Which did not mean that all doubt was allayed.
‘Won't make messes, will she?’
‘Of course not, Dad. She'll do it all in the garden.’
‘Where's she going to sleep?’
‘The kitchen, I suppose. I'll buy her a basket in Bovey Tracey. And a rug. And a collar and a lead. And a feeding bowl. And some food…’
But, Bob realised, Ned had already spent much time and money on Morag, to say nothing of vet's bills, as well as squandering a precious long weekend leave in order to bring the dog home to his mother. The thought of further expense, all to come out of Ned's hard-earned sub-lieutenant's pay, was more than his father could stand.
He said, ‘No. I shall buy them.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Now. Saturday evening. We've just time to nip down to the ironmonger's before the shop closes. You may choose the dog's accoutrements. I shall foot the bill.’
That had all happened two months ago, and now Biddy could scarcely imagine life without Morag. She was a sweet and undemanding creature, loving to go for long walks, but perfectly happy just playing about the garden, if one did not happen to feel like going for a walk, or wanted to play bridge with one's friends instead. This afternoon Morag had missed out on a walk because, despite the fine weather, Bob had spent most of his time indoors, clearing papers from his desk, turning out cupboards, throwing out worn or unwanted items of clothing. With all this accomplished, he had turned his attention to the garage, sorely in need of a good spring clean. To deal with the resultant rubbish, he had built a bonfire, and anything that couldn't be burnt, like broken scythes, old petrol cans, a two-wheeled tricycle, and a rusty lawn-mower, he had piled outside the back door, awaiting the next call of the dustbin lorry.
The inference of all this was only too clear to Biddy. She understood her husband very well, and knew that private, gnawing concern and anxiety could only be dispelled by furious physical activity. Watching him through the kitchen window, her heart became heavy. It was as though he knew already that war was inevitable and was now bent upon clearing the decks of his ship before battle commenced.
But finally, there was nothing more to be done. He came indoors for a restoring cup of tea at the kitchen table, and they were there together when Judith's telephone call came through. The telephone was in the hall, and Biddy went to answer it. When she returned, ‘Who was that?’ Bob asked.
Biddy sat down again, and took a mouthful of tea, but it had grown cold. ‘It was Judith.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She wants to come. Here. Now. Today. She's driving up from Cornwall in her car. She says she'll arrive about ten o'clock.’
Bob raised his thick eyebrows. ‘What's up?’
‘No idea.’
‘How did she sound?’
‘All right.’ She thought about it. ‘A bit bright-voiced. You know. Brittle.’
‘Did she say why she wanted to come?’
‘No. No details. She said she'd explain when she arrived.’
‘Was she phoning from the Carey-Lewises?’
‘Yes.’
‘Something must have happened.’
‘Perhaps she's had a row with her friend, Loveday. Or blotted her copy-book in some way.’
‘That doesn't sound like Judith.’
‘No, it doesn't does it? Never mind, whatever the reason, she's coming. She can help me make black-out curtains. I bought a bale of the horrible black cotton, but I haven't got around to cutting them out yet. Judith's a whiz on the sewing machine.’ She stood to empty the mug of tepid tea down the sink, and then to pour a fresh brew from the teapot. Morag, hoping that she was about to be given something to eat, sat on the rag-rug and gazed at Biddy. ‘It's not suppertime yet, you greedy thing,’ Biddy told her. ‘Dear doggie, Judith hasn't met you yet. She doesn't even know about you. If you're nice to her, she'll maybe take you walks.’ She straightened, and leaned against the sink. ‘I don't even have to make up her bed, because Mrs Dagg did the spare room on Friday morning. She was coming to stay later on anyway, and we'd planned to go to London to buy gear for Singapore. So it's just a question of putting the dates forward.’ Across the table, she met her husband's eye. ‘Oh, Bob, it's no good jumping the gun, getting too concerned. Whatever. We'll just have to see.’
‘If something really is wrong, she mightn't want to tell you.’
‘She will. I'll just ask her. We have a good relationship. Anyway, I can't deal with hidden undertows or unspoken feelings.’
‘Be tactful, my love.’
‘Darling, of course I shall be. And you know I adore the child.’
