Turning away, she shambled to the front of the house again. No doubt Muriel had simply drawn the curtains and fallen asleep. She was prone to do that. Florence Sidney’s brother was driving past. He waved to her. She raised a hand, the smile painful on her face.
Colin had not seen Isabel for a week. When he telephoned her home, her father answered.
“Are you one of Bella’s friends?” he asked.
He said that she was in bed with ’flu. Colin saw his chance to break the deadlock.
“May I call?” he asked. “To cheer her up?”
“Oh, no,” Mr. Field said. “I believe it could be infectious, you know. No, I don’t think that would be advisable, not at all.”
A few days later Colin spoke to her. He had to leave the house to make these calls. She sounded strained and weak; her throat was still sore, she explained.
“But I can meet you if you can pick me up. My car—no, you didn’t know, did you? I had a bit of an accident, that day it was foggy. Somebody ran into the back of me. I haven’t collected it from the garage yet.”
“You were all right, weren’t you?”
“Yes, fine, it was only a brush, but that’s the day I started this cold.”
“Listen, Isabel, I can’t meet you. I could maybe get over during the day but I can’t take you out.”
“Oh—why is that?” Her voice cracked.
“Because it’s the holidays. Can’t you see? Didn’t you think about it? I haven’t got any excuses.”
“You could have warned me.”
“I thought you would realise. I’m so sorry. I do want to see you very much. The only thing I could do would be to come during the day.”
“No, Colin, you’re not to come here.”
“Well, that’s that then. Can I phone you? That’s all right, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but look, when will I see you?”
“When term starts.”
“But I can’t go through to January without seeing you.”
“You’ll have to. You must.”
“When will it be?”
“January twelfth, but it will take me a few days—”
She began to cry. “Listen, Colin, haven’t you got any friends you could pretend to go and see? Anybody you usually see at Christmas?”
“I can’t think of anyone. I have no friends of my own, you see, I have only places where Sylvia goes with me.”
“But there must be something you do on your own.”
“Only evening classes. But they’re over now.”
“Yes. Well…Colin, please.”
“Look, I’ll try, I’ll really try, but I can’t think how I’m going to manage it.”
“Well, try, see if you can—I really want to see you. We’re going to have to discuss things, we’ll have to decide.”
For the first time he heard the note of pressure in her voice. It was a tone he had heard before. Where? He thought with surprise, in my own mouth.
“Yes, we must. Though I don’t know…I honestly don’t know what we’re going to do. Look, Isabel, I’ll have to go, the children are waiting for me.”
“You’ve got them with you?”
“Yes, they’re outside the phone box. I brought them out to buy them some sweets. I’ll have to go.”
She laughed shakily. “What we are reduced to,” she said. “Goodbye.”
He heard the line buzz. She’s upset, he thought. It’s her illness. ’Flu leaves you like that. He stepped out of the kiosk and took a gulp of air. He felt desperately harassed.
“Who were you phoning, Dad?” Alistair asked. His mouth was sticky with sweets.
“Just a man.”
“What was his name, Dad?”
“Frank.”
“That’s not a name.”
“Yes, it is, Alistair,” Suzanne said remotely. She took her brother’s hand. He immediately suspected her of an ulterior motive.
“Well what was his other name, Dad?”
“Frank O’Dwyer.”
“Who’s he, Dad?”
“Just a man, Alistair, somebody at work.”
“You don’t go to work. You go to school.” A pause. “Why didn’t you phone him when you were at home, Dad?”
“Because the phone wasn’t working at home.”
“It was,” Suzanne said. Colin took her hand and halted her at the kerb. She removed her hand from his.
“I can walk by myself, thank you very much,” she said.
“Do your road drill,” Colin said wearily.
“What?”
“Look right, look left, look right again, if the road is clear begin to cross. Don’t you know that? Haven’t they told you at school? Alistair, look, don’t run, come here. Haven’t you been told not to run across the road?”
“What would it matter, if there’s nothing coming?” Suzanne said. “And if there was, you’d be better running, then it wouldn’t have time to hit you.”
“Suzanne, don’t argue.”
“The phone was working. Mummy phoned up Aunty Peggy.”
There was a time, he thought, when I had comparative peace of mind. I was dull, yes, but I didn’t spend all my days in frantic plotting and my nights lying awake worrying about when the plots would come home to roost; there was a time when I didn’t have to use my children as an excuse and get tied up in knots like this.
“I’ve finished my sweeties,” Alistair said. “Can I have some more?”
“You’ll be sick,” Suzanne warned him.
“I hope you saved some for Karen.”
“What?”
“Have you eaten Karen’s? Oh, blast.”
“She’ll cry,” Suzanne said.
“Come on then, we’ll go back and get her some. Come on.”
“You greedy pig,” Suzanne said to her brother.
“I’ll kick you,” he said.
“See if you can.”
“Will you stop this?” Colin hauled his son away. “Come on now. Hurry up.”
He swept them along the pavement, clutching one by either hand, quelling their struggles. One day, he thought, when it has all come out about Isabel, and it is over, and they are grown up, they will look back and remember that day I took them out to buy sweets, remember my uncharacteristic good nature; and how I went into a callbox, and how I lied to them; and they will begin to piece it all together and make sense out of it. Oh yes, they will say, he was phoning her, he must have been. He was using us to get out of the house—he was never so nice at other times—and didn’t he tell clumsy lies? How disgusting it all is.
When they got home, Suzanne said, “Is the phone working, Mum?”
“Yes, why?”
“Dad said it wasn’t.”
“Look, Suzanne,” Colin said, “anybody can make a mistake.”
“What mistake?” Sylvia said.
“He went into a phone box and phoned somebody. Just now, when we were out.”
Sylvia looked at him questioningly.
“I rang Frank O’Dwyer, it was just something I had on my mind, about plans for next term. I thought it might go out of my head if I didn’t do it right away.”
“Oh,” Sylvia said. She wasn’t greatly interested; to Colin it sounded extremely feeble, but it was the best he could do on the spur of the moment.
“Why did you say the phone was out of order?” Suzanne asked. “You told a fib.”
“Get off my back, Suzanne,” Colin said. “You’re getting very cheeky.” He picked up the newspaper.
“Did you get those Swiss rolls?” Sylvia asked him.
“Sorry. Forgot.”
“I asked you, Colin,” she said mildly.
“Then I’ll go back.” He put the paper down.
“He wants to phone again,” Suzanne said. “I’ll go with him, shall I, and see if he does?”
Oh God, he thought, is it worth it? This is only the Christmas holidays. It is only two weeks and a half. What will happen when the summer comes?
Evelyn had made herself a cup of tea. It had been an ordeal. When she had found that the front door was open after all, she had stood hesitating on the step. Once, she would not have been able to nerve herself to go in.
“I’m tired of your tricks,” she said out loud, and pushed the door open carefully. The hall was empty.