Two Loves Page 12

  ‘Stephen says you and Thomas will get married now,’ he said, as soon as she released him. ‘Will you?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because Thomas and I are good friends, but there’s a lot more than that to getting married.’

  ‘Love and all that stuff. Yes, I know.’ He was still looking severely at her. ‘Were you and Eliza good friends? Did you really like her?’

  What was all this about? Rosamund suddenly remembered the first time she’d met Eliza; a night before Christmas when Joss was still in nursery school. They’d called for Harry to take him to the carol concert. Stephen had answered the door and led them into their large, warm kitchen where Eliza and the boys were making mincepies. Eliza had looked relaxed and pretty that evening, in a bright red dress with a tea-cloth pinned round her waist. She’d smiled her welcome and poured Rosamund a sherry. Stephen and Martin were putting spoonfuls of mincemeat into some prepared cases, Eliza was making more pastry, while Harry was haphazardly stamping a star-shaped cutter onto the pastry already rolled out and shouting, ‘I’m a star, I’m a star, I’m a star,’ which, though not exactly scintillating, got a laugh each time. They’d seemed such a happy family. Rosamund shook away the tears from her eyes. She hadn’t thought of that evening for years – for years she’d steadfastly thought of Eliza as a dedicated career woman – why had that memory returned now to torment her?

  She’d always sensed that Eliza felt superior to the women who stayed at home, content to be wives and mothers, with perhaps poorly paid part-time jobs in the village; she’d never wondered whether she was just shy, waiting for others to make the first move.

  ‘Were you and Eliza good friends?’ Joss repeated.

  ‘No, not really. I hardly ever saw Eliza because she worked very long hours. It was always Thomas who came up here, wasn’t it, bringing Harry or fetching him. I liked Eliza well enough, but I can’t say we were close friends.’

  ‘Are you sorry she’s dead?’

  ‘Of course I am. Very sorry. What has Stephen been telling you?’

  ‘Nothing. Can I have my tea now? Granny Woodison says that young people don’t have proper food these days, only junk food. And junk food makes your teeth rot and your skin get pimply and after a while you don’t grow any more.’

  ‘So what shall we have tonight?’

  He gave the question a moment’s serious deliberation. ‘Junk food, I think. Oven chips and pot noodles.’

  He was reluctant to go to bed so Rosamund let him stay up until ten. ‘Come on, tell me what’s worrying you,’ she said at last. ‘Is it the thought of the funeral tomorrow? You and I don’t really have to go, you know. Thomas thought Harry would feel a little better if you were with him, but I think he’s going to feel pretty rotten whether you’re there or not.’

  ‘He wet the bed last night.’

  ‘Poor love. He must be taking it very badly.’

  ‘Stephen and Martin called him a sucky-baby.’

  Rosamund sighed. ‘They’re unhappy as well, you see, and it’s making them cruel. That happens sometimes.’

  He shot a quick glance at her. ‘Stephen and Martin say that Thomas gave Eliza pills to make her die.’

  ‘That’s a really wicked thing to say. And of course it’s totally, totally, untrue. You do believe me, don’t you? Joss?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thomas is terribly unhappy because she’s dead. You know what a kind man he is. Would Thomas hurt anyone?’

  ‘He said they’d been watching too much television.’

  ‘That’s probably true as well.’

  ‘I hate them. I hate them saying things like that.’

  ‘Everyone is afraid of death, you know. Even grown-ups. Would you like me to read you a very good poem about death?’

  ‘No, thank you. Tell me about when I was a little boy and I wouldn’t let you say that Peter Rabbit’s father was put in a pie.’

  ‘Well, when you were a little boy, I used to have to say that Peter Rabbit’s father had gone into Mr McGregor’s garden and that Mr McGregor had caught him and put him in a cage.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘And then Mrs McGregor had felt sorry for him and let him out again.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. And then he went hopping away down the garden. I was silly, wasn’t I? I think I’ll go to bed now.’

  ‘Good night, little rabbit.’

  ‘Good night, little mummy.’

