The Likes of Us (59 page)

He wanted to go and see her again, to reassure himself and to warn her. But he dared not seem to be pestering. It was best that she be left to get used gradually to the idea he had planted. So he spent a restless weekend that only hardened the conviction that he was planning the right course for him, and contented himself by leaving a note for her on the Tuesday morning, which did not refer to his offer, but merely said, ‘Do please take care when you are out.'

He returned from the works in the early evening and let himself into the house, his pulse suddenly racing as he saw the light in the kitchen and knew she was still there. He made no effort to keep the pleasure out of his voice as she came out to meet him.

‘Hullo! Have you been here all day?'

‘I came after dinner. Thought I'd stop on a bit.'

‘I am glad. You've no idea how good it is to come home and find someone in the house.'

‘Have you never lived on your own before?'

‘As a young man, yes. I lived in a flat for a while. But that was different.'

‘I expect you still miss your wife.'

He said, ‘I miss her not being here. We were married for a long time. You get used to things. Even things you don't especially care for at the time.'

She frowned a little, turning that over, until she realised that he was frowning too as he looked at her, or at the clothes she was wearing under her pinafore: a skirt and fawn jumper, sleeves pushed to the elbow, that he vaguely recognised.

‘I found something else that fitted me. I hope you don't mind.'

‘Fine,' he said. ‘Didn't I tell you? I couldn't quite bring them to mind. There were some things she stopped wearing when she put on a bit of weight. As long as you don't find them too conservative.'

‘Conservative?'

‘Plain. A bit dull.'

‘Oh, I sometimes think I'm a bit too tempted by bright colours, myself. I like folk to see me coming.'

‘You must trust your own taste in things.'

‘All the same, you could mebbe pull me up when you think I'm going too far.'

Jordan was delighted. ‘Would you let me do that? Wouldn't you mind? Really?'

‘You're a gentleman. You don't want a housekeeper who looks like – well, a barmaid from the Royal Oak.'

He could hardly believe what she was saying. ‘Does that mean you're coming? Have you made up your mind?'

‘You said something about giving it is a try. Me bag's upstairs. I thought I'd stop for a day or two and see how it works out.'

 

At the end of each working day, Jordan sat for a few minutes after clearing his desk and basked in the pleasure of knowing she would be there when he got home. They would have a glass of sherry then, his the
fino
, hers something rather sweeter, and discuss their evening meal. She was a competent plain cook and all he had to do was unobtrusively add the spices and herbs whose uses she seemed unaware of. She remarked on their flavour with approval.

‘You seem to do all right by yourself. I don't know what you need me for.'

‘There's a difference between helping and doing it all the time.'

‘I was wondering about your shopping.' They had so far used food from his freezer.

‘Do you want to do it?'

‘If you tell me what to get and how much to spend. You'll have to see to the fancier things yourself.'

‘Perhaps we could do it together to start with.'

‘If you like.'

‘When, though? When could we fit it in?'

‘What about Saturday morning?'

‘That's all right by me, but –'

‘You don't work then, do you, or go playing golf?'

Jordan laughed. ‘Whatever made you think about golf?'

‘I just thought you might play.'

‘I did try it once,' Jordan said, ‘but I couldn't take to it. No, Saturday's all right, but what about your weekend?'

‘What about it?'

‘Do you mean you're staying over?'

‘If you want me to.'

‘What about your job at the pub?'

‘I told 'em I was going away for a few days. I'll mebbe pack it in altogether if things turn out right here.'

‘I hope they will.'

‘You're satisfied with it so far?'

‘So far,' Jordan said, smiling.

His greatest fear was that, alone all day, she would become bored and begin to pine for the old life: the lights, the noise of crowded places, the kind of company she had been used to.

‘You mustn't think you've got to stay in all the time,' he told her. ‘Just be careful not to be alone on the streets after dark.'

‘I'm all right,' she said, ‘for now. I'm enjoying the change.'

