The Cultured Handmaiden, page 23
Like bosom friends they went from the room, Willie with his arm around Glen’s shoulder. And when the door closed on them Bob’s mouth went into a large gasp. His limp hand fluttered over the eiderdown, and John, looking down on him, muttered, ‘I warned you.’
‘God damn you, yes, you warned me. All right. All right. But he’s your brother, and this is his home.’
‘Well, Father, you reminding me that he is my brother, let me remind you that he is your son. But you won’t have the job of looking after him. He’s got to be watched; he wanders. I might as well tell you; they weren’t for letting him come home. And it’s only for a trial period.’
‘Trial period, be damned! You’d have him put away, locked up some place?’
‘It isn’t like that, he’s not locked up in some place. It’s a hospital, where he’s given excellent care. And strangely, he was happy there. Don’t you understand? He’s lost years; he’s back in his boyhood. And not only that: it isn’t the boyhood that you and I remember; apparently it’s only a boyhood which he alone was cognisant of, a kind of subconscious place. We all have it. From what the doctor says he goes in and out of this place. And it’s just as well that he doesn’t now remember exactly what happened. Like he did after the first operation. Willie’s going to have more than his hands full.’
‘Then we’ll get somebody to help him.’
‘But what about Jinny here?’ John now threw out his arm towards where she was standing silently at the foot of the bed. ‘He’s taken her for a nurse. There were two nurses on the ward at times, and he used to follow them about.’
‘Well, she’s got nothing else to do but to see to him.’
When Bob turned his eyes on her and waited for her reply, she answered, ‘Yes, I could see to the boy in him, but not to the man. And what would happen if his mind should leave the boy and return to the man?’
‘My God! What am I surrounded with? Bloody psychiatrists? If only I could use my…’
‘If only you could use your common sense, which you would have us believe you’ve still got plenty of, you could, even at this point, possibly solve the problem.’
As she marched from the room, leaving John and his father staring at her, she paused for a moment outside her own door before going in. Once inside, she stood and pushed her hand up through her hair. What had made her say that? Only seconds before she was hoping that John would go gently with him, yet she knew what she had said was right. That man who had been Glen, the jolly go-ahead Glen, and who had now turned into an overgrown, great outsized boy, filled her with a dread that touched on real fear, at the same time arousing her deepest pity.
Going to the window, she sat down on the chair, and for the first time she thought, I wish I was far away from here. Somehow things had become complicated.
She could pack up this minute and go to Nell’s. There was nothing to stop her…Nothing to stop her? Only him lying across there, with his tongue so alive it could whip pieces out of you, while at the same time his eyes were telling you he was so lost that if you left go of his hand he would sink.
‘Huh!’ she said to herself as her mind touched on Nell again. Nell had never been happy about her being here, but on the sight of Glen, without even hearing him speak, she would likely say, ‘Come on, get yourself out of here, lass, afore something happens. Paralysed men are one thing, but mad ‘uns are another.’ And that was the name she would put to Glen. That was the name anybody would put to Glen.
Four
‘I’m hungry.’
‘But you’ve just had your lunch, Glen.’
‘No; my tea.’
‘No; your lunch. Tea won’t be ready for…well, three hours.’
‘I’m hungry.’
‘There are some sweets in your room; go and get them.’
‘Will you play cards?’
‘I can’t just now; I’m busy writing letters. See…I’m at my typewriter.’
‘I can write letters; I write poetry.’
‘Do you?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘You’ll have to show me some.’
‘No, I won’t do that. I never show anybody.’
She looked up at the man standing to the side of her and she told herself yet again, as she had done over the past two weeks, not to feel repulsed by him; he couldn’t help his state, he was still Glen. Yet he wasn’t Glen, he was a weird…man-cum-boy, and it wasn’t only she who found she couldn’t bear his presence for long. The pity of it was, the very sight of him agonised his father. Bob knew that he had made a mistake in bringing his son home, but being the man he was he wouldn’t own up to the mistake.
