The Lotus House (8 page)

She duly gave Mrs Sanderson her spare key, packed her small neat suitcase, and set off on the day and at the hour suggested by Doris, who opened the door to her.

“Quite a walk from the bus stop,” observed Janet, “further than the other house.”

“The Avenue’s a much better neighbourhood,” said Doris. “We owe it to Henry’s promotion — you knew of that, of course?”

“Of course,” said Janet. “A bit overdue, wasn’t it?”

Doris eyed her sister-in-law sharply. She was a tall rather imposing woman, still handsome, with regular features and large brown protruding eyes behind her spectacles, but her face was lined and Janet thought she looked distinctly older than when she had last seen her.

“Where’s Henry?” she enquired.

“He’s washing down the car,” said Doris, “it’s a new one and he’s very careful of it. I expect you got a cup of tea on the journey.”

“No,” said Janet, “there was no opportunity.”

“Oh, well, it’s a bit late now, isn’t it, and we have supper early. Come into the lounge.”

The lounge was a long narrow room with windows at both ends. It struck Janet as cold, for it was one of those days when rain is in the offing and there is too much wind about. If she had been at home she would have switched her fire full on. The pale grey walls, empty of pictures,
and the dark green covers and curtains gave her the shivers.

“I’m glad I stood out against Doris and got pink for mine,” she thought. Then Henry appeared. He had the same small tight mouth as his sister and the same sharp black eyes, but his face was pale with a long chin and, whereas her hair was still black and thick, his was grey and brushed in careful thin strands across his head.

‘“And he’s three years younger than I am,” said Janet to herself with satisfaction. He began to tell her about the new car in which she was not interested. Supper, when it came, consisted of a cheese soufflé that didn’t allow of second helpings, salad and fruit.

“We find a light supper much healthier and I know you have trouble with your digestion,” said Doris. “We don’t take coffee in the evenings, we find it keeps us awake, but I can make some for you if you like.”

“I’d like a cup of tea,” said Janet. Doris did not move for a moment.

Henry said, “I’ll make it dear, you’ve had a heavy day.”

They spent the rest of the evening looking at the television news and then at a travel film of wild life at Spitsbergen, until Janet, who was getting colder and colder, said she would like to go to bed.

“Oh,” said Doris, “I don’t usually switch on the heater so early, so I’m afraid there’s no hot water yet, but I’ll heat a jug from the kitchen for you.”

Janet took a long while to warm up in bed and even then she did not sleep well. The room smelt musty and unused and she had not opened the window because it was now raining outside, and moreover she had reached the age when a strange bed took getting used to. Also she was hungry. But she slept at last, and then of course did not wake when she should have done and was late down for breakfast. The coffee was tepid and the toast had gone limp and she had disapproving looks from Doris who said:

“Henry has had to leave, I’m afraid, I would have called you if you had asked, I’ve got to catch an early train too. I’ve left notes about the housekeeping by the phone; we have weekly accounts with the grocer and butcher and Mrs Binns, my help, comes on Wednesday morning to clean — there shouldn’t be any difficulties. Henry’s got a Conservative Association meeting tomorrow night. I expect you’d like to go with him.” (
And
I
expect
I
wouldn’t,
thought Janet.) “And there’s a W.I. lecture on peasant embroidery on Thursday,” continued Doris, “you’d be welcome there I know, and the park is nice and handy for walks.”

Doris’s habit of arranging other people’s lives for them always irritated Janet; aloud she said “Oh, I’m used to amusing myself, you needn’t worry.”

As soon as Doris had left, Janet went into the lounge with the newspaper and switched on all the bars of the electric fire. When it stopped raining she went out shopping and bought herself a hot-water bottle. She also bought a nice piece of beefsteak at the butchers. “People get indigestion just as much from eating too little as too much, and Henry looks as though he could do with a good supper for once.” There had been nothing to drink either, the previous evening, so she bought a bottle of sherry. She went to sleep, hugging her hot-water bottle for the whole of the afternoon.

When Henry came home that night she produced the sherry. His eyebrows went up when he saw it.

“Not to worry,” said Janet, “it’s a present, I noticed you were out.”

