Such Men Are Dangerous (4 page)

“No.”

“You automatically assumed he was an angel?”

“Not really. It was Mum who did that. To us he was only a person dressed in white.”

“Because he didn’t have any wings, you see,” said Michael. “I thought at first it might be Jesus.”

Dawn, who was being good about not interrupting, made a slight movement, indicative of worry.

Michael turned towards it, briefly. “But then I changed my mind,” he said. “Because he didn’t have a beard, either.”

“So he could almost have been just an ordinary man, you’re saying, dressed in—what—a robe? Sandals?”

“Except there was all this brightness which shone round him,” agreed William. Simon had forgotten about the light.

“But you didn’t need to screw your eyes up?”

“No, I don’t think so. Did we, Mick?”

“
I
didn’t. And he hadn’t got sandals. I remember wondering about the soles of his feet: whether they’d be dirty or not. Or maybe I only thought about that afterwards.”

“You see, it’s hard to tell now what we noticed at the time and what we pieced together later, by comparing notes.”

“Because it was really what he said that mattered.”

Simon drew a deep breath. “All right, then.” He looked slowly from one to the other. “Now what exactly
did
he say?”

“Who do you want to hear it from?” asked William.

“Whichever you like. Why not you?”

“Okay. We can both remember it off by heart.” He paused. “Well, after he’d asked if we’d pass on a message for him, the first thing he said was that God’s pretty cheesed off with the world, and now more than ever…”

Here Simon noticed that William’s eyes were closed.

“‘Don’t you see? You have the know-how, you have the means. If you’d wanted, you could have put an end to such quantities of suffering. All it needed was the one ingredient which your so-called realist dismisses as naiveté but which we describe as love. That’s all it still needs. But only look around you. What do you mostly find? Grab, grab, grab on the part of the big fry; helplessness, or an equal lack of concern, on the part of the small. This can’t go on. You’ve got to learn, all of you, you’ve got to learn to let go. To have faith. To care about one another. It’s really not so hard and it even feels good, too. But it
is
urgent. People have to be made to realize, wake up, take action. To move forward generously, insistently and without fear. In the name of the Lord. It
can
be done, you know.’”

William opened his eyes.

Michael had been gazing at his brother, Dawn had looked flushed and shiny-faced with pride. Simon’s own eyes had been directed mainly at the carpet.

There was a lengthy pause.

“And then he…just disappeared?” asked Simon, finally.

“Yes. He ruffled our hair, said, ‘Well, good luck, see you both again someday,’ and was gone. It was over. We realized we were in the car park behind Tiffany’s.”

“Feeling what?”

“Tremendous.”

“We haven’t squabbled at all since then, not once,” Michael said. The brothers looked at each other with affection.

“Uh-huh. Let’s hope you can keep that up.” Simon bit his lip. “Do you think one of you could write me out a copy?”

“We already have.” Michael had taken a piece of lined paper out of his dressing-gown pocket. It was folded into four.

“Thanks.”

Simon then spoke as much to the mother as her sons.

“Look. For the present I don’t want to make any comment. I need to think this whole thing over, quietly and alone. But I’ll be back before the weekend. In the meantime I’d suggest you try to keep it all very much to yourselves.”

He paused.

“And, William, Michael, if anything else occurs to you…well, of course you’ll let me know.”

But driving home he wondered if it would have been better simply to come out with it: “I can’t believe in this. How could you expect me to? A message so
incredibly
banal!”

Then, on impulse, he made a small detour. He stopped the car outside the church.

Yet the half hour which he again spent before the altar, on his knees and in the dark, supplied no sense of certainty or calm.

When he arrived back at the vicarage it was after twelve. He went into his study, poured himself a large whisky and telephoned the hospital.

“Can you tell me how Mrs Turner is tonight?”

“Oh, yes, Reverend Madison. She was allowed home after supper. Dr Patel thinks the baby’s going to be fine. Naturally, she’ll need to take things easy for a while.”

“What, with a baby in the house and two young children to see to already? And a mother-in-law who—even when she’s around—has a problem with the drink? Still,” he said. “Thank heaven for Dr Patel.”

