The year of the virgins (20 page)

Oh, he wished he hadn't got on the bus. No, he didn't really, because he liked to be among people. Yet that was a contradiction, wasn't it? Why had he asked to have his rooms in the cottage, separate from the family? Oh, he knew why, because he had to get away as much as he could from the rejection by her; and also from his dad breaking his neck to make up for the rejection which, in a way, was just as bad.

What about Jessica? Jessica Bowbent; or Irene Shilton ... yes, what about them? No, not Irene. So that left Jessica or, better still, Mary Carter. Yes, better still, Mary . . .

Maggie was waiting on the doorstep, with Daniel behind her, and Peggie and Lily behind them.

'Well?'

'She's fine. It's a little girl.'

Daniel closed his eyes and he, too, exhaled loudly; then his voice almost attacked Joe as he cried, 'Why the hell didn't you phone, then? We've been on tenterhooks.' But then he showed his surprise when Joe barked back at him

in the same tone: 'There's a phone at this end; you could have phoned the hospital yourself, couldn't you?'

'All right, lad. All right. Calm down.' Daniel patted him on the shoulder. 'You've been there and I can understand you must have been worried. But quite candidly, I was afraid to phone. Come on. Come on. Have something to eat.'

'I will in a minute; I want to go along to Don.'

'Of course. Of course. He's been on hot bricks. He couldn't believe that she had gone and that he hadn't woken up.'

Joe went swiftly along to the sick room, but before entering he braced himself, then thrusting the door open, he cried, 'Who's a papa then?'

The nurse turned from the bed, crying, 'She got it over?'

'Yes, she got it over.' He was standing now looking down on Don; but Don didn't speak, and so he cried at him, 'Well! say something, man!'

'How . . . how is she? Is she all right?' Don's voice was thin, weak.

'She's fine.' Joe didn't know if this were true or not; but for the moment she had to be. 'You have a daughter,' he said.

'A girl?' The words were short, but Joe's voice was extra loud as he said, 'That's what a daughter means: yes, a girl. Anyway, that's what the nurse said to me.'

Don now pressed his head back on the pillow, looked up while his teeth drew on his upper lip, and the nurse asked, 'What did she weigh? Is she all right? I mean, not sick or anything?'

Joe, and still in a loud voice, said, 'Of course she's all right. I don't know what the baby weighs. Oh yes, I do. I think the nurse said just over six pounds. I was in a daze.

I tell you, the room was packed with men all striding about waiting to be dadas.' His voice low now, almost at a whisper, he said, 'Oh, don't, man. Don't.' He looked down on Don's closed eyes and the tears running down his cheeks. 'It's wonderful news. Come on. Come on.'

'Well, why can't a man cry with joy? That's what he's doin'. Aren't you?' The nurse now wiped Don's face as if he were a child, saying, 'What you need now is a celebration. In fact, we all need one. What about it?' And she cast a cheeky glance up at Joe, and he, catching her mood, said, 'Yes. Yes, that's a good idea.' And he hurried from the room.

He had been surprised that Daniel hadn't followed him along to Don's room and so, as he made his way to the dining-room and seeing his father coming down the stairs, he stopped and said, 'What's the matter? Why didn't you come in with me?'

Daniel now ran his hand through his hair as he said, 'I ... I somehow couldn't face him ... I felt I'd break down. I'll go along there now.'

'I'm going to get us a drink.'

'That's an idea.' Daniel smiled now, saying, 'And we'll have them all in. I'll shout Stephen down an' all. Peggie's up there with him.'

As Joe was about to turn away Daniel said, 'Just a minute. Look, could I ask you to do something?'

'Well, you don't have to ask, you know that. What is it?'

'Would you go up in my place on Saturday to Flo's wedding? It means leaving on Friday night. Would you do it?'

'Yes. Yes, like a shot; but I thought you wanted to be there.'

Daniel turned away for a moment and looked across the hall before he said, 'Yes ... I would like to be there, but

I've got a weird feeling on me: I don't want to leave Don; I think he's failing fast, Joe. What do you think?'

It was some seconds before Joe said, 'He's fading, we know that, but not, I would say, fast. He could go on for some time yet and the birth of the baby will give him an incentive.'

'I don't think it's up to incentives. But there, perhaps you're right. I feel, though, I'd rather be on the spot. You understand?'

