A Word Child (21 page)

‘Your vocabulary is killing me. But suppose he hasn't forgiven me, suppose he wants to kill me?'

‘It might do him good to find out that he didn't after all.'

‘You make me want to throw up.'

‘Sorry. I'm not explaining this very well. It's just that the only thing really worth doing here is something rather extreme, and it isn't just a thing between you and him, as if it were a fight, there's a background to it, I don't mean God or anything, but just our general sort of human thing, our sort of place — '

‘So eloquent, so clear.'

‘I mean sort of possibilities of reconciliation, general ones, like it's better to forgive than to hate. Even a few words between you could make a lot of difference — '

‘Do stop drivelling, dear Arthur. Look, it's time I went home.'

‘It's pouring with rain. Would you like my umbrella?'

‘No.'

‘You know what, Hilary. I think I saw Lady Kitty Jopling in the office today.'

‘Really.'

‘It must have been her, she was wearing a mink coat, at least I suppose it was mink. She was coming down the stairs, we nearly collided. And my God, perfume, talk about pong!'

‘Good night, Arthur.'

WEDNESDAY

I
T WAS Wednesday. The rain which had begun last night was continuing, descending in steady straight parallel lines, a curtain of darkness upon darkness, as the minutes dragged on towards lunch time. At about ten o'clock Tommy rang up. She started asking if she could see me that evening. I put the telephone down without replying. I tried to do some work and actually succeeded. The sheer passage of time since the news of Gunnar's return into my life had done a tiny bit of good. I had now survived for a week. Nothing awful had happened though some pretty odd things had. I was safe in my corner doing my job. It had become clear that it would be idiotic to leave. I would manage somehow if I just lay low and kept to my routine. The idea that Biscuit was Lady Kitty's maid had already begun to seem unreal, the fantasy of a persecuted mind. There was no evidence for this. Biscuit might be anybody. She might be and doubtless was just an idle whore who picked on solitary men hoping to get money out of them. She probably lived nearby. Lots of whores did. And as for Lady Kitty herself, I would in all probability never see her again. Wives were not encouraged to frequent government offices. And as this source of worry eased slightly I began to think more about Crystal. I decided I would, just for once, go and see her this evening; and if I were perfectly satisfied that she really did want to marry Arthur I ought to stop procrastinating. Oh
God.

At this point in my reflections Tommy walked in. Or rather she burst in or flew in. There was a dark flurry and Tommy, in a very wet mackintosh, was leaning over my desk and scattering water all over my papers. She had pulled off her hat and her hair was hanging down her neck in thick wet tails like heavy dead snakes. The medusa effect was enhanced by the crude neon lighting, which showed her pitted face red and vivid, excited, wet with rain.

I was instantly rigid and nearly incoherent with anger. I spoke in a quiet biting voice just above a whisper. ‘I told you never to do this, never.'

‘You wouldn't speak to me on the 'phone, you hung up on me — ' Tommy's voice was a good deal less quiet.

‘This is going to be good,' said Mrs Witcher.

‘Get out. Go on. Get out.'

‘No. I want to talk to you. I want to tell you something. I'll go if you'll come too.'

‘Go.
Go.
'

‘Do you want me to start screaming?'

I got up and walked quickly to the door, aware of the delighted faces of Reggie and Edith Witcher.

I started to walk down the stairs. Tommy walked beside me. ‘I told you never to come to the office. I cannot and will not have scenes like this in the room where I work.'

‘I'm fed up with your hanging up on me every time I ring.'

‘I told you not to ring.'

‘I said in my letter I was going to ring this morning.'

‘I don't care a fuck what you said in your letter. I'm going to see you to the door and you go out and stay out.'

‘Come out for a minute and talk to me.'

‘I will not talk to you. I will not be blackmailed by a stupid emotional woman. Either you do what I tell you or you go to the devil.'

Someone had passed by us on the stairs. Someone dressed today in a smart tweed coat and a white sheepskin hat. The whiff of the familiar perfume passed like driving mist. I had been speaking quietly but my words must have been audible. Tommy was saying something. We reached the ground floor and emerged into the street.

