Harnessing Peacocks (3 page)

‘Can I help? D’you want me to leave?’

‘It’s just that I have rather a lot to do.’ Difficult to get rid of Hannah, who thought nothing of staying for hours. How much easier life had been before Amy Tremayne’s niece had come to live in the street, imposing friendship regardless.

‘Okay, I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if I can help in any way.’ Hannah stood up. Hebe reached for the teapot. ‘No, no, I’ll do that.’ Hannah snatched up the pot, emptied and washed it with meticulous care. ‘Just give a shout, I’ve only got Giles and Aunt Amy.’ Would she never leave?

‘Perhaps I should have asked him where he is staying. Invited him for a drink, or something. He seemed to be alone.’

‘Some people like being alone.’

‘I could have asked him to meet George Scoop.’ Hannah ignored the hint.

Hebe refrained from asking after George, not wishing a fresh line of talk.

‘I’ve been out with George while you were away. The only thing is, he spends his days gazing down gullets. Would his being a dentist, dontologist,’ actually, put you off?’

Hebe remained silent, noting that Hannah was now on Christian name terms with her dentist.

‘He is good-looking.’ Hannah was determined to discuss George. ‘He is in a good practice. I got to know him while he was fixing my teeth. He is about forty, a bit careful with money.’

‘You told me.’

‘He takes me out to dinner. I ask him back. We watch telly but he—well, I suppose it’s because he is so keen on his work, he keeps making remarks.’

‘Such as?’

‘People’s teeth, he notices their fillings when they laugh, whether their dentures fit, whether the teeth are dirty. He doesn’t use the word “dirty”, he calls it—’

‘Tartar.’

‘That’s right. He admires Mrs Thatcher and Monsieur Mitterand for having theirs fixed. He never gets away from his work.’

‘Wedded to it.’

Not liking Hebe’s ironical tone, Hannah checked. ‘Well, let me know if I can help.’ Still she lingered.

‘Thank you.’ Hebe edged Hannah towards the door, closed it after her. Oh, the joy of being alone! The telephone pealed, shattering with its intrusion the welcome quiet. The cat leapt bristling on to the windowsill. Hebe picked up the instrument.

‘Hello.’

‘’Allo, ’allo, vot colour knickers you wear?’ A thick French accent.

‘Wrong number.’ Hebe put the telephone back in its cradle.

Higher up the street Jim Huxtable sat on the seat a town councillor had given in memory of aged parents who had lived in the street when it was first built. They had complained of aching legs and breathless struggles up the hill. After their death their son had given the seat, inscribed with his parents’ names. Rude boys had carved coarse words and passing dogs did worse. Jim Huxtable waited in case the dark girl should come out of her house, hoping to get another look at her. Pretty name, Hebe, Cup Bearer to the Gods. Not many peacocks to harness in this awful street. What was the indecent posture she had fallen into that got her into trouble, if memory served him right? The mores of the ancients were not so very different from those of the present. He wondered how Bernard had known about the old woman’s collection of paperweights.

Down the street a door slammed and the girl with green eyes came out. He didn’t want to talk to her again. Tired and hungry, he walked fast up the hill to his car and cursed when the engine stalled.

As Hebe closed her door Hannah crossed the street with a hop and a skip. Between the hop and the skip she decided to remarry.

Thinking of Hannah, Hebe let laughter erupt. A Lesbian! What would Hannah dream up next? She thought of Silas, who would be home tomorrow, his brown eyes mercifully not short-sighted, his arc of a nose, hair the colour of a bay horse. Where did the nose and hair come from? Not from me, not from them. She remembered carrying Silas and her love for the unborn child. She had been happy, then, in a precious intimacy which was no longer theirs. Was it envy of those women that brought on her panic? Did they feel for their unborn babies as she had felt for Silas? Perhaps not, since they each had in their buggies the reality babies turned into. I am no baby lover, thought Hebe, yet I loved Silas as a baby with passion.

