house of women (25 page)

All the way down the stairs she repeated to herself, "She can't. She can't do a thing about it." Yet that dominant, "Yes, I can. Yes, I can," penetrated her certainty.

Mrs. Funnell was right: she could do something about it, and she did.

She informed her great- granddaughter that if she filed for a divorce she would take Andrew's side and say that what he had done in taking a mistress and in finally attempting suicide was because she had never acted as a wife to him. Consequently all his real love had been

directed towards his daughter. And if it came to court she would make a plea that he be given the care of his daughter until she became of age.

The morning following Andrew's futile suicide attempt, Peggy had gone into his room and, looking down on to his drawn and sickly countenance, she had asked quite quietly, "Shall I phone Rosie and tell her that you're indisposed and are unlikely to pay your usual Friday night visit?"

She had thought for a moment that he was going to have a heart attack from shock, but, recovering himself, he had said, "Well, now you know, what are you going to do about it?" to which she had answered simply,

"Divorce," and walked out.

When Mrs. Funnell had visited him, she had upbraided him firmly for his deception and he, in his most plaintive voice, had said, "I'm a man, and it was either taking a decent woman or resorting to casual encounters. I took a way out that I thought was best."

When Mrs. Funnell later relayed this conversation to her

great-granddaughter, she had ended, "And I understood his reason perfectly. But he has promised to end the association, so that is the end of that."

It was when Peggy had come back firmly, stating that it wasn't, that it was only the beginning, that Mrs. Funnell had told her definitely which side she was on.

But the effect of all this on Emma was more worrying to Peggy than anything else that had transpired. And so it was that, four months later, she was sitting in the surgery with Emma, waiting their turn to see Doctor Rice.

When the nurse indicated that she should go in, she turned to Emma, saying, "Sit there a minute; I want to have a word with him first."

But once inside the consulting room she stopped and looked towards the desk behind which was sitting a strange man, a young man. And she was opening her mouth to say, "It's Doctor Rice I want to see," when he spoke.

Rising to his feet, he pointed to the chair opposite, saying, "Doctor Rice is indisposed this morning; I'm

taking his place. " Then on a smile, he added, " Very inadequately, it seems, because I've scared half of the patients away. "

His voice was pleasant and indicated that he wasn't from this part of the country; the South, she imagined.

Slowly she walked to the chair and sat down, then said, "I ... I don't think you can be of much help to me. Doctor. You see it isn't about myself I want to talk. I've brought my daughter and ... and Doctor Rice knows her. And she's in a nervous state, and ... " Well, I don't suppose I'll be able to help you as much as Doctor Rice would, but if you would like to tell me what is wrong, I may be able to offer a little advice. Has she stopped eating? "

"Oh no, it's not like that, but she' sparky she still doesn't eat like she used to. No; you see, it's ... it's a very delicate and awkward matter." She stumbled over her words and turned her head away before she said, "It's her father. He's ... he's so possessive of her, always has been, but it's got worse of late, and ... and of course it's getting on her nerves."

"I see. Well, this often happens between fathers and daughters."

"It does?" The words said: I don't believe it. But he nodded at her, saying, "I can assure you it does.

Now would you like me to have a talk with her, or to listen? "

She stared at him, weighing him up. He spoke with assurance; but he looked so young with his fair hair, grey eyes and slim body, he didn't appear like a doctor at all. But she supposed they had to start

sometime.

"How old is she?"

"Fifteen and a half; well, a little older, she'll be sixteen in December."

"Well now, I could see her for a moment. I don't think that would aggravate her condition."

Could she say: "No, you're too young; I'll wait until Doctor Rice comes back'? No; that would sound rude.

"Very well," she said.

He rang a bell now whilst saying to her, "Would you mind waiting outside?"

"You want to see her alone?"

"Yes, if you don't mind. I often find that parents are inhibiting to young people."

His words indicated that he wasn't so young as he looked, and she said,

"Very well."

When presently the young person came in, he was definitely surprised.

