Harnessing Peacocks (29 page)

‘Why even me?’ Jim asked, but Bernard was pretending not to hear, leaving Jim feeling he had in some way made himself ridiculous.

S
ILAS CLUNG TO HEBE
and Hebe clung to Silas. Too breathless from running, she felt, in the joy of relief, that it was enough to hold him. He was alive, in one piece. She feared if she spoke she might say the wrong thing. Silas, holding his mother, felt her heart thumping. They huddled together in Bernard’s wing chair in the dark little room. The fire flickered and Feathers sank down at their feet with a grunt. Silas, his face pressed against her chest, said, ‘I was seasick. I had no boots. They all know each other well. Mrs Reeves is a sort of horsey woman. I felt stupid because they all knew how to sail. I went off alone. I saw seals and an adder and people in a boat. There were two other boys. They boasted about their father’s mistress. Well, the younger one did and the size of his—Then he said he wet his bed as if it was clever. There was stew at every meal and Mr Reeves—he’s called Julian—picked on Mrs Reeves. She said to call her Jennifer. I couldn’t. He picked on her about the stew and they called the woman who came to clean and cook Mrs Thing. He niggled on at me about school. Why don’t we learn Latin and he and Mrs Reeves quarrelled without saying anything—they are snobs about everything—it was like that all the time. He gave me wine before I noticed the others only drank Coke. I felt so stupid. I’ve been sick on your jersey. We had to share a room, the four of us. It was a lovely cottage, very pretty but I wished—I sent you a postcard, I didn’t want you to know I wasn’t enjoying—now when I go back to school it will be awful—I was sick into Michael’s boots and all over the front of your jersey. They talk in loud voices—he niggled me about you and what did my father do. Mrs Reeves jumped in and said—and they looked down their noses because we live in a street. It’s okay to live in a street in London but otherwise you have to live in the country—and Michael said you were a cook and Mrs Reeves said she had an uncle who married his—Mr Reeves said cooks are an endangered species he was drunk—he kept giving me wine and there was a thick feeling in the room then he asked what my father does and I hated him and said my mother is a Hermaphrodite and I threw my wine in his face.’ Hebe’s arms tightened. Silas drew breath. ‘I looked up “hermaphrodite” in Mr Quigley’s dictionary so now I feel stupider than ever. When I’d thrown my wine at his head I rushed out—I grabbed your jersey off the line where Mrs Reeves had hung it, she washed it but it still smells—I didn’t know what to do, but I was lucky because the people I had seen fishing were going across to St Mary’s. They gave me a lift—I am sorry I left everything behind I just brought the jersey—the people didn’t ask anything—next day I managed to get back on the helicopter, the crew remembered I had a return ticket. When I got home you weren’t there and I cried—I’m sorry. Amy or Hannah would have asked questions—Jim found me and brought me here—he and Mr Quigley have been kind. It’s been great to be with Feathers and the cat—it hasn’t got a name, he says cats don’t need names, he doesn’t even call it “Thing” like the Reeves call the cleaning lady. They said—no, they didn’t say, but I felt they wanted to say I’ve got no bottle. Well, they haven’t got all that much. Michael cried when she hit him and I felt—felt Hermaphrodites don’t hit their children—Giles started it, he asked if I was a test tube baby and I said I couldn’t be because they didn’t do it when I was born—we had a row—I hit him—he fell into the kale and his nose bled. Mr Quigley had said his father was dull which was awful for Giles—he pushed a note through the door which said “perhaps your mother is a Hermaphrodite”—I felt proud of that until the dictionary—it’s all been so awful—have I got a father?’

‘No.’ Hebe felt terribly cold.

‘Don’t you know him?’ Silas tightened his grip.

‘No.’

Silas, sitting with his arms round Hebe, looked up at her face, put up a hand and gently removed her glasses.

‘They are misted up.’ He put the glasses on the table beside the chair, ran his hand through his hair. ‘It’s wet from your tears.’ He looked at his hand. Then he said, ‘Not even a Hismaphrodite?’

‘Silas.’ Now is the time for burning boats, she thought.

‘Never mind,’ said Silas. He felt the pleasurable relief at being with her, the contentment at having poured out his troubles. He wrapped his arms round her. She began to speak, now or never.

‘I have never been able to talk to you because I didn’t know how to begin. I was in Italy and after I came back I felt peculiar, so they sent me to the doctor and he said I was pregnant. They—I have never told you that I was brought up by my grandparents. When they found out they were furious—horrible. I still get nightmares. I hear their voices say, “Who was the man?” and things like “Long-haired layabout, yobbo or black or bare feet and dirty nails.” They kept asking “Who was the man?”—I couldn’t answer because I didn’t know. They wouldn’t believe me. I wanted you. They wanted me to have an abortion. Do you know what that means?’

