So Long At the Fair (46 page)

‘Would you like some water? Anything?’

‘No, I told you: I shall be all right.’
How can I be like this
? she had asked herself, but the question had brought no answers. Or at least none that she had cared to dwell upon.

Later, just before she had fallen asleep again, with her back to Louis in the bed, she had been aware of his breathing. He was not sleeping, she was sure. His breathing was not that of a sleeping man.

She did not know what to do. Now gazing at her reflection in the glass, she felt almost as if she were seeing the face of a stranger. She looked different too. The young girl she had known had long gone, and gone for ever. She was twenty-seven now. And she could see in her face the passage of those twenty-seven years. She was still good-looking, but studying herself closely she could see the signs and scars of tensions and dissatisfaction. It was there in her eyes, in the set of her mouth.

And sometimes, at moments such as this, she would find herself wondering at her situation, pondering on her feelings of dissatisfaction. For she had so much; so much more than she had ever dreamed of having. How different was her life from those of her brother and sisters. As things were they could never hope to have the comforts that she now took for granted. She had none of the financial concerns that touched their lives, and which had touched the lives of her parents. Not for her a daily struggle to make ends meet, to work hard all day with so little monetary reward. She knew that in the eyes of Eddie, Lizzie and Iris she had everything. Yet at the same time, on occasion she viewed their comparatively poorer circumstances with something approaching envy; Eddie and Violet were extremely happy, she knew – as were Lizzie and her Adam. As for Iris and her young man, she knew that they were well suited and planned to marry before long. Such comparisons did little good in the long run, however, she was well aware; considerations of others’ lack of ease and comfort could not for one moment take away her unhappiness with her own situation. And the realization simply made her ask herself again and again, why? Why?

From the foot of the stairs Louis’s voice came calling up, breaking into her thoughts: ‘Abbie, we must go. I did tell you that I mustn’t be late.’

‘I’m coming.’ She pushed one last pin into place, gave her hair a final pat and reached for her hat.

A few minutes later Louis was helping her into the carriage. As they drove away she looked back and saw Maria and Oliver at the nursery window. She waved to them and they waved back.

The mid-January day was crisp and cold. The pony’s hooves rang on the hard road while his breath vapoured in little clouds above his rhythmically jogging head. Abbie kept her eyes on the road ahead as they drove, as did Louis, with only an occasional brief remark disturbing their silence. Reaching Flaxdown, Louis pulled the carriage to a halt near the entrance to Green Lane and helped Abbie down. ‘Shall I call for you when I’m through?’ he asked.

‘No, I don’t want to be too late so I’ll get a cab. You go on home when you’re finished.’

As she turned away Louis flapped the reins and the cob set off again.

Eddie and Violet and the children were all at home, as they usually were on a Sunday afternoon, and as Abbie entered the cottage the two girls came running towards her. Sarah was five years old now, and her younger sister, Eveline, was three.

‘Did Louis bring you?’ Eddie asked as Abbie took off her coat and hat.

‘Yes. He’s assisting at a post-mortem examination at Keyford, just off the Frome road. I shall take a fly back home.’

While the children played on the hearthrug the three adults sat around the fire.

‘Oh, I forgot,’ Abbie said, ‘I heard from Iris in the week.’ From her bag she took a letter and gave it to Eddie. He opened it and read it, then passed it to Violet.

Iris, very much in love with young Alfred Timson, he who had been so solicitous at the time of her accident, had recently left Radstock for London. She had gone there solely to be with him. On the death of his employer, he had returned to the capital to live, having been offered work there as a musician with the London Steamship Company.

In her letter Iris had written to say that she was getting on well in her new position in Bayswater, and was looking forward to the summer and the day of their wedding.

‘I wouldn’t want to live in London,’ Violet said, handing the letter back to Abbie. ‘But I s’pose I would if I had good enough reason to.’

‘No doubt Iris thinks she has,’ said Eddie. ‘Though why the two of ’em couldn’t have stayed in Radstock beats me.’

‘Alfred’s family’s in London,’ Abbie said. ‘Besides, he’s a musician. That’s what he’s happiest doing. And where would he find employment as a musician in Radstock?’

‘Could you go back to living in London, Abbie?’ Violet said.

‘I don’t know,’ Abbie replied. ‘Though there’s so much to do there – not like Frome or this place.’

