No Talking after Lights (29 page)

The Deputy Head, who rarely spoke in Prayers, rose awkwardly to her feet and said a few stilted words. Doing so well … being so brave … unfortunately no visits from friends possible yet … all sent cheerful messages: chins up, and so on. Then the Head resumed.

‘They are looked after devotedly by dedicated doctors and nurses, and everything possible is being done for them. Next, I want to quash the rumours about a new case once and for all. Hermione Mailing-Smith has
not
developed polio. Is that quite clear? Good. Sadly, however, I have to tell you that I learned only just now that our gardener, Mr Waterman,
has
been taken ill. As we wait for the diagnosis to be confirmed one way or the other we will hold him in our prayers, as we do all those who are sick. His helper, the under-gardener, will not be returning to work in the school grounds.

‘And now finally for some better news … at any rate for some of you. Here are the first examination results. Upper Fourth, History

I don't care, Constance said to herself; it doesn't make any difference what I get. Miss Parry was the last straw. I dreamed about her last night. She'll haunt me unless I get away. It's no good my telling Mummy and Daddy what she said because they'd never believe me. They always think grown-ups are in the right. How am I going to get the money for my train fares? What if I were to sell my watch? When Daddy gave it to me at Christmas Mummy whispered that he had paid five guineas for it, which is an awful lot.

Suppose I go to a jeweller's and get three pounds, might even be more, then that'd be more than enough and … Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her name.

‘First, Constance King with 86 per cent. Second …'

‘What was that?' she whispered to her neighbour.

‘English, you clot. You came top.'

After lunch, while the girls lay resting on their beds, Sylvia and Diana sat opposite one another marking examination papers. Their red pens slashed through the pages, tick, tick, cross, an exclamation mark in the margin, and at the end, a scribbled figure.

‘Your coffee'll get cold,' said Diana after a while.

‘Blast the coffee. I'm hot enough as it is. And blast this weather. I wish it would rain.'

‘It's bound to soon. Does your head ache?'

‘Head, feet, back - everything bloody aches. This place gets me down.'

‘Have you heard any … news?'

‘How could I? You can hardly expect me to go to the sick-room and inquire after her?'

‘I thought perhaps … Would you like me to?'

‘Use your loaf, Diana.
No
. She hasn't got polio. The
fact is, she's a hysterical, frustrated little virgin. Shut up about it, will you?'

They worked on in silence after that.

In the study, Henrietta Birmingham picked up the telephone and dialled. She sat tensely as it rang ten times, eleven … and was answered.

‘Dr Duncan? I hope I haven't disturbed you? It's Mrs Birmingham speaking … No, it isn't about the girls, although of course they are always on my mind. I am worried about my husband. I think his condition has worsened in the two weeks since you last visited him … The pain-killers seem fairly effective. Even so, I feel he should now be under constant medical supervision. I am afraid … Dr Duncan, I think my husband is dying … That would be most kind. At about four o'clock? I will be at the Lodge myself. I am most anxious that he should not be alarmed unnecessarily. I believe he has no idea how ill he is. Perhaps you could find some excuse for visiting? Thank you, doctor. Goodbye.'

The pool sparkled with crisp, cold sheets of water. Lithe young bodies sliced into its turquoise depths, angled like scissors through cellophane. Mrs Whitby was taking the Lower Fourth for a diving lesson. One after another they balanced on the frayed rush-matting of the diving-board, toes curled over the end, then breathed in, swung their arms wide like dragonflies, bounced once or twice to gain momentum and flew spreadeagled through the sunny air before plunging into the water.

‘Good!' called Mrs Whitby. ‘Next.'

Constance walked along the board. Without her glasses everything was blurred. Sunlight flickered on the surface of the water.

‘Ready? Now, arms wide, don't look down, two nice high jumps and … go!'

For a split second her back arched, her arms formed a wide crescent, her toes pointed and she sped towards the sun. Then she closed her arms in a long straight line and entered the water with scarcely a splash. She felt her tummy graze the bottom of the pool and held her line until she broke the surface smiling in triumph.

‘Good, Constance! Very well done! That was a beauty.'