‘Of course I do. But you didn’t have one.’

‘I came to Amy who looked after me. I sold things I had to Bernard Quigley, we became friends. I learned to earn money. I have tried to think who your father could be, but I don’t know. All I get is this panic, I hear voices going on and on about an abortion and calling me a whore and asking who the man was.’ Hebe drew a shaky breath. Silas tightened his grip. A log shifted on the fire; Feathers groaned. ‘When I get these panics I hear their voices and it’s mixed up with running in dark streets, I run and run and the buildings all round me are taller than skyscrapers and people look out of blind windows. I hear that repetition, “Who was the man?” Hebe hurried on. ‘I must tell you, otherwise someone else will. As well as cooking jobs I am a part-time tart to make money to pay for us.’ There, she thought, it’s out.

‘Don’t you realise,’ Silas shifted in her arms and looked up, ‘don’t you realise that what happened was a bad trip, probably LSD.’ He sounded older than twelve. ‘Rather fascinating.’

‘I have never taken drugs in my life.’ She was horrified. ‘What do you know about them?’ She sat up and stared at him.

‘You can be given LSD in your drink. People think it’s funny.’

‘Funny?’

‘You don’t know and you go on a “trip”. A master at school gave us a lecture on drugs. Who were you with? It happens at parties. Was it Hismaphrodite?’

Hebe began to laugh.

‘Then,’ said Silas, laughing too, ‘he seduced you.’

‘Oh Silas, I don’t know, I honestly don’t.’

‘Just this nightmare thing?’

‘No, one other thing. There’s a smell.’ Hebe sat up. ‘My God, Silas, you smell of it now, how weird, and I haven’t told you. I quite forgot. Amy is ill. How could I forget?’

Silas gave a shuddering sigh. ‘Will she die?’

‘She had a heart attack. She is in bed resting.’

‘I can hear yours. Amy won’t leave us.’

Hebe kissed the top of the head laid against her chest. Time later to worry about Amy but for this moment she felt lighthearted, overjoyed by Silas.

‘It’s this jersey that smells, Jim lent it to me,’ he said.

Hebe was not listening. Her relief at finding Silas, telling Silas, blocked all other thought. She filled her lungs with the smell of Bernard’s cottage—woodsmoke, garlic, paraffin, herbs, coffee, wet salty air coming across the fields from the sea. She breathed it all in and let out an exhausted sigh. Silas could be right about LSD. She simply couldn’t remember.

‘What’s the difference,’ Silas was speaking, ‘anyway?’

‘What difference?’

‘Between marrying for money and being,’ he hesitated, then, ‘being a tart? I don’t think there is any difference except—’

‘Except what?’

‘Except that you seem happier than a lot of people at school’s mothers.’

‘Oh.’

‘We are happier, Giles and I, than people at school. Mr and Mrs Reeves don’t seem happy. Do I have to go back to that school?’

‘I—’

‘You know Giles talks like us when he wants and when I am with him I talk like him.’

Hebe said nothing.

‘Giles only talks as he does to tease Hannah and it’s easier to be like other people. It’s a waste of money, Hannah having elocution lessons. Who wants to sound like Mrs Thatcher?’ Silas laughed. ‘What is your nightmare about, do you think?’

‘My grandparents trying to find out who your father was.’

‘What did they say? Tell me again.’

Hebe whispered, ‘Who was the man? Long-haired layabout, dirty feet, might be a foreigner, who was the man, abortion, might be black, earrings, cannabis, dirty fingernails, may have a police record, who was the man—’

‘I’m not bothered,’ said Silas.

‘T
AKE ME TO WILSON
Street.’ Bernard, who had sat hunched in silence during the drive, now spoke.

‘I thought you wanted to go to a movie.’ Jim, too, had been silent, prey to feelings of anger, anxiety and exhilaration, an uneasy mix which made him so inattentive of his driving that several times along the road there had been a near miss with another car.

‘I’ve changed my mind. Stop at the corner, I want to buy flowers for Amy.’

Jim drew into the kerb. ‘Wouldn’t it be sensible to wait for the funeral?’

‘Sensible!’ Bernard snorted as he opened the car door. ‘Shan’t be long.’ He darted across the pavement into the flower shop.

‘We’re on a double yellow line,’ Jim yelled after him. He watched the inexorable advance of a traffic warden. ‘This is all I need.’ He drummed impatient fingers on the steering wheel, cursing Bernard. The traffic warden sauntered down the street slipping tickets behind windscreen wipers. ‘Come
on
, Bernard.’ Why am I in such a rage, what does it matter? Jim asked himself. ‘Hurry
up
! he shouted to the old man. Bernard, arms full of roses, emerged from the shop.