‘I’m going out on my bike.’
‘Very well.’ She nodded at him. He was always going out on his bike. But strangely he never made any attempt to go out through the front door, not even into the garden unless someone was with him. And what was more strange, yet on thinking back to the source of his troubles perhaps not so strange, he was showing evidence of being afraid of the car. When John offered yesterday to take him for a ride he had turned from him, and in a kind of shambling run had made for the kitchen. And when John followed him he stood by the kitchen table and picked up a wooden spoon and started to beat a tattoo on the side of an earthenware bowl which Cissie had just half filled with flour. And then he had smacked the wooden spoon into the middle of the flour, sending a spray over the table and partly over himself and John. At this, John had become angry and said, ‘Enough of that now!’ and had led him protesting from the room.
She often thought that were Glen to become aggressive John would have little chance against him, because he was at least three stone heavier and inches taller.
John and Willie had worked out a system whereby they relieved each other in looking after Glen, and although the strain wasn’t as yet showing on Willie, it certainly was on John, and he had said to her only last night, ‘I don’t know how much longer I can stick this. He shouldn’t be here; he should be back in hospital.’
John had told her at the beginning that he didn’t want her involved with Glen in any way. But he hadn’t taken Glen into account. Glen had seen to it that she was involved because whenever possible he followed her about, and over the last three days had formed a new pattern. Whenever he could he would now take hold of her arm and say ‘You coming for a walk, Jin?’ or ‘I’m hungry,’ or ‘Play cards, nurse.’
At the present moment, she didn’t want to rise from the chair because she knew he would again take hold of her arm; but nevertheless, she wanted him out of the room.
She was about to reach for the intercom button that would put her through to John’s room, even though she knew he was off duty so to speak, when Glen spoke. And for a moment there was no trace of the boy in his voice. ‘You ringing for Willie?’ he said.
‘No. No.’
‘You are.’
‘No, I wasn’t. Not for Willie.’
‘Oh.’
Her finger was wavering over the button when the door opened and Willie himself appeared; and he said, ‘Oh, there you are, then.’ Glen looked down on Jinny, and said angrily now, ‘Knew you were ringing for Willie. Knew you were.’
‘I didn’t ring, Glen. Look, I haven’t pressed the button. I didn’t ring for you, Willie, did I?’
‘No, no; I just happened to pop in. You coming for a walk?’
‘No.’
‘Aw, come on. I’m dying for a breath of fresh air, man. And I’ve got a couple of Mars bars in me pocket.’
The expression on Glen’s face altered, and without further ado he walked towards the door, and Willie nodded towards Jinny and raised his eyebrows before closing the door behind him.
She sat back in the chair and let out a long slow breath. It was no use; she’d just have to speak to Bob. She gathered up the letters from the desk, and then went upstairs to Bob’s room.
When she had first seen Bob lying in his bed she had thought that he could never look worse except if he were to die. But over the past weeks she had seen that he could look worse and still live. His features were drawn, his cheeks hollow and there was no longer any disgruntled remark from him; he seemed to have given up the battle.
She stood by the bed, saying now, ‘I’ve done these letters, a personal one to Bill Meane and another to Mr Bury. I’ve just said you would like to see them. Shall I read them?’
‘There’s no point.’
She made no comment, but said, ‘John of course told you he’d had a few words with Jack Newland and Peter Trowell from the shop floor, and indicated that you’d be pleased to see them to have a natter sometime.’
‘A lot of damn good that’ll do, won’t it?’
‘Well, we’ll only have to wait and see, won’t we?’
He turned his head and looked at her; but he did not speak. And she said, ‘I’ve got to bring this up, whether you are vexed or pleased. It’s Glen.’
‘What about him?’
‘I’m…well, to tell you the truth, I’m slightly afraid of him.’
‘What have you got to be afraid of? He’s turned into a lad, the man’s gone, so what have you got to be afraid of?’