  * * *

  Rosamund and Joss didn’t attend the funeral the next day, but spent the morning walking on the hills, talking about rabbits, the death of; lambs, the death of; fox-hunting, duck shooting, abattoirs, child abduction and murder. ‘For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground,’ Rosamund said at one point, ‘and tell sad stories of the death of kings.’

  ‘All right,’ Joss said, sitting down obligingly.

  Thomas rang during the evening, sounding tired but less miserable, or at least less desperate, than he had on Sunday.

  ‘Stephen and Martin are incredibly hostile,’ he said. ‘If they lived in a war-zone they’d be out with guns, shooting everyone within sight.’

  ‘How is Harry?’

  ‘He seemed a little better today. He saw the funeral of some Irish bloke on telly last night and noticed that some of the mourners were even younger than him. And strangely enough that seemed to give him some comfort. How’s Joss? I’m afraid he’s been dragged into it all, hasn’t he?’

  ‘He was very fond of Eliza. But I think a psychologist might say that he’s working through his grief.’

  * * *

  Dora had agreed to drive Erica Underhill to Paddington, but rang later that evening to say she’d managed to get a day off work and had decided to drive her all the way to the schoolhouse, hoping to arrive by about three.

  She sounded rather brusque and businesslike on the phone, which left Rosamund feeling uneasy.

  Dora had heard that morning from the Enquiry Agency. Caroline had reported that it had taken her only two days to trace Daniel Hawkins. At one of the hospitals where she’d been making routine enquiries, the receptionist had recognised his name; she’d managed to get his latest address and had made contact with him. ‘I hate to say this, but it was what I’d imagined all along,’ she said. ‘One minute positive and cooperative, the next, unable to do anything but plan how to get the next fix.’

  ‘Oh God,’ Dora said. ‘Do you mean…? Oh God. So what happened?’

  ‘I didn’t actually talk to him, Mrs Harcourt. He was lying, either asleep or unconscious, on the floor of the sitting room when I got there, but one of the others confirmed that he was Daniel Hawkins and that he was an artist and a musician as well. “A hell of a great guy,” was how he described him. Yes, I’ve met quite a lot of those in my time.’

  For once Dora was speechless.

  ‘It’s pretty terrible, isn’t it?’ Caroline continued. ‘Yes, I hate to give people bad news and this is the worst sort.’

  ‘At least he’s not dead.’

  ‘But he may not be too far off it either, if you want my opinion. And I know what I’m talking about because I had a cousin went that way. Lovely bloke he was, just twenty-five. If I were you – and I know it’s none of my business, I just had a job to do and I’ve done it – but if I were you, I wouldn’t pass on this news to your stepdaughter. Finding him will bring her nothing but grief, Mrs Harcourt. She looked a lovely woman and you told me she’d got a little lad, too. Isn’t it better for her to remember this guy as he used to be than get involved in this no-hope situation? If she tries to help him it will take all her money, all her energy, all her youth. And most probably all for nothing.’

  ‘Thank you. Thank you for your help,’ Dora said, since some response seemed called for.

  ‘You’re offended with me now, aren’t you? I spoke out of turn.’

  ‘No, no, I’m just stunned by the news. I think you’re a very kind and caring person. And I’ll send you the money
I owe you straight away.’

  ‘Thank you. And if you want to talk some more, or if your stepdaughter would like to contact me, I’ll be only too pleased. Here’s the address, Mrs Harcourt. There’s no telephone number. And if you do decide to tell her and she does decide to contact him, then the sooner the better.’

  * * *

  Dora left work immediately, offering no explanation or excuse. No one questioned her and she drove home in a daze, thanked God that Paul was at a rehearsal, then contacted the Drugs Helpline, who assured her that every case of heroin addiction was different, and that no case was hopeless.

  ‘I’ll have to tell Rosamund,’ Dora told herself. ‘I’ll just have to tell her. Oh my God, why was I the person who had to involve her in this mess?’

  * * *

  At three the next afternoon, Dora arrived alone at the schoolhouse.

  ‘But where’s Erica?’ Rosamund asked her, after they’d kissed.

