The Diamond Waterfall (74 page)

The words were like sharp-pointed stones. Pain stretched tight across Willow's throat.

“Ashamed,
Willow!”

She is sick, Willow thought. It is she who should be in the infirmary.

Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays were hockey days. Sometimes Mother Benedict took them, wearing leather boots and with the skirt of her habit tied up. The weather had turned colder. Willow's hands were stiff and sore as she tightened the laces of her hockey boots. Chilblains already on three of her fingers. She felt tired all the time, and sad.

They had made her play wing first, then center forward because with her long legs she could run so fast. Dribbling the ball, faster, faster, pass to Maureen, who passes to Geraldine, who passes to Chrissie, who trips and falls headlong. Oh gosh, what miserable bad luck, oh
bad luck,
Chrissie.

The afternoon was raw and she caught her breath painfully as she ran. When the whistle sounded across the pitch, she was reminded suddenly of prison. Her mother had been in prison. The last time they took me to see her, she was in the prison hospital.
She died in prison.

Armistice Day came and went. In the two minutes' silence in the big
classroom, she thought of Uncle Hal, whom she had never known, of Uncle Gib, who had survived prisoner-of-war camp only to die of Spanish flu, of Teddy, who had never married again.… She thought of all the sadness in her family and in herself and could not bear it.

She was in trouble with the nuns almost every day now. Her sadness taken for sulks, her pent-up misery for impudence. She found she could not remember, even if she'd wished, the lists of this and that—Corn Laws, Polonius' advice to Laertes, the principal exports of Malaya. Mother Ursula watched her all the time.

I cannot go on.
She remembered often Michael and his kind letter. Dear, dear Michael, who was
family.

It was Betty's birthday next Saturday and her parents were taking her out to lunch. “Mumsy says I can bring someone. We're going to the Angel at Bury St. Edmunds and then on home. Who's coming? Eeny meeny miney moe. Willow, it's you.”

Geraldine lived at Bury St. Edmunds and often went home on Saturdays. She'd invited Willow twice. Willow told Betty, “I won't stay for the weekend. I'll go on to Geraldine's for tea. Her parents can bring me back.”

She hadn't seen Mr. and Mrs. Lewin since the episode of Tootles in her first term. Mr. Lewin teased her about it now. The smelly setter Farmer was still there in the car. She wore her school mac over her navy-blue Sunday dress and had been allowed to wash her hair because of the outing. Also, she could have it loose. The plaits made it very wavy. She had ten shillings pocket money with her, the remainder of the pound she had for the term. Betty had said they might shop afterward.

At the Angel at Bury St. Edmunds, when she had just been served with some mushroom soup, she stood up: “Excuse me, I need to go to the ladies'—”

“But you went when we arrived,” Betty cried indignantly. “Mumsy, she's just
been—”

Her mother murmured something and her father said, “Manners, Miss Elizabeth.”

She went straight to the reception desk, then changed her mind. They would remember her, later. She walked a few yards down the street, trying not to shiver in her serge dress. In a newsagent's, she asked, “Can you tell me anything about trains to Cambridge?”

They had taken her soup away to keep it warm. “I'm awfully sorry,” she said, sitting down again. “I haven't been very well.”

“Willow's always in the infirmary, Mumsy,” Betty said. “Because she's
infirm,
you see.”

“Ha, ha,” said Willow with a sudden burst of spirit. She felt an enormous
sense of excitement. And yet was so tense she could scarcely eat the large vanilla and strawberry ice she felt forced to order.

When they had drunk coffee in the lounge and talked for a while, Willow said she would go on to Geraldine's.

“Are you sure you're fit enough?” Mrs. Lewin asked.

“Yes, yes,” she said hastily. “And I know which house it is, thank you.”

Betty said, “Table tennis. I bet my big present's a Ping-Pong table.
Is
it a Ping-Pong table, Mumsy?”

As soon as she left them, Willow went to the post office. She sent a telegram to the convent: willow gilmartin remains weekend with us no reply necessary good wishes lewin.

