Part of the Furniture (23 page)

‘I wonder whether he is aware?’ Priscilla said to Mosley as she let her car freewheel down the hill to save petrol. ‘Thank heavens I have you to talk to,’ she said to the dog. ‘What a mercy the Almighty knew what he was up to when he made animals dumb.’

‘C
OMFORTABLE?’

‘Yes.’

Anthony and Hugh stood looking down at Juno where she lay sleepy in the late afternoon sun. ‘Did we wake you?’ Their smiles were affectionate.

‘I was counting butterflies on the buddleias. Peacocks and Red Admirals. Have they finished with the threshing?’

‘Yes.’

‘I must have woken when the machine stopped; the noise lulled me to sleep. Did you enjoy yourselves?’

Anthony said, ‘The drama’s enjoyable. Golden grain pouring into sacks, muscly sunburned workmen stripped to the waist—I like those heavy belts they wear to hold up their trousers—the air full of chaff; there’s an earthy satisfaction.’

‘I got chaff in my eye, it hurt like hell.’ Hugh sat by Juno on the grass. ‘But it washed out. I have excellent tear-ducts. Yes,’ he said, ‘it was a job well done.’

‘And tomorrow back to London?’ Would she miss them?

‘Poor us,’ Hugh sighed. ‘That’s the shape of things, and it’s so lovely here, but yes, we must go.’

‘And your job still to do.’ Anthony found it impossible to avert his eyes. Juno’s arms and legs were long and slim, her neck fragile but her belly was outrageous, enormous, bulging, vast. ‘Are you really comfortable?’ he questioned as he folded his legs and subsided on the grass.

‘I have a cushion under my head and another under my knees, so yes, I am comfortable, at the moment, prone.’

‘But otherwise? Walking about?’ Anthony was interested. How did she keep her balance? She looked grotesque. All that weight.

‘Can’t say I am. The question of balance is peculiar but it’s not for ever, not like a fat man carrying a big stomach, paying in perpetuity for overeating and drinking.’

Hugh said, ‘Gross, disgusting. Extremely unfetching.’

‘And you are after all only paying for your pleasure,’ said Anthony comfortingly.

Juno said, ‘Is that what it was?’ Her voice was almost inaudible. ‘So that was pleasure.’

‘Juno!’ they exclaimed in distress. ‘We had assumed—we imagined—well, we thought you had had a wonderful time—a marvellous experience—we certainly thought,’ their voices were earnest, ‘of pleasure of a subliminal sexual nature, that kind of pleasure.’

Juno said, ‘I don’t know anything about that, but then I know so little about anything. I have never learned.’

‘Juno!’ they said. ‘You disappoint us. Are you sure? Not pulling our legs?’

‘Sure of what?’

‘That there was no pleasure?’ They were frowning now, aghast, disappointed.

‘I can’t honestly say that there was.’ Juno’s tone was flat.

‘How awful.’ Hugh was shocked.

‘You will simply have to learn.’ Anthony was censorious.

‘Who from?’ Juno grinned. ‘From whom?’ she teased. Neither would volunteer.

‘Robert, of course! Robert will know, Robert would teach you!’ The young men collapsed into helpless laughter. ‘For we can’t, sweetie, we belong to another persuasion, as you must be aware.’

Juno, laughing too, said, ‘I was too discreet to think about it, though the idea had occurred. Why suggest Robert?’

‘Why?’ cried Hugh. ‘Silly girl, he is the most dishy man there has ever been. For one, you should hear Priscilla on the subject. She is the neighbourhood expert on Robert in love.’

Anthony said, ‘Be accurate, Hugh, you must have noted that she swears he has never been
in love
since Emma. Lover, maybe, bed, yes, great booster for a girl’s morale, a great cheerer-upper, but never
in love,
absolutely not.’

‘But she and he—’

‘Yes, yes, but she knows and he knows it was to repair the old ego when her husband had strayed—’

‘And the husband?’

‘Oh, I expect he knew, they were all friends.’

Juno said, ‘Wow.’

Anthony said, ‘I expect our Juno thinks Robert is too old, or she is fixated on Evelyn.’

‘No!’ Juno protested. ‘Robert appears much younger than Evelyn did.’

‘And he is alive, which Evelyn is not,’ said Hugh, dissolving into irrepressible giggles. ‘Oh, we shouldn’t laugh,’ he yelped as Juno and Anthony, infected, joined in. ‘Oh, Juno, look, your baby is laughing too, or it’s protesting at the disturbance. It’s dancing a tango in there. Isn’t that dreadfully uncomfortable?’ He stopped laughing and watched Juno’s heaving stomach with fascination.