It was pouring with rain. ‘Oh Hilary — darling — you're getting all wet — please forgive me — please see me tonight — you can't leave me like this, I shall cry all day — I'm so sorry to have displeased you — I just had to see you, I had to — please say you'll see me tonight — '

In order to get rid of her and because it was raining so hard I said, ‘All right. Come to the flat at eight.' I went back inside. My clothes were dripping. I was soaked to the skin.

A purely physical set-back can have a profound mental effect. This is obvious in large cases but is equally marked and more insidious in small ones. Simply because I got so wet and cold at eleven a.m. I made a decision at eleven p.m. which I would certainly not otherwise have made.

After Tommy disappeared I went back into the building and back to the Room where Edith and Reggie were gleefully awaiting my return. They began to offer the predictable witticisms but I shut them up with a ferocity which silenced even titters. It was impossible to get my clothes dry and I felt so cold and so wretched I decided about midday that I must go home and change. I intended to return in the afternoon, but did not. I got home, took off my clothes and had a hot bath. (Christopher was out cleaning flats.) I got into bed with a hot water bottle but simply could not get warm. I lay there shivering. I did not exactly feel delirious, but all sorts of compulsive lurid fantasies possessed my mind. I wondered if Gunnar would kill me. I pictured this happening. I was obsessively miserable because Lady Kitty had heard me brawling vulgarly with a woman. I had no good reason to believe that Lady Kitty knew who I was, but this did not stop me from believing it. I had no conception whatever of Lady Kitty, I had never really ever seen her face, but she suddenly seemed to loom larger and larger like a mythological figure. I reflected upon the mystery of Biscuit, and began to picture myself as the victim of some sort of enormous plot, whereby Gunnar was going to murder me and make it seem an accident.

At about five o'clock Christopher returned, and seeing my light on (I was trying to read
Pan Tadeusz
but could not keep my attention on the page) knocked on my door. He came in waving some five pound notes, a contribution towards the mounting rent bill.

‘Hilary, look, lovely rent! I say, are you ill or something?'

‘I think I'm getting 'flu,' I said. ‘It's all round the office.' My limbs were aching. I felt as if I had a temperature.

Christopher backed away a little. ‘I'm so sorry. Can I get you anything?'

‘No. Thanks for the rent.'

‘Wouldn't you like some tea or some whisky or something?'

‘No. Just fuck off, there's a good boy.'

Christopher was looking his most pardish, beautiful and slim and young, his pale face blazing with health, his pale blue eyes bright with intelligence and
joie de vivre.
I looked at him with disgust.

‘By the way, we got Mick out of jug. He's coming in this evening.'

‘Was he acquitted? Too bad.'

‘No, no, he's out on bail.'

‘How did you get the money?'

‘Clifford gave it to me.'

‘More fool he. Go away, will you. And for God's sake pull your jersey down.'

I lay now tormented by the idea that Christopher had seen Clifford. There was no sort of reasoning in this torment, it was just mechanical. The thought that Clifford had probably also provided the fivers which lay on my bedside table made things no better, made them worse. In the kitchen Christopher was singing
Who is it, waterbird, who who who? Sad am I, waterbird, blue blue blue.

‘Shut up!'

Silence.

Later on Mick and Jimbo arrived and later still there was the sound of the tabla being discreedy played in Christopher's room. Christopher let Tommy in when she came at eight. ‘Mrs Uhlmeister has come.' Tommy's name evidently had some sort of comic or ritualistic significance for Christopher too.

I was feeling so intensely sorry for myself by this time, I was delighted to see Tommy. After all, a woman is a woman and it is her job to be a ministering angel. Tommy ministered.

‘Why, darling, are you ill?'

‘Yes.'

‘Temperature?' feeling my brow. ‘Have you a thermometer?'

‘No.'

‘You feel all chilled,' feeling my limbs. I was in pyjamas, ‘and your hottie's all cold.'

‘If you mean my hot water bottle, you are at liberty to rejuvenate it.'

Tommy bustled around, boiling a kettle, found another hot water bottle, inserted the two bottles in suitable places in the bed, found an extra blanket and an extra pillow, and made a marvellous steaming hot drink out of whisky and lemon. She sat beside me on the bed, half embracing me and taking occasional sips out of the same glass.

‘Don't be such an idiot, Thomas, you'll get my 'flu or whatever it is.'

