Loving, Living, Party Going (66 page)

It was not comfortable and there were signs that this long wait was beginning to fray tempers. At first there had been patient jokes and then some community singing but nice as these had been and as everyone had felt in taking all this nicely, it was beginning to wear thin until only those who were getting off with girls could say they were enjoying themselves. They searched round and about picking and choosing. 'I hope you don't mind my speaking to you,' they would say or 'I don't know when we shall get back, do you?' or 'I say this is very unconventional my speaking to you like this,' although they had wifey and the couple of kids at home. These girls, and many of them had been chosen for their looks where they worked, were so sick and tired, and this kind of approach was so much more reason for tiredness, they turned away with no words to answer them, disgusted.

There was nothing wonderful or strange in what they saw. For any of these people, night ended once a night and was only remembered by some of them for a person the moon that certain night had shone on in their arms, those loving arms. And when fog was joined to night who was there to dream of that cruel oblivion of sight it made when they had in mind chintz curtains waiting to be drawn across shut windows.

Again, being in it, how was it possible for them to view themselves as part of that vast assembly for even when they had tried singing they had only heard those next them; it was impossible to tell if all had joined except when, perhaps at the end of a verse, one section made themselves heard as they were late and had not yet finished. Then everyone knew everyone was singing but this feeling did not last and soon they did not agree about songs, that section would be going on while another sang one of their own. Then no one sang at all.

So crowded together they were beginning to be pressed against each other, so close that every breath had been inside another past that lipstick or those cracked lips, those even teeth, loose dentures, down into other lungs, so weary, so desolate and cold it silenced them.

Then one section had begun to chant 'we want our train' over and over again and at first everyone had laughed and joined in and then had failed, there were no trains. And so, having tried everything, desolation overtook them.

They were like ruins in the wet, places that is where life has been, palaces, abbeys, cathedrals, throne rooms, pantries, cast aside and tumbled down with no immediate life and with what used to be in them lost rather than hidden now the roof has fallen in. Ruins that is not of their suburban homes for they had hearts, and feelings to dream, and hearts to make up what they did not like into other things. But ruins, for life in such circumstances was only possible because it would not last, only endurable because it had broken down and as it lasted and became more desolate and wet so, as it seemed more likely to be permanent, at least for an evening, they grew restive.

Where ruins lie, masses of stone grown over with ivy unidentifiable with the mortar fallen away so that stone lies on stone loose and propped up or crumbling down in mass then as a wind starts up at dusk and stirs the ivy leaves and rain follows slanting down, so deserted no living thing seeks what little shelter there may be, it is all brought so low, then movements of impatience began to flow across all these people and as ivy leaves turn one way in the wind they themselves surged a little here and there in their blind search behind bowler hats and hats for trains.

But at one point no movement showed where, like any churchyard, gravestone luggage waited with mourners, its servants and owners, squatted in between. Here Thomson, still without his tea, had not forgotten yet that kiss she had blessed him with and went rambling on, both aloud and in his mind, how he could not bear that she had been called away. Every now and again he would get up to look over the monuments about, but she was no longer with those other mourners who glared back at him for intruding on their lives in the little rooms their luggage made them. Indeed one old lady had gone so far as to get her 'Primus' out and was making tea as though playing at Indians in second childhood and Thomson was telling Edwards he was sure this was his girl's party and how if that old creature had not been there he might have had his tea and kisses too. Edwards asked him to beware, saying so much imagination must be bad for anyone, let alone somebody as crazy as he seemed to be.

'Only crazy for what I haven't got,' he said, 'like any drowning, starving man.'

'Drowning are you now? I'd have sworn you was like any little
schoolboy with his first sweetheart, his pretty honeypot'

'All right, but it's natural, isn't it, same as it is to want a cup of tea.' He went on that if someone were to come now and offer him half a dollar for this luggage he would accept if it did mean his job, or he would for a cup of tea even. Edwards said now he was back harping on it, 'your Jew's harp,' he went on, straining his fancy, 'always wanting more than what you have.'