She liked to bathe before she went to bed; he, in the morning. He wondered how often she had bathed before and suspected that it was not every day. But now each evening she made the most of the privacy of the bathroom, the huge soft unused towels he had got out for her and the abundant hot water. Going in after her, he would brush his teeth standing in the humid scent of bath oil and talcum powder and think of her long slim body lying in one of the two single beds in the guest room she had chosen to sleep in. Each morning, as his radio switched on, she brought him a cup of tea and quietly informed him that breakfast would be ready in fifteen minutes. He had not asked for this and was startled by her first appearance at his bedside in the plum-coloured housecoat he had seen her in before, though she performed the service in the same matter-of-fact way in which she had put her hand to his forehead when he was not well, and she was out of the room again before he had lifted himself onto his elbow. In everything it was as if she were striving to do exactly what he expected of her; in all but the smallest, most routine matters she waited for his cue. He, in turn, longed for a familiarity in which he would know instinctively how to please her, while savouring the novelty, the strangeness of her presence in the house.

On Saturday morning Jordan and Mrs Nugent moved slowly along the aisles of the best of the nearby supermarkets, he choosing articles from the shelves while she pushed the trolley beside him. His wife had loathed supermarkets and had patronised a number of local shops, where she was known by name and could ask for precisely what she wanted, and, in some cases, have it delivered.

‘What shall we have for dinner tonight? There's tomorrow as well, isn't there? Are you fond of steak? Do you think as there are two of us we could run to a small joint? If there's anything left we can eat it cold – or I can – in the week. What kind of vegetable do you like best? No, you say; I really don't mind: brussels sprouts, cauliflower, whatever you fancy. Look, there's some asparagus. We could have it with the steak, or perhaps as a starter. Don't you like it? Oh, you don't know. Well, let's take some; I know you'll enjoy it when you taste it. I quite like fish as a change, too. I have one or two good recipes for fish. But if we want that we shall have to go to the fishmonger down the road.'

They were nearing the checkout when the woman – a friend of his wife's – whom he hadn't noticed, spoke to Jordan.

‘Hullo, Robert. You're quite a stranger. Where have you been hiding yourself?'

Mrs Nugent turned her head to look, then moved on a few discreet yards and examined a display of tableware. Jordan made polite noises.

‘How are you bearing up? Time does slip by, doesn't it? Henry and I were only speaking about you the other day and reminding ourselves that we ought to be getting in touch. But you're not alone, I see. I spotted you from over there, before I saw your friend. I've got to confess that it gave me something of a turn.'

‘Mrs Nugent helps me in the house.'

‘Oh, I see. It was the coat that did it. I caught a back view and I could have sworn it was just like one that Marjorie wore.'

‘Do you really think so?'

‘Perhaps I'm wrong. It wouldn't be the first time. Henry always says I'm just as likely to get hold of the wrong end of the stick as the right one. But then, he's not to be relied on in all things. You look as though you'll have quite spent up. I expect you like to get it all done in one fell swoop, instead of popping out for bits and pieces. That's more a man's way. And it was such a comfort to Marjorie's friends to know that you could cope. “Oh, he's quite capable, Robert,” I remember telling someone at the time. “Robert can cope.” And of course you never know just how much people prefer to be left to their thoughts at such sad times. Some people like to be taken out of themselves, others to be left alone with their memories. I did wonder, though, how long you'd be before you put the house on the market. A lovely house – a real family home – but I always thought it just a touch big even for the two of you. I know Marjorie loved it. She told me so once. “I like space to breathe and room to turn round without falling over Robert,” she said. Just her joke. You've still got Marjorie's father's snuff-boxes, I suppose? Henry was talking about them the other day too. Always admired those. Not that he could afford to buy them, even if you wanted to sell. They must be worth thousands... Yes... poor Marjorie. I do still miss her, you know. But perhaps I shouldn't say things like that to you when you've learned to come to terms with it. And if you've got someone bobbing in and out and helping you to keep things spick and span – wasn't Marjorie the house-proud one? – you won't feel so entirely alone. I must say you've been very fortunate to find somebody. It's so hard to find help nowadays, even with all this unemployment. Reliable help, I mean, because you can't be too careful who you let over your doorstep. Did you find her through an agency, or... ?

