The Shape of Snakes (2 page)

Some time in February my parents drove up from Hampshire where they were then living. Sam had moved out three weeks previously to sleep on a friend's sofa, and our marriage was effectively over. Wisely, my father refused to get involved, but my mother couldn't resist taking Sam's part. She comes from that generation of women who believe that marriage is the key to a woman's happiness and she told me in no uncertain terms that if I was determined to reject Sam then I needn't look to her and my father for support. As she pointed out, I'd been deserted by my friends because my behavior was so peculiar ... I was rapidly becoming anorexic ... I had no job ... worse, no prospect of a job while I remained firmly closeted in the house. What was I planning to do? Where was I planning to go?

I expressed only mild annoyance that she believed everything Sam told her, and suggested she question a man's honesty for once in her life. It was like a red flag to a bull. We couldn't talk about sex
-
or lack of it, Sam's real bone of contention with me
-
because it was a taboo subject between us, so instead she lectured me on the way I was letting myself go, my failure to cook proper meals for my hardworking husband, my lackluster approach to cleaning the house and inevitably my absurd obsession with the death of a colored person.

"There might be some sense in it if she'd been one of us,'' she finished tartly, "but she wasn't even English ... just another wretched immigrant living off benefit and clogging up the health service with imported diseases. Why we ever let them in, I can't imagine, and for you to jeopardize your marriage
-
" She broke off abruptly. "Can't you see how ridiculous you're being?"

I couldn't, but it wasn't something I was prepared to discuss with her. Predictably, my silence persuaded her she'd won the argument when all she'd really achieved was to prove to me how little I cared about anyone's opinion but my own. In an odd way her complete lack of sympathy was more liberating than distressing because it made me realize that control rests with whomever worries least about being seen to exercise it, and with cold deliberation I agreed to mend fences with my husband if only to keep a roof over my head.

Three months later, Sam and I moved abroad.
 

CORONER'S COURT

Medical Report on Miss Ann Butts, submitted to Mr. Brian A. Hooper, coroner, on December 12, 1978, by Dr. Sheila Arnold, CP, FRCP, from the Howarth Clinic, Chicago, Illinois, U.S.A. (Formerly a partner in the Cromwell Street Surgery, Richmond, Surrey.)

(Dr. Arnold left for a twelve-month sabbatical in America on September 10, 1978, and was absent at the time of Miss Butts's death. Although Miss Butts had been assigned to one of Dr. Arnold's partners for the duration of the sabbatical, Miss Butts died before the partner had time to meet and assess her. It was therefore agreed that Dr. Arnold would submit the following report from America. A full set of medical notes relating to Miss Butts has been made available to the Coroner by the Cromwell Street Surgery.)

Ann Butts was my patient from June 1969 until my departure for America on September 10, 1978. She suffered from Tourette's syndrome, a neuropsychiatric disorder characterized by recurrent muscle tics and involuntary vocalizations. It was an inherited condition from her mother who had a complex form of the disorder, which manifested itself as
coprolalia
, a compulsion to utter obscenities. Ann, who cared for her mother for many years until her death in 1968, had a good understanding of Tourette's syndrome and had learned to manage her own condition successfully. Ann's most noticeable symptoms were 1) motor tics in the face and shoulders; 2) a compulsion to talk to herself; and 3) obsessive behavior, particularly in relation to home and personal security.

I referred her in December 1969 to Dr. Randreth Patel (Middlesex Hospital), who took a particular interest in Ann and was sympathetic toward her firmly held views against the taking of psychoactive drugs, which she felt had worsened her mother's condition rather than improved it. While no one has yet discovered a cure for Tourette's syndrome, the disorder tends to improve with age and Ann was no exception to this. My understanding is that her tics were a great deal more pronounced when she was a teenager (DOB
-
12.3.36). As a result, she suffered considerable teasing and unkindness from her peers and had few social skills following an early withdrawal from formal education. In recent years Ann's symptoms had been comparatively mild although she was inclined to exacerbate them from time to time through an overindulgence in alcohol. She had an average IQ and had no difficulty leading an independent life, although her obsession with home and personal security meant she shunned the company of others. I made a point of visiting her every six to eight weeks and on my last visit
-
September 8, 1978
-
she was in good health, both physical and mental.

Sheila Arnold
Sheila Arnold GP, FRCP
 

TWENTY YEARS LATER

Family correspondence prior
to the Ranelaghs' return to England-dated 1999

CURRAN HOUSE
Whitehay Road
Torquay
Devon

Thursday, May 27, 1999

Darling,

I don't know why you always have to get so angry when someone questions your decisions. It's most unladylike to scream like a fishwife down the telephone, particularly when you're three thousand miles away.
Of course
Daddy and I will be pleased to have you home but you can't expect us to be thrilled about this silly idea to rent a farmhouse in Dorchester. It's over
Two hours'
drive away, and your father will never be able to manage the double journey in a day. Also, it's hurtful. We've only seen our grandchildren twice in twenty years-each time on
very
expensive holidays-and we always hoped you'd bring them to live near us when you finally came back.

I can't help feeling it's not too late for me to find you something in Devon. We have a very good real estate agent here who has a list of reasonable properties to rent. Have you taken the trouble to have this farmhouse vetted? The description you gave was very vague, and frankly Ł650 a month sounds very expensive for a house in the middle of nowhere. You do realize, I suppose, that there are a lot of charlatans about and it's very easy to put an advertisement in the "Sunday Times" in the hopes of attracting foreigners to summer lets.

You know I
hate
to be critical, but I do wonder if Sam and the boys have been consulted about this move. As usual, I fear you have made a unilateral decision
and totally ignored the wishes of everyone else.
You say you're only renting the farmhouse for three or four months, but do please explain why Dorset is preferable to Devon. It's absurd to say you want to revisit the place where you spent your honeymoon. I thought you had more sense than to pursue holiday memories from 1976.