Juno said, ‘Sometimes it is. Perhaps it’s letting me know it wants to come out.’

Anthony said, ‘I bet that’s it. Now that is something you are going to learn, sweet girl; it’s called the mystery of birth. It won’t be long now, will it? You must promise to tell us all about it, every detail, when it’s over.’

Juno said, ‘I certainly will not,’ and again the three of them laughed as they lay on the grass on an Indian summer afternoon with the warm sun slanting down on their youth and high spirits, the air still full of bees, butterflies sipping the buddleia.

‘Oh!’ Juno wiped her eyes. ‘You silly fools, you make me laugh, you make me happy,’ and she was happy lying on her back on the cool grass with cushions under her head and knees, the unknown character dancing in her womb, Jessie coming out of the house to see what was going on, licking her ear, making a draught with her tail. She was happy hearing Robert calling, ‘Ann asks whether you lot are going to loll there all evening or whether you want some supper?’

Juno shouted, ‘Tell her we are coming,’ and began to struggle up onto her feet.

Anthony, helping her, whispered, ‘Promise you will ask Robert about sexual pleasure, promise us that.’

And Juno said she would think about it, laughing, for she was happy in the way that is remembered in old age for no discernible reason.

At some moment during that golden afternoon, in another part of the country where Jonty and Francis in their final week of training were practising with live ammunition, some of it exploded, blinding Francis and blowing him off his feet, so that in spite of massive injections of morphine he died in agony hours later, leaving Jonty to travel alone into the actuality of war.

H
AVING REPORTED COPPLESTONE’S FAULTY
telephone from the Post Office, Robert hurried back to his car. The village was empty.

People were staying indoors; the storm was growing more violent with a rising wind and black rain clouds sweeping in from the west. As he drove out of the village the rain came in sheets and even between high hedges gusts of wind made the car swerve. The autumn gale had come early while the trees were still in leaf, roaring in from the Western Approaches, sweeping hungrily inland, ripping up the valley, crashing through resistant branches, whipping twigs and leaves onto the road and to clog his windscreen; twice he was forced to stop and clear the detritus by hand, his fingers clumsy and cold. He cursed the weather as he leaned against the wind, catching the eye of his dog on the back seat, soothing her as he got back into the car. ‘It’s all right, I’ll have us home in no time.’ He drove on between hedges chiselled by the wind to lean permanently east, but now they flicked back and forth, demented. He was reminded of his mother brushing his hair when he was a child, ‘Your hair is thick as a hedge and more unruly.’ A broken branch blocked the road; he stopped to drag it to one side, then squeezed past, barely clearing the ditch.

In the valley before the long climb up to the moor the wind was quieter; he made good progress and began to whistle. Normally he enjoyed a storm, found the roar of the wind exhilarating, loved the sound of rain, but today he was anxious. Juno was near her time and there was no telephone if he needed to send for the doctor. Too, the doctor might be unwilling to come in this weather and the drive to the Cottage Hospital was a long one.

At the foot of the hill a meagre little stream had been transformed into a raging torrent which came up to his hubcaps. He drove through in low gear and was congratulating himself when, fifty yards down the road, an ancient beech keeled over suddenly to crash across the lane, blocking his way. Feeling shaken, he stopped and got out. There was no way round; tangled branches, a great trunk and pathetic upturned roots made progress impossible. Robert cursed. The road would be blocked for days. A few seconds more and he might have been killed. With this sobering thought he tightened the scarf round his neck where rain trickled in and prepared to walk. Calling his dog, he pushed and scrambled past the fallen tree and then, leaning into the wind, began the climb up to Copplestone. As he climbed he mourned the tree, remembering its tender leaves in spring, the carpet of bluebells, the harvest of beechmast in autumn.

When he reached the farm he pushed the door open and shouted for Bert, but got no answer. There was no fire in the grate, no sign of Nipper or his pup; the only occupant of the house was a cat which hissed and spat at Jessie. Grateful to escape the elements for a moment, he stood and listened, hearing nothing but the wind. All the doors round the yard were firmly shut, cattle, pigs and horses under shelter. He turned back into the gale with Jessie following.

The moor gate, blown off its hinges, lay on its side; he left it, the effort of righting it too great. It took all his strength to fight his way up the last bit of hill, cross the yard, open the front door and stand panting, adjusting to the quiet after the turbulence outside. Relieved and exhausted, he sat to pull off his boots, watch Jessie vigorously shake, spray water from her coat, roll. He breathed in, filling his lungs with the warm air, sniffed wood smoke, felt fatigue seep into his bones, looked forward to his armchair and a stiff drink. Then the silence was broken by a voice screaming, ‘Ouch, oh,
oh bugger. Aah
!’ and he took the stairs three at a time.