He rose from the chair and watched the girl come slowly into the room.

She was tall with dark hair and large dark eyes in a pale face.

Fifteen and a half, her mother had said. He would have put this girl's age at seventeen,

perhaps eighteen. And she carried herself straight and with a certain assurance; or was it defiance?

"Do sit down," he said, then added on a smile, "I know I'm not Doctor Rice. So many patients have fled from me this morning because I am not Doctor Rice. I am glad you have decided to see me."

Emma stared at the man. Her mother hadn't warned her that she wouldn't be seeing Doctor Rice. If she had she wouldn't have come in. Yet this stranger had a different manner altogether from the old doctor who, when he hadn't his hearing aid in place, shouted as if it were you who were deaf.

He was smiling widely at her now, saying, "I had to tell nurse not to say they weren't coming in to see the doctor they expected. But even so, some of them scarpered."

It was the word 'scarpered'. She wanted to smile, but she wasn't feeling like smiling, she was feeling sick, she was always feeling sick. Deep in side her there was this constant feeling of nausea. And when her father's hands were on her she felt at times she would vomit all over his suit. It was getting worse. Ever since the suicide

business she had become afraid of him, really afraid, because he would do it again, he had said he would.

"Which school do you go to?"

"Fenton High."

"Oh, I understand that's a very good school. What's your favourite subject?"

"I don't really have one. I'm told I'm good at English but I don't get very high marks."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't work."

"Oh." He sat back in his chair.

"Well, that's straight from the shoulder. And I can recognise the reason ... " You can't! " She almost spat the words at him.

And now he sat forward, his forearms on the desk as he said, "You'd be surprised, but I can."

His tone had changed. There was no soft persuasiveness in it now.

"You're not the only one who's had experience or who is having experience with a possessive father;

it happens to boys, too, you know. "

Her mouth was open. She was gaping at him while telling herself that her mother would have told him the reason why she was here. But he was going on talking.

"It generally happens the other way round: it's the mother who's possessive of the son. But let me tell you, it's much worse when it's the father. So, you see, I do know the reason why. Watching your every move. Timing you. You must do well at this, that, or the other.

You must take all the opportunities that he missed. Is it like that with you?"

"No."

No; of course, he knew it wouldn't be. It was far worse, more

insidious, more destructive. And so he ignored her 'no' and ended with, "So you see, I know why you don't want to work. And I wouldn't have if it hadn't been for my mother ... You have a nice mother; she's very pretty. "

There was a look of surprise on her face as she said, "You think Mother pretty?"

"Yes, of course. She's a very smart young woman."

"She's just over thirty."

He smiled.

"Thirty? Does that seem very old to you?"

"Well, it isn't young."

His smile disappeared and his next words seemed to be fired at her.

"What form does your father's possessiveness take? Does he fondle you?"

Her mouth was opening and shutting; she had the urge to run from the room; but then, this man was a doctor. He seemed to know all about such situations. And he wasn't Doctor Rice. Doctor Rice wouldn't have chatted with her like he was doing;

he would have bawled at her and said, "I'll see him. You tell him to come to me." Or he would have said that to her mother. But this doctor's attitude was different; and he was young, too; well,

youngish.

Her head was low as she muttered, "Yes."

"And you don't like it?"

"No."

"Have ... have you told him? Made it plain to him that you don't like it?"

Her head was up now, her voice spitting out the words.

"Yes! Yes!" I have. I've . I've told him for years, but I didn't want to hurt him because I loved him. But since he tried to corn . '

She stopped and looked to the side, and when she didn't continue, he said, "He's tried to commit suicide?"

Still she didn't speak.

"Has he?"

"Yes."

"When was this?"

"Some months ago."

"Did Doctor Rice know about it?"

She was looking at him as she said, "No. No; my great-great-gran kept it hushed up. My great-great gran wouldn't have the publicity."

"What if he had died? She would have had publicity then?"

