Tamar had drawn a chair up close to Lily and was sitting with her hands on her knees staring at the ground. She felt so foul, so guilty, so wretched, so torn apart by the decision which she appeared to be making, so agonisingly conscious of that piece of extra being within her, she felt she might be unable to speak. She did speak however, in a dead voice, a corpse voice, asking questions and saying the things that were necessary.
Lily, looking at Tamar, could see that she was very miserable, and was very sorry for her. At the same time, Lily could not help feeling a little cock-a-hoop, it was a feather in her cap, she felt an access of power. She thought, out of all that precious collection of bloody sages, Tamar has turned to little me! Of course, in such cases a woman runs to a woman, and Lily had a warm feeling about this act of female solidarity. She also felt a little, how could she not: how are the mighty fallen! The fact that grand perfect Tamar was in such a mess made Lily feel a bit more philosophical about her own messes. She felt important too at being trusted with such a secret, and she was happy to feel trustworthy, even wise. She thought, Tamar might have gone to Rose, but Rose would have been shocked, Rose certainly wouldn’t have known where to send her, and would probably have told her to keep the wretched tot! In any case she could hardly expect Rose not to tell Gerard, and that’s just where she wants to keep her image clean! Poor child!
The place which Lily recommended was a private clinic in Birmingham. (Angela Parke had been there in similar
circumstances.) Tamar seemed to imagine that anything happening in London would automatically be known to
them
.
‘It doesn’t hurt, you know, and it’s very quick. You’ve been sensible and acted early. You won’t feel a thing. They like to keep you to rest for a day or two. Then you’ll be as free as air. I can see you’re feeling awful now, you’re taking it hard. This is the worst time, I can tell you. You’ll feel quite different when it’s all over, you’ll feel such
relief
, you’ll be dancing and singing! See it as an illness which is going to be cured, see it as a growth you’ve got to get rid of. Abortion is
nothing
, it’s a method of birth control. Don’t be too solemn about it. It happens to all of us – well, almost all.’
‘Will I have to give my name?’
‘Well, some girls give false names, but that’s a risk and the doctors don’t like it. You’d better give your name – have you got any other name besides that funny one?’
‘Yes, Marjorie.’
‘Marjorie, how quaint, that’s not a bit like you! I love your name, actually. You can be Marjorie Hernshaw, that sounds quite ordinary. I wonder if you might pretend to be married, say you wanted to keep it from your husband, that would put people off the track! No, better not. Anyway there’ll be no track.
Don’t worry!
Of course I won’t breathe a single word. The whole thing will disappear into the past, it’ll blow away like smoke, you’ll feel clean and whole and free again.’
‘Didn’t you feel –’ said Tamar. She could not go on. She must not think about babies thrown away with the surgical refuse, dying like fishes snatched out of their water, dying like little fishes on a white slab. Angrily she rubbed the tears from her eyes, she had no right to tears here. She stared down at the green and ivory squares on the carpet as they danced to and fro. She felt faint.
‘No, I didn’t!’ said Lily firmly. She was not going to let Tamar’s tears affect her, or make her recall her own episode as anything other than a felicitous solution of a problem. ‘Nor will you, after it’s done! Shall I ring up for you?’
‘No!’
‘They may not be able to do it at once, you know, and time does matter.’
‘No. Lily, look, you very kindly said last time that you’d pay –’
‘I will, I will –’
‘I don’t want that, but if it turns out to be necessary I’d be glad to borrow a little –’
Tamar, reflecting afterwards, had been dismayed at the magnitude of the sum required, which she could not see how to squeeze out of her savings. She gave most of her salary to her mother.
‘Yes, of course! I suppose
he
doesn’t object? Not that it matters if he does, it’s your affair anyway.’
‘No, he doesn’t object.’
‘Why can’t he pay?’
‘He hasn’t any money.’
‘Says he hasn’t!’
‘He’s gone now, anyway.’
‘Bloody men, do anything to get you, take no precautions, then when there’s trouble, vanish. I bet you didn’t even tell him. You must get on the pill, you know. Well, when shall we start? After all, you’ve made up your mind, haven’t you?’
