‘He was nearly always in the san.’
‘But he only had measles for five weeks.’
Tony kicked at a heap of sodden leaves.
‘He kept going back.’
Neither knew the word malinger but its meaning hung between them. After thought Laurel said:
‘Oh well, he’s rather little and much too silly for school. I dare say he was better in the san.’
XXV
The Colonel and Alex stood on the steps getting a feel of the morning. Alex looked at the flower beds.
‘Everything’s a bit late, isn’t it?’
‘Nothing much been done. Sims has his hands full with the vegetables and all he does in the house, let alone the Home Guard. Lena looks thin.’
Alex leant down to pat one of the dogs. He knew his father had no intention of probing into their affairs. In saying Lena looked thin he was understating. Lena was skin and bones and her nerves were to pieces. The trouble was it was so hard to speak of Lena’s health without lifting a corner of the veil which shrouded their intimate life. How explain Lena’s terror of air-raids, which yet produced wild excitement which needed physical expression. He could hardly tell his father that if the air-raids had gone on being nightly affairs in the way they were last year he could not have kept up the pace. Lena’s passion was a flame which ignited all right, but it left an aftermath of exhaustion and a kind of shame which dragged at energy and affected work.
‘We’re managing to be entirely in the country at the moment. I’ve been able to get down each night. She’s taking an interest in the garden.’
‘Good.’
‘Mother tells us they want this house as an Officers’ mess.’
The Colonel whistled to the dogs, and, tucking his Times more firmly under his arm, led the way down into the garden.
‘Yes. Sorry she mentioned it in front of Lena. Don’t want her upset. We’ll be moving.’
Alex, walking behind his father, could not see his face, but his back was as straight as a flag-pole, and if he could see his face he knew there would be nothing in it to show the suffering which leaving the house meant to him. Since that day years ago when, having come into a bit of money and his time in India being up, he had retired from the Army and had found this house and decided to buy it, it had been all that he asked. He grudged spending even a night away from home.
‘You must?’
‘Apart from the Army wanting it, work’s wearing your mother out.’
‘Where will you go?’
‘Into that new bungalow that they’re using as a mess at the moment.’
‘What, that place on the hill?’
‘That’s it.’
Alex saw the bungalow in his mind. A modern affair with green tiles on the roof. Probably one big room downstairs and perhaps three bedrooms upstairs.
‘What will you do with the furniture?’
‘Leave quite a lot. They’ll need the dining-room and so on. We’ll shift what your mother needs. I’ve got them to hang on with the bungalow for a bit until you can make arrangements about the children. Still noisy round you?’
‘Whenever there’s a London raid.’
‘Sylvia’s got room, and whatever you paid would be a help there.’
‘If you can’t have them there’s nobody I’d sooner trust them to than Sylvia. Trouble is the children have never cottoned on to Andrew.’
‘No. Bit bleak in the vicarage. How about Selina?’
‘My offspring have never hit it off with Bertie and Fiona. I have thought about Dot. Laurel and Alice like each other and Tony seemed to have a great opinion of Henry when they were all here last year.’
The Colonel bent down to have a look at the shoots of a bulb.
‘Pity if they’ve got to shift you can’t have them. Nice children, does them no good this shifting about.’
Alex looked across the quiet garden. For once an aeroplane was not passing and the chattering of birds full of housing plans, and the whistling of Sims in the kitchen garden, could be heard. He sighed.
‘Can’t risk it yet. They pass over both going and coming. Guns pick them up and more often than not you hear the engines clearly. Sometimes they seem to wander around.
Sometimes they drop a bomb. One chance in thousands but it’s one I can’t take. If it was death for certain, but it’s the maiming I can’t stand.’
The Colonel moved on.
‘I see. Which of your sisters does Lena fancy?’
‘She’d choose Lindsey.’
‘Don’t think Lindsey would agree. She’s never been keen on children.’
Alex spoke more strongly than he knew.
