Riley, p.37
Riley, page 37
‘No, Mary, I’m saying nothing.’
The pattern was repeated the following day. Then, on the day following that she received a letter. She knew it was from him and she held it between her fingers as if it were burning her. She went up to her room and to the writing desk in the corner and, sitting down, she stared at it and her hand almost took up the paper knife lying against the blotting pad, but she checked it. Then she tore the envelope down the middle; and continued to tear it until it looked as if the letter had been through a shredding machine. With her forearm she swept the myriad pieces into the wastepaper basket, and it was then that the tears came into her eyes.
When she reached the bed they were flowing freely; then what seemed to be a great hard structure moved slowly up from her chest into her throat, leaving its pain behind: it was like a knife cutting her heart in two. When, through her wide-open mouth the bolt erupted, it caused a sound like a scream to escape her lips. Then she was on the bed beating her fists into the pillow, and such were her cries that they reached the kitchen and brought Mary up the stairs at a run.
When, an hour later, Dr Johnson stood by her side, she was still crying, but softly now, and he, looking at Mary while at the same time taking Nyrene’s pulse, said, ‘What’s brought this on?’ and Mary answered, ‘It’s private. She’ll likely tell you, that’s if she wants to, when she comes round.’
To this, he said, ‘Well, that’s something to look forward to. But the state she’s in, I should imagine it will be a couple of days before I have that privilege.’
Nyrene did not give him the privilege, and he had to discover from other sources the reason for her collapse.
Twenty-One
During the next month, Hamish and Mary were married, and the only thing that marred the day was the absence of Mr Peter. They had their three days’ honeymoon while Ivy and Ken kept Nyrene company.
The other significant event was that Gwendoline made, through Fred, an urgent plea to Nyrene to drop divorce proceedings against Riley because her daughter had agreed to marry Mr Ray Zussman.
The fact that Yvette had been involved in a car accident and couldn’t, for the time being, join him on the yachting holiday as arranged had brought him to the flat in London, where she and Gwendoline had diplomatically established themselves soon after the incident so as to escape further gossip and probing from the local paper. She had been wise enough to know that were she to accuse Riley of assault, thereby making the matter public, it would put paid to any further attention from the rich suitor.
To the message Fred carried, Nyrene had responded, ‘I want a divorce, and so does he,’ which brought a sharp denial from Fred. ‘He wants no divorce, Nyrene. He’s nearly round the bend and he’ll carry that scar to the grave, and it’s done nothing for his good looks.’ And when she had interrupted him with, ‘Fred, please!’ he had come back at her, crying, ‘If you told the truth, Nyrene, you don’t want a divorce.’
‘Oh yes I do, Fred,’ she had answered him. ‘I want a divorce for many reasons: I want to be able to grow old without fear of the coming years; I want to rid myself completely of the fear of what has just happened and for which I seem to have been waiting ever since our marriage; I want a divorce because I can no longer stand covert censure, even ridicule, a woman of my age snapping up a comparative youngster. That isn’t a figment of my imagination. I’ve heard it said. Moreover, you forget, Fred, that I have a son to see to, and that he’ll have to be seen to for some time yet, and that I may not have him for all that long.’
It had been a long pause before Fred came back, saying quietly, ‘What about your heart, Nyrene?’
And to this she had answered, ‘Fred, please don’t make matters more difficult for me.’
‘That would be the last thing on my mind, Nyrene, and you know it,’ he said. ‘Anyway, what message should I take back to my demented sister?’
She thought for a moment, and then said, ‘All right, tell her I’ll waive it for the time being; but only for the time being. And so she had better get to work fast on this suitor,’ she had added bitterly.
‘Well, Nyrene, I’m going to say this, and it’s my final word on the matter, there’ll be plenty of others waiting for him when you do go through with it, and they won’t be youngsters either. I really don’t know what happened between them to cause her to mark him, but I’d like to bet he’s had his fill of youngsters for the rest of his life.’