He wished the sister a peaceful night but didn’t feel that he himself would have one. On his desk there stood a framed photograph. He picked it up and for a moment merely stared at it. Then he kissed the glass. There were tears in his eyes.

“Oh, Ginny,” he said. “My Ginny…”

5

“Ginny,” said her mother, “you know that table in the window, the one I thought of bagging for ourselves? Too late. But at least the newcomers look interesting.”

“Appearances must be deceptive.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re the only interesting people who ever came to this place. Lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same dump.”

“They’re certainly more decorative than Mr and Mrs Simpson.”

“They could be a dozen times more decorative and still make Quasimodo seem like a sex symbol.”

“Clearly you
are
feeling better. Excellent. So do you think you’ll be getting up soon?”

“I suppose so.”

“There’s my good girl! But when Daddy phones this evening you won’t speak of
Sea View
as a dump, now, will you? Which it isn’t, anyway. And it would only worry him.”

“Hmm. I’ll see. Tell me about these people whom you find so fascinating.”

“They’re a mother and son.”

“Yes, that does sound fascinating.”

“He’s blond and very handsome. And about twenty.”

“Have you spoken to them?”

“No. I smiled across the dining room most pleasantly.”

“Then how do you know he isn’t her boyfriend?”

“Because when you’re a woman of a certain age, to have a young man like that in tow you have to be very rich indeed. (I mean, I’m guessing; I haven’t made inquiries.) And when you’re very rich indeed you don’t come to stay at a place like
Sea View
.”

“Because it’s a dump?”

“From the point of view of giving the most lyrical expression to a grand illicit passion…yes.”

“Anyhow, I’m quite impressed with the reasoning. So let’s see what you make of this. If they’re indeed a mother and son and he’s about my age why are they down here together? Eastbourne doesn’t seem the most exciting place for any
truly
interesting young man who, remember, doesn’t yet know I’m in it. Could it possibly be that he’s still tied to the apron strings?”

“Darling, I’ve noticed recently that you’re becoming very cynical. I hope it’s just an act. I think I prefer the softer centre.”

Ginny at once pushed back the bedclothes and kneeling on the rumpled sheet put her arms around her mother’s neck. “Oh, of course it’s just an act. I approve of people who like their mothers.” She added: “Especially when they’re very handsome.”

Mrs Plummer returned a quarter of an hour later, when Ginny was dressed.

“Are you really feeling better?”

Ginny nodded. “And I don’t intend to waste even one more minute of a sunny Saturday.”

“You know, the further I consider it, the less happy I am with regard to Mr Heddingly. I honestly do believe we’ll have to find another gynaecologist.”

“Oh, hell. Oh, hell. Well, at least let’s make it one who doesn’t tell me, every time, to go and have a baby!”

“How I agree! Even your father’s jokes are marginally less wearing. But, turning to more cheerful things, I came back because I’ve just spoken to Miss Bryanston in the office. Their name is Madison. They come from Basingstoke.”

“Oh, do they now? But why should I feel this is really the right moment to remind you…?”

“
His
name, by the way, is Simon. Miss Bryanston says that he’s delightful. Remind me of what, dear?”

“Of how when I was younger you were always trying to pair me off with someone else my age, saying, ‘
She
looks nice,’ or, ‘
He
looks nice, you’re bound to have a lot in common, now run off together and have a good time!’ And we never had a good time; we never had more than a dozen words to say to one another! I’ve got no confidence that things have greatly changed.”

“No, darling, you may be absolutely right. How glad I am, though, that you’ve chosen to put on that particular frock. We always agreed it was your prettiest.”

“I didn’t suggest I wasn’t still part of the human race. All I do hope, however, is that there’s no connection in your little brain between all this and what Mr Heddingly has
said
—and
said
—and
said
again—”

“Oh, Ginny, don’t get me wrong! I’m talking about a fleeting holiday friendship, not a lifelong passion, nor (dear God forbid) a regrettably pregnant daughter when we go back to Gerrards Cross! Good heavens, quite apart from anything else, how should we ever explain it to Mr Gatling?”