“Well,” said Henry, “actually we had a few friends in the night before you came and we don’t usually treat ourselves, got to keep the housekeeping down for a bit.”

“Why,” said Janet, “I thought you and Doris were both getting more now.”

“A little,” conceded Henry, “but there’s the mortgage,
houses in the Avenue are expensive you know; and the car — we had to have a decent one; and Doris thinks we should take our holiday abroad this year. Our neighbours — he’s on the Stock Exchange, really nice people, Janet, you must meet them — they’re going to Majorca, we rather thought we’d try there too.”

Janet did not meet these desirable neighbours after all because Henry made no move towards the introduction, but she spent her time quite pleasantly not doing all the things her sister-in-law had suggested, and providing what she felt were really good meals, and roasting herself before the electric fire, for it remained cold.

“It won’t matter for a week.” she thought as she ordered a prime cut of lamb and bought a carton of cream to have with the chocolate mousse she had made. She also replenished the sherry, this time not at her own expense. “They’ll be paying three times as much for trash at that hotel of theirs in Majorca without blinking an eyelid, I bet. Anyway, I think all this saving and scraping behind the scenes is silly — just to put on a show — that expensive car, don’t tell me it’s paid for yet. It’s Doris — no, that’s not fair, I can see it’s Henry too — Mother always pushed him more than me and it’s just taken this turn.” Generations of hard-working honest forefathers stirred in her blood: “Well, I shan’t get my new carpet till I can put down every penny’s worth.”

In the middle of the week Mrs Binns arrived to clean. She was a small, dim little woman with a stutter and seemed upset at being a little late.

“I’m s-sorry, Miss Cook, but this morning our old cat had kittens and I had to s-see to them.”

“Oh,” said Janet, “what did you do about them?”

“D-drowned them,” said Mrs Binns, “that’s why I’m late. You have to drown them quick — they don’t feel nothing then.”

Janet registered this useful piece of information. But
Mrs Binns was no Dian and they had no further conversation, though she seemed surprised and grateful for a bountiful elevenses.

Henry and Janet did not talk much in the evenings but then they never had. On the last night before Doris returned, they watched a travel film together because it was about Majorca, but you didn’t see much of the country — it was mostly of the hotels and people eating and drinking and dancing, all of which looks much the same wherever it’s done. Then there was the news and then a programme on immigrants, which Henry switched off almost at once.

“A great mistake ever to have let them in,” he said.

“But they’ve got to live somewhere,” said Janet.

“Not here, they haven’t,” said Henry, “all these blacks and gypsies, too, rascals and scroungers the lot. Do you know, Janet, they even talk of a gypsy site on a disused railway property within walking distance of the Avenue. It’ll be the blacks next — you have to fight for a decent society all the time nowadays, I don’t know what the country’s coming to.”

Janet looked at him. She had never noticed before how like their mother he was. The spirit of opposition which he and Doris often aroused in her flared up. For a moment or two she had a vision of the cold grey walls of Doris’ lounge festooned with coloured matchboxes and flags, and it improved them.

“Well, I think it makes life more interesting not to be all the same,” she said.

Henry frowned. “You’ve changed, Janet,” he said accusingly, “I’ve been thinking so all the week. What’s come over you? Don’t think I haven’t noticed how much the housekeeping books must have gone up with what you’ve spent, and now these notions. I don’t know what our mother would say.”

Yes,
you
do,
thought Janet,
and
it
would
be
just
the
same
as
you.
But she was a little shaken all the same. She went to bed that night wondering if she
had
changed and she felt uncomfortably sure that Henry was right — this was a bit frightening. She fell asleep with her mother’s, or Henry’s voice (it didn’t matter which) chanting over and over again, softly but insistently, like an unpleasant lullaby, “You can’t be too careful.”

Meanwhile, at the Lotus House, Maisie had had her kittens. Being denied entry to her rightful territory, she had made do with the tool-shed which had a convenient window and a not too inadequate pile of sacking in a corner. There Letty found her, the proud mother of five as far as she could see. She wished Miss Cook had left instructions about what she wanted done with them. “I ought to have asked — I am getting forgetful — I’ve noticed it lately.” For the moment however she did nothing but fetch Maisie a large saucer of milk.
Anyway
she’s
due
back
tomorrow,
she thought, and forgot about it again.