She considered Hannah’s relationship with Giles; a comfortable intimacy. She envied Hannah but Hannah invented for her ‘a great love’. How banal.

Trip sprang up by the sink, making it clear that she was still hungry. Hebe reached into a cupboard for a tin of cat food. She sat watching Trip eat, then wash herself before going out on her night prowl. The cat sat listening to the sounds from neighbouring gardens, making sure there was no danger. Hebe watched the little animal, thinking, Silas loves that cat. Trip rushed to the back fence and vanished over it. Hebe went up to bed, where she lay mentally totting up her income. The total was healthy. If she continued work on the present basis the years of Silas’ education were assured, although the very nature of her work was insecure. Old ladies do not live for ever and other work inclined to be impermanent. Fun, though, she thought, luxuriating in the solitude of her large bed, kicking her legs under the quilt; enjoy tonight without some Hercules thrusting himself between her thighs.

D
OWNSTAIRS THE TELEPHONE WAS
ringing. Hebe let it ring, pealing its jarring note over and over again until at last it died. She lay looking forward to tomorrow and Silas, planning his holidays.

Trip desecrated the neighbour’s garden, making a neat little scrape, and, covering her excrement with tender paw, climbed back over the fence. It was raining. She leapt from the fence on to Hebe’s windowsill, dropped into the bedroom, padded across to the bed to insert herself under the quilt. Feeling wet fur against her face, Hebe put on her bedside light.

‘I shall never get to sleep.’ She fetched a towel and wiped the little animal who, purring, burrowed into the warmth. ‘Silas taught you that. You can snuggle up to him tomorrow.’

For the third time the telephone rang. Irritated, she ran downstairs and picked up the receiver.

‘Yes?’ she said tersely.

‘You got big tits?’ A strong cockney accent.

‘I told you wrong number,’ she said irritably.

‘Vot colour knickers?’ pleaded the French voice.

‘You don’t even get the accent right.’ She put the instrument back and covered it with a cushion. She went back to bed where the cat made room for her.

Midnight was striking from the town clock when she was disturbed yet again by a scrabbling at her window, a thud as feet hit the floor, the sound of material tearing.

‘Sod it! I’ve torn my skirt.’

‘God, Terry, I told you wrong number, I told you twice. Twice!’

‘Just look at my skirt.’

Hebe switched on her bedside light. ‘Terry, I’m trying to sleep. Silas is coming home tomorrow.’

Terry was examining the tear. ‘D’you think it will mend?’ he asked.

Slender with cropped hair, wide shoulders and long legs. His skirt was pleated red cotton, worn with a fuchsia sweatshirt. ‘D’you think it will mend?’ he asked, stroking Hebe’s shoulder.

‘I shan’t mend it for you.’ She lay back, pulling the quilt up to her chin.

‘Listen to why I rang you. I made it with another girl, no trouble at all.’ Terry spoke excitedly. ‘It’s all due to you.’

‘Couldn’t it have waited?’

‘Listen—’ He was taking off the skirt and inserting himself into the bed. ‘What you got in here? Trip, it’s only me, don’t scratch. Bloody little beast, give over, make room. She’s wet.’

‘Terry,’ she protested. ‘I told you—’

‘Listen, love.’ He put his arm round her, settling in the bed, stretching his legs.

Annoyed by the disturbance Trip scrabbled out of the bed and perched on the chair where Hebe had laid her clothes.

Terry snuggled up to Hebe. ‘I haven’t come here to sleep with you.’ He kissed her neck.

‘Sleep is just what one doesn’t do.’

‘It’s the crappiest expression for it. Give us a kiss.’

‘Sleep is what I want at the moment.’

‘Didn’t you hear what I said? I made it with another girl. No problem. You were right. No skirts. No knickers. I did like you taught. I came to thank you, thought you’d be glad to know.’ Terry was aggrieved.

