Night Visit (15 page)

12

I
spoke to Rosie about the blue Lada I had seen in the school car park. I asked her who drove it. But a ten-year-old girl has scant interest in make, model or driver. She eyed me indignantly. ‘I don’t know which blue car you mean,’ she said.

I
tried to describe it and realised how all cars are essentially the same, four wheels, a colour, a vague shape, a vague length.

‘
But the man? Do you know a plump man who hangs around the school? He has glasses, Rosie. Thick glasses and he always wears old clothes.’

She
screwed up her face. ‘What do you mean, hangs around the school?’

‘
Tries to talk to the children?’

She
shrugged her shoulders and I gave up. Two weeks later the riddle was solved for me.

*

‘Lucky for me these were in fashion in the sixties.’ Ruth was laughing as she turned up on the front doorstep dressed in a billowing denim smock with long, bell-shaped sleeves. She gave a little twirl before smoothing the material over her bump. ‘I can’t believe the rate at which the little blighter is growing.’ She gave a comical, sideways look. ‘Sure it’s not twins, Harry?’

I
took it on the chin. ‘I can always arrange another scan, Ruth.’

Immediately
her arms curled round her unborn child. ‘I think I’ve had enough of those, thank you,’ she said stiffly before smiling again. ‘But it was nice of you to make the offer.’ And she and Arthur followed me into the sitting room.

‘
I’m so glad you came,’ I said. ‘Rosie was insisting I buy a ticket but I could hardly go on my own.’

Neil,
who was babysitting, as the disco was for parents only, walked in from the kitchen at that precise moment. ‘I would have gone with you, Harriet.’

I
winced at the hurt in his voice. I was getting the feeling that he knew I had considered asking him and had rejected the idea. But he probably didn’t understand why. And I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to explain to him my concern that to mix business with pleasure might ruin both. I liked things as they were, Neil a colleague, Neil a trusted family friend both to myself and to Rosie.

Sensitively
Ruth tried to fill the silence. ‘Don’t we all look a sight, Neil? You can’t possibly have wanted to come with us. Arthur, have you got your camera?’

Neil
was saying nothing.

It
was left to Arthur to fill the gap. ‘I don’t know that I want this recorded on film.’ He tugged at his lapels. ‘This suit used to be quite loose on me, years ago. Now look at it.’ He looked as though he had been stitched into the fabric. Sausage legs, pot belly. Even the orange-flowered shirt was wrinkling tight, buttons gaping, chin spilling over the collar. He looked ten times fatter than normal. Could it ever have fitted him?

Ruth
laughed again, poked his stomach and refused to give up. ‘You haven’t got your camera, have you, Neil? I want to compare old photos of Arthur with today’s version.’

He
flushed. ‘Not with me.’

His
shortness bordered on rudeness which at the time I still attributed to my not having invited him along. Maybe I should have asked him and had Sylvie to babysit. But she needed time away from us. Sylvie had her own life to lead.

There
was an awkward lull in the conversation. I risked a swift glance at Neil and realised he was sulking, pretending to be absorbed in lining up the chess pieces with Rosie.

Again
it fell to Ruth to smooth over the awkwardness. ‘Where did you find your outfit, Harry? It’s a bit of a wow.’ She fingered the material. ‘Looks the genuine article too. Vintage fashion.’

I
self-consciously tugged at the hemline. ‘In a charity shop.’

‘
Which one?’

‘
The animal place,’ I said. ‘It’s packed full of stuff.’
Visions
of
those
soft
,
roly
poly
fingers
rubbing
grubby
material
.

‘
It’s brilliant,’ Ruth said decisively. ‘I shall have to pop along there myself and take a look. They haven’t got any maternity dresses, have they?’

‘
I didn’t see any. There were lots of baby things though.’

A
change came over Ruth. Quite suddenly she looked haughty and superior. ‘My baby,’ she said, ‘will have nothing but the best, everything new. I wouldn’t want Tinker to have anything after another child. You don’t know what sort that child might have been.’

‘
Tinker?’ I queried softly.

‘
It’s just a name.’

Arthur
’s arm stole around his wife’s shoulders. He eyed his wife’s billowing figure before turning to me. ‘I’ve got the best of both worlds here,’ he laughed. ‘Jack Spratt and his wife.’

‘
Are you implying I’ve put on weight?’ It was mock anger which Arthur recognised.

‘
I should hope you have.’

But
Ruth was too happy to be down for long. The baby was everything to her now.

Rosie
moved the first chess piece, a white pawn. ‘Look out for Mr Gordon, Mummy,’ she said. ‘I know he’ll be there. And I bet he’ll be dancing all night. He’s ever so fit.’

I
recalled the jogging pants. ‘I bet.’

‘
And I want him to know you’re my Mummy and that you did come.’

‘
What do you mean?’

She
coloured. ‘He thought you probably wouldn’t.’

‘
Oh.’ I tucked the fact away, slightly insulted. He had judged me and that had been his verdict, unlikely to let her hair down and have fun. Not for the first time I saw myself as others saw me, frumpy, humourless, a ‘lady doctor’ with all the connotations that evoked.

I
kissed the top of Rosie’s head. Surely she would have put the opinions right?

‘
I shall certainly tell him,’ I said, ‘that I am the proud mother of his star pupil.’

She
giggled and nuzzled Tigger.

‘
Who’s Mr Gordon?’ There was unmistakable hostility in Neil’s voice.

‘
He’s my teacher.’ A typical ten-year-old to whom school was the universe, Rosie looked surprised at his ignorance.