‘Hullo.’ Bernard and the warden met beside the car. ‘Karen, isn’t it?’ Bernard bared his ancient teeth. ‘You are looking very beautiful. How’s your mother? I don’t think I’ve seen you since you left school. You have your mother’s looks.’

‘I am married now, Mr Quigley,’ Karen chirped.

‘Goodness, how time—I say, were you going to put one of your
billets doux
on our windscreen?’

The warden laughed and held the car door open for Bernard. ‘Courting, Mr Quigley?’ she queried, eyeing the roses. Bernard showed his teeth again. The warden snapped shut the car door. ‘Don’t forget your seat belt, Mr Quigley.’ Bernard leant back in his seat. ‘I love women, can’t do without them.’

Jim drove on, wondering why Bernard had not long ago got himself murdered.

At Amy’s house he stopped the car, deciding he would play no part in whatever obscene pantomime Bernard planned.

‘Come on.’ Bernard extricated himself from the seat belt. ‘Idiotic infringement of personal liberty, these things. Look sharp. Follow me.’

Reluctantly Jim followed.

Bernard crossed the pavement, pushed open Amy’s door. ‘Never locks her door. Get raped one of these days, the old fool.’ He mounted the stairs, opened Amy’s bedroom door. Jim heard a faint exclamation and Bernard said, ‘Stupid ass told me you were dead, brought you roses. Don’t tell me you’ve had a heart attack.’

Jim heard Amy’s crisp reply, ‘It’s not only Louisa who has a weak heart.’

‘Still jealous after all these years,’ Bernard crowed. Then, ‘Let’s look at you. You don’t look too bad, give us a kiss.’ Then, raising his voice, ‘Jim, come in here.’

Jim went in. Amy lay with an arm round the bouquet of roses. Her free hand held Bernard’s old claw. She smiled at Jim.

‘Thought I was dead, didn’t you? Where’s the dog?’

‘He wasn’t my dog.’ Jim felt acute embarrassment. ‘I must apologise for coming into your house like that. I wanted—’

‘Sit down, both of you.’ Amy indicated chairs. Bernard sat holding Amy’s hand. Jim sat uneasily by the window. ‘You came to see my paperweights,’ Amy said to Jim. ‘I’ve got real flowers, now.’ The hand holding the sheaf of roses tightened its grip round the cellophane wrapping.

‘Just because I thought you might be dead doesn’t alter anything,’ said Bernard loudly.

‘I’m not deaf any more than I am dead,’ said Amy angrily. ‘It never occurred to me you would change.’

It seemed to Jim that here was confirmation of an old quarrel.

Amy went on, ‘You are not getting the paperweights. I have left them to Hebe.’

‘I don’t want your paperweights,’ Bernard shouted, his voice cracking.

‘Then why are you here?’ Amy’s eyes watched Bernard. Jim felt her hostility.

‘Can your heart stand a bit of news?’ Bernard peered into Amy’s face.

‘Of course. Spit it out.’ Amy had the upper hand in this subterranean feud.

‘A surprise?’ questioned Bernard on a rising note.

‘Go on,’ she said.

‘This friend of mine, Jim, has reason to believe he is Silas’ father.’ Bernard stared at Amy, his mouth slightly open, as though sharing in the surprise he was causing.

‘He looks very like him,’ said Amy unsurprised. ‘Same nose. Your hair was chestnut before you went grey, I take it.’ She was talking now to Jim. ‘Silas has Hebe’s eyes, though.’

‘Dammit it, Amy, must you be so calm?’ Bernard yelped.

‘Doctor told me to keep calm.’

‘He’s been looking for her for
years
.’

‘Does he want to marry her? Do you want to marry her?’ Amy tried to see Jim’s face, sitting with his back to the light.

‘I’m,’ began Jim, ‘I’ve—’

‘He’s in love with her,’ Bernard volunteered.

‘Ho,’ said Amy. ‘Love! You are in love with me.’ Bernard made a clucking noise, ‘And with Louisa. There was talk of love with Lucy and even Eileen. That’s Hebe’s grandmother,’ Amy spoke towards Jim, ‘and a lot of others. Used to take us all to the same hotel in Paris. Talked of love. It didn’t mean a thing.’

‘Rubbish,’ yelled Bernard. ‘Am I not here with roses?’

‘You came to make sure I was dead and pinch my paperweights.’

‘Unfair,’ yelled Bernard. ‘I came because I love you.’

Amy said, ‘Fancy that.’

In the silence that followed Jim stood up, disturbed by these grotesque old people.