'Yes, yes. But I'll not stay up there; I'll come straight back after the wedding. I'll be back here on Saturday night. By the way, I think we should ring Flo and tell her about the baby.'

'Yes, I suppose so. But what about letting him do that; Don himself ? We'll bring the extension in from the other room.'

'Yes, that's an idea. Go and tell him; I'll get the drink and I'll call the others in.'

Ten minutes later they were all standing around the bed: Maggie, Lily, Peggie, the nurse, Daniel, Joe, and Stephen. And they had glasses in their hands, except for Joe, who had just dialled Flo's number, saying as he waited for a reply, 'She's bound to be somewhere in the office.' Then his chin went up and he said, 'May I speak to Mrs Jackson, please?'

'Mrs Jackson speaking. Who's that?'

'Well, don't you know by now? It's your secret admirer, Joseph Coulson.'

'Oh, Joe. Joe. What is it? Something wrong?'

'No, no. There's a gentleman wants to speak to you. Hang on.'

He now passed the phone to Don and he, pulling his shoulders up from the bed, said, 'Hello there, Flo.'

'That's Don!'

'Yes, it's Don. Who did you think it was? And . . . and put a little respect in your tone, for you're speaking to the father of a daughter.'

'Oh my goodness! She's had her baby. Is she all right? And the baby?'

'One thing at a time, woo-man.' He said the word as he had heard Harvey say it, which caused laughter from those around the bed; then he went on, 'Yes, she's all right, and we have a baby daughter.'

'Oh, that's wonderful, wonderful. Oh, I'd love to come up now, Don, but I'll make it sometime next week.'

'Flo?'

'Yes, love?'

'We're going to call her Flo.'

As he spoke he looked at the surprised faces around him and he nodded as he spoke again into the phone, saying, 'Annette and I said if it was a boy we would call it Harvey, and if it was a girl she would be Flo; not Florence, just Flo.'

There was a pause on the line before Flo's voice came again, saying, 'Oh, that's wonderful. Oh, I'm so proud. And to think you would have called the boy Harvey. Oh, if only he had been here when you phoned. He's just gone into court, but he'll be over the moon. You know we're going to be married on Saturday?'

'Yes, yes, I know, and I hope you will always be happy. I know you will; he's a fine man, your Harvey.'

His breath began to get heavy and he said, 'I'll pass you back to the big fellow.' And of a sudden he dropped back on to his pillows.

Joe, speaking now, said, 'Isn't it wonderful news?'

'Oh, yes. And how is she really?'

He paused before he could say, 'Oh, she's fine. I've only just come back from the hospital and I'm going to have something to eat and then I'll call in again on my way to work.'

'Give her my love, won't you? And thank her and Don so much. I'll hear all the further news tomorrow night when Daniel comes.'

He did not say, 'I'm coming in Dad's place,' but said, 'They are all straining at the bit here, Flo, all with glasses in their hands to toast young Flo. Bye-bye, dear.'

'Bye-bye, Joe. Bless you.'

He put the phone down, then picked up his glass and, holding it out towards the gasping figure of Don, together with the others, he said, 'To young Flo,' and he added, 'And her mother and father.'

They had hardly finished their drinks when Nurse Pringle took over, saying briskly, 'Well now, we've all got work to do, so I'd be obliged if you would let me get on with mine, with a little help from you, Mr Coulson, so you two big fellows can go and have your breakfast.'

Joe understood her urgency, for Don was now finding it difficult to breathe and so, guiding Stephen, he made his way quickly from the room. And Stephen did not protest. He was very quiet these days. He would remain for hours in the sick-room, making himself unobtrusive when the nurse was there, sitting in the corner just looking towards Don and smiling when their eyes met, but once the nurse left the room he would slip quickly to the side of the bed and hold Don's hand as long as he would let him. And, strangely, he didn't chatter.

The nurse now said to Daniel, 'Help me lift him, will you?' And when he did, she said, 'Hold him there while I get some more pillows.' And Daniel, holding his son and

watching his heaving chest, suffered with him, but more with remorse than with physical pain, for more and more he was blaming himself for having brought his son to this pitch, this hard way of dying. The question now seemed to be: had he really wanted to free him from his mother or merely to get the better of her in the parental war?

