The Women in Black (16 page)

49

‘Honestly, Joy, I can’t see what’s so
funny
, Patty must—’

‘Oh Dawn, for God’s sake, can’t you? It’s the funniest thing I’ve heard for years! Frank buggers off like that without a word, then turns up two weeks later in the middle of the Ladies’ Cocktail at Goode’s because he’s lost his front door key—it’s priceless! Wait till I tell Dave!’

‘You don’t have to make a comedy out of it, Joy. You wouldn’t be laughing if it happened to you. You never think of what Patty’s gone through.’

‘More fool Patty. Well, maybe she’ll know better now. It’s time she sharpened her wits.
I
wouldn’t have had him back, not at any price!’

‘Yes, well, you’re not Patty like I keep saying. And that reminds me, how did she look to you on Sunday? Did she look sick or anything? I mean it’s not like her to
faint.
She says she’s not going in to work today, she’s not feeling a hundred percent. She’s going to the doctor. I don’t like the sound of that.’

‘Oh, she’s all right, she was her usual self on Sunday, didn’t say much, didn’t do much, sat on the beach with the papers and that.

She’ll brighten up now that Frank’s back, ha ha ha.’

‘Well, maybe she’ll have a break, maybe she’ll take some sick leave, have a rest for a while. She’s had a bad time, she needs a break. You just mind your tongue when you talk to her, she hasn’t got your sense of humour.’

‘Yes, that’s her problem, isn’t it? Well, maybe she’ll learn.

She’d better, if she’s going to stick with Frank. Oh God, what a story. Didn’t have his key! If only that was the only thing he didn’t have!’

‘Honestly, Joy,’ said Dawn. ‘You’re
awful.

’

Miss Cartright came swishing over to Ladies’ Cocktail and having cast an expert eye over the remaining sale items on their rail she beckoned to Lisa.

‘We’ve just heard from Mrs Williams,’ she told her. ‘She saw her doctor yesterday and the result is that she will be away for the rest of this week and the whole of next. As you know, this was to have been your last week with us but it would be a great help if you could come in next week to cover for Mrs Williams because although the sales finish this week, thank goodness, there’ll be lots to do next week with the new stock going out. You’ll have to work like a slave. Are you game?’

‘Gosh,’ said Lisa, delighted. ‘Of course!’

‘Jolly good,’ said Miss Cartright. ‘That’s settled then. I’ll be helping out here during this week if you find yourselves shorthanded. I’ll just go and speak to Miss Jacobs so that we all know where we are.’

She swished away. Lisa could not wait until lunchtime: she ran across the carpet and entered Magda’s pink-lit cave.

‘Magda!’ she said in an urgent whisper. ‘Is it still here?’

Magda understood her instantly.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It is still here.’

‘It’s sold,’ said Lisa.

‘Very good,’ said Magda. ‘I will put it aside for you.’

She returned during her lunch hour after having changed.

‘Ah, Mademoiselle Miles,’ said Magda, beaming. ‘You have come to collect your frock, yes? It is ready for you—shall I pack it or did you wish to try it on once more?’

‘Oh Magda—I’m sorry—I can’t take it away today, I haven’t any money with me. I won’t have all the money until tomorrow week—you see I’m working next week as well to cover for Patty Williams while she’s sick.’

‘Ah yes,’ said Magda. ‘I see. Well it is not the usual thing in here but for so distinguished a customer I make an exception. I will put it away in the alterations cupboard until next week. Oh, by the way’—she took Lisette, the rustling white and scarlet-spotted fantasy of young girlhood, from its padded hanger and shook it out so that its flounces floated once and sighed back down again—‘Miss Cartright has been in here this morning. All our white dresses, this and two others, are a little further reduced. With the staff discount, Lisette is now exactly thirty-five guineas. We are giving it away.’

‘Oh,’ exclaimed Lisa, ‘that’s absolutely wonderful!’

She counted the contents of her money box in her head: after paying for Lisette she would actually have some change.

50

‘Jánosi?’ said Myra.

‘How do you spell it?’ Fay told her.