‘No – not yet –’
‘Tamar, darling, don’t be a
fool
, don’t be
sentimental
, just
think
. No man wants a girl with an illegitimate child, they regard it as a slur on their manhood to take on a girl with someone else’s child. If you’re trailing a kiddie it’s hell to get married, it’s even hell to have a lover. The chaps don’t like the idea that some little darling will suddenly open the door! Anyway, what about your career, what about your job, what about your
mother
? Are you going to ask Violet to look after the little beast while you’re at work? Or are you going to give up work and live at home on national assistance? Think what it’ll be like year after year! The wretched infant will be miserable, it’s a right recipe for misery for two. It’ll hate its school, it’ll hate the other kids, it’ll be victimised,
you’ll
be victimised. It’s still like that, you know, in the, ha ha, permissive society! And if by any chance you do marry and have other children,
that
child will be an outsider.
Picture
it all, for heaven’s sake! And don’t imagine it’s a good idea to put it off and have the child and see how you feel then, or think it’s easy to have it adopted! When it’s
there
, the dear little bundle, it’ll all be a hundred times more agonising, besides the fact that pregnancy can be ghastly. Do you want to be carrying it around signing forms with tears streaming down your face? Then you’d have the worst of both worlds, because everyone would know! Now no one need know! For God’s sake have the guts to have it done now. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well then, silly, shall I ring up?’
‘No.’
The bell rang from below and Lily with an exasperated grunt slithered off the sofa and went to the answer-phone. ‘Who’s there?’ She covered the speaker. ‘It’s Gulliver. Shall I tell him to go to hell?’
‘No, no, I’m just going anyway, I must go.’
‘OK, come up,’ she shouted into the ’phone, then turned to Tamar. ‘Now look, child, you must come back and see me tomorrow, and tell me it’s all right to go ahead. You will, won’t you?’
‘All right,’ said Tamar.
‘Come at eleven tomorrow morning.’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘Wait and say a word to Gull, he likes you, he won’t think anything, if he does I’ll tell him a cock and bull story, I’m good at that.’ She went to open the door for Gulliver. ‘Gull, Tamar’s here, she’s just going.’
Tamar had her coat on and had pulled her brown beret well down over her brow. ‘Hello, Gull, I must run. Thanks, Lily.’
‘See you tomorrow, dear.’
Tamar fled.
‘What’s the matter with her?’ said Gulliver. ‘She’s been crying. What have you been doing to her?’
‘Just helping her.’
‘What’s up?’
‘Just boyfriend trouble. I’ve been giving sage advice.’
‘How you girls do stick together,’ said Gulliver affectionately. ‘Are you glad to see me?’
‘Yes. I’ve been thinking about you. You smell of cold and fog, it’s a nice smell.’
‘It’s as black as night out there.’
‘Well, it almost
is
night. I love London in winter when there’s hardly any daylight at all. Where are those side-whiskers you said you’d grow?’
‘I can’t grow side-whiskers in two days!’
Gull, who had thrown his overcoat on the floor, was wearing a light grey suit with a dark green cardigan, and a white shirt with an orange yellow tie. He rubbed his cheek where the promised appendages were yet the merest stubble. He looked at Lily, who had picked up his coat, looking her up and down from her curiously sleek hair down to her small short-toed feet. He could see the ‘old doll’ look, but often now she looked to him younger. Her weak voice and tinkling laugh which had once irritated him now sounded sexy. Her sagging socks and leg-warmers looked sexy too. Dear Lily was so non-ideal, but she was there, and no one else was; and he got on so well with her, and it had occurred to him that he had rarely ever got on with anyone. His view of her had of course been considerably glorified by the skating scene, which he frequently rehearsed in waking and sleeping dreams. Last night he had dreamt that he was dancing with Lily in a palace in Japan. Well, they had danced together, in reality, at that midsummer dance, but he must have been extremely drunk and could scarcely remember.
‘Let’s go dancing one day,’ said Lily, throwing his coat over a chair.
‘You’re a thought-reader. If only I could get a job.’
‘You can’t postpone everything till after that. I need a man in my life.’
‘Well, I’m in your life –’
‘Don’t go away, will you.’
‘But I’m no good at
anything
.’
‘Let’s go and stay in a hotel. I adore hotels. It might be better in a hotel, it would be more dramatic.’