Just after eleven o'clock, by which time Biddy was beginning to be anxious, imagining accidents and empty petrol tanks, Judith arrived. From the window, Biddy saw the beams of the car's headlights coming up the hill, and heard the approaching engine. She stood, and swiftly left the room, crossing the hall and switching on the light that hung over the front door. Standing in the blowy darkness, with Morag at her heels, she saw the little Morris come through the open gate.
The headlights were switched off, the door opened and Judith emerged.
‘Oh, darling, what a relief. I almost had you dead.’ They hugged. ‘Did you have a dreadful journey?’
‘Not too bad. Just long. And I said I'd be here about now.’
‘I know you did. Just me fussing.’
‘The last bit is so windey. At one moment I thought I'd lost the way.’ Judith looked down. ‘Who's this?’
‘Morag. Our dog.’
‘You've never had a dog before!’
‘We've got one now. She's Ned's.’
‘What a sweet person. Hello, Morag. How long has she lived with you?’
‘Two months. Come on, don't let's stand here and talk. Where's your luggage?’ Biddy opened the back door of the Morris and pulled Judith's case off the seat. ‘Is this all?’
‘It's all I need.’
‘I hoped you were going to stay for ages.’
‘You never know,’ said Judith, but there was no laughter in her voice. ‘Perhaps I will.’
They went indoors. Biddy locked the front door behind her and dumped the case on the bottom stair. In the glare of the rather cold hallway light, they stood and looked at each other. Judith seemed all right, Biddy decided. A bit pale, and much thinner than when Biddy had last seen her, but not ill or anything. Not ill, nor apparently trembling on the verge of tears. But perhaps she was just being brave…
‘Where's Uncle Bob?’
‘Went back to Devonport after tea. You'll probably see him next weekend. Now, what would you like? Food? Drink? I can give you some soup.’
Judith shook her head. She said, ‘Bed. Just bed. I'm exhausted.’
‘Do you need a hot-water bottle?’
‘I don't need anything. Just a bed and a pillow.’
‘Up you go then. Usual room. And don't get up in the morning. I'll bring you a cup of tea about nine o'clock.’
Judith said, ‘I'm sorry.’
‘For heavens sake, what for?’
‘For springing myself on you.’
‘Oh, don't be ridiculous. We always love it when you come.’ But sentiment, at this late and vulnerable hour, must at all costs be kept at bay. Confidences and confessions could wait until the morning. ‘Now, off with you. Go and get your head down. And sleep well.’
‘I will…’ Judith gathered up her suitcase and trod up the stairs. Biddy watched her go. Suddenly, Biddy longed for Bob, and wished that he had not had to go. In lieu of his comforting presence, she poured herself a whisky and soda and, carrying her drink with her, went to the kitchen, put Morag to bed, locked doors and windows, and finally took herself upstairs. On the landing, she saw that Judith's bedroom door was shut. From beyond the open window an owl hooted, but all the house was silent.
It was not Biddy who awoke Judith, but the dog. In her sleep, she was aware of the rattle of the door as Morag scratched upon it, and then a thin, insistent wheeking. Scarcely conscious, Ju
dith climbed out of bed, staggered to open the door, let the dog in, shut the door, and fell back into bed again. Almost instantly, she was fast asleep once more. When, at nine o'clock, Biddy officially woke her, bearing the promised cup of tea, Morag was curled up at the end of Judith's bed, a warm and heavy weight on her feet.
‘I couldn't think where she'd got to,’ Biddy said, putting the cup of steaming tea down on the bedside table. ‘I let her out to do wees and then she disappeared. I thought she'd gone rabbiting, but she must have sneaked back into the house.’ She neither scolded Morag nor hauled her off the bed, simply telling her she was a very clever doggie, and then went to draw back the cretonne curtains, letting in the light of the new day. (My first day without Edward, Judith thought, and wished that it hadn't had to start so soon.) ‘It's a bit misty, but I think it's going to be fine. How did you sleep?’
One step at a time. That was the only way to get through such an unbearably miserable vacuum. Judith made a huge effort and sat up and punched the pillows into position, so that the slats of the bedhead would not dig into her shoulders. ‘Like a log.’ She yawned and pushed her hair out of her face. ‘I was exhausted.’
