for Christmas. Her liveliness was the antithesis of my heaviness. All my limbs seemed to be at a great distance from me. On the surface a young woman and her stepdaughter were enjoying each other's company, and just below the surface something terrible was happening. The disparity
made me feel as if I were going mad. Worst of all, there seemed nothing to be done. I knew now, beyond doubt, that there was no point in talking to Jenny. I was reminded of the last few months with Lewis, when I had ceased to plead and argue. He would insist on talking cheerfully, on touching me as if he loved me, when in fact he was denying me everything that mattered; the contradiction was harder to bear than any truth he might have told me.
Sleep
, and we walked home together. Jenny chatted animatedly about what she was going to give Joyce and Edward for Christmas. Her liveliness was the antithesis of my heaviness. All my limbs seemed to be at a great distance from me. On the surface a young woman and her stepdaughter were enjoying each other's company, and just below the surface something terrible was happening. The disparity
made me feel as if I were going mad. Worst of all, there seemed nothing to be done. I knew now, beyond doubt, that there was no point in talking to Jenny. I was reminded of the last few months with Lewis, when I had ceased to plead and argue. He would insist on talking cheerfully, on touching me as if he loved me, when in fact he was denying me everything that mattered; the contradiction was harder to bear than any truth he might have told me.
Later, when Jenny was out in the garden playing with Selina, I showed Stephen the passage in the book. “So you were right,” he said. “It is hereditary. I'm glad that we don't have any stairs or low windows.”
Â
At my suggestion, Stephen and I watched the late night film on television. I thought I would foil Jenny by keeping us up until after she fell asleep. Just before midnight, however, there came the sounds of doors opening and closing, the toilet flushing. I spent the last half hour of the film gazing unseeing at the screen. When it ended, at twelve-thirty, Stephen stretched and announced that it was time for bed. I had no plausible excuse to delay him further. While he went to the bathroom, I tiptoed across the hall and listened at the open door of Jenny's room. I heard nothing.
Her hands on my face woke me. Without thinking, I switched on the light. Jenny was standing beside our bed, bending over me, her eyes shut.
She screamed.
Stephen sat up. “What is it?” he demanded loudly, not at all in the muffled tones of someone who had been asleep. He saw Jenny. At once he reached over to turn out the light. Then he jumped out of bed. I saw his dark form moving swiftly towards his daughter. In a moment he had picked her up and carried her from the room.
I did not turn the light back on. The moon was full, and the
window was open a crack; the moonlight rippled round the edges of the curtain. I looked at the clock. It was a quarter to two.
window was open a crack; the moonlight rippled round the edges of the curtain. I looked at the clock. It was a quarter to two.
Stephen climbed back into bed, and I turned and pressed against him, wanting to drive out the cold. “Is she okay?” I whispered.
“I think so.” He lay in my embrace, his arms folded against his chest. “You shouldn't have switched on the light, Celia,” he said.
“I had no idea what was going on. When she woke me, I assumed she was ill and needed something.”
“I know you were startled, but if it happens again, please wake me quietly.” On the pretext of returning to sleep, he moved out of my arms.
Â
On Sunday I stayed at home while Jenny and Stephen went skating. I spread my current manuscript out on the dining room table, but I could not keep my mind on one page. Supposing that my suspicions were justifiedâthat Jenny deliberately got paint on my dress, lied to Stephen, tried to strand me on the island, damaged my pullover, deposited a dead mouse among my clothes, put vinegar in my lens case, stole and gave back my braceletâwhat lay behind these deeds? Of course they were all evidence that Jenny disliked me, but there seemed in addition some subtler motivation, else why not steal more money, or keep the bracelet?
The question rose before me like a high, smooth wall. I got up from the table and went into the living room. The fire was burning, and I picked up the tongs to put on more coal. Suddenly I remembered the attack on Selina. I had done my best to forget that troubling incident. All the evidence, before and since, was that Jenny loved Selina. I pictured again the white-faced, determined fury with which she had attacked the rabbit. At the time I had thought that I was spoiling her game.
Now I realised that I had done exactly what she wanted; she had arranged everything in order to make sure that I would witness her attack. It was not Selina that Jenny had been trying to hurt, but me. She wanted to sow dissension between Stephen and me, and she would go to enormous lengths to accomplish that, even hurting what she loved, even not going to see her darling mother.
Now I realised that I had done exactly what she wanted; she had arranged everything in order to make sure that I would witness her attack. It was not Selina that Jenny had been trying to hurt, but me. She wanted to sow dissension between Stephen and me, and she would go to enormous lengths to accomplish that, even hurting what she loved, even not going to see her darling mother.
I had never spelled it out so clearly before, and, still holding the tongs, I sank down onto the sofa, overwhelmed by the clarity that had come upon me. In spite of the fire, I felt my flesh rise into goose bumps. I was desperately afraid. I tried to say to myself the phrases which anyone in whom I confided would sayâshe's only ten, she'll get over it, she'll settle downâbut such stock comments had no bearing on the reality of the situation. It had taken me many months to arrive at some understanding of Jenny's true nature, and now that I had done so, I could derive no comfort from her age, nor from the idea of her hatred being a passing phase; I had never met anyone less malleable.
I got up to put more coal on the fire. The flames disappeared beneath the bank of coal. Still I did not understand how pretending to sleepwalk could further her aim. I kept wondering, why wake me, only me, when I was sceptical and unsympathetic, whereas Stephen would have made a huge fuss over her. But I thought, if it is analogous to Selina, then she wants Stephen and me to quarrel. All I have to do is to turn the other cheek, to keep still.
Other books
Sacrifice by Alexandrea Weis
Forgiving Patience by Jennifer Simpkins
The Pot Thief Who Studied Escoffier by Orenduff, J. Michael
Friday's Child by Clare Revell
Revived (The Lucidites Book 3) by Sarah Noffke
Caribbean Crossroads by Connie E Sokol
The Dan Brown Enigma by Graham A Thomas
Creamy Bullets by Sampsell, Kevin
A Woman of Bangkok by Jack Reynolds
Mercury Rests by Kroese, Robert