‘I am glad. It’s just that I want to sleep. I told you it’s all in the mind, now will you—’

‘Okay, now listen to this:

She can present joyes meaner than you do; Convenient and more proportional.

So if I dream I have you, I—’

‘That’s Donne and the verse ends—“And sleep which locks up sense, doth lock all out.” That’s what I want now.’

He laughed. ‘You are not really angry.’

‘Are you in love with this girl?’

‘She was just a fun girl for an evening. I’ve got other ideas.’

‘Someone specific?’

‘Maybe.’ Terry leaned from the bed to pick up a book from the floor. ‘Could we read a bit? Would you read to me, for the last time?’

‘You read.’ She gave in.

‘Okay.’ Terry began reading. ‘I sing the progresse of a deathlesse soule—’ his young voice rising and falling in gentle cadence. Hebe remembered when she had first met him installing burglar alarms in the Midland Bank, noticed him reading Milton, started talking about poetry, an interest which had evolved into reading aloud to each other after lovemaking. He was taking a course in English at night school. She did not know what connection poetry had with women’s clothes. The skirts and knickers were a harmless aberration, the skirt, she suspected, a ploy to rouse her interest. Now it seemed this phase was ending. She had enjoyed the poetry, coming from a boy who looked as though he would be more at home in a disco than reading Donne to the cat, for I am not listening, thought Hebe, and Terry has read himself to sleep. She listened to his breathing, remembering his discovery of ‘’Tis the Arabian Bird alone lives chaste for ’tis but one, But had kind nature made them two they would as the doves and sparrows do.’ For a while he had called her his Arabian Bird. Perhaps that’s what I am, she thought. The town clock struck the half hour.

‘Have a heart, Terry.’ She shook him. ‘Wake up.’

Terry woke staring at her, puzzled.

‘Time to go, Terry.’

He was sleepy, his mind far away. Reluctantly he got out of bed. ‘Don’t happen to have any briefs?’

‘Silas’ would be too small.’

‘Then I’ll go without. Lend us your jeans. I’ll see you get them back.’

‘Are you sure you won’t need—’

‘Yes. I’ll leave my skirt with you as a memento, and the panties now, it’s okay without them.’ He had forgotten Donne.

‘I am glad.’ Hebe watched him struggle into the jeans she had taken off when she went to bed.

‘Fit a bit tight, but what the hell. I’m—what am I?’ He stood looking down at Hebe, exultant.

‘Normal,’ she suggested, smiling up at him.

‘That’s about it.’ He searched in his skirt pocket. ‘This is for you.’ He thrust a wad of notes into Hebe’s hand. ‘You earned it. Can’t think how you did it. From now on I can be like anyone else.’ He bent down to kiss her. ‘’Bye, love.’

‘Thanks, Terry.’ Hebe looked at the money. ‘It’s far too much.’

‘No, it’s not. I’ve got this girl in mind. Don’t you want to know who she is?’ She could see he wanted to tell her.

‘No.’ He must manage on his own.

‘She will be the first to get the straight treatment,’ he said, zipping up the jeans.

‘Without frills.’ She was amused.

He gave her a friendly hug. ‘Sending me up.’

‘Go now. I must sleep.’ She pressed him to leave.

‘But I had to tell you. Analysts try and you did the trick in just two years.’

Hebe was counting the money. ‘This is an awful lot, Terry.’ She was shocked by the amount.

‘I shan’t see you again, not like this. I want you to have it.’

‘Thanks.’ She did not trust herself to say more.

‘I’ll take care of Trip when you go away. Keep in touch with you.’ He bent to kiss her again. ‘Goodbye now.’ He moved to the window to climb out. ‘This is a lot easier in jeans.’ He gave a snort of laughter.

She heard him land in the flower bed, switched off her light and went to the window to watch him put on his shoes, climb the fence to the alleyway behind the gardens and break into a run, the sound of his feet beating a tattoo.