‘I want your 'flu. I want you. I love you viruses and all.' She kissed me on the lips.

‘You dolt, Tomkins. What an excellent drink you've made.'

‘Are you warmer?'

‘A bit. I still feel — '

‘I'll warm you up properly.'

In a moment she was taking off her clothes. Shoes went flying. Blue Italian beads clinked on the table. Brown Norwegian sweater fell upon the floor, followed by blue tweed skirt and sensible woollen vest and brassière. Long red woollen knickers came off and then, more carefully, dark blue tights. Then Tommy was with me, her small vigorous glowing warm body nuzzling against me, her little hands fiddling with my pyjama buttons and exploring the black hair of my front, her wonderful long legs against my legs, then a prehensile foot pulling at my pyjama trousers.

I laughed. Then I made love to her. And in the transporting joy of love seemed to find a sudden fated issue from all the terrors that had been obsessing me. The world, for a short time, became marvellously simple and beautiful, immediate present and satisfactory. And it seemed real too, as if I had moved out of awful dreams into a plain pure reality. Afterwards we lay for a long time in silence, her head upon my chest, her lips moving slightly in the black fur in an ecstasy of affection, her thighs, her legs glued to me, her feet embracing my feet. I felt dazed and warm and not exactly happy, but with the conception of happiness, usually absent from me, present somehow as a distant buzz.

‘You see,' said Tommy at last.

‘What do I see, little Tomkins?'

‘You love me.'

‘I've let you rape me, that's all. I wasn't strong enough to resist.'

‘Hilary, it does work, between us, it does. It's not just physical. I won't put up with your pretending it is. With someone like you it couldn't be. You're all mind, well not all, there's
Ms
marvellous thing, thank God, but you couldn't make love like that unless you loved.'

‘Couldn't I? You underestimate your charms.'

‘You know what I mean. Hilary, let's get married. Why not opt for happiness? I could make you happy. And you haven't been. I don't know why, but you haven't, perhaps ever, been really happy. Let me love you and look after you forever. Let's have a home, a real place, I could make it so nice. I want to give my whole life to making you happy. It mightn't be easy, but I could learn, I will learn. And you'll tell me, won't you, about that thing that happened long ago.'

I pushed her a little away from me, unglueing a clinging caressing leg. ‘You said you wanted to ask me something or tell me something, didn't you? All that stuff in your letter and ringing me up and calling in in that wicked forbidden way and not waiting for Friday. What was it all about?'

‘Well — there was something, but it doesn't matter now — I mean, it was nothing, nothing matters but you.'

‘So it was all a pretext?'

‘Well, yes — it doesn't matter.'

‘You're a very bad girl.'

After a silence, Tommy said, ‘Is Crystal going to marry Arthur?'

It was typical of the way I ran my affairs that no one had yet told Tommy this. I reflected. ‘Yes.'

‘Oh — ' Her gasp of relief, her tremor of joy.

I remembered Clifford's words: I suppose if Crystal marries her dull swain you will marry yours.

Tommy was no dull swain. She was, as I could objectively see, a dear wonderful clever little girl. Was it conceivable that she
could
make me happy? If I married her I would utterly lose my life as it was now. But what was the value of my life as it was now? Nothing — It was a dim sad frightened sort of a life, and one which was burgeoning into nightmare. Could Tommy, in this crisis,
save
me? Suppose I were to leave my job. If I had Tommy to support I would have to find another job and I would have a motive for doing so. I would earn money to buy saucepans for our little ‘home'.
Could
it be like that? Would I be able ever to tell Tommy about the past, to tell her about Anne in the motor car? I had told Arthur. But telling Tommy would be a very different matter. Of course there could be no doubt that my marrying Tommy would make Crystal's marrying Arthur that much easier, perhaps even that much happier. What would it be like then, the four of us? At first it seemed an absolutely appalling idea — and yet — could we not have life and have it more abundantly? I had to let Crystal go, she had to let me go. After all, it had to happen.

‘What are you thinking, my love, my darling?'

‘About you. I was wondering if you could make me happy. It would be fearfully difficult.'

‘I'm fearfully clever, and I love you fearfully much.'

‘Let's have some more of that delicious whisky and lemon drink.'

At eleven o'clock that night I was engaged to be married to Thomasina Uhlmeister.