At Geraldine's home she told them, “I just came in to say thank you very much, I've decided after all to spend the weekend at Betty's. I expect they'll lend me some wash things.”

A few yards from the house she broke into a run. When she reached the station she was breathing heavily and there was a pain near her appendix scar.

She'd pushed her horrid distinguishing school scarf down into the top of her mac. It gave her an odd-looking bust.

“The Cambridge train?” A porter pushed her through. There wasn't time to buy a ticket. A fat woman, puffing even more heavily, hurried through with her. They looked as if they were together.

Once sat down, she shook. To still herself, and to feel safer, she shut her eyes and feigned sleep.

Long, long station platform. Long, long straight road leading from it. No sign of a university.

“Excuse me, could you tell me which bus goes nearest to Clare College, please?”

Even when she got off the bus, she had to ask twice. It was dark now, which made it more difficult. I must not appear remarkable, she thought, as she came to the porter's lodge.

The porter had his back to her. “Where do I find Mr. Michael Firth, please? I should know—I forgot.” She clutched the brown leather purse in her pocket, playing with the fastening.

He turned his head. “C staircase, miss. Left. He came in just ten minutes ago.”

How could she have been so stupid? If he had been
out
… Could she have said he expected her and asked to wait? It'll be all right, she told herself. Once I'm with Michael, it'll be all right.

She crept up the wooden staircase and knocked.

When he came to the door it was his feet she saw first. He was wearing the dark green house slippers she remembered from home.

“Christ Almighty.
Willow!”

“I'm a surprise, Mike, I—”

“Anyone else from Our Lady of V? Is it some poisonous school excursion?”

She had meant to throw her arms around him.
Dear
Mike. But it wasn't working out like that.

“You'd better come in. And explain.

“Have you had any tea?” he asked as he closed the door behind them. “I was just going to make a pot. Though it'll be dinner in less than an hour. I've some crumpets somewhere.”

“I had a big lunch, thank you.”

The room had a plump chesterfield, brown leather, buttoned. She sat down stiffly on it.

“I'll put the kettle on all the same.” She glimpsed a small room. Sink, gas ring. “And now—as you were explaining?”

“I haven't. It's rather difficult. I want to stay with you. Here, in your college. Till—”

“You must be crazy.”

“Only for a few days, Mike. Just till—I need to be away, I need—”

“Too bad, Cousin Willow. Too bad. Whatever you need. I mean, come up to tea, O.K., but you can't … Christ. You can't
sleep
here.”

“Just hide me a couple of days, Mike.
Please.
I—”

“But it's a
ghastly
risk for me. Can't you go to a hotel or something or get a train up home? Why run away from the wretched place in the first instance?”

“I just … I couldn't be there another
moment—”

“It came on rather suddenly, didn't it?”

“They … Listen, Michael, this is the sort of thing they do, I can't bear—”

“Hang on. The kettle.”

When he came back she tried to tell him something of what she'd been feeling. But despair, she thought, can't be talked about, only felt. And worse, she began to cry.

“Not content with turning up like a bad penny, you're going to drown me as well. Look here, Willow …”

But he must have had a kind heart because he toasted her some crumpets as well as giving her tea.

“I don't know what else you'll get to eat. You can hardly come down to dinner in college.”

“I can stay, then? You mean I'm staying?”

“If you won't go I haven't any choice. But, God, you'd better keep your head low.”

His black gown lay the other end of the chesterfield. He dragged it on,
then went through to the bedroom and changed the house shoes. In the gown, he looked a different person.

“And for God's sake, stay put. Don't answer any knocks. I'll shut the outer door, so no one will … If you want the lavatory or anything …”

The doors banged behind him. A minute later, he rushed in again. “Look, if you get peckish … I mean, lunch must have worn off and you're going to need
something.”

“I'm all right, Michael. Honest.”

“There's some fruitcake Grandma sent in a tin somewhere, and some savory things from GP Jones.”