‘I’m not asking Lindsey.’ They had reached the top of the lawn. From it they looked over the Colonel’s fields. They were let now and had been ploughed up. Alex sniffed appreciatively the smell of spring. ‘I rather think I shan’t bother any of them. I might try that hotel in Devon again. It will do for Nurse and Tuesday. By the summer holidays things may be better and I can have them home. How soon would you be clearing out?’
‘If possible, right away.’
Alex did not answer. Every fibre of the Colonel must be protesting. Odd how, in a world where such unnameable horrors were commonplace, a simple thing like taking his home from an old man could still wring your heart.
Lena was sitting over the dining-room fire. She looked cold and rather childish. Alex kissed the top of her head.
‘It’s a lovely morning. Shall we get the kids and go out?’
Lena looked out of the window and shivered.
‘I bet it’s cold.’
‘Where are the children?’
‘Laurel and Tony are making beds. I ought to be offering to do something, but you never know quite what in other people’s houses. I wish you’d talk to Nannie, she’s gone peculiar.’
‘Nannie! Never.’
‘She has. She looks furtive. As if she might have hidden the family silver in her box. And she’s too possessive over Tuesday. Of course, Tuesday will soon be outgrowing her and I dare say she feels it.’
Alex felt that Lena was annoyed and needed handling carefully.
‘She’s only just six.’
Lena tapped her foot against the fender.
‘I went up to fetch her. After all, she’s my child and I don’t see much of her, goodness knows. Nannie said she would bring her down later.’
Alex tried to guess what was at the back of Lena’s annoyance. Nannie had always been strong on nursery routine. She usually got on well with Lena.
‘I’ll fetch her for you.’
‘It wasn’t only Nannie. Tuesday looked so strange. It was as if she didn’t want to come with me. If Nannie’s turning Tuesday against me she’ll go, whether we can get any one else or not.’
Tuesday was alone in the day nursery. She was sitting on the floor undressing a doll. Alex stood in the doorway.
‘Good-morning, Tuesday.’
A flush crept over Tuesday’s cheeks and mounted to her forehead. She did not raise her head but only her eyes.
‘’Morning.’
Alex was shocked. Where was the Tuesday who rushed at him and gripped his knees? He knelt by her.
‘Where’s my morning kiss?’
Tuesday raised her face. It was clearly an act of obedience. He had not seen her since January, but she was used to having her parents only for odd days and never before had it made her shy. He gave her a kiss and went in search of Nannie.
Nannie was in the bathroom doing some washing. She heard Alex’s step and came out to meet him. She shut the bathroom door behind her. He saw at once what Lena meant. There was something furtive about her.
‘Hallo, Nannie! Have you done with Tuesday? Her mother wants her.’
Nannie fidgeted with her apron.
‘She can go now.’ She was plainly looking for words, which in itself was noticeable, for whatever she said had always fallen from her as a reaction and not a thought. ‘Children have their ways. It’s be
st not to notice.’
Alex saw that he and Nannie must have a talk. He made a quick decision. He had not intended to explain his plans until he had discussed them with Lena, but now he needed a bridge to cross any awkwardness and bring him naturally to Nannie’s confidence.
‘I’ll take Tuesday to her mother and then, if you can spare a few minutes, I want your advice.’
Nannie could not sit idle. She darned a sock while Alex talked.
‘My feeling is that you and Tuesday might be better in an hotel than staying with one of my sisters. What do you feel?’
Nannie let her hands and the sock she was working on fall into her lap. ‘Oh no, sir. Not a hotel.’
There was no thought behind that. It was almost a cry. A natural outburst from what he had said. He was feeling his way carefully. Something was very wrong.
‘Then it must be one of my sisters.’
‘There’d be plenty of room in the vicarage and Mrs. Smithson’s a very understanding lady.’
Alex’s voice was full of affection.
‘I don’t think great understanding is needed to get on with you and Tuesday.’
Nannie’s needle paused half across the hole. She raised her head for the fraction of a second, and Alex saw her eyes were blurred with tears. He got up and sat on the table by her side. He laid a hand on her shoulder.