It was the summer break. With the exception of Riley and Lily, the company was scattered. It had been arranged well beforehand that David, Larry and Riley should each give up a month to see to the overall running of the theatre and restaurant during the time it was leased for various stage entertainments. But when Riley emphasised that all he wanted was a fortnight free from duty and that for the rest he would see to the running of the business, David and Larry, being well aware of Riley’s present circumstances, felt the reason he wished to remain in Fellburn was to be near his close friends and family, because if anyone needed support at this time he did, and so they had readily fallen in with his suggestion. Although his work had not suffered, he was a changed man in many ways.
In Lily’s case, her husband being on the long haulage runs to the Continent, she knew it would be unwise to pressure him to take a holiday, for in the present state of affairs there was always somebody waiting to jump into his job. She had been glad of the opportunity to assist Riley in the work and to see to his everyday needs.
Fred and Louise had always insisted that he spend Sunday with them. Also, during the last very trying months he had become closer still to his father. Alex would often pop in in the mid-afternoon and he and Nurse had taken to visiting the performance on a Saturday night. And after the performance they would join him at the flat for a late coffee. And should Betty and Harry happen to be present there would be much discussion and some laughter, especially over Harry’s opinion of ballet dancers.
But there was no laughter on Betty’s face the day she hurried to her dad’s place, as she called Nurse’s house.
Alex was on the point of going out. ‘What’s up with you, something wrong?’
‘It’s Mam,’ she said.
‘What’s she been up to now?’
‘That’s to be seen. You know Christy’s, the all-night cafe, opposite the theatre?’
‘Aye, who doesn’t?’
‘Well, Peggy Mear, one of our assistants, her mother works there at night, washing up. She said her mother told her that Mam goes there and sits for hours over a cup of tea. She says she’s known her get up, go out, then within an hour or so come back again.’
‘In Christy’s, your mam?’
‘Yes, Dad, me mam.’
‘Well, what would she be doing in there at night-time?’
‘Dad, wake up and think.’
‘I am awake, lass, and I am thinking, but what mischief could she be doing in Christy’s, or from Christy’s?’
‘She can see right across the road to the theatre and she can see Peter’s flat, and the comings and goings there. Even after dark, the street is lit up like Blackpool Tower until well after eleven o’clock. She’s not there every night, apparently, but often enough for Mrs Mear to take notice of her sitting there and staring out of the window.’ Betty’s voice was low now as she said, ‘She’s up to no good, Dad. Why should she be sitting in an all-night cafe? And what’s happening to Florrie? She always used to tell me things, though not of late. Mam’s likely threatened her.’
‘Oh, I know what’s happening to Florrie,’ Alex nodded, ‘she’s getting scared. She came round here yesterday and said her mam has started to lock her in at nights, both back door and front door. The place could be set afire. She told me she asked her mam if she could go and stay with Uncle Frank during the holidays, but the answer was a definite no. Frank would have the girl tomorrow, and so I’m going to look into that.’
Betty said now, ‘I’ve got to get back, Dad, but oh, she worries me to death, that woman. She really does. She’s me mother and I shouldn’t say this, but she’s bad, she’s wicked. By the way’—she looked at him keenly now—‘you haven’t got that pain again, have you?’
‘No, no, of course not. What makes you think that?’
She smiled wanly now as she said, ‘’Cos I never know whether you’re lying or not.’
‘Go on with you! And don’t worry about this other business. I tell you what, I’ll have a walk round there late one night and perhaps I shall get an idea of what she’s up to.’
As she was leaving she said, ‘Peter’s going on a holiday. He told me yesterday that he’s going to take a holiday during the last fortnight before they open again. But he wouldn’t say where he’s going. Do you know, Dad?’
‘No, lass, no, I don’t. I’ve got my own ideas about where, but I may be wrong, so I’ll keep them to meself.’
‘Oh, I see.’ She nodded to him, then asked, ‘Does he ever mention her?’
‘Never. Nor do I.’