Some minutes later, after swallowing two pills washed down with a thick brown liquid, Don's breathing eased, and he opened his eyes and looked at his father, saying on a weak smile, 'I would have to break the party up, wouldn't I?'

'Never mind about that. Pain gone?'

'Yes, nearly. Ain't science wonderful!' He drew in a long slow breath now, saying, 'I ... I shouldn't be making game of that because I often lie here thinking what it must have been like before there were such pills and potions; because, you know, Dad' - he looked up into Daniel's face - 'there's only so much one can take, of everything; happiness too. Oh, yes, that's sure. Isn't it wonderful about the baby? When do you think they will be home?'

'I don't know, son. I'm going to slip along with Joe on his way to the office, but I won't stay long. I'll hurry back and give you the news of them both.'

Don pulled his chin into his chest and looked down the length of the bed to where his useless legs formed a valley in the counterpane, and for a moment he saw his toes as the tops of two mountains and the dip in the counterpane a gorge. It wasn't the first time his mind had played tricks with him like that. The other day he had watched a fly crawling on the ceiling. It was the first fly he had seen this year and he wondered where it had come from; and he realised that its view was limited, but then he realised also that it had more power than he had. He had

a mind that could think about it, but he couldn't move. It was at the time the pills weren't having the desired effect; they had been slow to act that day because the nurse hadn't given him the brown liquid at the same time. He was only supposed to have so much of the brown liquid, whatever it was. He had never enquired, but it was on that day he realised the wonder of the fly, but more so of an ant or of a mosquito because, as he had pointed out to himself, in those minute frames there were digestive tracts. They could suck and evacuate. And strangely, he realised he had never thought like that before; not along those lines anyway. And the wonder of the construction of a workable system in a pinpoint of a body had in a strange way brought him near to God for a moment. And he had asked Him to take the pain away, and strangely it had gone; or perhaps he had just fallen asleep. He didn't seem to be responsible for his thinking these days and sometimes could not even restrain himself from expressing his thoughts, as now when he said, 'They must have taken Joe for the father, Dad.'

'Oh no, no. He told them who he was.'

'No. He said they were all walking up and down together, all those fathers waiting. He wouldn't have told them; they would have thought he was the father.' He turned his head fully now to the side, then looked up into Daniel's face as he said, 'And he should have been, shouldn't he, Dad?'

'Nonsense. Nonsense. What's put that into your head? There's only been you in Annette's life; Joe and she were like brother and sister. That was the relationship there. Now, now, don't you be silly. Anyway, I think you want to rest now. I'm going to leave you in nurse's hands; she'll make you toe the line.'

Why did one say such silly things. He flapped his hand now at his son, saying, Til pop in again before I go to the hospital. Perhaps you would like to write her a note.'

'Yes. Yes, I'll do that, I'll do that . . .'

Twenty minutes later, as Daniel was about to leave the house, Maggie hurried towards him across the hall, saying, 'I've been thinking: if Flo won't be here on Saturday to go and see her, I think you'd better phone the hospital, for she'll likely be waiting for her coming, seeing that she happens to be the only one she ever wants to see.'

'Yes. Yes, I suppose they must be told.' He nodded at her. 'Do you think you could do it? I've got to be off now, but I'll pop back after I've been to the hospital, and then I've got a full day ahead of me.'

'Yes, I'll do it.' Then, after opening the door for him, she said, 'My goodness! It's starting to snow, and at this late date too! Take care.' And he smiled at her and said, 'For you I will.' They exchanged a long look, and he went out. And after she had closed the door she picked up the phone and got through to the hospital and asked if she could speak with the matron: she wished to enquire about a patient, a Mrs Coulson. When she was told the matron was in conference but that Nurse Pratt from Mrs Coulson's ward happened to be at the reception desk and would she like to speak to her, Maggie said, 'Yes, yes, of course.'

When she heard the nurse's voice she said, T just wanted to tell you that Mrs Jackson won't be calling on Saturday to see Mrs Coulson. The fact is, she's getting married.'

'Oh, that is nice. I'll tell Mrs Coulson. It'll be something of interest for her.'

'Would you also put it to her gently, please, the fact that she is now a grandmother? Her daughter-in-law had a little baby girl this morning.'