‘What’s up?’
There was silence in which the authoritative tick of the clock on the mantelpiece filled the room. Then Nannie got up. The sock dropped to the floor. She blundered round the room, blinded by tears. She had never known such a thing before. She had never had any trouble that way from Tuesday, not even as a baby. She had managed to keep the disgrace to herself. She washed everything so nobody would know. It seemed as if it wasn’t naughtiness, for Tuesday was as ashamed as she was.
Alex tried to remember what he had heard and read. It was called enuresis. There had been a lot of talk about it at the time of the general evacuation. He had an idea it was a job for a doctor.
‘When did this start?’
‘I can tell you exactly. It was the very night after we heard Miss Glover was going. I remember thinking should I tell her and then thinking no I wouldn’t as she was leaving us.’
Alex wandered round the room.
‘I wouldn’t fuss about this too much. The doctor will tell us what to do.’
‘I shouldn’t care to call him in. The whole house knowing.’
‘Anyway, it wants a child specialist. When I write to Mrs. Smithson I’ll ask her if there’s any one good around her. I shall tell her. I can’t have you worrying about this by yourself.’
‘If any one has to know I should as soon it was Mrs. Smithson. Things have never been done, as you might say, in an establishment way in the vicarage.’
‘They certainly have not.’ He managed to sound happier than he felt. ‘Don’t worry too much. It’s obviously something that has to be tackled but we’ll tackle it.’ He was by the door. ‘Don’t say anything to Mrs. Alex about this. She’s not been too well lately. We don’t want to give her any extra worries.’
‘I won’t, sir. There being children much her age at the vicarage may do good, it might shame the habit out of Tuesday.’
Lena had wooed Tuesday into a fair semblance of her usual self. She had bought a book in which there was a doll with all her wardrobe to be cut out. Kim had joined the party and for him there was a magic paint book needing only water to bring out the colours. Lena, fighting to re-create the natural relationship between herself and her children, shed her tiredness and forgot her jumpy nerves. She invented occasions for the paper doll, christened Petunia, to attend. She discussed the correct dress for each occasion as if it was all that mattered. She managed, with smiles and running a hand through his curls, to suggest that though she might be talking to Tuesday her mind was on Kim. She broke off her discussions with Tuesday to exclaim at the beauties appearing under Kim’s brush.
Alex had collected Laurel and Tony on his way down. They closed the dining-room door and at once there was an atmosphere of home. Lena had brought Tony some stamps. He lay on the hearth-rug and stuck them in his book. For Laurel Lena had knitted a rabbit wool jumper, which she was wearing. She rubbed her sleeve against Lena’s face.
‘Feel it. I’m softer than a kitten that’s quite new.’
Alex sat on a chair beside Lena. He pulled Laurel on to his knee.
‘I do like my daughter out of uniform.’
Laurel stroked her chest.
‘In the holidays yes. In term no.’ She turned to her mother. ‘That pink dress you made me take for dancing was all wrong. Matron says it needs ironing every time to look decent.’
‘It’s a dear little dress,’ said Lena, ‘and just your colour.’
Tony looked up from his stamps.
‘I shouldn’t have thought Laurel had a colour. She always looks the same to me whatever she wears.’
Kim felt he was being forgotten.
‘Matron says blue is my colour.’
Tony and Laurel changed the subject. Dad might not know how often Kim had been in the san and Mum would fuss.
‘Look, Dad, this stamp’s Honduras unused. I got a swap. It’s pretty rare.’
‘Mum, can I have another frock for dancing class, awfully plain with nothing to get in a mess?’
Lena and Tuesday were sharing a chair. Tuesday was humming as she cut out her doll’s dresses. Kim, splashing water on his book, was sure that he was making magic. He was too happy to mind if he was just one piece of the family. Now and again he called, ‘Oh, do look!’ but he was contented with mild response.