But in the afternoon she was disturbed by a flushed and agitated Harriet bursting into her sitting-room without even knocking.

“Oh, Mrs Sanderson, come quickly,” she cried, “poor, poor Maisie, she’s in the tool-shed being bitten dreadfully by lots of horrid rats.”

Letty stared at her and then began to laugh. “Oh, Harriet, they’re not rats, they’re her kittens, she’s feeding them.”

Harriet didn’t believe her, she stamped her foot: “They’re not kittens, they’re horrible little rats.”

“Come along,” said Letty, “come and look again.”

Maisie greeted them with a roaring purr. “Listen,” said Letty, “don’t you hear and see how pleased she is?”

Harriet could not deny the purr. “But kittens are pretty and fluffy little things, why should poor Maisie have such ugly kittens? And they’ve got no eyes,” she added horrified.

“These will be pretty and fluffy very soon, and their eyes will open,” said Letty. “All kittens are like this when they are born. I must say they are rather like rats; but look, this one is going to be a tabby like Maisie, you can see the markings, and three are black, and this one black and white.”

Harriet bent over and Maisie gazed up at her proudly, still purring. Then Harriet put out a finger and touched one of the kittens very gently.

“I’m so sorry, Maisie,” Letty heard her whisper, “I’m very sorry I thought your children were rats.”

Janet Cook arrived home the following evening. She felt a new and definite pleasure as she walked up from the station to the Lotus House. For one thing, it was really a relief to have left Doris and Henry, especially as for the last twenty-four hours she had certainly been under a cloud. She had felt she could not go before Doris returned, that would have looked queer, and Doris had not arrived back until late in the evening.

She was very full of all her doings at the conference. “Might have been running it,” commented Janet silently, “thought she was too, I bet, another Maggie Thatcher, that’s what she thinks she is.”

Then, after Doris and Henry had been alone together, while Janet was getting ready for supper, the cloud had come down, the cloud under which Janet had to finish the evening, pack her bag the next morning, eat a sparse last meal, bid her farewells and take herself off. “Never seen the inside of that car once and probably never will.” But besides the shaking off of the cloud, there was the warm anticipation of her own little flat again and her own garden border. The house at Albert Street had simply been her parents’ home and an unloved one at that. It had never welcomed anyone. Now she felt a definite welcome as she opened her door and there was even actually a “Welcome Home” card from Dian lying on her mat.
Nice
of
her,
thought Janet,
nice
I’m
sure.
But there was also a note from Mrs Sanderson, and when she had read this she was not so pleased. It enclosed her spare key and told her that Maisie had had her kittens and they were in the tool-shed.

Drat
the
animal,
thought Janet,
I
suppose
I
shall
have
to
bother
with
her
now,
but
I’m
going
to
have
a
cup
of
tea
first.
She was tired after her journey and had looked foward to a really relaxed evening; but she believed in doing what had to be done, even if tiresome, without delay, or at least only the delay of a cup of tea; and what had to be done now was to get rid of those kittens.

Janet knew very little about animals. She would never have been consciously cruel to one but she was almost totally ignorant of their habits and needs. They were not part of her world. Cows, sheep and the occasional horse she accepted as objects in a landscape. Dogs she disliked when she met them, as dirty, noisy and sometimes dangerous. They might keep burglars away but were almost as bad as burglars. Cats had their uses where mice were concerned, but in her view Maisie was not much more than an animated sort of mouse-trap. She remembered however, Mrs Binn’s words about drowning kittens as soon as possible. Well, this was as soon as possible. After her tea she filled a bucket full of water and made her way to the shed. She found the business a more unpleasant job than she had anticipated. The little things were warm to her touch and struggled as she held them under the water. She had to keep telling herself that Mrs Binns had said they did not feel anything. An uncomfortable thought obtruded itself that Mrs Binns had drowned her lot sooner, but surely it didn’t make all that difference. She had not expected either that Maisie would make such a fuss, in fact she hadn’t thought about her at all. After the kittens had been disposed of she shut her up in the shed and closed the window. The cat was making a
loud, continuous noise. When she got back to her room she felt exhausted; really it had been quite a day.