Passing On (28 page)

‘Paternal concern seems to be being overridden now by other considerations,’ she retorted. ‘I find myself getting quite interested in this. I wonder who is to decide the price for which we sell you the wood. I imagine it will be you?’

Ron eyed her. Unpleasantly. Gone now was the look of pained indignation. He rose. ‘I’m sorry you’re taking this line, Miss Glover. You’re making a big mistake. I don’t see how I’ve any choice left but to . .

‘You’ll have to act according to your principles, won’t you?’

snapped Helen. ‘As indeed we all do. And now please go.’

Ron walked to the door. He turned, looked full at her and shook his head. The expression of regret and moral outrage had been recovered. ‘It’s up to you, Miss Glover. And your brother.

I’d talk it over with him if I was you.’ He went. She heard him go down the path. From the lawn came the sound of the mower; Phil’s cockatoo crest could be seen, bobbing up and down above the shrubbery as he heaved the machine through the long grass.

And now Edward was coming down the stairs. She turned to face him.

‘That was Ron Paget, wasn’t it? I’ve just seen him out of the window. Why didn’t you tell me he was here, Helen?’

‘There was no point.’

‘What happened was my fault, not yours. Why should you have to see him? You should have called me.’

‘There was no point,’ she repeated.

‘What did he say?’

‘Oh …’ She turned away. ‘He was being offensive. What you’d expect. I said you were distressed and … sorry.’ She could not look at him.

‘What else did he say?’

‘Nothing much else.’

‘What else, Helen?’

‘All right,’ she said. ‘I suppose you’ve got to know. He threatened to go to the police. And he tried to blackmail us. If

we sell him the Britches he’ll … do nothing. I said he’ll have to… do whatever he intends to do.’

Edward stood there. ‘Yes. I do have to know.’

Phil appeared at the window. ‘S’a stupid thing, this. It don’

work properly. You can’t do a good job with it. Why don’ we get a real one, with an engine?’

FOURTEEN

So now we simply sit and wait, Helen thought. The whole process will now begin, in its own time. There is nothing to be done, no decision to be made, no course of action to adopt — which is a curious sort of relief. It will happen; the worst part will be not knowing in exactly what way, or how quickly. Or what, precisely, the outcome will be. Will Edward lose his job?

That is a possibility that has to be faced. If he does, it will not be easy to get another teaching position, and if he does not teach what else is he to do? Fifty-year-olds are not readily employable.

There will be sympathy — and those inclined to sympathy may well include that scatty headmistress and her board of governors.

They may decide to close ranks. But there will also be condemnation, now and for ever. There will be the averted eyes, the muttering. Down in these parts, there is neither the anonymity nor the tolerance of metropolitan life. Edward is visible, and will be watched with interest, and judged.

‘He rang,’ said Louise. ‘As no doubt you’ve gathered. I could hardly believe my ears. “That you, Mum? How’s things, then?”

First civil word I’ve had in months. What on earth have you been doing to him? We talked. We actually talked for about five minutes. It could be called a chat. We chatted. This is communication, I kept saying to myself. Real, person to person stuff.

Nothing much was said, mind. All strictly neutral. I didn’t dare raise the question of coming home. Or school. One step at a time, I thought. I felt quite weepy afterwards, I don’t mind telling you. And furious, as well. The way they can do what they damn well like with you. Because all the cards are stacked

their way. Parents haven’t a hope. Well, they’ll find out. Their turn will come. Though frankly the notion of Phil as… But it’s all in the scheme of things. Even Phil, I daresay. Breed, and be damned. Well, no, not damned but deprived of free will. Watch yourself join the animals. Except that of course for them there’s an end to it. Get the offspring fledged or self-supporting and then they’re shot of them. Ready to start all over again. The extra bonus for the human race is that it’s for ever. That’s the price of intelligence. Intelligence plus instinct is a wicked refinement.

You’re nailed. Hooked. Strung up and crucified. Not a thing you can do about it. Reason suggests one thing, and the body rages for another. Reason, frankly, told me not to get involved in the first place. And then the day I realised I was pregnant I was on cloud nine. And now listen to me. No, on second thoughts, don’t. I’m hours late for the office already.

Anyway, he rang. We’ll talk again soon, Helen. Everything O.K.

with you? I must fly.’

We wait. It is just possible, of course, that nothing will happen.