Betty put out her hand and patted her father’s forearm, saying, ‘I’m glad he’s got you, Dad. The Beardsleys are nice people, but they’re not family.’ She found herself now pushed roughly into the street. Then, his voice low, he hissed, ‘You forget, lass, that your mother is family. The Beardsleys have been kinder to him than anybody else in his life, and that includes his wife an’ all. Don’t talk to me about family. Go on, get yourself away.’
She moved two or three steps back from him now and laughed as she said, ‘Yes, when I think about it, Dad, you’re right. You nearly always were. Be seeing you.’
‘Be seeing you, lass.’
It had been a warm September, yet now in the third week, the larches were showing the first tints of autumn. This part of the wood was always beautiful in the autumn.
His heart beating painfully against his ribs, he saw he was but a dozen or so steps from the path; and there, right in front of him, was the back gate.
What would she do on the sight of him, and what would she say? Well, it was his son’s birthday and he was bringing him a present. Surely she would allow him to see his son. However she viewed it, he had a special love for the child despite, deep inside, blaming him for having kept them apart so much. But what he really wanted was a sight of her face, just to look into her eyes again, even if he were to see nothing there but scorn.
The wood thinned into the copse and he stepped from it and onto the rough road in front of the gate.
Having heard the distant sound of the boy’s voice he had expected to see him with Hamish, but there he was walking down the drive by her side. It must have been the boy who first saw him, because his high cry brought her to a sudden halt, and now the child was running towards him.
It wasn’t the run he remembered interspersed with leaps like that of a young antelope, but more like a hurried shambling walk; and then the boy’s arms were around his neck and he was on his hunkers before him, their faces close.
‘Daddy! Oh, Daddy! You’re back from abroad parts. Oh, Daddy!’ The arms were tight around his neck, the cheek was pressed tight against his; then the fingers were tracing the scar that ran from near the lobe of his ear to the bottom of his chin. ‘You’ve scratched yourself, Daddy.’
‘Yes, son. Yes.’ He could hardly make out the child’s face now. He stood up and gazed up the drive. She hadn’t moved, not a step. He stooped sideways now and pressed the parcel into the boy’s arms, saying, ‘For your birthday.’
‘Oh, Daddy! Oh, thank you! Thank you. Mummy!’ The boy turned and seemed surprised to see his mother was still standing where he had left her. For a moment, the bright smile disappeared from his face; then, grabbing his father’s hand, he pulled him slowly towards her. ‘Look! Mummy, a present from Daddy.’
Suddenly, they were standing but an arm’s length from each other. The child to the side of them looked first at one face then the other. Then he seemed to throw his body round, and now he was walking, not running, towards the yard, calling, ‘Mr Mac! Mr Mac! Daddy’s home.’
‘Hello, Nyrene.’ Riley’s voice was scarcely above a whisper. He had wanted to say ‘dear’, but had thought better of it. When she did not respond, but simply stared at him, he added hesitantly, ‘I…I wanted to see him and give him something for his birthday.’
‘You had no need to make the journey; you could have sent it.’ Her voice was cool.
But now his came back harshly and snapped, ‘I…I couldn’t have posted it; I wanted to see him. That’s my due if nothing else. You…you can’t stop me seeing him.’
‘In the future a time can be arranged.’ The words caused him to jerk round from her until his back was almost turned towards her, where he stood silent for a moment before turning to her again, muttering, ‘Oh, Nyrene, if I live to be a hundred I shall never forgive myself for what I’ve done to you. Yet I must say, it had nothing like the importance you have put on it. But I’m not going to blame anyone but myself; I tried to explain to you in my letters. Couldn’t you understand?’
‘I never read your letters.’
His eyes widened, his head jerked, his lips fell apart, and then, his voice full of disbelief, he said, ‘You didn’t?’
‘Yes, I do mean I didn’t read them. Of the five you sent, one was shredded, the rest were burnt. Perhaps this will now convince you of the extent of my feelings about the matter. I withheld instigating divorce proceedings because of a plea from Fred, but now that the person in question is married they can be taken up at any time; and then you’ll be free to carry on with your life as I will with mine.’
He stared at her.