‘There goes a satisfied customer,’ she said to the cat as she dropped the skirt and the discarded briefs into the waste-paper basket. ‘God! I must sleep.’ She got back into bed. She would miss Terry, miss the poetry reading. Buy herself a treat with part of his goodbye money, perhaps; put the rest towards Silas’ education. She felt a rush of affection for Terry. Will his new girl make him happy, will they read poetry together as we have? Why should I worry, she thought, as she lay listening to the cat purring. I taught him

As freely as we met we’ll part

Each one possest of their own heart.

If he has learned that lesson why can’t I abide by it? We are friends. Restoration poems are not essential for survival, not essential for Silas. She dozed, thinking of the good times with Terry during the past years—quite a course in Eng. Lit., a profitable spell of work, a success. She remembered thinking him farouche until she had discovered his troubled spirit, grown fond of him for himself not only for the colour of his skin, which in some lights resembled a Mars Bar. So much for you. Briefly she permitted a vision of her grandfather, quickly banishing him from her mind.

Then she reproached herself for not making Terry promise to tell his new girl about his little ways. He would never tolerate briefs, never really change. The girl was on to a good thing if she did but know. Terry was intelligent and caring, which was more than could be said for most fee-paying lovers. The word ‘fees’ brought to mind Silas. Would the term away have changed him?

H
ANNAH SAT IN FRONT
of her mirror to do her nails. She wore rubber gloves for rough jobs, thought Hebe mad not to bother. Hebe had said, ‘Making pastry cleans them. The dirt lends zest to the pastry.’ Hannah wondered what the Cordon Bleu would say to that and remembered Hebe remarking that she had been given the best tips by the French chef when she worked at the hotel on the cliff. Saying this, Hebe had laughed, as though the tips were humorous. Painting her nails, Hannah wondered whether the antique dealer was staying at the hotel. She had dined there with George. It was perhaps too expensive for the dealer. He had climbed the street knocking at doors. Surprisingly, Amy admitted him. Hannah had been watching at her window, hoping to see Hebe return. It had been easy to talk to the man when he left Aunt Amy’s. She brushed her hair. Had the stranger noticed it? She lifted her lip like a horse sneering, admired her teeth, straight as a regiment of guards. George had done a good job. Would Jim Huxtable be interested in her year’s sessions with George who had gloriously brought to order her set of snaggles? Would he be interested to know she had flogged her only good piece of jewellery, Edward’s engagement ring, to pay for her teeth? Annoyance spoiled the joy of her teeth. Edward never sent her alimony on time. His dilatoriness kept alive the tie when she would rather forget him. New teeth, new life, damn you, Edward. But she was pleased with her adoption by deed poll of the name Somerton. Would Giles stop being obstinate and change his too? He hung on to Krull to annoy, to be able to threaten he would run away to his father. She hoped he would soon realise that Somerton sounded better than Krull. Perhaps he would latch on to this through his friendship with Silas and also perhaps get the hang of Silas’ and Hebe’s vowels. Eyeing her image in the glass Hannah mouthed A-E-I-O-U as taught at the elocution lessons she preferred to call speech therapy. Hebe’s vowels came naturally and Silas’ were perpetuated at his school. Hannah’s thoughts veered to Hebe’s odd life working as cook to rich old women. She never discussed the people she worked for. She never talked about Silas’ father, had not responded when Hannah told her about Edward, did not, as other women would, tell her own tale. Hannah’s mother and Aunt Amy had been sisters. Her mother had married higher socially than Aunt Amy, who had some undiscussed connection with Hebe, who was thick with Amy and like Amy secretive. Hannah realised that she knew as little about her aunt as about Hebe. She had been referred to by her parents as ‘that poor old maid living alone in that house. You should go and see her, she’s your only relative.’ A year ago, finding herself in the neighbourhood with Giles, she had visited, been welcomed. With no roots after living in America, it had seemed natural to settle here, send Giles to school, keep an eye on her aunt. She had grown very fond of Amy. Hannah’s thoughts wandered.