‘Well,’ said Myra. ‘It takes a bit of getting used to. But he could change it, you know. Quite a few of them do that.’

‘Rudi won’t,’ said Fay. ‘Rudi says the best thing to do when there’s anything unusual about you is to brazen it out.’

‘Oh, does he?’ said Myra.

‘Well, that’s one way I suppose. Especially if you’ve got a thick skin.’ Fay bridled.

‘Rudi is the most sensitive man I ever knew,’ she said.

‘Okay, don’t get shirty,’ said Myra. ‘I didn’t mean to be offensive. I just think—’ she broke off and looked wildly into the space beyond Fay’s right shoulder.

They were drinking iced coffee in Repin’s, and then Fay was going to meet Rudi, and Myra was going to her club. What did Myra think? It was difficult to articulate and more difficult still to enunciate. Myra was in a state of mild shock, that was all. Fay! Swept off her feet, by a Hungarian reffo with an impossible surname, whom Myra had not even met, whose motives she darkly suspected. What was he after? This would end in tears, make no mistake! And the only obstruction between Fay and a horrid disaster was she, Myra.

But how to save the silly creature, when she could hear no word of criticism of this Rudi Jánosi—when she had great blinding stars in her eyes? Oh, God give me strength, thought Myra. What can I do?

‘
What
do you think?’ asked Fay.

‘Oh, I dunno,’ said Myra. ‘It’s just that—well, you haven’t known him long, you don’t know anything about him really—you don’t—I don’t want to see you get hurt.’

‘I’d rather get hurt by Rudi than by the types I used to know,’ said Fay.

Myra was inclined to take umbrage at this: those types were her types. But she was fair-minded; she saw Fay’s point, even if she didn’t want to grant it.

‘At least with an Australian you know where you are,’ she said huffily.

‘Oh maybe,’ said Fay, ‘but it’s not so hot if you don’t want to be there anyway. At least with a Continental you’re going somewhere new.’

‘Yes, but it might be dangerous,’ said Myra. ‘You might get hurt.’

They had gone around in a circle, it was hopeless. But what had happened to Fay in ten brief days?

‘Yes I might,’ she said. ‘It might be dangerous. But life is dangerous.’

Ye gods! ‘Life is dangerous.’ Where did she get that from?

‘You should hear some of Rudi’s stories. Then you’d know. We live in a cocoon here. That’s what he says. We don’t know how lucky we are.’

‘Well, I suppose
he
does,’ said Myra.

‘Oh yes,’ said Fay. ‘He knows how lucky he is; he never stops saying so.’

Myra felt suddenly helpless; she gave up the struggle. ‘Do you love him?’ she said.

‘Yes,’ said Fay, ‘I reckon I do.’ She smiled. She had not quite dared to say this yet even to herself, and to say it now was to push open a heavy door which had concealed a great sunlit garden where she was now suddenly free to wander. ‘But don’t tell
anyone,’
she said to Myra. ‘It’s our secret, okay? Because you’re my best friend.’

‘Right you are, Fay,’ said Myra. Oh God, she thought, I hope this is going to work out for the kid. She’s had a lot of bad luck so far. Please let this one be okay, even though he is a Continental. And she crossed her fingers hard on the hand which Fay couldn’t see
.

51

This morning it was Lisa who felt sick because today was the day which preceded the night when she would discover how well or how ill she had succeeded in the Leaving Certificate examinations. She had a whole day at Goode’s to endure, and several more hours thereafter—she would go to see a film—before it was time to go down to the
Herald
or the
Telegraph
and discover the worst. Her stomach was already in a state of turmoil.

‘I can’t eat a thing,’ she said to her mother, and the latter for once did not insist.

Just after Mr Miles arrived at his place in the composing room late in the afternoon one of his colleagues came over to him.

‘Hey, Ed,’ he said, ‘haven’t you got a daughter who’s just done the Leaving? They’ve finished setting the results. Go and have a look. Put the kid out of her misery.’

Ed Miles was in a grump.

‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Let her sweat.
She
wanted to do the Leaving. I told her it was a waste of time but she and her mother wouldn’t listen. I haven’t got time for looking at results, I’ve got work to do.’

‘Ah, come on,’ said his colleague. ‘Don’t be a spoilsport. It’s a big day for her. What school was she?’

Mr Miles informed him grudgingly. Five minutes later his colleague returned.

‘Hey, Ed,’ he said, ‘is her name Lesley? Right. Listen to this.’

He had a slip of paper. He read out a list of results which as even Mr Miles could see were rather impressive. There was a brief silence while Mr Miles continued to all appearances to carry on with his work. At last he spoke.

‘That sounds all right, doesn’t it?’ he said. ‘Thanks.’

‘Geez, Ed,’ said his colleague, ‘you’re a cool one. It’s bloody good, that’s what. You should be celebrating.’

‘Well I’m not,’ said Mr Miles. ‘I’ve got work to do, so leave me to get on with it.’

‘Gee whiz,’ said his colleague. ‘You bet.’

He went away and regaled the rest of the crew with the tale of Ed Miles’s phlegm in the face of his daughter’s brilliance.

The night editor now came in; he sauntered over to Ed Miles.

‘I hear your daughter’s distinguished herself famously,’ he said.

‘Congratulations! Wonderful news! I suppose she’ll be off to the university in the new term? You must be proud.’

‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ said Mr Miles. ‘I don’t know about
the university
.’

‘Oh, surely!’ exclaimed the night editor. ‘You can’t waste brains like that. She’ll have a wonderful time. And you tell her to come and see us if she wants a cadetship—first-class honours in English, she must know how to write. Yes, university’s the thing—mine are both there now, they’re having the time of their lives. You tell her from me, she can’t do anything better at her age!’

He sauntered away again. Eventually Mr Miles got so fed up with his workmates coming over and shaking his hand and congratulating him that he acceded to their irritating expectations by going and telephoning home. His daughter was of course absent; he spoke to his wife.

‘Just thought I might as well tell you Lesley’s results,’ he said, ‘if you want to know. I’ve got ’em here.’

He read them out to her. She gasped, and burst into tears.

‘This is the happiest day of my life,’ she said. ‘Can’t you come home early? She should be back soon.’

‘Can’t really,’ he said. ‘I’ll see youse tomorrow. Got to go now.’

He hung up.

Lisa thought of ringing her mother but there were so many others queuing for the nearest public telephones for the same purpose that she thought it would be almost as quick simply to go home. She saw some other girls from her school then and they all jumped and squealed together for a minute and pranced away along the street towards downtown and Wynyard Station, chattering disjointedly about their futures, which by the time they entered the station had begun to take on fantastical elements: university life had now fairly begun.

Mrs Miles ran to the door as Lisa opened it.

‘Mum!’ she cried, her eyes alight.

‘I—I know,’ said Mrs Miles. ‘Your father telephoned.’

‘Gosh,’ said Lisa. ‘What did he say?’

‘Nothing much,’ said Mrs Miles. ‘But you couldn’t expect it. He’s suffering from shock, or he wouldn’t even have phoned. You just let him stew for a bit. You’ll see him tomorrow. Don’t press him; let it sink in. Oh, Lesley. This is the happiest day of my life!’

‘Mine too,’ said Lisa, ‘so far.’

And they laughed and hugged each other and began to cry, and then they danced a jig, and then Mrs Miles made some Milo, because Lisa had to get up in the morning and go to work, exam results or no exam results, and this was no time to be doing without a proper night’s sleep, was it?

52

Patty fell backwards onto the unmade bed and lay there exhausted.

This made the sixth morning in a row that she had awoken feeling queasy and had soon afterwards had to run into the bathroom and actually throw up. It was also a fact that she was almost two weeks overdue. The possibility which inevitably suggested itself was however too unexpected, and in view of recent events too badly timed, seriously to ponder. But wouldn’t it be just like life, she thought, for it to happen now, when Frank—oh, Frank. Here he was.