We 're glad to hear that Sam is on the mend although we found Luke and Tom's flippant references to his "dodgy ticker" somewhat inappropriate, particularly as Sam was clearly listening to the phone call. I find it difficult to believe that they're now eighteen and nineteen. Frankly I'd have expected a little more maturity from boys of their age, and 1 fear you've been spoiling them.

I shall wail to hear re the real estate agent.

All my love, Ma

PS Dear M. personally, thought the "dodgy ticker" was wonderful and loved to hear Sam laugh at the other end.
What a marvelous relationship you and he have with your boys
and what a blessing they've been these last few months. I'm much looking forward to sharing some of the Ranelagh Jr. fun, even if it means driving two hours to experience it! Tell Luke I have every intention of having at least one go on a surfboard even if I do go "arse over tit" in the process. I may be an old codger, but I'm not in my grave yet.

Dad
XXX
 

Cape Town
5 June

Dear Mother,

Written in haste. Sorry about the screaming but the line was bad. I enclose a photocopy of the farmhouse details. I have taken up references and am reliably informed that Ł650 is a good price. It would be considerably more, apparently, if it weren't a property of "character," which appears to be real estate-agent shorthand for "somewhat dilapidated." However, Sam and the boys are looking forward to slumming it as much as I am. All being well we should be there by the first week in July and will expect you and Dad at the end of the month. I'll ring to confirm a weekend as soon as we're installed.

We're all fine and send our love to you both.

N

Dorchester:
18th century stone
farmhouse for short or long let. Character
property in idyllic rural setting, 2 mis
from town center, 5 bedrooms, 3
reception rooms, 2 bathrooms,
large quarry-tiled kitchen. 1 acre garden,
adjacent paddocks. Fully furnished,
oil-fired c/h, Aga, garage.
Ł650p.c.m. Tel: 01305 231494

*2*

I recognized Dr. Arnold as soon as I opened the door to her, although there was no answering smile of recognition from her. I wasn't surprised. We were both twenty years older, and I had changed a great deal more than she had after two decades abroad. She was silver-haired and thinner, late fifties, I judged, but she still had the same rather searching gray eyes and air of unassailable competence. On the only other occasion I'd met her, I'd found her thoroughly intimidating, but today she gave me a sisterly pat on the arm when I told her my husband was complaining of chest pains."He says it's a pulled muscle," I said, leading the way up the stairs of our rented farmhouse, "but he had a coronary six months ago and I'm worried he's about to have another one."

In the event, Sam was right-it was a pulled muscle from too much digging in the garden the day before-and I concealed my total lack of surprise behind an apologetic smile. Dr. Arnold reproved him for scoffing at my concern. "You can't take chances," she told him, folding her stethoscope, "not when you've had one close shave already."

Sam, whose memory for faces was almost as bad as his memory for names, buttoned his shirt and cast an irritable glance in my direction. "It's a ridiculous fuss about nothing." he complained. "I said I'd go to the surgery but she wouldn't let me ... just takes it into her head to start treating me like a blasted invalid."

"He's been biting my head off all morning," I told Dr. Arnold. "It's one of the reasons I thought it might be serious."

"Goddamit!" Sam snapped. "What's the matter with you? All I said was, I had a small twinge in my side ... which isn't surprising in view of the number of weeds I hauled out yesterday. The garden's a mess, the house is falling down. What am I supposed to do? Sit on my hands all day?"

Dr. Arnold poured oil on troubled waters. "You should be grateful you have someone who still cares enough to make the phone call," she said with a laugh. "I had a patient once whose wife left him to writhe in agony on the kitchen floor while she downed half a bottle of gin to celebrate her imminent widowhood."

Sam wasn't the type to stay angry for long. "Did he survive?" he asked with a grin.

"Just about. The marriage didn't." She studied his face for a moment, then looked curiously toward me. "I feel I know you both but I can't think why."

"I recognized you when I opened the door," I said. "It's an extraordinary coincidence. You were our GP in Richmond. We lived in Graham Road from '76 to the beginning of '79. You came to our house once when Sam had a bout of bronchitis."

She nodded immediately. "Mrs. Ranelagh. I should have recognized the name. You're the one who found Annie Butts. I've often wondered where you went and what happened to you."

I looked casually from her to Sam, and was relieved to see surprised pleasure on both their faces, and no suspicion...
 

Sam landed a job as overseas sales director for a shipping company, which took us in turn to Hong Kong, Australia and South Africa. They were good times, and I came to understand why black sheep are so often sent abroad by their families to start again. It does wonders for the character to cut the emotional ties that bind you to places and people. We produced two sons who grew like saplings in the never-ending sunshine and soon towered over their parents, and I could always find teaching jobs in whichever school was educating them.

As one always does, we thought of ourselves as immortal, so Sam's coronary at the age of fifty-two came like a bolt from the blue. With doctors warning of another one being imminent if he didn't change a lifestyle that involved too much traveling, too much entertaining of clients and too little exercise, we returned to England in the summer of '99 with no employment and a couple of boys in their late teens who had never seen their homeland.

For no particular reason except that we'd spent our honeymoon in Dorset in '76, we decided to rent an old farmhouse near Dorchester, which I found among the property ads in the
Sunday Times
before we left Cape Town. The idea was to have an extended summer holiday while we looked around for somewhere more permanent to settle. Neither of us had connections with any particular part of England. My husband's parents were dead and my own parents had retired to the neighboring county of Devon and the balmy climate of Torquay. We enrolled the boys at college for the autumn and set out to rediscover our roots. We'd done well during our time abroad and there was no immediate hurry for either of us to find a job. Or so we imagined.