Implosion, page 23
“Do you mean—” began Mary.
Julia took no notice, “And then there’s the MOHS guards. Only three or four of them, but all specially selected, very specially selected. Just in case anyone has forgotten what you’ve done, they read out the court’s verdict. Then they strip you to the waist and tie you across the horse, and one of those jolly old specially trained guards lays into you with a whip. A nice, four-foot, regulation pattern job, carefully designed to inflict the maximum pain and the minimum damage! And every two lashes the dear doctor takes a look to see you’re quite comfortable!” She was choking with sobs, “And the nice MOHS officer counts each stroke aloud, so that you don’t get more than you’re entitled to! And when they’ve finished, they swab your back and put you in a nice cell to recover—and if you’re inclined to be worked up by it all, well—you get a nice shot of tranquilizer, and the next day another medical checkup to make sure you’re fit to be returned to the herd! It’s all terribly reasonable, everybody is so terribly sorry—well, nearly everyone!”
She pushed the plates away from her and buried her head in her arms on the table.
Mary looked at John. “That’s true—isn’t it?”
“But it’s not like that!” retorted John. “No one likes—”
“Oh, no?” Julia looked up, anger had replaced tears, “You should take a look at the guards’ faces—yes, and some of the Mums too! But the guards … d’you imagine any reasonable woman would volunteer for such work? Nice, reasonable sadistic beasts!” She concentrated on John, almost spitting the words at him, “You’re a stupid, innocent fool, John! I was too; even sentenced women to this myself, blinded by your propaganda! I didn’t know how low we had sunk, the sheer degradation of it all! Perhaps the staff are right; perhaps we are not much more than cattle!”
John shook his head wearily, “It’s not like that and you know it. You admit that until recently you fully agreed with corporal punishment—and it’s been used very sparingly, as you well know.” He was angry himself, now. “You give me an alternative!”
Julia’s anger had spent itself, but the fear remained. “I’m beyond thinking of others, all I can say is I’m terrified of being treated like that, I couldn’t bear it.” She stared sadly at him. “Perhaps the worst, last of many straws, is that I’m not sure you would save me from it, even if you could.” There was no malice, only infinite sadness in her voice.
“If you think that, there is nothing I can say that will change your mind.” The charge shocked him, yet was it so impossible? “Do you know me so little—”
“I knew you once, John, but you are not the man I married … Oh God! It’s no use going on,” she leaned back, took a deep breath. “I am sure of this; for the sake of what once was—and your tender conscience—you’ll do your best to keep me free.”
“I promise you that,” he said solemnly, and meant it.
They drank a little brandy, and John detailed his plan, making Julia repeat his instructions, trying to infuse her with confidence in him, and his plan.
Mary sat silent, thoughtful.
Half an hour later the plan was translated into action. White and trembling slightly, Julia stood ready in the hall as John phoned down to the CID man. Mary cleared the supper things in silence, and then disappeared into the bedroom to get ready for her part.
There was an electric two or three minutes while they waited, Julia’s eyes glancing nervously at the door, half open so that they could hear, and at John’s impassive face.
The lift door clanged down below, echoing sepulchrally up the lofty stairwell. John gave Julia an encouraging squeeze on her arm, smiled and pushed her gently out of the door. She made off unsteadily down the carpeted corridor, a lonely figure, hunched with fear. She was well clear, waiting on the half-landing below when the lift arrived.
John swallowed hard, as the lift opened and the guard and the detective stepped out. “Come in, Officer.” He spoke loudly—too loudly. His forehead was suddenly damp.
He shut the front door firmly. Mary spoke from the living room. “Do come in. I know Doctor Bart wants you to take a good look at me, and the light’s better here.”
John marveled, not for the first time, at her self-possession. The two shuffled in uneasily, and stood by the sofa, trying not to look around the room.
John introduced Mary, explaining that Julia was a twin sister, but added that she now looked rather older. At once the MOHS woman was alert—too alert for John’s liking. She was young, smart and petite, quite unlike the usual MOHS type. Her doubts were allayed by the CID man—also aware of her suspicion—he knew Mary by sight, and said so. Then Mary, dressed in a sweater, slacks and short swagger coat, said she was off. A brief smile, an admonition to John not to be late, and she was gone.
John explained, and his awkwardness at telling lies passed as reasonable embarrassment, that he had decided to spend the night out of town—“It might be better.” There was a hardly concealed look of contempt in the MOHS guard’s eyes. A man running away, as usual.
He spun out the meeting—offering a drink, and having a heart-gripping moment, praying that Mary had remembered to clear the three glasses away. She had. All told, he held them for five minutes, and then they left, the CID man warmer for a large Scotch. John sighed with relief as he shut the door. If he was any judge of Mary’s driving, she would be the other end of the Cromwell Road before the guards even left the flat.
He poured himself an even larger Scotch, and phoned the Ministry garage.