  ‘I called for her, but she didn’t feel well enough to come. Oh, that isn’t true. Darling, I went to see her and explained that this was not a convenient time for her to visit you and she quite understood and sent you her love and sympathy.’

  Rosamund suddenly noticed how pale Dora was under her heavy make-up. ‘Dora, I don’t understand. What are you trying to tell me?’

  They went into the kitchen and Dora broke the news to her stepdaughter and sat with her while she struggled to accept it.

  ‘I don’t believe it. I simply can’t believe it.’

  ‘It’s terrible. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.’

  ‘But it was only a fortnight ago that I met him. Yes, he seemed thin and shabby, but perfectly well. He couldn’t have been a drug addict. I’d have noticed something.’

  ‘But darling, that’s why he didn’t meet you the next day. I’m sure he wanted to, but his mind wasn’t functioning – either because he’d had heroin or because he needed it.’

  ‘He’s on heroin?’

  ‘Yes. A known heroin addict.’

  ‘That’s why he was playing his violin in the Underground.’

  ‘Is that how you met him? You didn’t tell me that.’

  ‘I didn’t think it was important. He told me he didn’t have any money or even a place of his own any more, but I didn’t take much notice. I’ve never thought money was very important.’

  She thought of his bony face, his dark eyes, the way his smile made him look sad rather than happy; more than anything of the power he’d held over her when she was at art school. When she’d finally realised that he was going to leave without any further attempt at seeing her, it was as though she had nothing further to hope for. And what she’d done over the next years had been of no consequence.

  ‘That’s because you’ve always had money, darling.’

  ‘Just enough to live on. I don’t live extravagantly, you know that.’

  ‘Perhaps you should try to forget him. You only met again by chance. You don’t owe him anything.’

  ‘I know you don’t mean that, Dora, so I’ll forgive you.’

  ‘Oh Rosie, you think your love can save him, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ There was a moment’s silence. ‘I know it will be difficult,’ she said afterwards, ‘but I have to believe it.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  Rosamund sat for a few moments rubbing her eyelids and trying to relax her shoulders. ‘Well, I’m going to have to leave Joss with my mother again, take a bedsitting room near wherever Daniel lives, and try to get him to move in with me.’

  ‘You’re going to try and rescue him single-handed?’

  ‘No, I’ll take all the help I can get. But I’m going to rescue him, yes.’ She opened her eyes. ‘Would you like a sandwich?’

  ‘Do you have any whisky?’

  * * *

  Even with a large whisky – and then another – inside her, Dora couldn’t accept that Rosamund intended to plunge into a life so fraught with disappointment and pain.

  Her stepdaughter looked so young and beautiful, her hair bleached by the sun and her skin lightly tanned. She looked very like Paul, but whereas disillusion and cynicism showed in his eyes and the cut of his mouth, Rosamund seemed so blithe, so pure somehow, so vulnerable.

  Dora lay back on the sofa feeling old and bitter. ‘You know there’s a choice involved here, don’t you?’ she said, her voice harsh. ‘Between Daniel on the one hand, and the rest of your life, including Joss, on the other. If you decide on Daniel, it’ll mean you won’t be able to devote anything like the same amount of love and care to—’

  ‘I won’t have that sort of talk, Dora. I intend to bring Daniel back here as soon as I can and then we’ll all be happy together. At first people will have to understand that he’s a sick man, but that shouldn’t be too difficult, should it?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think perhaps it—’

  ‘Please be positive about it, Dora. You’re the one who’s always believed in me. You were the one who told me I was wise enough and mature enough to make the right decision about my future. Dora, don’t let me down. Say you’re happy for me.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  Rosamund’s voice changed. ‘Say you’re happy for me!’ she repeated, descending on her, putting a cushion over her face and tickling her. ‘Say you’re happy for me. Say it Dora, say it!’

  She took away the cushion, pulled Dora up to a sitting position and kissed her rather wildly, desperate for her approval.

  ‘I can’t,’ Dora said again, even more sadly. ‘Playing the violin in the Underground can’t be giving him anything like the money he needs, but if you turn up he’ll feel saved and he’ll bleed you dry.’