But Thomson's trouble was sex. He could not hold that kiss she had given him as it might be an apple in his hand to turn over while he made up his mind to bite, he was like any starving creature who wanted one more apple and this made him restless. And this was why, though he did not know it, he went on about his tea. He always had a cup Of tea if his mind ran for too long on girls, that is when he had no girl ready to his hand.

'It's not my tea so much,' he said, expressing this.

'You want the moon,' said Edwards.

Meantime Robert Hignam's man, who had so frightened Julia, was making his way from one grieving mourner to another or, as they sat abandoned, cast away each by his headstone, they were like the dead resurrected in their clothes under this cold veiled light and in an antiseptic air. He dodged about asking any man he saw if he was Miss Julia Wray's, so much as to say, 'I be the grave-digger, would I bury you again?'

When he found Thomson he tried to persuade him to hand the luggage over so that he could get it into the hotel because he wanted to be clever and do more than Robert had required. Thomson asked who had sent him and when he heard it was Hignam he said he could not take orders from any but Miss Wray. Edwards said who was he anyway, he might be Arsene Lupin easy, and what did he take them for?

'Well, as you might say, the orders did come from that young lady.'

'Tell us,' said Thomson and Edwards could not understand how he could go on talking with this man who might be anybody, 'what's going on in there?' he said, nodding over to where they were sitting quarrelling up above behind lace curtains,

'She's a goner.'

'Who's a goner?'

'Why that young lady's aunt.'

'Don't talk so silly,' Edwards said.

'As sure as I'm here,' he answered.

'Have you seen her?'

'Of course I've seen her,' he said, speaking in educated tones again. 'She was taken bad in the buffet and they had to carry her upstairs.'

'And what about a doctor?'

'Ah,' he said, 'they've had the doctor to her, but he's no doctor, I've not been around all these years without I know about that hotel doctor. He's killed any number of them,' he said, 'when they've been carried in,' and as he talked of death his speech relapsed into some dialect of his own, 'any bloody number of 'em,' he went on, 'as've been took bad on the bloody Continent and 'ave said well if they were going to be sick they'd be sick in their own native land and so left it too late, appendicitis and all,' he said.

'Not bloody likely,' said Edwards, any talk of death making him swear.

'It's the bloody truth.'

'Well then,' said Edwards, 'if anything was to come to her, it's unpack for you and me, my lad,' he said to Thomson.

At this a huge wild roar broke from the crowd. They, were beginning to adjust that board indicating times of trains which had stood, all of two hours behind where it had reached when first the fog came down.

'Wild animals,' Edwards said.

'Won't do her any good,' said Hignam's man.

'Well, that's a shocking thing,' Thomson said, 'if anything were to happen to Miss Fellowes, why my young lady wouldn't half take on, you know, soft 'earted.'

'Death's a bloody awful thing,' said Edwards, 'but it isn't as easy as all that, it takes time to die. She couldn't have been well enough to come all that way here if she was going to die this minute. Depend upon it she's all right, or will be.'

'Well,' said Thomson, 'I reckon if what he says is right it will put paid to this party, they'll all be off 'ome and we'll get no thanks for it.'

Edwards remarked Miss Fellowes had been acting very extraordinary before, very extraordinary, but that did not mean anything except she had come over queer.

'And shall I take these things?' this strange man said.

'Where's a copper?'

'Who are you talking to, young feller?'

'Go on and get off,' said Edwards, 'we've had enough of you and now you've bloody well upset me with your talk. Who'd you think is going to give you his luggage, now get on, go off.'

He went and Thomson said some people did have strange ideas. Now who would imagine he would try to go through all that mob with valuable luggage, just so as Miss Julia could see it was still there, when she hadn't even said she wanted to. But it did seem this man knew something about them and it was rotten about Miss Fellowes. If she was ill why they'd none of them start, they'd put it off as sure as anything.

Edwards said not to be too sure, she was no relation of theirs, meaning Mr Adey's and Miss Wray's. He'd known worse happen without his gentleman turning back.