‘You must have been. Such a drive on your own. You looked drained.’ Biddy came to sit on the side of the bed, adding yet more weight to the creaking springs. She wore linen trousers and a checked shirt, as though she were about to step out of doors and get on with a bit of haymaking. Her curly hair, once so dark, was beginning to show threads of grey, and she had put on a bit of weight, but her face was just the same, with lipstick and laughter lines and bright eyes. She said, ‘I've been having a look at your little car. It's too sweet. You must love it.’
‘Yes, I do.’ Judith reached for her tea, which was hot and very strong. Biddy waited for a moment, and then said, ‘Do you want to talk?’
Judith's heart sank. She tried stalling. ‘What about?’
‘Talk it through, I mean. Something's happened. A row with Loveday perhaps? Or is it more far-reaching than that?’
Her perception, like a needle, was both sharp and painful. ‘What makes you say that?’
Biddy became a bit impatient. ‘Oh, darling, I'm not a dimwit. And I'm also a mother as well as an aunt. I don't enjoy undercurrents of feeling, nor nervous silences, nor sulks…’
‘I'm not sulking…’
Biddy ignored this, ‘…and it's not in character for you to make impulsive decisions. So tell. Whatever it is, whatever caused you to leave the Carey-Lewises in such a hurry, I shall understand. My own life was never unblemished. In fact, it's scattered with spots and boils. And it is better to talk.’
Judith made no reply to this. She drank her tea and tried to marshal her thoughts. Biddy waited patiently. Beyond the window the sky was misty, but the air warm. The small bedroom — light-years away from the beautiful room at Nancherrow that was hers alone — was a bit cramped and shabby, but comfortably familiar, because this was where Judith had always slept when she stayed at Upper Bickley, and nothing had been changed, nor improved, nor refurbished in any way. The cretonne curtains did not match the patterned carpet; the candlewick covers on the twin beds were primrose yellow, and the wallpaper striped in blue and white. Interior decoration had never been Biddy's forte. But there were marguerite daisies in a jug on the dressing-table, and over the old-fashioned fireplace, hung a picture of a harbour, with blue sea and fishing boats, which was good for looking at just before you fell asleep.
She sighed and met Biddy's eyes. Biddy was really family, not just pretend. Being here, and being with her felt a bit like slipping into an old pair of shoes after a day spent in painfully uncomfortable high-heeled sling-backs. She put down the teacup and said, ‘It's just that I've made the most awful fool of myself.’
‘How?’
Judith told her just about everything, starting at the beginning, when Edward came to pick her up from school for those first summer holidays, and ending yesterday, when it had all ended, because she thought Edward loved her as much as she loved him, and had told him so, only to suffer the terrible shock and humiliation of his rejection.
She told Biddy just about everything. She did not, however, mention Billy Fawcett. This, obscurely, had something to do with a certain loyalty for dear, dead Aunt Louise. Nor did she admit to Biddy that she had actually slept with Edward; allowed him to seduce her; and happily surrendered her virginity. Biddy was not easily shocked, but with grown-ups one could never be sure; being made love to by Edward had been an experience of such dizzying delight that Judith did not want, in any way, to be made to feel ashamed nor remorseful.
‘…the worst was that there were so many people at Nancherrow…all the family, and friends. A real house-party. I couldn't bear the thought of them all watching me…watching us…and not letting them guess what had happened. It was Mary Millyway who suggested that I came to you. She said since I was anyway, I might as well come a few days earlier. And it seemed just about the only thing to do.’
‘What about Mrs Carey-Lewis?’
‘Diana? She's taken to her bed. Some upset or other. But even if she hadn't been ill, I couldn't have confided in her. She's terribly sweet, but somehow not that sort of person. And it being Edward made it all the more impossible. He's her only son, and she dotes on him.’
‘Did you tell her you were coming to me?’
‘Yes.’
‘What excuse did you give? What reason?’
‘I told a dreadful fib and said that you had 'flu and were all alone and had to be nursed.’
‘Heavens,’ Biddy murmured faintly.
‘Luckily, she seemed to believe it. I went to say goodbye to her. I didn't say goodbye to any of the others because they'd all gone down to the cliffs to swim. Edward too. I didn't even say goodbye to him.’
‘Perhaps just as well.’
‘Yes. Perhaps.’
‘And how long are you going to stay with us?’
