Starlight (25 page)

‘Who that boy?’ whispered Erika.

The unexpectedness of it opened Gladys’s mouth and kept her silent for quite two seconds.

Natural feminine interest in such a question from a young girl struggled with her feeling that it should not have been asked here: ‘Why was that boy carrying the cross?’ yes; ‘Who that boy?’ no. Not in church.

‘That? That’s Barry Disher, very nice boy he is, good to his mum.’ She shepherded her protegée out into the moving crowd. Erika could only have meant Barry Disher; he was more noticeable, somehow, than the other boys. ‘She’s got eight, just fancy, poor thing, only of course there’s three grown up and married now,’ Gladys went on.

Erika cautiously settled the hat, looking unseeingly at the ladies moving slowly ahead of her. Her face was beginning to fill out; a pear-shaped German face with white large cheeks and a narrow brow and small eyes blue as flax. That hat, thought Gladys, kind of comical on her. But looks all right, somehow. Wish she could get a bit of colour in her face.

‘Enjoy it, did you? Like to come again?’ she asked.

Erika silently nodded. Yes, she would like to come again. Gladys did not go on to ask why, and perhaps it was as well.

‘Miss Barnes!’ said Mr Geddes cordially, at the church door, ‘nice to see you. How’s your sister?’

‘Getting on fine, thank you –’ pause, and the usual steamingup of glasses, as Gladys realized that she could neither remember his name nor find the rudeness to call him ‘Vicar’, ‘walks about a bit sometimes now, well, I said, ever since Christmas Day, ever so kind she is. When I think what a state we was all in, we don’t see much of him, I will say, but –’

‘Don’t go, I want a word with you,’ Mr Geddes firmly motioned them towards a corner of the porch with one hand while he continued his farewells to his congregation with the other.

They waited for perhaps five minutes, Gladys looking with interest at the Easter clothes of the ladies, and Erika staring vaguely out into the April sunlight.

‘Well,’ said Mr Geddes at last, coming across to them, ‘and who’s this?’ smiling at Erika.

‘Miss Hartig, frorleen really, she’s German, come over to help Mrs P. but more of a niece, in a way, had a very hard time,’ lowering her voice and glancing significantly at the top of Erika’s hat, ‘grannie wasn’t no more than a b-e-g-e-r-,’ spelling tactfully, ‘in an old-folk’s home now, best place for them I said, now they’re both old, but you could see it was from them, all in German, the rackman got a friend to make it out, so they’re all right, and she’s getting on nicely aren’t you Erika?’

Erika looked up from under the hat brim, flat as a plate, and smiled. Her scarlet ribbons fluttered slightly in the spring wind.

‘Well I’m pleased to see you both,’ Mr Geddes said. ‘Now what I wanted to ask you was this, Miss Barnes – would your Mrs Pearson like me to come and see her? I gathered – or rather Father Corliss gathered – from old Mr Fisher that she isn’t at all well, and worried about herself, it seems. Is that so, do you think?’

‘Oh I shouldn’t if I was you, no I shouldn’t,’ Gladys burst out earnestly, ‘very kind of you, means well, you can see that I said to Annie, but very against all that, well, I said, they have to ring them Christmas Day, no I shouldn’t.’

Mr Geddes, recalling various shreds of information, gathered that Mrs Pearson was ‘against the Church’.

‘She wouldn’t like it, then? I just wanted your opinion. I’m sorry. All the same, I shall come. When is the best time to see her?’

‘Never goes out except in that car of a night with him, in her dressing gown all day but nice and tidy, ever so pretty really, all pink and gold and spotlessly clean, Erika and me do the shopping, don’t we?’

‘So I could find her at home most hours of the day, you think?’

‘Sure to. Has her lunch on a tray, not a hearty eater, but smoke smoke all day I wonder she isn’t afraid of that lung cancer and costs her pounds a week I reckon, shall I just mention it?’

‘No. Please don’t; I’ll look in some afternoon and take my chance. Good-morning, Miss Barnes, good-morning, Miss Hartig, nice to have seen you and I hope you’ll be coming regularly.’