With Eveline beginning to be fretful, Violet scooped her up and set about getting her off to sleep in a corner of the sofa. At the same time Sarah climbed onto Eddie’s lap where, cradled in his arms, she was soon asleep. Violet observed the scene of relative peace and said, ‘While I’ve got a minute I’ll go upstairs and finish making the beds. Then I’ll come down and get us some tea.’

When Violet had gone from the room Eddie said, ‘You reckon you’ll ’ave any more kiddies, Abs?’

‘No,’ she said at once, ‘I shouldn’t imagine so.’

‘I reckon it’s best to ’ave more than one,’ he said.’ ‘An only child gets lonely. And it’s best to ’ave ’em when you’re young, too, if you can. How long you been married now? Must be about three and-’alf years, eh?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Don’t you want any more children?’

‘No, I don’t.’ She waved a hand, dismissing the question and the subject along with it.

Eddie gazed at her in silence for a few moments then said: ‘You don’t sound that ’appy.’

‘What makes you say that?’

He gave a half-smile. ‘Abbie, I might not ’ave the learnin’ you’ve ’ad, but that don’t mean I’m blind nor stupid. I know you of old – and I can read the signs.’

‘Oh, yes, Mr Clever,’ she said, smiling.

Frowning, he studied her in the firelight. ‘Why are you so dissatisfied, Abbie? And I don’t mean just lately; I’ve seen it for a good while now.’

‘Eddie – you’re imagining things.’

‘No, I ain’t,’ he said, then added with a sigh, ‘You and Louis, right?’

After a moment she gave a reluctant nod, sat for a moment staring into the fire, then said, ‘I don’t know what went wrong, Eddie. I had such hopes. But – I don’t know – nothing turned out the way I thought it would.’

‘And why was that, d’you suppose?’

She gave a shrug. ‘I don’t know. I thought we would be happy. Particularly when Oliver came along. And we were for a while but . . . it didn’t last. I don’t know where or how it went wrong.’

‘Are you sure you don’t know?’

‘Of course I’m sure. If I knew I could do something about it.’ She frowned. ‘What exactly are you trying to say?’ Then before he could reply she gave an awkward-sounding little laugh and said, ‘I don’t think I like this conversation.’

‘I’d like to ’elp you, Abbie.’ He paused. ‘You don’t still think about ’im, do you – the other one?’

‘Who?’ She forced herself to keep looking at him.

‘You know who I mean. Arthur Gilmore.’

‘Oh – him.’

‘Yes –’im as you promised to marry – and then didn’t.’

‘I didn’t have any choice in the matter.’

‘No?’

‘You know I didn’t. In case you’ve forgotten, Mother came back. To live with me. And she depended on me. Totally.’

He gave a little shrug.

‘Well, you know she did,’ Abbie said. ‘You wouldn’t help.’

He nodded. ‘Well, you’re right there, sure enough.’

‘Anyway, what’s any of this got to do with Arthur? You’re imagining things.’

‘Am I?’ he said drily. ‘Look, I know why you went to London when you left the village school here. You could have gone anywhere, but you chose to go to London because he was there. You thought everything would go back to the way it was before our Mother returned, didn’t you? Only it never did.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Eddie,’ she said – she could almost feel herself flushing with embarrassment – ‘you don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Don’t I? I think I do. And you know I do. I ’ear you tellin’ me that your marriage hasn’t worked out the way you’d hoped, and I’m just looking for reasons why.’ He eyed her carefully. ‘Does Louis know?’

‘Does he know what?’

‘About Gilmore? Your going up to London in the hopes of marrying him.’

‘Don’t say such things,’ she said sharply. ‘You’re so sure of yourself, aren’t you? Suddenly you know everything.’

‘Well, I know that you were so desperate to get to London that you wusn’t even particular what job you took – taking the first one offered and getting yourself in with that crazy woman. Oh, I guessed what ’ad ’appened. One minute you’re off to London and just four months later, after Gilmore’s wed another, you’re back with plans to marry somebody else. It don’t need a professor’s brain to understand that picture. Either you fell suddenly and desperately in love with Louis – which I find a bit hard to believe – or else you made use of ’im.’

Abbie got up from her seat. ‘I’m not listening to this!’

‘Not too loud,’ Eddie said calmly, ‘or you’ll wake the girls.’ He shook his head. ‘I feel sorry for Louis, I really do.’