That Ron Paget will decide that the whole thing is too much trouble, or that the glare of publicity might be distressing for Gary, or that he might be stricken with charitable feelings. It is possible, but unlikely, I’m afraid.

She continued with her work on the bathroom. It did not occupy the mind, but it passed the time. She finished washing the walls, moved the medicine cabinet, its contents, and all other small items out on to a table on the landing, and prepared the room for painting. There was a tin of emulsion in the cloakroom which would do — left over from some distant and abandoned project. She fended off Phil’s enthusiastic offers of help. Edward emerged from his room, glanced vacantly at her and walked past.

She said, ‘We’ll have to use the cloakroom for general purposes till I’m finished.’ He nodded. She saw that he was quite unreachable, and flinched. She had known him like this before: that time long ago, and in the weeks after he left that school in the north. She heard him go downstairs, wander from room to room, and come up again. She said, ‘Were you looking for

something?’ He shook his head, and went back into his room.

She had no idea what he might be doing in there; the silence was absolute.

Half way through the afternoon she realised that she needed white spirit with which to clean paint brushes. The village shop would probably have some. She disliked the prospect of going out, and fought it. I cannot skulk in the’ house for ever, she told herself. Do it now and get it over with. She put on a sweater, picked up her purse and walked out of the front door into the sunshine. A van passed, driven by one of Ron Paget’s men, who lifted a hand in greeting. Helen waved back. She made her way to the shop, bought white spirit, exchanged comments on the weather with two people, smiled at three more. Ten minutes later she was back in the house. Now Edward has to do it too, she thought. Going upstairs again she saw that the door of his room was open; he was not there. She went down again.

Phil appeared. ‘I been looking for you. We got a spanner anywhere? I found this old bike in the shed. I thought I might use it, but the seat’s all funny.’

‘Where’s Edward?’

‘I think he went into the wood.’

‘Oh,’ said Helen, relieved. ‘There might be a spanner in the kitchen drawer. Or in that box in the scullery.’ She went back up to the bathroom.

Phil put his head round the door. ‘I can’t find it, Helen.’

‘Edward may have moved it. I seem to remember he was using it the other day. I should go and ask him.’

‘O.K. Will do.’

She selected the largest brush, loaded it with paint, climbed on a chair and set to work on the area above the window. Recharging the brush, she saw Phil cross the lawn and plunge into the Britches. She swept the brush up and down, creating a glossy silken surface; there was a bland and mindless satisfaction about the activity. I should do more of this sort of thing, she thought.

Outside, a blackbird repeated a snatch of song, then improved it with a final flourish. A wood-pigeon climbed from the Britches and tumbled, clapping its wings — once, twice. Helen got down

from the stool to stir the paint. She watched the pigeon. Why do they do that? Edward would know.

There was movement, suddenly, on the track into the wood.

Phil came bursting out of the shrubbery. Not just Phil — Edward also. But Phil was supporting Edward, dragging him — Edward’s arm was hooked about Phil’s neck, his feet weaving around in some sort of stumbling dance.

She dropped the brush, ran down the stairs. She met them half way across the lawn.

‘Can you get round his other side . . Phil panted. ‘I keep dropping him.’

They heaved Edward through the french windows and into the sitting room and lowered him into a chair. His head lolled.

Helen said, ‘Has he hurt himself? What . .

‘He’s eaten something.’ Phil reached into the pocket of his jacket; Helen recognised pill-bottles from the pile she had dumped on the table outside the bathroom. ‘We got to make him sick.’

They hauled Edward to his feet again and got him across the hall and into the cloakroom. ‘You got to put your fingers down his throat,’ said Phil in anguish. ‘I dunno how. You do it.’

They propped Edward over the basin. She reached into his mouth. ‘I’m sorry,’ she told him. ‘I’ve got to do this.’

He retched. A trickle of vomit appeared. She reached again.

Edward heaved and was copiously sick. ‘That’s better,’ said Phil.

He kept patting Edward’s shoulders. ‘Poor ol’ Edward.’

She went on, brutally. He kept slipping from their grasp, so that they had to prop him up again. At last she said, ‘I think that’s all.’ They dragged him back into the sitting room and lowered him into a chair again. He seemed dopey to the point of oblivion. Phil straightened and looked at her. He said, ‘Edward’s tried to kill himself, hasn’ he?’