‘I’m not having no-one calling you Erika not without they know you better,’ Gladys said, the instant they were out of earshot, ‘Miss Hartig sounds more respectful – proper-like. That was the Vicar, the head of it all. But we don’t want him round at ours, there’ll only be trouble.’

She did not pursue this line of thought but at once began to enjoy their homeward walk.

She had forgotten – or it lingered only at the back of her mind – that Mrs Pearson did not know she had taken Erika to church. She thought, in a comfortable bustling way, oh well, where’s the harm if it does come out, besides, all that going-on about the bells and that, it isn’t right.

So, when she opened the front door; and they came into the hall of Rose Cottage just as Mrs Pearson was going past carrying a tray, she was unprepared for what happened.

‘There you are,
schatz
,’ Mrs Pearson exclaimed. ‘Wherever have you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’

She stood there in her pink dressing gown, holding the tray laden with cups and teapot, and smiling at them. There was no trace of annoyance in her tone.

‘We’ve just been out –’ Gladys was beginning, her voice loud with nervousness, as the implications of their excursion came suddenly upon her – when her words were cut across by Erika’s slow voice:

‘Gladys took me to the church.’

Instantly, Mrs Pearson’s face became transformed. It was no longer her own, and Gladys stared in horror. A vile green light poured from her eyes, her mouth squared itself, and, fixing the fierce malice of those eyes on Erika, she squealed in a voice so high that the words seemed to keen past their ears like a narrowly tunnelled wind:

‘No – no – keep away – never go there – you take her
there
and we tell him and he send her back and she die and – and – no – no –
NO
.’

The tray in her hands tilted dangerously, and Gladys, instinct startling her out of her terror, jerked forward and made to take it from her. But she clung to it with a passionate strength, as if her hands relished the contact with the wood, and for seconds, they almost struggled, in a hush that echoed with that other voice … Erika stood looking at them dully. Of course; sooner or later everyone quarrelled and fought. Suddenly, Mrs Pearson’s hands relaxed their grasp, but gently; she almost settled the tray into Gladys’s clasp, and said, in her usual voice but pitched higher:

‘Sorry, dear – nearly dropped it. Take it, will you, I feel rather bad – dizzy – just sit down.’ She groped her way to the stairs and sank on to them.

‘Going to faint!’ cried Gladys, putting the tray down anyhow on a table. Mrs Pearson, with closed eyes, moved her head weakly. ‘Be all right in a minute.’

‘Get the doctor,’ and Gladys started for the front door.

‘NO!’ that other voice screamed thinly, and she stopped, gasping, and staring. Slowly, very slowly, the air in the hall, that reflected the sunlight in the street in a subdued yellow glow, seemed to unfreeze; to melt, and become the air of a spring day again. Gladys released her held breath; she was trembling. Mrs Pearson’s eyes slowly opened, and fixed themselves on Erika.

‘Been to church, dear? That’s right – I don’t like the bells, they go through my head, but it’s nice to go. It’s years since –’ she began to get up, with feeble, groping movements, and Gladys, though still very frightened, hurried to help her. Erika stood motionless. A lowering sulkiness was creeping over her face.

Mrs Pearson began to mount the stairs, supported by Gladys’s arm. Half-way up, she turned, and looked down at Erika.

‘But I wouldn’t go again, dear,’ she said, in a higher voice, ‘not if I were you … it upsets me, I don’t know why,’ pitifully, turning to look at Gladys, who held her firmly, though drawing now slightly away from her, ‘it upsets me … and Mr Pearson won’t like it. I might have to tell him, if you go again, dear. Because I must have my peace and my quiet. Just to enjoy my house … my house that can
touch
and
taste
and
smell
… I must have my house in quiet. So you remember, dear.’

She turned, leaning heavily on Gladys, and resumed her slow ascent. Then, as Gladys was opening the door of her room, she turned and whispered, staring at her, ‘
She
must have her way, you see. If she can’t get it, she’ll
set them on us
.’

When she was lying, shivering, under the eiderdown, Gladys remembered the tray of tea and said that she would go down and get it.

‘Sure you be all right, Mrs Pearson?’

A nod, and a feeble smile. Lovely eyes, really, thought Gladys, bending over her, only … best go and see what young Erika’s up to.