Neil
was giving me a contemplative look and it annoyed me. I thought I could read his mind. If I could then Ruth and Arthur must be able to as well. There was no use explaining to any of them that nothing could be further from the truth. Recently and bruisingly separated I was interested in neither man in a romantic vein. Not Neil Anderson and certainly not Jay Gordon. I knew Neil was hurt. I could see pain in his eyes. If he was deluding himself that our relationship was moving towards intimacy I was sorry, and I felt awkward saying goodbye to him, conscious of the silly, little girl’s dress.

Only
until I got there. The school gym was full of people similarly dressed, dancing to records I must have heard in my youth. The entire room was heaving to the sound of the Beach Boys, the Hollies, the Beatles, Elvis, Cliff. The music was lively. Who could sit down? Not us. Ruth and I threw our bags down on the nearest chair and gyrated with the best of them. They were lively, optimistic records, from a confident, hopeful era. The music embodied all that was missing from today. It was full of naive confidence and sentimental ballads about love at a bus stop, about flowers and hope, peace and dreams. I had been nine years old when the sixties had ended yet I was filled with nostalgia for those days because there was none of the hopelessness of today’s pop music, Rap, House, Drum ‘n’ Bass. The lyrics seemed to explore happiness; not crime, not defeat and not hopelessness. I stopped feeling self-conscious about my short skirt. We were all wearing them. And Arthur looked just like all the other men. They had all been poured into old suits, double breasted with flared trousers. They had kept their sixties memories but had lost their sixties waistlines.

Except
the lithe Mr Gordon. He was contorting in the centre of a small ring of clapping people, bending over backwards so far I thought he would topple. I smiled at him. The peace and love was reaching me too. He was simply Rosie’s teacher. He waved back at me and grinned before crossing the room.

‘
Dr Lamont,’ he shouted.

‘
Mr Gordon,’ I shouted back.

‘
Rosie was right.’

‘
Sorry?’

‘
You came.’

‘
Of course.’ If the music had not been so loud I would have added sarcastic comments, that doctors didn’t have two heads, that I didn’t always have a stethoscope wound around my neck. But the music was too loud for anything but shrugs and smiles.

And
Jay Gordon grinned again. ‘So let’s dance.’

Now
Ruth, Arthur, myself and Jay Gordon danced in a foursome in long forgotten jerks and jigs, occasionally twirling round or slapping our hands, stamping our feet, but always smiling. I smiled a lot that evening.

I
could feel the muscles ache because they had atrophied. And the smiling seemed to bring genuine happiness. Maybe it was the dancing, a vigorous, happy pursuit. Maybe it was the music. But I suddenly realised I was honestly happy and I didn’t care about Robin any more. I fondly believed that I was at last shaking off the New Year’s ill omens. Next year would be better. And to myself I whispered the phrase a second time. Next year will be better.
Because
now
I
am
happy
.

These
are tempting, dangerous words even to whisper.

At
ten the music stopped abruptly and Jay excused himself, saying he had to help with the supper. He vanished through a door, a wide hatch was thrown open and we all queued along the side of the hall for a meat pie supper on a paper plate. The pie looked about as appetising as an old shoe but I was hungry enough to eat even that. It was an unfamiliar feeling. I queued behind Ruth and watched her pick one up.

And
then I watched her face change as she met the fish balloon eyes of the server. Ruth snatched the plate from him and moved away before waiting for me to catch her up.

I
too held out my hand for a plate from Pritchard. He bent forward from the waist, leaning right over the counter. ‘Hello, Harriet,’ he said softly. ‘I wondered if this was why you were buying the dress.’ His eyes stroked my form. ‘But you’re not wearing it, are you? Still. I do like the one you’re wearing, though not as much.’

He
gave one of his bland smiles. ‘I’ve been watching you dancing. Enjoying it, weren’t you? You’re really very graceful. But then you’re small. Not much bigger than a child yourself.’ He was still grasping the plate.

What
was he doing here? Why did he hang around Merrivale School? He could not be a teacher, surely?

Dazed
I wandered back to the table and sat down between Ruth and Arthur. It seemed that Ruth was bothered by Pritchard too. She wasn’t touching her pie but staring back at him.

‘
Harriet,’ she said slowly. ‘Do you know that man?’

‘
Sort of,’ I said. ‘He’s a patient.’

‘But
you don’t like him,’ she said, ‘do you?’

‘
That’s an understatement. He gives me the creeps.’ But even then I was troubled by the confession, especially to another of my patients. It was my business to treat them. Not to like them or dislike them. And certainly not to fear them. They had never told us at medical school how to deal with the fear of a patient. Surely a vet is finished the moment he begins to fear vicious dogs? Then was the same true of a doctor, or a psychiatrist? Once we fear our patients have we lost all our power?

And
I did. I feared both Anthony Pritchard and Danny Small but for different reasons. Danny because I knew he would do
anything
for drugs, while Pritchard was an unknown. I neither knew his motives nor his objectives. I didn’t know why he kept coming to see me. And it was the unknown that I feared so much.

Ruth
was speaking at my elbow. ‘Why don’t you like him?’

‘
I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Instinct?’

She
gave a satisfied little humph. ‘So even you believe in instinct?’

‘
A bit too much,’ I admitted, ‘for a scientific person. Why?’

Her
hand grasped my arm. ‘And you have an instinct about that man?’

‘
Ruth,’ Arthur remonstrated. ‘Don’t.’ He was annoyed with her.

She
quelled him with a look. ‘We’ll have a child of our own soon, Arthur,’ she said fiercely. ‘And Tinker may be a daughter. Do you want the same thing to happen to her as happened to that poor child?’