She looked him straight in the face now as she said, "She doesn't take such things into account;

she's a law unto herself. "

He had heard about the Funnell family and the old matriarch when Doctor Rice was giving him a lightning summary of the patients. Vain,

pig-headed old

fossil, he had called her, if he remembered rightly.

"Why didn't you talk to your mother about this earlier?"

"Oh, she knows. She's been at him for years. But ... but it only seems to make him worse."

"And you have resisted all his advances?" It sounded such a stilted way to put it, but he couldn't find a different approach at the

moment.

"Yes; yes, I have."

"Always?"

She considered for a moment, then shook her head, saying, "Well ...

years ago I... well, I didn't understand ... well it was Daddy and he loved me. Oh yes, it was always that; he loved me."

"Has he ... well, I mean ... ?"

"I know what you mean, doctor, and no; no, he hasn't, but She suddenly sprang to her feet and was standing rigid. He, too, rose, saying, "

There! There! " And slowly he took her hand and drew her to the window and there, pointing, said, " Look at that! Isn't that a lovely garden? You wouldn't think a man like Doctor Rice would love flowers, now would you? Not with his bawling voice and thumping the table. Oh, you wouldn't know anything about his thumping the table. He does it at least three times during meals. I'm staying with them at present, until I get a place of my own. I didn't like this town when I first came to it, and . and I must whisper this, I didn't care much for him either, for his deaf-aid makes him believe that everybody else is deaf.

" He was smiling widely at her, then added, " But isn't that garden beautiful? It was that that made me see the other side of him. If a man could love flowers and arrange a garden like that, then he had a nice side to him. I find that, you know, there's always a different side to everybody. And your father must have a good side, but he must also have a bad one. Oh yes. " Now he was facing her squarely.

"And you must stand out against it. I know you are doing that, but you must put it into words. You mustn't be too kind in a case like this.

If he wants to fondle you, you snap at his hands and say, " I'm having no more of it! " Say to him, " If you do that again I'll go to the doctor. " That generally scares them. I don't know whether or not it will scare your father. By the way, do you go out . ? I mean, play games, dance?"

"I don't go to dances, not any more. It was because I went to a disco that he tried to commit suicide. Mammy said it was an attempt to frighten me. Anyway, I don't go to dances, but I play tennis."

"You do? So do I. There are two very good courts here. The one on Mowbray Road is excellent. One thing I did excel at was tennis. I was no good at rugby and hopeless at cricket. But you know z98

something? " His head was poked towards her.

"You mustn't let on, because I'd be banned from every club and pub in the county, but I really do dislike cricket. I think it's boring; so slow; hours and days to achieve ... what? Now, on a tennis court, you can hammer away."

She was smiling at him. She knew she was smiling at him. He was so different from Doctor Rice. He turned now and led her towards the door, but there he stopped and in a quiet voice said, "Now, do what I tell you. Stand up to him. Don't be afraid of hurting his feelings.

His kind of feelings are unnatural. Remember that; so, fight them . I don't suppose I'll see you again, because Doctor Rice will be back in a day or two. But I'm sure he would say as I'm saying now: get out, go to the disco and He paused and smiled before he ended, 'play a lot of tennis. There's nothing like it for pushing the world aside. "

He opened the door for her and saw her mother standing waiting, as if impatient for her return.

Peggy looked from the doctor to her daughter. Emma was actually

smiling. It was the first time she had seen her smile in weeks.

Outside she said, "Well?"

"He was nice. Different from Doctor Rice. But he treated me like a little girl; part of his training I suppose."

"What did he say to you?"

That I should play a lot of tennis. "

"What?"

"Just that: that I should play a lot of tennis."

And she played a lot of tennis.

"Eighteen thousand pounds! I can't believe it. I knew she kept her statements at the bank and went and saw the bank manager now and again, but I thought it was only a few hundred. And never to leave me a penny."

"Well, I didn't ask for her money. I knew she was going to leave me something, but not all of it, and not that amount. I tell you I knew nothing about it;