“I'm O.K.,” she insisted. When he'd left again, his gown flying behind him, she sat a few moments, eyes shut. Waves of fear, of
might have been
swept over her.

Of what might yet be. Even now they could be distrusting the telegram, checking it.
The search may be on.
She felt a mixture of light-headed fatigue and restlessness. She put more coal on the fire, got coal dust on her fingers and wiped them vigorously on her school dress—which had a wretched Our Lady of Victories badge on the front. In Michael's bedroom she saw a patterned pullover and slipped it on. While she was there she heard a knock. “Don't answer,” Michael had said. But a man already had his head around the sitting room door.

“Hi—I was looking for Mike.” He wasn't quite as tall as she. He had a lively, bony face and moved quickly. He spoke with an American accent. He too wore a gown.

“He's at dinner? Right, can you give him a message? I feel bad
barging
in, but well, I guess the outer door was open so … Can you tell him, please, his Cousin Jay came by and that the girl I was bringing tomorrow, she's had to go away for the weekend. I figured he'd need to know for the numbers.”

As he spoke she thought he looked oddly at her face. She tried to change her expression to a more grown-up one, curling her Up. Her hands, with their bitten nails, lay in her lap.

As soon as he left, her quaking began again. She wanted too to go to the lavatory. Then the terrifying thought came to her: perhaps Michael had not really gone down to eat dinner? Perhaps he had gone to telephone Grandma?

When he came back, she said, “Your cousin dropped in. He—”

“Look, what did I
say?
Christ, you didn't
tell
him anything, did you?”

She was hurt, but dignified. “I just took a message for you, that's all. He obviously thought I'm your girl friend—”

“Girl friend, my foot. As if anyone would … Coal dust too, all over your face. And that must be my pullover.” He poked the fire. “Well, what
was
the message?”
When she'd told him: “Dimwit,” he said, “I suppose you didn't realize he's
your
cousin too.”

She felt stupid. “I'm sorry, really.”

“Forget it. Jay's all right as they go, but a bit electric. Live and all that— quite keen though to be friends.” “I thought he looked nice.”

“Great Aunt Daisy, one of her daughters' sons. Don't ask me which.”

“What's the party tomorrow?”

“I'm giving it with another chap. We expect it to be quite a good thrash. One girl the less isn't serious.”

“Have you got a girl friend?”

“Wouldn't you like to know?” he said, but not unkindly. “No, thank you, as it happens …”

They sat a few moments. He leafed through a magazine. He said, “I've told someone about you. My friend Chas. He'll be up later and we'll have coffee.”

Chas had flashing eyes and teeth that showed a lot of pink gum. He said, “Poor Michael's scared out of his wits. I've told him not to worry. We'll look after you.”

While Michael filled the percolator, he said, “She's coming to our thrash, I take it?”

“God, no. It's just when they'll start to search.” “Best thing. Hide her in a crowd.”

Michael said reluctantly, “I suppose we could dress her as a man. Boy anyway. I don't know. It's all
mad.”

Willow burst into tears.

“Whoops,” he said, “there she goes again.”

She woke almost every half hour in the night. A clock struck outside with a high-pitched tone. Footsteps up and down the staircase. Footsteps beneath her window. Voices.

She lay in her liberty bodice, vest, and blue panties and linings. She kept her woolen stockings on, too, though the suspenders poked a bit. She had Michael's bed. He'd insisted, saying he would sleep on the chesterfield.

In the morning she was raw with fatigue, sick, empty, and more frightened than yesterday. Soon she was going to have to think, be calm, make a decision. Chas came down to see about the party. He and Michael wanted simply to put her on a train for York, telephoning home first. Obstinate with panic, she refused. She felt even less able to leave Michael's room.

During the day they were busy with their party. They brought her food, which she tried to eat. Every now and then one of them would put a hand to his head and say:

“We'd better do something about all this. It's … she's a real problem. Tomorrow she's positively absolutely
got
to go.”

She felt weakly obstinate. “They can come and get me.”

“It's my whole Cambridge career in jeopardy, your cussedness,” Michael said.