‘Recommended by a friend.'

‘Oh, well, that's ideal... That back view. It gave me quite a moment. Do give us a ring and come round some time. We rarely go out now that Henry's retired, except for the occasional drive. And of course none of us goes out in the dark any more. We daren't. Terrible, terrible. What can the police be doing not to have caught him before this?'

Jordan walked unhurriedly after Mrs Nugent, who had moved out of sight. She turned to him as he rounded the end of the shelves. ‘Silly bitch,' he said, and for a second her face retained its thoughtful gravity before breaking into that smile which, rare as it was now, always seemed to him like the sun coming out.

‘Did you tell her who I was?'

‘Of course. What is there to hide?'

Nothing. Except his thoughts. His occasional reveries. His projections of a future for which he could see no durable shape. ‘Live each day as it comes,' he told himself, ‘and be grateful for it. Build on whatever we're establishing.' She seemed content and he was happier than he had been in years: conscious of his happiness and trying not to spoil it by fearing that it would not last.

After supper, which they ate together, using the dining-room at her suggestion (and she had washed up, refusing his offer of help) he read for an hour while she watched television in another room. He wanted to join her, but as she respected his privacy so he must respect her free time. Perhaps later, if she stayed, he would hire a video recorder so that she would not be deprived of programmes by her evening chores.

At a little after eleven she looked into the room and said, ‘If you don't want the bathroom for a while I'll go up now.'

‘Okay. Isn't the late-night film any good?'

‘It's foreign, and I'm tired.'

‘Bed's the best place, then.'

‘By the way, what time do you like breakfast on a Sunday?'

‘Any time we both feel like it. I think you could lie in for an hour, if you want to.'

‘I'll see. Goodnight, then.'

‘Goodnight.'

He put a record of singing on the player and poured himself a Scotch. After a time he went across the hall to the room where she had been sitting to unplug the television set from the mains. The room smelled of cigarette smoke and there were four stubs in the ashtray. He left them. She would, he had no doubt, tidy in here in the morning and open the window briefly for fresh air. Before disconnecting the set he switched on. A man was speaking to a woman in passionate French. She answered him, accusing him of using her for his own devices. Jordan's French was not good enough for him to follow the exchange and a stilted moment in the translation in the subtitles made him suddenly laugh out loud.

 

Something woke him in the small hours. He lay there, trying to make out what it was. He had no recollection of a dream, yet his heart was racing as if he had surfaced from a nightmare. He turned onto his back and listened to the house as he had listened every night for a time after his wife had died. The feeling of unease persisted. Finally, he gave in to it and switched on his bedside light and threw back the duvet. Pushing his feet into his slippers, he got up and drew on his dressing-gown before stepping onto the landing.

He was standing looking over the rail into the darkness below when he heard the sound. It was like the soft, plaintive whimper of some small animal, trapped and bewildered; and it was coming from Mrs Nugent's room. As he moved to the door and put his ear to the panel, the animal-like plaint changed to indistinct words uttered in a rapid, low-pitched stream. When the voice all at once rose in a cadence of defiance, Jordan tapped lightly on the door and opened it. He had to step round the door before he could make out the shape of her lying in the nearer of the twin beds. For a moment then it was as though his presence had soothed her without her knowing it; then one of her arms began to thrash as she spoke again in a vehement outburst:

‘No! No! You can't. I won't let you. You can't! You can't! You can't!'

‘Mrs Nugent.' As he touched her shoulder, she twisted violently away from him, then back again. ‘Mrs Nugent.'

She spoke as if still held in her dream. ‘Who is it? What d' you want?'