'Well, it wouldn't be right, not to start like that, not with that behind you,' said Thomson. 'And if she did die why you'd never be the same, none of them would, not for three days at all events.'

'And I thought you wanted your tea so bad you'd have given all this away for sixpence.'

'Oh, that was different,' said Thomson, meaning his Emily.

'But then would you go, you,' he went on, 'if anything of that kind was to happen?'

'No, I would not,' said Edwards, 'but then they're different.'

'It's all the old same, excuse me,' Thomson said, 'death's death, if you understand me.'

'Let's get this straight. No one except that loony said she was going to die, did they?'

'Well, it's the same if she was really bad, they'd never go.'

'Mr Adey would.'

'And my young lady wouldn't.'

'Don't you be so sure, my lad. I fancy she'd follow him all over, or she'd like to.'

'I won't speak about that if you don't mind,' said Thomson, 'I don't hold with following what anyone's after or saying this or that about them. What they do is none of my concern. No, I don't like it,' he said and probably did not know what he really meant. Anyway they both of them dropped it.

But this was what Claire was talking about with Evelyn. Max was in her bedroom with those two old nannies and they were standing in the corridor outside.

'What do you think?' Claire said to her.

'I know,' said Evelyn, 'it's very worrying isn't it?'

'What would you do?'

'I don't know.'

'You see what so upsets me is when one of them in there says, and I don't know which of the old things it was, mine or the other, did you hear it, she said "oh no, dearie, why you couldn't go now, not with your own aunt lying there." When she calls me dearie it makes me feel like a street woman. And that when the doctor said it was nothing, or anyway if it wasn't nothing that it wasn't serious. Evelyn, my dear, when anyone is as drunk as that they sleep it off, don't they, I mean they don't lie there unconscious and after all she has passed out now hasn't she, that is she lies there breathing in that awful way she's not asleep is she? I don't know, if we could get hold of another doctor he might be able to tell us something, but then I don't want to seem nasty and I hate to say it but supposing he said she was very bad, well then, it would not help her if we went or stayed, would it? Oh, can you tell me why that idiot Robert doesn't do something?'

Evelyn did not reply. Claire seemed to ponder for a moment. 'D'you think it would do any good if we tried to make her sick again?'

'Oh, no, I shouldn't.'

'Well, after all, that's what the doctor said was the matter, didn't he? But then it's so impossible, Evelyn darling, why I've known Auntie May all my life, she couldn't be like this because of that. And I couldn't tell my own nanny about what the doctor said about mother's sister, could I? You do agree, don't you?'

'Of course.'

'But then you see I can't help feeling they may be right. After all, what could that doctor know about poor Auntie May, he may have just said to himself here's another old lady who likes port too much. And we can't get her out of here, and any minute just because Julia's uncle or guardian is a director of the railway they may come and tell us we must go. D'you think I ought to stay, behind and perhaps come on afterwards?'

'Well, she lives alone, doesn't she, I mean she hasn't got anybody.'

'Those nannies could look after her, they've got absolutely nothing to do, you know, they are pensioned off, mine just lives at home, at number nine I mean and drinks tea all day. Besides she nursed me through several very serious illnesses and with all that experience and being so fond of the family she would be better than any trained nurse, they never care whether you live or die.'

'You mean there's no one else to look after her.'

'No, there's absolutely no one. There's her maid and I don't know why we didn't make her come round when it first started, you remember I rang her up telling her to stay away. I can't imagine why but of course she has fits, no, absolutely everyone else is dead and mother's abroad as you know. It's rather touching, that's why she came to see us off really, it's her only link. No, but it's not touching actually because she goes and gets ill. Oh, Evelyn, it's so unfair, isn't it?'

And as she said this surprisingly she began to cry, not sobbing or that free flow out of a contorted face, but it was as though some miracle had occurred, as though tears were gently one by one rolling down graven image features which had stayed dry under cover for centuries, carved out of hard wood, so that these tears threatened to crack a polished surface it looked so unused to being wetted, only creamed.