The day before leaving he said: ‘Whatever I do in my life you know I shall always love you, Jenny, don’t you?’ And she had laughed: ‘Of course I do, sweetheart,’ and thought no more about it, as you often don’t with someone you know you can’t entirely trust, not even when he had gone, not for a year afterwards, by when she had soaped the ring of fidelity from her finger, not till the shock had become a normal condition, and she trawled through every second of that final day. She never knew why he had said something so unnecessary and cruel, unless it was to imprison her in eternal hatred.
Often in the morning, at the mirror, flesh on her bones turned sulphurous white, agony that her bones were rotting. Two people got married, joined by whatever it was called — so, maybe, love — in an offensive and defensive alliance to make existence in the world less arduous, but his betrayal had robbed her of peace for ever, destroyed all hope. Decisions came not by thought but instinct, turmoil making life unbearable and actions out of control. Perhaps that was real life at last.
Opening the door, a body fell against her legs, pushed by a blast that cleansed her face, cooled fire, caused her to laugh with surprise.
The living person, like a demented cat set free by the wind, reached for a shapelier object behind and kicked its dusty covering off, scattering flaps of dull white over the floor and walls. ‘I couldn’t undo the bleeding handle.’ She swung her arms, red-raw hands out of her gloves and clapping. ‘It’s all right, I’m not a ghost, though I nearly turned into one. What are you doing here, anyway? I only went outside to fetch his luggage, and I expect he’ll say it took me long enough.’
The case held her weight when she sat on it, lips at an angle of such resignation that Jenny was ashamed of her laugh. ‘Are you all right?’
The pale but pleasant face emphasized a vein down her cheek. ‘I’d better take his stuff in.’
Jenny bolted the door against the weather. ‘He should have fetched it himself. Men are so bloody selfish.’
He had rescued her from the moor and brought her to this cosy place till the thaw let them go, so it was only right to fetch his case from the car. ‘I’m not frightened at a bit of rough weather.’ She rubbed her nose. ‘All I need is a cold, though. It’d make my day.’
To take the case in was the least she could do for the poor girl. ‘You should get yourself warm. Do you have a room here?’
Eileen pulled it from her. ‘I’ll give it to him, if you don’t mind.’
Who wouldn’t want a pat on the back for effort? ‘Suit yourself.’ It was mean to envy her reward, as to a dog after fetching a newspaper, the dog turning into a doormat at a smile of appreciation for having been allowed to become of no more significance than a rag to wipe some swine’s car down. She saw it all, but couldn’t think of how best to explain it to the exhausted girl, who walked into the cigar-smelling warmth as if she had brought the case from the South Pole.
The newspaper slipped from Aaron’s fingers as he dozed. ‘Would you like to see the room?’ Keith asked her, the key tied to an oblong piece of bone swinging from his hand.
He sat as if with nowhere to go, though in such clothes he fitted into this sort of place. It was hard to be sure where she belonged, clad in her everyday gear, a mixture of Oxfam cast-offs and stuff from home not yet worn out. She nodded, hoping her smile was bright enough since it needed some force to put it there.
‘You had better warm yourself before we go up.’ He took a hand from the side of his face. ‘Have a drink, and something to eat.’
Jenny made space by the fire, but there was plenty of room. Keith knew he ought to get into his car and drive on, but the weather hemmed him and all of them in. On the other hand there was justice in being unable to leave, after what he had done. He had betrayed Gwen many times and had been betrayed by her in turn, but neither of them could survive without loyalty, and had used betrayal as a weapon to destroy the other. What began as love had ended in murder, and he could expect neither pity nor forgiveness. The only fit response was to die, because to live on under such a burden of guilt and failure tortured his pride.
He pulled the heavy leather-backed chair across the floor as if it were cardboard. ‘Sit down and dry yourself.’ When she took her shoes off, the landlord looked as if she was plummeting the reputation of his hotel, for which shade across his sanctimonious mug she would have told him to drop dead if Keith hadn’t been present.
He didn’t even turn while asking: ‘Bring a double whisky, and a plate of your best sandwiches.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Though Fred the landlord knew his place he would have liked a please or thank you with his orders. Business might be business but he didn’t think much of the crew that had dropped in on him. The only gentleman guest, with the young tart he had obviously picked up off the road, hadn’t got a by-your-leave or smile of gratitude in any corner of his vocabulary. Such types hadn’t much altered since the old days when, as a lad of fourteen, he had cleaned the boots left outside their doors; and got his rabbit-arse kicked by the gaffer if each one didn’t glow like the moon. Nowadays you neither buffed up their footwear nor slopped out their pisspots. You could hardly get a willing wench even to serve drinks, like that stuck-up bitch who sulked behind the bar because she couldn’t go off to meet her gormless boy friend. You couldn’t chuck them out these days, either, though he supposed he would be seeing the last of her soon, because they never stayed long. She even blamed him for the blizzard, as if he was God Almighty Himself who had whistled snowballs down from the sky.
TEN
Sally didn’t know, nor would she ever, how the car got within range of the hotel. Her consciousness went into abeyance while fighting a way to the door, worrying more about the car being lost in a drift than Stanley feeling abandoned on not seeing her unreal smile at the airport. Values had swivelled false side up; he had become renewable while the metal of his favourite vehicle turned precious beyond all imagining, which was not the strangest notion that had lately got into her head.
She glanced into the lounge, glad not to be the only woman staying. Aaron smiled, and a young girl near the fire held the hand of a man who might have been her father, while another with a red face tilted his head in ecstasy (unless he was going into a fit), the liquid of a pint descending into the desert sands blocking his throat. The landlord, or maybe head waiter (if there was such a person in this place), who looked as if he also had downed more than one or two, gave her a key and pointed the way upstairs.
The carpets had been scuffed by myriad shoes, runners loose in places, and the only modern aspect about the corridor was a white light in a green frame saying FIRE EXIT above a door which probably landed you in a snowdrift twenty feet below if you were foolish enough to go through it. Fire would certainly be a glorious way for the fine old place to end its days, though not — she put the key in the door — while I’m in it.
Heat in the pipes was feeble, and thin curtains barely met, so anything like a bath could wait. A cold splash from the tap would clear her face of exhaustion, after which there was nothing to do but sleep, or read the Bible found in the drawer of the commode.
The bed sagged like a hammock, but how could she complain on such a night? Not knowing what to do — nor wanting to settle down, since it was only nine o’clock — she decided to take advantage of company in the lounge before the power cracked up and left them in squalid darkness. She could also phone a message to the airport telling Stanley where she was stranded, otherwise he would worry. Funny she hadn’t thought of it before coming to her room, and even less funny to feel guilty, as if the blizzard was her fault, not knowing that the more money you paid the better forecast you got, as he had once joked.