As Abbie’s anger rose higher she felt tears welling in her eyes. Furiously she fought them back. ‘I came to spend a pleasant hour or two with you and Violet, and instead I get these accusations. One day you’re going to be too sharp for your own good.’ She reached for her coat, pulled it on. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t stay for tea. Please give my apologies to Violet. Tell her I’ll come and see her again soon.’ She added, ‘And that’ll be at a time when I can sit and relax without being accused of I don’t know what.’

At that moment there came the sound of footsteps on the landing above. Not wishing, in her present state, to face her sister-in-law, Abbie moved to the door. ‘I’ll see you some time, Eddie,’ she said. ‘Goodbye.’

Outside she hurried along the lane, not looking back, not wishing to see whether Violet was standing at the open door.

Making her way to Barton’s stables, she was just drawing level with the Harp and Horses when she heard Eddie calling her. Glancing back she saw him running towards her, pulling on his old overcoat as he came. She ignored his call and kept going.

He soon caught up with her. ‘Hang on,’ he said, a little breathless after his dash from the house. Catching at her arm, he brought her to a halt. ‘Give a chap a chance, will you?’

She saw that he had come out without a hat. Tight-lipped, she said, ‘What do you want?’

‘Come on back to the house, Abbie.’

‘No, thank you, I’ve heard enough for one day.’

‘Vi’s wonderin’ what I’ve said to upset you.’

‘No doubt.’

‘Oh, Abs, come on – don’t be like this. I didn’t mean to upset you – honest. And I couldn’t let you go – not in this mood.’

‘I wasn’t in this mood when I arrived.’

‘Yeh, well, I’m sorry about all that. But I didn’t tell you anything you didn’t already know, did I?’

She shook her head in exasperation. ‘There you go again.’

‘Aw, come on, Abs.’ He put his head a little on one side. ‘You and me was always able to talk in the past. ’Ave that changed? I only want what’s best for you. You must know that.’

After a moment she gave a grudging nod. ‘Maybe – but you’ve got a very strange way of showing it.’

He ignored this. ‘Where were you off to? Barton’s?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll walk with you.’

Thirty yards along Carter’s Lane they turned into Barton’s stable yard, but on enquiring found that Mr Barton was already out on an errand to Warminster. He would be back in half an hour or so, Mrs Barton said, at which time the cab would be free for hire again. Abbie thanked her and said she would return a little later.

Out in the lane Eddie said, ‘Come on, it’s too blasted cold to ‘ang about ’ere. Let’s go into the ’Arp and get summat to drink. Though you’ll ’ave to pay as I come out without any money.’

In the pub they took seats in the saloon bar. Eddie got a tankard of ale for himself and for Abbie a cup of coffee. There was no one else in the room. A bright fire was burning, while from the adjacent public bar came the murmur of voices and the clink of glasses. Brother and sister sat in silence for a moment or two, then Eddie said, ‘You know, if you ever want to talk about anything, I’m always ready to listen.’ When she said nothing he added, ‘People should try to talk to each other more.’ He turned and looked into the glowing fire. ‘I always think – well, if our Beatie ’ad talked to somebody when it mattered she’d be ’ere today.’

‘Perhaps you’re right.’ Abbie didn’t want to talk about Beatie; didn’t want to think about her. She remained silent for a moment, then she said wearily, ‘Oh, Eddie, it’s true . . . what you said about me and – and Arthur. My going up to London as I did. It was because of him – there’s no point in my pretending otherwise.’ She gave a deep sigh and added, ‘I don’t know what to do, Eddie.’

‘About what?’

‘Everything.’

‘What d’you mean?’

She glanced around to ensure that no one could hear, then said: ‘I think sometimes we should never have married, Louis and I. It was a mistake.’

‘As bad as that, eh? What – what’s the trouble, exactly?’

She hesitated for a second then said, ‘Well, for one thing we hardly seem to spend any time together these days. Seven days a week, it seems, he’s out all day, seeing to his patients – and often in the night too. Yet at the same time I don’t have enough of interest to keep me occupied. I get so bored. His work is everything to him. I come a very poor second. And it’s not necessary for him to do as much as he does. Yet even in his free time he makes commitments, volunteering for one thing or another. He doesn’t seem to care. We can’t go on like it.’