Ann said, ‘Thank goodness you are back. Bert and Lily are boiling water in case you didn’t—we should go at once, shouldn’t waste time.’

Robert said, ‘The road is blocked. I walked, there is no getting out, no car.’

‘And the telephone?’ Ann snapped.

‘Lines down all over the place, they say we will be cut off for days. They said—’

‘There’s a war on,’ Juno gasped. ‘Oh, Robert.’

Robert took her hands.

‘And the doctor,’ Ann sounded almost pleased, ‘is old, is lame and won’t be able to get here. We will manage.’

Juno shouted,
‘Oh! Ah! Oh bugger!’
gripping Robert’s hands. ‘Sorry to yell,’ she said.

Robert said, ‘Yell as loud as you please, it’s supposed to help.’

Juno shouted, ‘Oh God!’

Robert said, ‘Sorry, darling, but you’ll have to make do with us.’

Juno laughed at his slip of the tongue and said, ‘You are sopping wet. I am so glad you are back.’

Robert said, ‘How far have we got?’

‘I am walking about, it seems to help. It comes in waves then there’s a gap. I want to get in the bath but Ann won’t let me.’

Ann said, ‘An idiotic idea.’

Robert said, ‘You’re wrong, it should help. The water will support her and the warmth comfort. Go and run it.’

Ann said, ‘Some people!’, but went to run the bath.

Juno pleaded, ‘Make it deep, please.’ Gripping Robert’s hands, she cried, ‘
Oh, oh, whoops,
oh gosh, Robert, this does hurt,
ouch, oh,
how right you were when you told me it hurts.’ She was wearing a pyjama top he recognized as Evelyn’s.

‘Let’s get you into the bath. Can you walk?’

‘Of course I can, but help me climb in. I feel so clumsy and huge.’

Robert helped her into the water. ‘How’s that?’

‘Oh, lovely. Oh.’ She rested in the bath. ‘Don’t go away.’

‘How’s the pain?’

‘Gone for the moment. Robert, those two, Anthony and Hugh, said I’d pay for my pleasure. This must be it. I told them I’d had none—’

‘What?’ What was she talking about?

‘No pleasure, of course. Don’t be stupid, that’s my prerogative—
Oh, ouch,
off we go again.’ She gripped the sides of the bath.
‘Oh, what a mess!’

Robert said, ‘Don’t fight it, don’t resist. Try and push the little bugger out when the pain comes. That’s what cows and sheep do.’

‘And Eleanor?’

‘Yes, Eleanor’s a great pusher.’

‘Okay, I’ll push.’ Juno relaxed. ‘They said, those two jokers, that you could teach me about pleasure.’

‘Did they indeed?’

‘Yes. So will you?’

‘What?’

‘Teach me.’

‘This is hardly the moment to discuss making love.’

‘It seems a very good moment to me,’ Juno shouted.
‘Oh,’
she yelled, ‘we are off again.’

‘Then push, for God’s sake.’

‘And will you?’

‘
All right,
but for God’s sake concentrate, let’s get on with this job.’

‘I’ll hold you to that! Oh gosh, I’m getting the hang of it, aren’t I, pushing?’

‘You are doing very well.’

‘And to think Eleanor’s litter was fourteen!’ Juno leaned back to rest. ‘Stay near, don’t go away. Oh, Ann wants you—’

‘Sir, you’ll catch pneumonia, get out of those wet clothes.’ Ann held an armful of dry clothes.

‘I’m all right, don’t fuss.’

‘Look sharp about it, sir, get into these dry things.’

‘Do what she tells you, Robert.
Oh, ouch, oh!
Go on, Robert, don’t be so modest, I won’t look.’ She lay back in the water, breathing hard. ‘This is lovely, but do get changed.’

Obediently Robert got out of his wet clothes, put on dry trousers and pulled the sweater over his head.

‘How long is this likely to go on?’ She looked up.

He was touched by her trust. ‘Not long. Let me rub your back, it’s supposed to help.’ He pressed his fingers down her spine, feeling the knobs. Her forehead was beaded with sweat.

‘Lovely, thanks. How are the dry clothes?’

‘Fine.’ Oh God, he found himself praying.

‘Do you do this to Eleanor?’

‘She manages on her own.’

‘I bit Ann. I am awfully sorry, Ann—’

Ann said, ‘That’s all right, you could do it again if it helps.’ Ann was wonderfully calm.