She bustled out. She felt, for all her bustling, shockingly weak, and her knees were not their usual sturdy selves and her heart kept on bang, bang, bang …

Erika was wandering about the kitchen, presumably occupied, though signs of occupation were absent.

‘Well! There was an up and a downer for you,’ said Gladys, sighing heavily. ‘Never mind, she don’t mean it – I expect. Eh?’ glancing sharply.

Silence.

‘Did you hear what I said?’

After a pause, that seemed insolent to Gladys, there was a slow movement of the head.

‘Well, answer, can’t you? Say something to a person. Sulks, now s-well’s everythink else,’ she added to herself. ‘Oh come on, come on, talk about dwindlepin to wind the sun down … you’ll be all right at that rate … let me do it for Gawd’s sake,’ snatching at the tea canister. Erika let go; Gladys missed it; and half a pound of tea showered on to the floor.

‘Oh my
Gawd
!’ shrieked Gladys and plumped down on the nearest chair and began to cry.

Erika looked at her in scared silence, then crossed over to her and, after a moment’s wondering gaze at the blubbering face, put both arms around her and bestowed a small, inexperienced hug.

It was heartily returned, and Gladys fumbled for her clean, church-going handkerchief. She looked up and smiled waterily.

‘Silly, aren’t I? But that’s fair put the wind up me. Ne’ mind, all be the same in a hundred years, won’t it? I don’t expect she meant it – upset her, you going to church.’

‘Mrs Pearson doesn’t like I going to church …’ said Erika, after an extended pause for thought.

‘
Me
going to church, not
I
– you sound like that black what sweeps the road up the corner – don’t want to sound like him, poor soul, do we? – no, she doesn’t like it and now I sp’ose you can’t go again … there’s the kettle boiling now, it
would
, and the tea all over the floor … oh, my goodness, there’s that tray waiting ready all this time in the hall! I’ll forget my own name next. Here, we can take that up, and clear up the mess afterwards.’

Erika took the tray in; Gladys suddenly found herself unequal to facing Mrs Pearson.

Tiredly she climbed the stairs to their rooms, pausing for a moment on the landing.

It was not to collect her thoughts; she had never paused to do such a thing in her life. It was to put some cheerfulness on to her face and into her voice as she confronted Annie.

They had all been getting on so nicely. And now everything was upset. I can’t never feel safe again, not after this, she thought.

‘Glad – Glad! Oh do come on in, what
are
you up to, hanging about?’ called Annie crossly. ‘Something’s up, isn’t it?’

Slowly Gladys began to move across the landing, pulling off the brightly retrimmed little hat and gay scarf she had put on for church. Sunlight streamed in through their parlour window: the far-off slopes of the Heath were fresh and green. Parlour, thought Gladys, looks downright awful, full of old rubbish. Must be the sun, it always shows things up. There was not a thing fit to be seen.

Yet it was nice to be home. She didn’t mind home being a lot of old rubbish.

She was unprepared for the presence of Mr Fisher seated in Annie’s armchair, facing Annie’s bed, with his feet very close together. He looked up mildly as she came in and said, ‘Good-morning, Miss Gladys.’

‘’Morning … quite a surprise, seeing you, I thought
you’d
be off over the Heath, it being such a fine day,’ she retorted; his presence was the last straw.

‘Me and Mr Fisher’s got the lunch on,’ Annie said, ‘I asked him to stay and have a bite with us, there’s plenty.’

‘There’s crowds on the ’Eath this morning. I hates ’em,’ said Mr Fisher, ignoring the reference to the invitation.

‘Well what a thing to say! They’ve got a right to a bit of fresh air, same as what you ’ave,’ said Gladys, scandalized momentarily out of her perturbation by this frank statement.

‘No doubt. No doubt. Just as you say, Miss Gladys. But the air they breathe isn’t the same air as what I breathe, and I hates them. The litter, too. Ugly. Unharmonious – drives me mad.’

‘Just as well to stay at home, then,’ muttered Gladys. Faint sensations of comfort were creeping over her, caused by a savoury smell from the oven. ‘You come and give me a ’and setting the cloth?’