'Isn't that exciting!' said the voice on the other end of the phone. 'Oh yes, I'll tell her. And as you say I'll put it to her gently. Goodbye.'

'Goodbye.' Maggie stood looking down at the phone for a moment. Was that nurse being sarcastic when she repeated her own word 'gently'? No; she didn't think so; she sounded very nice.

She turned towards the kitchen again. It was one of those weeks; everything seemed to be happening at once. She was sorry that Flo and Harvey would soon be leaving the country. She'd miss their visits; they brought lightness to the house. That was an odd thought when he was a black man. She wished something would happen to bring lightness into her life. And yet it would be so easy to go up those stairs at night. But wouldn't it be just as easy to let him come down at night and into her room?

Yes, she supposed so, and she knew she wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. But it was their coming together in this house that was the trouble. Why she should feel like that she didn't know, for she had never had any liking for Winifred Coulson, not from the first day she had entered the house to look after Stephen. And she could say there were times when she had been a bitch of a mistress. And look how often she'd had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from telling the woman just what she thought of her. An upstart would barely be the beginning of it. So why was she standing out against Daniel? Was it conscience?

She had become a little tired of that word over the years. This was a Catholic house - she was the only non-Catholic in it - and it seemed to be the privilege of Catholics to have a conscience. But she knew that her conscience was more alive than that of any member of this household. Yet no; Daniel had a lot on his conscience, but with reason. Yet

she could never blame Daniel for anything he had done or would do. She had loved him for so long and so hopelessly that now their association should be filling her with delight, yet it wasn't. It was too furtive and she couldn't bear the thought of the others finding out about it. But that must come some day. Oh, yes, it must . . . some day.

Daniel was sitting by the side of his son's bed. He was in his dressing-gown, as was Stephen, who was lying on the single bed reading a comic from which he would look up every now and again and smile across at his father or Don.

Daniel, having answered the smile, found himself again saying in an undertone, 'It's amazing the change in that fellow these last few months. Have you noticed it?'

'Yes. Yes, I have. He seems to have grown up in his mind.'

'Well, it's all because of his feelings for you and . . .' He didn't go on to add, the release from his mother, because in a way Stephen had needed that release as much as Don had done, although whereas it had helped the one, it had . . . He shut off his thoughts, saying now, 'You look grand the day, you know.'

'I feel grand. You know something, Dad? I've even been able to pull in a long breath.' And he smiled as he demonstrated. But then, the smile disappearing, he said quietly, 'You know, there are days when I wake up and wish I hadn't, but since hearing yesterday about the baby and that Annette is all right, and then the news today that she is sitting up and as chirpy, as Joe said, as a linnet, it's quite amazing the effect on me: I've hardly had a twinge of pain all day. And I've only had one lot of pills, and I'm not taking those - ' he pointed to the side table on which were two small white pills on a plate and next to it a medicine

glass with brown liquid in it, and he said, 'If I continue to feel like I do now I'm going to go to sleep naturally for once, because that lot makes me so thick-headed in the morning. You know, Dad, feeling like I have today I've had to ask myself if pain can be controlled, because since I heard about the baby and Annette, as I said, I've felt different altogether. In fact, if the pain were to start again I don't think I would resort to the pills. If I can do it one day I can do it another.'

'Oh, I'd take your pills, lad. The thing is, as you get stronger you'll have less pain.'

Don now looked at his father and repeated, 'As I get stronger ... we are kidding each other, aren't we, Dad? Today is only a flash in the pan; tomorrow I'll be in the pan again and all the high thoughts about pain being controlled will, like most of me in the morning, have gone down the drain.'

'Now don't talk like that; miracles do happen.'

'Oh, Dad.' Don made an impatient movement with his shoulders. 'Don't come pious on me, for God's sake. The only miracle that can happen to me is that I live long enough to see my child crawling towards me on the bed here. Oh, now, now, don't you get upset; it's only you and Joe I can open up to. By the way, what made you send him off in your place? I thought you would have loved to see Flo married.'

'Oh, I don't know. A number of things: I wanted to be near you and my grandchild' - he pulled a face now -'and I didn't fancy that journey, and I knew once I got to yon end I'd be kicking my heels to get back again. Anyway, Joe likes travelling.'

'It isn't so much what Joe likes, Dad, it's what he does for others. We're lucky to have Joe. You know that.'