She gripped the rail beside the steps and climbed out, thinking, I did it! I did a swallow! Already the next body was cleaving the air as she sat down on the warm stones of the wall. The sensation of flight still vibrated through her body. I
did
it!

The changing-rooms were full of shivering girls, their teeth chattering after cold showers as they towelled themselves dry. Lank swim-suits dripped from the clothes line, deflated swimming-caps hung suspended by rubber straps. The slim, long-legged girls paraded themselves, flinging their towels on to the hooks and then reaching upwards to retrieve their clothes, talking over their shoulders as though unconscious of their nakedness. Others, ungainly and thick-bodied with rolls of flesh around their hips and heavy arms mottled with cold, clung for as long as possible to the protection of their damp towels, sheltering inside them as they tried awkwardly to fasten their bras and climb into their underpants.

‘You were brilliant, Gogs! You were best out of everyone,' said Rachel. ‘I did a frightful belly-flop. Look!' and she drew her towel aside to show the dark-red mark where she had hit the water hard and flat.

‘Poor you, jolly bad luck,' said Constance; but her mind was on the time. She had to feed the animals, for with neither of the gardeners around, who would do it?

‘Hey, Rachel, hurry up and get dressed and come up to Pets with me. Nobody's giving them any food or
water and they must be dying of thirst.'

Her feet were clammy and she had to drag her socks on, noticing the pale grey ovals left on the white cotton by the fan-shaped pattern cut out of the front of her sandals. She fumbled with the buckles, scrubbed at her damp hair, dragged a comb through it, and together they ran up the drive, swerving to make way for Old Ma B's car.

The last period of the day was revision. Constance held a ruler against the line of irregular French verbs in her exercise book, muttering them under her breath and then revealing whether she'd got them right. But it was hard to concentrate, when her mind was preoccupied with the practical problems of getting to King's Lynn.

Did she really want to run away? The swimming had been so much fun, and people were starting to be nicer to her. We do the thinking for you, Daddy always said; and perhaps he was right. She was top of the form in two out of her first three exams - not maths, of course, but then she hadn't finished the paper.

No. It was too late to have second thoughts. She was committed now. Stick to your guns, Daddy always said; make your mind up to do something and then see it through. But he also said, if a thing's worth doing, it's worth doing well. She had done well - in exams, at any rate - but she still wasn't happy, surely? The idea of selling the watch frightened her most. Everything would be easy once she'd managed that, but her parents would be furious when they found out she'd sold her precious watch, on top of losing her pen. Best not to think about it. Back to the verbs:
aller … allant… allé; asseoir … asseyant… assis; avoir … ayant… eu; boire … boyant
… bu - no!
buvant
. The revision period was ending, everyone's concentration dissolving into raucous shouts.

‘Quiz!' someone shouted, holding aloft a French text book, but there were no shouts of ‘Ego!'

As Constance entered the Covered Way, head down and deep in thought, she nearly bumped into Miss Valentine.

‘Hold on!' she said. ‘Hold on, look where you're going. Don't frown like that - the wind might change and then you'll get stuck. Mrs Whitby told me after games today that you showed real promise as a diver. Good girl. And your examination results have been very good so far.' Then she looked more closely into Constance's face. ‘My dear, are you all right? You
do
look anxious. Are you quite sure you feel well?'

‘I'm fine,' muttered Constance, and knew she had been given a chance and that she had thrown it away.

The following afternoon was cloudless and scorching, like all the days before it. Mrs Birmingham was alone in the study. A plate with two sugar-dusted Nice biscuits stood on the desk and beside it a cup of tea. They were untouched. The school was very quiet. Most of the girls were sitting exams. For once, there was no sound from the swimming-pool.

Dr Duncan had been breezy and casual. ‘Just come to give you the once-over,' he'd said to Lionel. ‘Standard procedure. Can't have you catching polio as well!'

Had Lionel believed him? His eyes, dull and heavy, had looked at her without fear or questions.

‘I'll be with you in half a tick, Mrs Birmingham. This won't take long,' and she had left the room. Ten minutes later he had joined her downstairs.