‘Yes, I suppose so. I think he’ll be all right, though. In a minute I’m going to ring the doctor and find out what we should do next.’ She felt dizzy. She sat down.

‘Thank goodness I went to look for him then.’

‘Yes, thank goodness.’

Edward groaned. Helen went out into the hall and dialled the

number of the surgery. Phil followed her. She talked to the doctor, put the receiver down. ‘An ambulance will come. He’ll have to go into hospital overnight. Where are those bottles?

They’ll need to see them.’ She put the pill-bottles in her bag. ‘I’ll go with him … No, I’ll follow in the car so I can get back. You stay here, Phil.’

‘But what’s the matter with him?’ he said. His eyes were enormous, horror-struck. He was almost as white as Edward. ‘I mean, it’s awful when someone’s so miserable they want to kill themselves. I didn’ know. Did you know, Helen?’

She gathered herself. ‘Yes. That is — I knew he was unhappy.

I didn’t think he was going to do this.’

‘But what’s wrong with him?’

She took a breath. ‘Edward is homosexual. He — made advances to Gary Paget. Gary’s father came round here yesterday.

He is probably going to the police.’ She started back to the sitting room.

‘But that’s awful!’ cried Phil. He trotted behind her. ‘I mean, Edward can’t help it if. .

‘I know. Let’s not talk about it now. The doctor says Edward must be made to walk up and down. He mustn’t go to sleep.’

Phil nodded. They got Edward up again and slung him between them. They trundled him up and down. Look, Helen said to her mother: your son, your grandson. Now what have you got to say? But Dorothy was nowhere, today; nowhere at all.

When, two hours later, she let herself into the house again Phil was waiting in the hall. ‘How’s Edward?’

‘He’s all right. They pumped his stomach out, to be on the safe side. He can come home tomorrow.’ Tam was greeting her with exaggerated enthusiasm, drowning what she said in a volley of barks. ‘Shut up, Tam.’ She had to repeat herself before Phil could hear. ‘I must have some tea.’ She headed for the kitchen.

Phil stumbled behind. ‘D’you know what that dog was doing, when I found Edward in the wood? It was just sat there chewing something it had dug up. An’ Edward might of been dying.’

‘Well, he isn’t, thank heaven.’ She felt drained, wrung out.

She didn’t want to revisit the previous hours, not yet. She wanted tea; rest. She put the kettle on.

‘I mean, what I can’t understand is why he’s so pissed off about being gay. I been thinking. I mean, so what? S’matter of fact if you ask me as many people’s gay today as aren’t. Actually when I was younger I thought I was probably gay. In the end it’s turned out I’m not, but there you are. You see what I mean?

It’s no big deal, being gay.’

‘Edward didn’t try to commit suicide because he’s gay. He did it because he’s unhappy.’

‘But he’s unhappy because he’s gay,’ said Phil sagely. ‘Right?’

‘Up to a point,’ said Helen, after a moment. ‘It’s also because he’s the sort of person he is. And you have to remember that Edward grew up at a time when … when homosexuality was illegal. Quite apart from being socially unacceptable — at least in the circles we moved in.’

‘That’s ridiculous. You can’t help it if you’re gay.’

‘Reasonable people have always thought that.’

‘Exactly. Poor ol’ Edward. S’a shame. An’ Gary’s a right berk.

Why didn’ he jus’ tell Edward to sod off? He didn’ have to go running to his dad. He should’ve jus’ told him to push off, he wasn’ interested. I mean, that sort of thing happens all the time, doesn’ it? It isn’ anything to get in a sweat about.’

The kettle was boiling. Helen got up and made the tea while Phil babbled on about the prevailing sexual climate. This isn’t happening, she thought; surely I’ll wake up soon. It’s some nightmare. Soon I’ll come to and I’ll be upstairs in bed, not down here in the kitchen, and none of it will have happened. Edward will be out in the Britches, attacking nettles or whatever it is he does there. Phil will be at home in North London, doing whatever it is he does.

‘You feeling all right, Helen?’

She opened her eyes. ‘Yes. I’m a bit exhausted, that’s all.

Perhaps you could give us both some tea.’

‘Sure. Will do.’

‘You’ve been a great help, Phil. Thank you.’

He presented her with a cup of tea, most of which was slopped