‘There, darling,’ Lena passed one of Tuesday’s doll’s dresses to Laurel. ‘Like that only without those fearful sleeves.’
Tony leant against Alex asking about stamps, proud in the belief that he had a father who was never wrong.
The sun streamed in at the window. They ought to go out, Alex supposed. Make plans for spending the day. Instead he got up and threw another log on the fire.
XXVI
The train was late. ‘Always late on a Monday’ a man in the corner growled to his neighbour. A soldier leant across. ‘Still clearing up after Saturday, shouldn’t wonder, they say it was a shocker.’ ‘Nothing last night,’ said the man in the corner. ‘I telephoned before I started. Got a lot to do, no good trying to get about in a hurry when it’s been bad. Ropes everywhere.’ His neighbour looked wise. ‘Underground, that’s the only way. Even if it’s not very direct it’s quicker in the end.’
Tony went home by Underground. He felt confused. Since the head had sent for him last night and told him, he had been like that. Just one thing was clear to him. His pound note would take him home. In London he would see for himself. Their house was not very big, but rather big. Was it the sort of house that they gave up? Was the head wrong? Was Dad still alive, tapping?
The house was not quite flat. All of one wall was there. Tony could see a piece of the day nursery, the grey of the spare room, the half landing with a tag of curtains still hanging, the green of the drawing-room. The floor below was blocked with lumps of masonry. The rest of the house was just a heap. There were wardens about, one of them told Tony to run along. Tony knew the answer to that. You could get at the house from the back. Nobody ever did, you came through the front door or down the area steps, but you could. It meant climbing a wall but that would be easy.
The wall was down. At the back was an even greater pile of smashed wood, masonry and rubble. It had been thrown that way by the crane and the heavy rescue men. Tony stumbled over the wreckage, and, with his hands, tried to make a hole. The wind was blowing and somewhere something swung against a broken lead pipe. To his distorted imagination, listening for just that sound, it was tapping from below ground.
‘Now then, young fellow me lad, what are you up to?’
Tony went on burrowing amongst the rubble.
‘This stone’s so heavy I can’t move it. There’s tapping.?
??
The heavy rescue man fetched the incident officer.
‘Kid says there’s tapping.’
The incident officer had been on duty the day before. He knew that there had been only one person in the house. They had rescued him after four hours, badly mutilated but alive. He had been able to say he had been alone in the house and to give his wife’s address before he had died. From an incident officer’s angle it had been a satisfactory incident, soon cleared up. There had never been an incident on which he had worked where they had stopped working until the last person concerned was accounted for. His professional pride was touched.
‘I’ll tap you. Run along now. Where d’you come from?’ Tony did not answer. He struggled helplessly with the lump of masonry. The warden stooped and pulled him by the arm. ‘You trot along home. This is no place for you.’
Tony fought.
‘There is tapping. I heard it.’
They were out in the road. The warden, struck by the note in Tony’s voice, stopped. He took hold of the child’s chin and raised his face.
‘Did you know the people that lived there?’
It was touch and go. The confusion was lifting. The warden sounded kind. Then the reticence of his age wrapped Tony like a cloak. A sullen mask covered his wretchedness.
‘No.’
XXVII
Miss Brownlow put down the telephone. She went to her study window. The girls were out for their after breakfast breather but she did not see them. She saw one child’s face as she had seen it at morning prayers. A hard little mask clamped down on grief as if it were the lid of a box. She came to a decision. She rang a bell and sent for Laurel’s house mistress.
Across her desk Miss Brownlow faced her house mistress. She was usually crisp and decisive, now her doubts showed.
‘I must do something. I can’t leave her like that. I must try and break down her reserve and let her feel that we care for her and want to help. I liked the father so much. . . .’
The house mistress was young and softer. She could easily have cried.
‘She’s such a dear little thing.’
‘Mr. Phillips of Wingsgate House has been on the telephone. He has the two little Wiltshire boys. He says the elder boy was missing all yesterday, did we think he came to see Laurel.’