'Yes, I know that.'

'And Maggie.'

Daniel knew that his son was holding his gaze, and he thought, Oh, no, no. Then he almost muttered aloud, Oh, my God! when Don said, 'She's a good woman, Maggie. I don't know why she's stayed here all these years, Dad, do you?'

For a moment he felt stumped, then said, 'Well, she hadn't a family of her own; she looks upon us as her family,' as he again held his son's penetrating gaze. But then the head turned slowly away as Don said, 'You know what I'm going to do? I'm going to read myself to sleep just like that big gowk over there.' He thumbed towards Stephen, and Stephen cried, 'You want one of my comics, Don?'

'No, I don't want one of your comics. Get off your lazy backside and hand me that third book down on the table over there.'

'This one with the blue cover, Don?'

'That's the one. Fetch it here.'

After Stephen had placed the book on the bed Daniel leant over and looked at the title, then at Don, saying, 'Plato's Socrates? You're going deep, aren't you? What do you want to read that for? But there, that stuff should put you to sleep.'

'You should read it, Dad. I read it in my last year at school. I didn't understand it then, only that there was a lot of truth in it, but now I do. It's the story of a man about to die.'

'O/?, lad, for God's sake!' Daniel sprang to his feet, but Don's hand stayed him from moving from the bed as he said, "Tisn't like that at all; 'tisn't mournful.'

'No? But why are you reading that kind of book?'

'It was among my books upstairs and I used to look at it every now and again because of the man's knowledge of human nature. But then a while ago I got Annette to bring it down because I knew there was something more in it for me. And there was: it's how to die with dignity.'

'Oh, God Almighty! boy.'

'Don't act like that, Dad. Would you rather I was lying here squirming because of my coming end? You must read this book. You'll learn a lot; if nothing else, you'll stop being afraid of the other fellow. I was always afraid of the other fellow, you know, right from when I was small. Everyone of them was cleverer than me, better than me, taller than me, broader than me . . . especially Stephen. I loved Stephen, yet at times I hated him. But this book is about a man who is ugly, in no way prepossessing, yet he attracted the greatest respect, even from his enemies. Fear is not the antithesis of liking or of love or of respect; it's really envy of those qualities. Oh, Dad, don't look like that. Look, I'm happier tonight than I've been for a long time, believe me.'

As Daniel looked at him he thought, yes, he is. Strange, but he is. But how altered his son was, still so young and talking like an old man. 'I'm going along to have a hot drink now,' he said. 'And you, Stephen' - he looked across to the smiling figure on the other bed - 'don't you go to sleep until I come back. Do you hear?'

'I'll not go to sleep, Dad. I never do when I'm with Don. Do I, Don?'

'No, you don't. You're a good watchdog.'

'There you are, Dad, I'm a good watchdog. And do you think, Dad, that the snow will lie and there'll be enough to play snowballs in the morning?'

'I doubt it. But then you never know, it's cold enough. Well, if you want me you know what to do: ring the bell. I'll be in the kitchen for a little while.' . . .

He had expected to find Maggie still up, but apparently she had already retired, for the kitchen table was set for the breakfast and the fire was damped down. He took an enamel pan from the rack and held it in his hand for a moment, staring down at it. Then thrusting it on to a side table, he went out of the far door and along the short corridor. And after first tapping on Maggie's sitting-room door he pushed it quietly open.

The room was in darkness, although there was a light coming from the bedroom door, which was ajar.

'Maggie.' He was holding on to the handle of the door as he gently pushed it further open and quietly stepped into the room.

She was sitting up in bed and her voice was a whisper as she said, 'Something wrong? You need me?'

He was standing over her now looking down into her face as he said, 'Yes, Maggie; I need you. Let's not have any more talk.'

Swiftly he threw off his dressing-gown and pyjamas and, pulling the clothes aside, he lay down beside her and took her into his arms.

It was barely ten minutes later when the large, white-coated figure emerged from the kitchen garden, groped its way along by the low wall that ended at the beginning of the courtyard. It slunk past the two stables that were now used as spare garages, then turned and crossed the yard towards the door of the glass-fronted store-room. Knowingly, a hand went up on to the low guttering and pushed the snow away until the fingers came in contact with a key. The door was unlocked and pushed gently inwards, and the figure groped forward.