‘I don’t really know, but the only thing I do know is that I am afraid. His manner is changing; he follows me around.’
‘Is that so terrible?’
‘Yes, it is to me.’ Her voice had risen. ‘And I’ve got to tell you, I…I can’t stand it. This is the third week, and it’s getting on my nerves. John and Willie do their best.’
‘That’s what they’re paid for, both of them.’
‘You can never pay John for what he’s doing, so don’t say a thing like that.’
‘Oh, you’re on his side now. I didn’t think you two hit it off.’
‘It isn’t a case of hitting it off, it’s a case of giving credit where it’s due. And if you want to know anything, I think he’s had about as much as he can stand too.’
‘So what’s the answer?’
‘It’s…it’s up to you; Glen should go back to hospital.’
‘Be damned if he will! This is his home; I’m his father; if I don’t have him who will? You’re telling me he should end his days in a loony house. Well now, miss, if you can’t put up with him there’s always a way out.’
She stared down at him, and he returned her stare while his lips moved one over the other as if he was sucking something from them.
Slowly she said, ‘Yes, there’s always a way out, and I shall take it tomorrow.’ And on this she turned from him. And his voice didn’t stop her as it once would have done when it came to her, saying, ‘Jinny! Jinny!’
The tears almost spurted from her eyes as she closed the door behind her, and when through the mist she saw John approaching from the end of the corridor, she ran the few steps across the landing and into her own room. But she had no sooner closed the door than it was opened again, and John, going to her and taking her by the shoulders, looked down on her bent head as he asked, ‘What is it? What’s happened?’
She was unable to speak because her throat was blocked, and he said urgently, ‘Jinny! Jinny! What is it? Tell me. What has he said to you?’
She was going to choke; she let out a long shuddering sob, and when he put his arms about her and held her close her body shook them both with the force of her weeping.
It was a good minute later when she pulled herself from his embrace and searched blindly around for something on which to dry her face. When he brought his handkerchief out and wiped her cheeks with it, she took it from him and, turning away, went and sat down in a chair by the side of the bed. And he followed her. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he leaned towards her, saying, ‘What happened? Tell me. Was it about Glen?’
She nodded. Then between gasps, she said, ‘I’m…I’m afraid of him. He’s…he’s always wanting to—’ She could hardly bring herself to say the words, ‘touch me. And I said to your father that I can’t stand it any longer and that he should be sent back to hospital. And’—she gulped deep in her throat—‘he told me, if I couldn’t put up with it the door was open. And so…and so, I told him I’m going tomorrow.’
‘By God! you’re not.’
She lifted her head and her eyes blinked rapidly and her mouth opened and shut a number of times before she was able to say, ‘Yes, I…I am. I…I couldn’t stand it. I…I feel…I fear something could happen. I don’t know what, but, John, I can’t help it, I’m afraid of him. And Lucy is too. She told me so. That’s why she’s gone to stay with Monica.’
‘He’ll go back to hospital; I’ll see to that.’
‘Please! No!’ She put her hand out and laid it on his. ‘No. Your father wants him here. As he said, he couldn’t bear to think of him in…well, in a sort of asylum.’
‘That’s where he’ll have to go in the end; and Father’s got to face up to it. It’s terrible, I know. Not for Glen. Oh no, not for Glen, because he’s gone back to a place in his mind where nothing can touch him, only his physical needs, such as food. He’s put on nearly a stone since he came home. I’ve told Dorry and Cissie not to give him anything to eat between meals, but as they say, what can they do when he just goes to the fridge and takes it. Look, Jinny.’