He stood in the doorway, looking deeply embarrassed. He had been tip-toeing around her ever since his return with an air of terri-fied circumspection, and as far as Patty was concerned, he could go on doing so. His defection had been papered over, as far as Wonda Tiles was concerned, and he was now back at work after a semi-fictitious malady bearing an impressive Latin name.

‘You’re damned lucky,’ said Patty. ‘Another doctor might’ve left you to take the consequences.’

‘I know,’ said Frank. ‘Don’t think I don’t appreciate it.’

‘Let’s see you show it, that’s all,’ said Patty.

She didn’t mean to stop tightening the screws just yet, if ever.

‘Are you okay?’ said Frank in the doorway.

‘No,’ said Patty. ‘I feel bloody.’

And so she did.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘Yes,’ said Patty. ‘I’ll have it here. I don’t feel like getting up just yet. Not too strong. And I’ll have some sugar in it.’

She lay and looked at the ceiling. After a while Frank came in with a tea tray, and the spectacle it presented almost melted her stern heart. The poor devil was certainly trying. He had found a tray cloth and on it sat the teapot, some milk in a jug and the lump sugar—how had he managed to find that?—in a matching bowl. And from the back of the cutlery drawer he had retrieved the sugar tongs. It was a vision of the genteel tea tray of yesteryear. Oh Lord. Patty sat up.

‘That’s very nice,’ she said. ‘I could get used to this.’

She sat and sipped the tea.

‘When you saw the doctor,’ said Frank, ‘did you tell him about being sick in the morning?’

‘Well maybe I did,’ said Patty.

‘That’s between me and the doctor, isn’t it?’

She hadn’t actually discussed this matter with the doctor, who’d easily been persuaded to give her a chit for some sick leave on the strength of the trial she had lately and so bravely endured.

‘Well but,’ said Frank, ‘what did he say?’

‘Never you mind,’ said Patty.

‘Well—’ exclaimed Frank, standing up abruptly and nearly upsetting the tea tray—‘I do mind. I
do
mind! I live here too! I am your husband, aren’t I? You haven’t thrown me out yet. I know I’m not much. I know I’m stupid—well, rather stupid. I never passed any exams. It’s all right for you, you had a proper home to grow up in. You don’t know what it’s like for some of us. I do my best even if it isn’t so bloody good. But I do know this. I said I’d make it up to you and I will but I ought to know what’s going on. You’ve been sick every morning since I got back. Are you pregnant?’

Patty was stunned. She put down her teacup. This was the longest speech Frank had ever made; she could hardly begin to take it all in. And now that the word had been uttered, the idea given a real form, she felt suddenly shy and inhibited, and at the same time overjoyed. For it really was possible, even if it was happening at what had seemed to be entirely the wrong time. And all these feelings oddly recalled that night, that saturnalia preceding Frank’s weird escapade. She suddenly felt that the secret world they had then entered might not after all be lost to them forever, hidden away and forbidden. She looked at Frank’s face and glimpsed in his eyes a pleading and bewildered expression which she had never seen, and was sure she had never aroused, before: she suddenly sensed that he too was remembering that night, and was daring to recollect, if not to acknowledge quite candidly, that realm of wordless and unimaginable intimacy which they had fallen into more or less by accident, whose strangeness had so terrified Frank that he had immediately thereafter vanished into thin air.

Frank came over and sat on the bed once more.

‘Please tell me,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to know, I’ve got a right to know, haven’t I?’

‘Yes,’ said Patty. ‘I suppose you have. The fact is I’m not sure yet. I might be and I might be not. And it’s too soon to find out for certain, I know that. So if I go on like this, I’ll visit the doctor in a few weeks and then we’ll know. That’s all I can say at the moment.’

Frank said nothing and Patty suddenly saw that there were tears in his eyes. She sat in silence, and then she touched his hand.

‘It’ll be our secret for now, okay?’ she said. ‘Don’t say a word.’

‘Right you are,’ said Frank huskily.

Then he took her teacup and put it on the tray, and put the tray on the fl oor. He lay down beside her and began to caress her, and the entrance to the secret, the wordless and unimaginable, realm suddenly once more gaped hugely before them.