‘Heart's weak; his lungs are very congested; and the kidneys are dicky, too. He's got no strength to fight. His circulation's sluggish because of all the time he spends in bed. He ought to move about, even for ten minutes twice a day. There's a risk of thrombosis otherwise. If you can't get him on to his feet, then I should take him
into St Patrick's, have him under observation.'

‘He'd hate it,' she had said. ‘If he must, I suppose, but… will it make any difference?'

Dr Duncan had looked at her in silence.

‘No,' he said eventually.

‘Then he will stay here. Term ends soon. Meanwhile, I'll employ a nurse. Our son will be here in two or three weeks' time. Can he, do you think … will he last that long?'

‘Impossible to say. Given something like that to look forward to, yes, perhaps. Here' - he tore a prescription off the pad - ‘get him these. They'll deal with the pain in his kidneys. No chance of persuading him not to smoke, I suppose?'

Henrietta smiled. ‘I'm afraid not. I've been trying for years,' she said.

An hour later, from the junior common-room below the study window the sound of ‘Stranger in Paradise' drifted up to her. ‘All lost in a wonderland/Of all that I've hungered for,' the deep voice crooned. Strings swooped in tremulous unison. Henrietta gazed blankly ahead at the door of the study. Finally she reached into the drawer of her desk for a pad of airmail paper, unscrewed her pen and wrote:

My darling boy,

Thank you for your letter and the good news of your impending arrival. I have missed you very much. The sooner you can be here the better. Is there any chance of moving your flight forward by a week? Because, James, I have to tell you the truth: your father is much worse. He is very ill indeed. The doctor came to see him again this afternoon, at my request, and warned me he might not last the month. You must see him soon. Mercifully, Father does not know how ill he is. We
have had a heat-wave for several weeks now, and he attributes his lassitude and lack of appetite to the effects of that. His breathing is dreadfully hard, and he coughs painfully. I am sorry, my darling, to bring such fearful news, but I thought it best to prepare you.

We shall look forward to meeting this young woman, Juniper (what is her surname, by the way? I don't think you've mentioned it, or perhaps I have forgotten), but in the circumstances it might be better if you could make your first visit to us alone. Please tell her she is welcome after that. I am sure she will understand.

James, dear Jamie, I feel it is all in the hands of God now. This has been a very trying term, but I won't burden you with any more of my worries. I look forward to seeing you more than I can say.

She lifted her tea-cup and drank without noticing that the tea had gone cold. She heard the heavy wooden front door creak open - Peggy must be back -and at the same moment there was a timid knock at the study door.

‘Who is it?' she called, irritable at the interruption.

Constance King entered.

‘Not now, dear,' said Mrs Birmingham. ‘Not unless it's something really important. I'm busy just now. Come back after Prayers tomorrow.'

Constance stood back to allow Miss Roberts to enter, then closed the door silently behind her and walked away.

‘Peggy, tell me, what news?'

‘Good news. Katherine Wilson is going to be
all right.
'

‘Thank the Lord for that. So the doctor thinks they're through the worst?'

The worst is over. Except that poor Waterman is very ill. He, I fear, may be the one to be paralysed.'

‘We can look after him. We will. He can live in the cottage, he and his wife and that howling dog of theirs. Poor Waterman. But, oh Peggy, thank heaven the girls are going to be all right!'

In the midst of life we are in death. But at least the young will live. Nothing is worse than the death of a fine, vigorous young body.

It was late in the evening. Henrietta had gone home, but had not yet been able to face Lionel. She sat downstairs in the Lodge's darkened drawing-room, holding a photograph of her brother Jamie taken just before he had left for the front. The photograph in its silver frame had stood on her piano for so long that it had become invisible. It must be years since she had looked at it. She switched on the standard-lamp beside her chair and scrutinized his square young face, still very much the face of a boy. How her James resembled him! She had never seen it so clearly before. She bent the prongs at the back of the frame to take it out and look at it more closely. Behind it was another picture, long-forgotten: Jamie and Roly, spanking smart in their brand-new uniforms, posed side-by-side.