He now put one hand on her shoulder and the other under her chin and lifted her face up as he said softly, ‘Let me try with Father. Give it a day or two, and I’ll see that Glen doesn’t come near you; I’ll tell Willie not to let him out of his sight. But you must know this: you must know it in your own mind that whatever Father says he’s going to miss you like mad if you go; in fact, I don’t know what he’ll do without you. You know’—he smiled at her now, one of his rare smiles—‘it’s odd, if I hadn’t known he was so devoted to Mother I would have imagined he was having an affair with you. Oh…oh, don’t look like that. It would have been the most natural thing in the world…if you had been willing. And now I don’t know how he looks upon you; not as a daughter, he’s got four of them, and they do nothing for him mentally; in fact, Florence irritates him to the point of fury at times; and one couldn’t classify you in the role of mother figure, could one?’
She didn’t give him an answer to this, but what she said was, ‘Someone once said of me that I acted like a cultured handmaiden, and, looking back over the last eighteen months, I…I can see that I have fitted that role, with emphasis on the handmaiden.’
‘Cultured handmaiden? Who on earth said that to you? That’s the last category I’d put you in, because a handmaiden implies submissiveness, and no-one could say that Miss Jinny Brownlow was of the submissive type. Now could they?’
‘It’s all how the other person views you. As for how your father sees me; I was a good secretary; I can’t lay claim to any other ability; and why he liked me around was because I wasn’t afraid of his caustic tongue and rough manner. I think he still views me as part of the fitments of the office and his last contact with the works. I can still talk business with him, at least I could up to…well, up to Glen’s arrival. But since then he seems to have lost interest. I’m sorry’—she shook her head—‘but even if you can control Glen’s movements, which I’m afraid you’re going to find difficult because if he decides to use force I don’t think even Willie could handle him…Anyway, the way things are…have turned out, it’s better that I go, because…’
‘Jinny. Jinny’—he hitched himself closer to her—‘I…I find it difficult to ask favours of anyone, but I’m going to ask this of you now: hang on till the end of the week. If you still feel the same then, all right, leave on Saturday with your cousin. But give me a few days. And it isn’t only because…well—’ He turned his head to the side and brought his teeth together before adding, ‘We…we didn’t hit it off at first, did we? But that was my fault. I…I might as well tell you, I too would miss you if you left.’ Again he turned his head away from her as he said, ‘A house isn’t a house without a woman in it.’
‘Oh, if that’s all that a house needs, then you can bring Lucy back.’
‘Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. Why do you always take me up wrong? As for Lucy, I’m afraid Lucy’s not coming back. I was on to Monica last night and by what she says Reg Talbot’s been over there and it wouldn’t surprise me if they get married on the quiet and she goes off with him. In fact, she’s so besotted with him, Monica says she wouldn’t be surprised if she sidestepped the ceremony. But that wouldn’t make anyone faint, not these days, would it?’ There was a slight upward twist to the corner of his mouth now.
And she answered stiffly, ‘No; it wouldn’t. Yet, I suppose there are still a few that would like a ceremony to authorise the union.’
‘Oh, good Lord!’ He hitched himself away from her now, and, his chin dropping almost to his chest, laughed as he said, ‘You’re amazing. You know that, Jinny? You’re amazing. That sounded like a piece out of a Victorian novel.’ Now his head was lifted, and the smile had gone from his face as he asked her, ‘Do you think that a piece of paper and a few words said over you by a man makes all that difference to the act? That it solemnises it, blesses it, whether you enjoy it or not? And if you don’t enjoy it, because of that piece of paper you’ve got to stick it out for life, submit for life, as women had to do at one time. But now they’re doing without the paper, and if they don’t like it, or if he doesn’t, one or other can get up and leave. Isn’t that a cleaner way?’
She was on her feet, now looking down at him; her face was set and her lips scarcely moved as she said, ‘Your purpose in following me in here was to find out why I was upset. Well, now you know; but I cannot see the connection between that purpose and the topic you have just raised. And I don’t wish to carry on with the discussion.’
He rose from the bed and his face was as stiff as hers and his voice was almost a growl as he said, ‘You know what you’re made of, Miss Brownlow? You’re made of the material from which they used to cut out spinsters. It’s written on your face, it’s in the way you walk, it’s in your defensive repartee; all of it real material of a frustrated woman.’