Mr Gatling was the vicar, an exceedingly sweet man but definitely one of the old school. The thought of having to explain it to Mr Gatling gave them both hysterics; they had to hold each other up and wipe away their tears, as their delicate attempts to break the news to him grew ever more incomprehensible, even to themselves.

6

The following evening, providentially, had been earmarked for
Saints Alive
, a course whose object was to explore the workings of the Holy Spirit and one which Simon conducted every fortnight for the house group leaders. By eight o’clock the sitting room was full. His mother, invited from the outset to be a member of the group, had handed out the last mug of coffee and resumed her seat. There were no absentees tonight, a fact which, seeing what it was he had to say, made Simon feel especially glad. The various shifts at the steelworks rendered such a turnout rare.

“Early yesterday evening,” he began, “Dawn Heath phoned.”

There were one or two flippant rejoinders but after that he spoke for about ten minutes with scarcely an interruption. Finally he read from the sheet of paper Michael had given him.

The silence which followed that reading was like the one after William’s own delivery.

“I think that first, before we start to discuss this, we ought to try to prepare ourselves, both individually and together.”

So there ensued several minutes of contemplation, several more of spoken prayer.

“Right, then. Who would like to begin?”

After a moment his mother looked around with the breezy encouragement of a hostess. “No answer, came the stern reply!”

Simon was asked to re-read the message.

During the previous night he had discovered he could recite it wholly accurately and without effort but for the present he preferred to keep his eyes upon the paper.

“Well, it’s true enough, isn’t it?”

“What is, Jack?”

Like four of the other men in the room, and two of the women, Jack Owen worked for British Steel. He was a burly fellow, with hair that was prematurely white, whiter than his high-necked cable-stitch sweater. “Grab, grab, grab. That describes the world’s leaders to a T. Wouldn’t you say so, love?”

Dulcie, auburn-haired, a good foot shorter than her husband, agreed readily. “And helpless just about sums up the rest of us. Well, I know it does me.” She gave a nervous laugh.

Everyone murmured that she wasn’t on her own.

“Well, now, there are three possibilities,” remarked Simon, after a pause. “A, they’re having us on. B, they think their experience was genuine. And C…”

“And C, it was.” Tony, the parish youth worker, two years older than Simon, could easily have been thought the younger, on account of his willowy form.

“Exactly.”

“But why should they be having us on?” Ethel, the oldest member of the group, was in her middle eighties.

“Who knows?” Simon said. “Pure devilment? A practical joke, to test how gullible we are? A way of hitting back at their own mother if they think she’s grown too pious?” He gave a shrug. “What they’re after could be recompense for any number of joint frustrations.”

“Darling,” said Mrs Madison, “stop sounding like a professor.”

“Sorry,” he said, a little curtly and without a smile.

“What kind of frustrations?” asked Jack.

“The fact that their father’s been unemployed for four years and that there’s no money in the house. A feeling they’re lacking in status.”

“Oh, come off it! There must be hundreds of kids in Scunthorpe whose dads are unemployed.”

“There are also hundreds,” put in Tony, “who are having holidays abroad, get ridiculous amounts of pocket money, have home-computers, music-centres, TV in their bedrooms, and expect at least a fifty-pound reward for doing well in their exams. Or sometimes twice as much.”

Ethel had been turning up her hearing-aid. “Do you know something dreadful I was told today? A man down our road was out of work for five months before finally telling his wife. Out every morning at the usual time, back every evening. Drawing and drawing on his savings. At last he just broke down. Well, can you wonder?”

“Actually that’s not uncommon.” Simon bit his lip, then waited for the return of comparative quiet. “But there’s another reason the Heath boys might have wanted to make themselves noticed. You see, it could depend on whether or not they get teased at school. William suffers from a terrible case of acne; it’s really very bad. And physically, too, they’re both quite weedy.”

There came a groan from Tony. “Oh, yes, you six-footer macho types are all the same! You think broad shoulders rock the world.”

“I said weedy, not slender. Sadly, you streamlined calorie-consuming types are all the same! Secretly quite smug.”

“Hear hear to that,” said Alison.