Judith bit her lip. ‘Just for a bit. Till I've had time to pull myself together. Is that all right?’
‘I hope it takes ages, because I love to have you here. Now, do you know what I think? Shall I tell you what I think?’ And she told Judith what she thought, and she said things that Judith had heard a thousand times before. Clichés, maybe, but then they had become clichés because all had been proved true, over and over again. A first love is always the love that hurts the most. There's better fish in the sea than ever came out of it. You won't forget Edward, ever, but life doesn't end at eighteen, because it's only just beginning. And finally, time is the great healer. All this will pass. However painful the heart-break, you will recover.
By the time she came to the end of all this, Judith was nearly smiling. ‘What's so funny?’ asked Biddy, looking a bit hurt.
‘Nothing. It's just that you sound like one of those tracts people used to embroider in cross-stitch and hang in some other person's bedroom.’
‘You mean, “East or West, Hame is Best?”’
‘Not exactly.’
‘How about,
The Kiss of the Sun for Pardon
The Song of the Birds for Mirth
You Are Nearer God's Heart in a Garden
Than Anywhere Else on Earth.
‘My mother used to have that one hanging in the Vicarage loo. That was all there was to read except the small print on the Bronco packet.’
‘That's a poem, not a proverb. Or a motto. You know, like “There's Many a Slip 'Twixt Cup and Lip”.’
‘I've just thought of a wonderful one. “It's at the Corners of Life That the Wind Blows the Sharpest.” It sounds awfully uplifting but it doesn't actually mean a thing.’
Suddenly they were both laughing. ‘Oh, Biddy…’ Judith leaned forward and put her arms around Biddy and was hugged and patted, and rocked gently to and fro, like a baby with wind. ‘…you are a star. I'm really sorry about everything.’
‘You can't help loving. And don't feel you have to be cheerful all the time. A little mope won't get me
down provided I know what it's all about. The great thing is to keep busy. I've got all the black-out curtains to cut out and sew, and a great list of stuff that Bob says we've got to lay in, like paraffin, in case the war starts and there's an instant shortage. So, lots of shopping. Why don't you have a bath and get dressed? Mrs Lapford's in the kitchen, frying bacon for you. She'll be frightfully hurt if you don't come and eat it.’
Biddy was right. Occupation, preferably fairly mindless, was all-important. The worst was over, it had all been said, and did not need to be mentioned again. Biddy understood.
After a bath, and a few clean clothes out of her bag, she went downstairs, and was warmly greeted by Mrs Lapford and Mrs Dagg, who both said how lovely she was looking and how nice it was to have a bit of company again. Then she ate breakfast, and after that she and Biddy sat at the kitchen table and made shopping lists. Paraffin and candles and electric light bulbs. Petrol for the motor mower. Tins of soup. Sewing-machine needles and spools of black thread for making black-out curtains, and screws for fixing the wires to the windows. Then, everyday items. Food for Morag, and butter and macaroni, and a fresh chicken and potatoes, and biscuits and bread. Two bottles of gin, and two bottles of whisky, a soda siphon, tonic water, and three lemons.
‘Sounds as though you're planning a party.’
‘No. Just regular supplies. We'll maybe ask a few people in at the weekend, when Bob's home again. Now, put down crisps and chocolate biscuits…’
The list, when completed, was very long. Biddy gathered up purse and basket and they went out, got into her car, and drove down the hill into the little town.
That afternoon, after they had eaten the lunch that Mrs Lapford had left for them (lamb cutlets and rice pudding), they took Morag for a walk, and then, returning, started in on the black-out curtains. While Judith set up the old sewing machine on the dining-room table, filled spools and fitted a new needle, Aunt Biddy measured the windows and, kneeling on the sitting-room floor, cut the varied lengths. The cotton was black and dense and smelt faintly of Indian ink. ‘I've never cut out anything so boring in my life,’ Biddy observed. ‘I'm just glad I haven't got a huge house with dozens of windows.’ She handed over the first two lengths, which were for the dining-room. They had to be sewn together (with a French seam for strength) and then a heading stitched, with a casing, and a deep hem, to give them a bit of weight. As soon as the first one was finished, they hung it, threading the wire through the casing, and screwing the little hooks to the window frame, so that the curtain would hang close to the glass.