‘I don’t want any life away from you, Nyrene, and in your heart you know that, and in my own defence I will say just this: what I did is happening every day between thousands of couples, but it doesn’t break up their lives irrevocably. If you had deigned to read my letters—at least the first one—you would have understood that what happened had nothing to do with love, a love such as we had for each other, and that there wasn’t a minute of my day, any day, that you weren’t in my mind, and that I didn’t long for you.’ He paused and, his voice dropping to a quivering whisper, he ended, ‘And still do. Oh, and still do.’
For a moment he imagined he saw a softening in her face: her eyelids blinked, her tongue moved over her lips as if searching for saliva which it must have been doing because when she spoke her voice was hoarse: ‘What’s done’s done, Peter,’ she pronounced, as a judge might a sentence. ‘You can’t erase the past. The greater the intensity of it the greater the break. All I want now is peace of mind, and that I could never have with you. The knowledge of life garnered during those extra twenty years told me so at the very beginning; but I wouldn’t listen, so I’ve had to pay for my deafness.’
He stared into her now stiff face. He had never in his life felt really young, not gauche young, but at this moment he was being made to feel so for he was being confronted by a middle-aged woman. Her skin was still unlined, her figure was still slim, her hair showed no grey, yet the eyes had aged. She was middle-aged. He had noticed this, particularly with women: they could be in their sixties and their figure could look spruce, their hair could be dyed to a natural tint, the face could hardly show a line, yet it was in the eyes that age was written. Never before had he looked upon Nyrene as a woman approaching fifty, which was definitely middle-aged, but the woman now standing before him seemed to be set in her years, and he realised that she was acting no part now, she was being herself, her true self. All she wanted, she had said, was peace of mind. She was talking like age, age beyond her own age. In his opinion, you didn’t desire peace of mind until you recognised that death was imminent.
The well-remembered thick Scottish brogue, raised high now in excitement, broke the spell that was binding their glances, and Hamish’s voice came at them, crying, ‘Oh, Mr Peter, sir! Oh, am I glad to see you! Oh, this is a nice surprise!’
The tall Scot now grabbed Peter’s hand and was wagging it vigorously as he continued to express his pleasure: ‘Oh, it really is good to see you, Mr Peter, sir! And you remembered the linty’s birthday. Well, well!’
When he could get a word in, Riley said, ‘How are you, Hamish?’
‘Me? I’m as fit as a fiddle, Mr Peter, sir. Now that I’ve got a wee wifey to knock about, my life is full.’ His laugh was high, and it brought a smile to Riley’s face; but there was no laughter in him, for he was now watching her walk quickly up the drive towards the yard.
Hamish too turned and looked after her, then turning back to Riley, he said, ‘Come along, sir. Come along. And we’ll have a cup of tea.’
‘No, thank you, Hamish. I’d…I’d better be—’
The Scot now bawled at him: ‘You’re not going on your way, if that’s what you were about to say, before you have a drink. And there’s the child; look at him, dancing along with his mother now. He misses you. He’s missed you more than some people would notice.’ Hamish’s head was bobbing now, his face straight. ‘That child knows more than he gives away; he knows fine well things are not right.’
‘I’ll go into the barn, Hamish.’
‘Oh, Mr Peter, sir; come into your own kitchen.’
Riley’s voice was low now as he said, ‘It’s no longer my kitchen, Hamish, and you know it, so if you don’t mind I’ll have a cup of something in the barn. I’m sure Mary’ll bring it across.’
Mary brought across a tray of tea and scones, and long before she neared him she was exclaiming, ‘Oh, Mr Peter! Well, it has come to something, hasn’t it? Dear, dear, dear!’ She put the tray noisily down by his side; then taking one of his hands in hers, she patted it, saying, ‘Oh, ’tis good to see you again. Oh, why has this come about? You know something?’ She leant her head towards him. ‘My heart’s broken for you both. She’s lost, she is. All this business of drama and dancing and that big fellow’s’—she thumbed over her shoulder to where Hamish was now coming up the room—‘allotment or market garden business, whatever he calls it, is just padding to suppress her feelings, like salve on a sore.’