‘If alcohol won’t do it, I’m sure drama won’t. What have you done to your hair?’
‘What does sex matter anyway, it’s a mere technicality. Love is what matters.’
Gulliver advanced on Lily and picked her up in his arms. He had never done this before. He was gratified by his success in managing it. She was very light. He held her for a moment, then let her down slowly and held her in front of him. Surprised by his swoop, she was flushed and her pale brown eyes blinked with laughter.
‘Suppose we were to get married,’ said Gull, ‘after I get a job?’
‘Don’t be
silly
!’
The next moment she said, ‘Oh Gull, sometimes I feel so unhappy, there are such
awful
things in the world!’ And she began to cry, weeping tears for the sorrows of the world, for Tamar and for the lost children, and for her own inability to love and be loved.
Gerard, Rose, Jenkin and Gulliver were sitting round one end of the table in the dining room at Gerard’s house. Crimond had just taken his place at the other end. It was eleven o’clock in the morning. Rain had ceased, but the sky remained pale and overcast and an east wind was blowing. The room was a little chilly, Gerard’s ideas of central heating being (by Fairfax standards that is) rather Spartan. To Gerard’s surprise, Crimond had rung up soon after their talk to suggest that it might be a good idea after all if he were to see the
Gesellschaft
committee and explain some of his ideas, since he felt they might be under some misapprehension about the book. Gerard was agreeably surprised by this reasonableness,
and looked forward to hearing some more temperate account, now that Crimond had had time to think the matter over. The others were surprised too, Rose a little nervous, all of them curious.
Gerard said, ‘I am sure we are all most grateful to Crimond for coming here to tell us about his book.’ After this introduction, he turned to Crimond with a gesture of invitation.
There was an uncomfortable silence. Crimond continued to stare at Gerard. Rose and Gulliver looked at the table. Jenkin looked anxiously at Gerard. Gerard looked at Crimond with an expectant look which gradually faded.
Gerard at last said, ‘Well –’
At the same moment Crimond said, ‘I haven’t anything particular to say. I gathered that the Committee had questions to ask me. But if there are no questions –’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Gerard, ‘of course if you’d rather answer questions we’ll do it that way. Would anyone like to set the ball rolling?’
He looked round at his companions. Rose and Gulliver continued to gaze at the table. Jenkin, biting his lip, had turned toward Crimond. Silence continued, and Crimond ostentatiously closed the notebook which he had opened in front of him, and shifted his chair a little.
At last Jenkin said, ‘I wonder if you could tell us your views about trade union reform?’
‘You mean how to give more power to the unions?’
‘I mean making them more democratic and –’
‘
Democratic?
’ said Crimond, staring at Jenkin, as if he had uttered some amazing foreign word.
‘Of course the right to strike is fundamental –’
‘I am not concerned,’ said Crimond, ‘with mundane details about methods of negotiation. The trade unions are naturally one of the most potent forces in the revolutionary struggle –’
‘What is this “revolutionary struggle”?’ said Rose, who had been blushing as she prepared to speak.
‘The struggle for the revolution,’ said Crimond impatiently.
‘What revolution?’ said Rose.
‘Revolution,’ said Crimond, ‘is a Marxist concept –’
‘We know that!’ said Gulliver.
‘Which envisages a total alteration of our social structure, initially involving a shift of power from one class to another –’
‘You queried the word “democratic”,’ said Rose, ‘could you tell us why?’ Rose had had a haircut, and her shaggy mane, distinctly blond in the lamp light, had been thinned and reduced, revealing her brow, giving her a sterner more soldierly look. She darted, as she spoke, a glance of her dark blue eyes at Crimond, then resumed her scrutiny of the surface of the table, discovering there the faint scratches caused by Crimond’s finger nails on his previous visit.
‘It’s an old tired concept,’ said Crimond, ‘and at this stage a thoroughly misleading and mystifying one –’
‘So you don’t believe in parliamentary democracy?’ said Gulliver.
Crimond ignored Gull, continuing to look at Rose, and went on, ‘What you call democracy is a rigid, inefficient, unjust and patently outmoded form of life, supported by an established pattern of violence which you appear to find invisible –’
‘You would prefer an efficient one-party state, under a regime imposed by a single revolutionary group?’ said Rose.