  ‘Why should he think I’ve got money? I haven’t. And if he thought I had, why didn’t he turn up the other week when he promised to?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I do know that if you get together, he’ll take every penny you’ve got. That’s probably why his American girlfriend left him. You said they’d been together for several years. Well, she probably couldn’t bear seeing him go from bad to worse, having to sell everything, unable even to go on painting. Rosamund, he’s now living in some sort of squat.’

  ‘Well, people do. I don’t suppose they want to, but they have to. What else can people do when they can’t afford anywhere to live; I can at least give him somewhere to stay and somewhere to work, can’t I – offer him a new start? I’m not saying we’ll get married or that we’ll be perfectly and utterly happy, but at least he can come here and share this studio.’

  ‘Oh yes, it could work if he was simply a down-and-out. If he’d just come out of prison, for instance – yes, I’d be worried, but I’d feel you had the right to try to rescue him. But heroin addiction is something completely different; it’s something no one except the person involved can do anything about. I’ve seen horrifying programmes on the television; families desperately trying to help but failing completely.’

  ‘I accept that I may fail completely,’ Rosamund said after a moment’s silence. ‘But I won’t accept that I can’t try.’

  Dora got up and helped herself to another whisky.

  * * *

  ‘Will you be all right with Granny and Brian for another week or so?’ Rosamund asked Joss when he got in. ‘You see, I have to go to London again.’

  ‘Oh, not again.’

  ‘But I’ll be back very soon.’

  ‘Will you be back for my birthday?’

  ‘Definitely. With a very good present. Not a baby brother because you know as well as I do how much time that takes. But something very unusual and exciting. And I’ll ring you every night. OK?’

  ‘OK. Can I go now? Harry’s got a new computer game.’

  * * *

  ‘What about Erica’s book?’ Dora asked later that night. ‘I know you can’t give it much thought at the moment, but I promised to let her know how you felt about it.’

  Rosamund showed her the letter she’d received from Molly’s solicitor, gettin
g angry about it all over again. ‘I’m certainly not going to let Molly frighten her out of publishing the book. When I talked to Erica a couple of days ago, I suggested that we should write it together, but now I’m obviously not going to have any time.’

  ‘You own the copyright of all her poems?’

  ‘They’re technically mine, but they’re really hers, aren’t they, whatever anyone says. All the same I’m not against asking for a share of the money because I’m going to need it. And as soon as possible too. Perhaps Ingrid can contact Ben to get him onto it again. I can’t say I liked Ben, but I don’t suppose that’s relevant.’

  ‘Have you any idea what sort of money is involved?’

  ‘Not the slightest. But Ingrid felt that even Ben’s share was going to be quite considerable, otherwise he wouldn’t have been so surly about losing the job. In fact, he didn’t lose it, but backed out when he thought the poems couldn’t be included in the book, which meant it wouldn’t make the sort of money he was after.’

  ‘If he backed out, then surely he forfeits any rights he had in the project?’

  ‘I suppose so. Yes … Perhaps Ingrid would like to take it over. She’s a journalist as well, though she says she’s not in the same class as he is.’

  ‘But if he’s dumped her and gone off in a huff, she’d find it rather pleasing, wouldn’t she, to be offered his job? And the money he was so loath to lose?’

  ‘Dora, you’ve got a wicked gleam in your eye.’

  ‘So have you, darling.’

  * * *

  ‘I’d better phone Paul,’ Dora said, as they were getting ready for bed.

  ‘What will you tell him?’ Rosamund asked.

  ‘Not very much. He doesn’t care to be informed of the sad trivia of everyday life.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dora and Rosamund arrived in Fulham soon after eleven the next day. After a quick coffee Dora went back to work, and soon afterwards Rosamund took a tube to Seven Sisters where Daniel lived. She found the area, even the actual street, but decided to get herself a bedsitting room – now called a studio flat – before doing anything else. Dora had told her that she’d need a month’s rental and a roughly equal sum for a bond against damage or non-payment, so she’d already transferred all her savings into her current account so as to be able to meet the incredibly large sums her stepmother had mentioned.