Mary, clutching her overnight bag tightly, walked slowly down the steps and across the road to the car. Traffic was light, but she was relieved to see that the line of parked cars effectively screened her from the dark patch which was the entrance to the park.
She opened the car door, proof that Julia had made it, got in and shut the door, reaching swiftly for the starter. No keys.
“Where are the bloody keys?” she hissed.
A trembling hand crept over the back of her seat.
“For Christ’s sake, relax!” She pressed the starter, “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
All the same, she did not enjoy the agonizing delay at the Cromwell Road traffic lights. She spotted a woman loitering on the corner. Judging by her appearance, there was small chance that she would be accosted—not that there was much danger anyway, sterility had practically killed prostitution.
As they crossed yellow-lit Putney Bridge, Mary was finally satisfied that they were not being followed.
“Ok, Julia.” Her manner was abrupt, but not unkind, “You can relax now—until we get to Bramley.”
She explained that the local police would automatically be told by the Ministry that the Minister was on his way, and would put a guard on the cottage.
“But don’t worry about that; we’ll drive straight into the garage—the locals know me—and there’s a door connecting the garage with the kitchen.”
Mary drove with her usual careful ferocity. Julia stayed in the back, silent and huddled in one corner, averting her head whenever the lights of a passing car lit up the interior.
Her sister was silent too, concentrating on the road, for she would have to keep moving to reach the cottage before John. His “great black beast of a car”—as she called it—was faster, and the distinctive group of three blue lights, front and back, when used, made a big difference. Any police car, chasing the speeding Minister, would at once become an escort at a quick on-off flick of the blue lights. She hoped he would have the sense to restrain his driver.
In 1978 the volume of traffic was perceptibly less than in 1972, and they made good time through the Kingston by-pass. Although it promised to be a fine weekend, there were not many cars. With no children to take to the sea, there was less incentive. Brighton and a half dozen other resorts had already started removing parking meters.
With Esher behind them, Mary relaxed herself, and lit a cigarette. The black ribbon of road unwound steadily before them. Cobham, and on through half-demolished Ripley, one of the first villages condemned in Surrey. Mary spoke.
“Have you thought what you want to do?”
For a long time Julia did not answer and Mary was about to repeat her question when she replied.
“I don’t really know, there has not been time, but I think I would like to work with children.” Perhaps she would meet Diana, she at least was close to her, perhaps …
“I don’t think that will be very easy, you know. I’m sure John will do what he can, but you must not expect too much of him.”
Julia’s voice was hard, “Don’t worry, I don’t expect much of anyone these days. Expect nothing, trust no one.”
“That cuts both ways. Can you be trusted?”
Julia read her sister’s thoughts. “You needn’t think I will try to get John back. Two days ago, before I broke out, my dearest, unattainable wish was to be his wife once more. Too much has happened since then. I can’t regain what was once my life—and I don’t even want to. So you needn’t worry, either. By all means go on living with him, you won’t have any trouble from me; I really couldn’t care less.”
The underlying tone of bitterness did not convey complete conviction.
“Look,” said Mary firmly, “this should have come from John, but there is one point I want you to get straight now. You have not, I suppose, heard of the Matrimonial Causes Act, 1974?”
“What on earth’s that?”
“Shorn of all the legal rubbish, it allows any man, married to a National Mother, to get that marriage annulled.”
Her voice softened, and she spoke with genuine sincerity.
“I’m sorry, Julia, but John is my husband.”
8
Quite unnecessarily, Bart visited his office in order to give his wife a good start. Absently he shuffled a few papers around, then went into the nearby MOHS HQ. In earlier days this had been his operations center, now his private army had it as a control room. At that hour of night it had a somewhat deserted appearance, staffed only by a duty officer and three or four communications personnel.
The duty officer stiffened at the sight of him, and he waved her not to get up.
“Any further news?”
“No, sir. We think the, er, absentee must now be in the London area.”
The euphonious “absentee” made Bart frown. “Why d’you think that?”
“Well, sir—we’ve combed the Home area pretty thoroughly and our people down there are confident she is not there. It seems reasonable to suppose that she would return to—to London.”
The unnatural stillness of the rest of the duty watch told its own story, and it irritated Bart.
“Hm.” Bart was curt. “Nothing else?”
“No, sir.”
“Hm,” said Bart again. “I’m spending the night down at Bramley. Keep me informed. Anything else?”
“MOD Army informed us this evening that all Homes in the East and Southeast Regions are covered, and that the erection of anti-Hovercraft posts will start in the morning.”
“Good, good.” Bart had a sudden inspiration. It would not solve, but at least it would give him time to consider, his personal problems. It would also divert any suspicions that might arise. “I want you to tell MOD I will be visiting these regions over the weekend, starting first thing tomorrow at Skegness and working south to Bognor. Warn the Homes too. Good night.”
“Yes, sir.” The duty officer scrambled out of her chair as Bart left. “Good night, sir.”
Mary and Julia reached the cottage without trouble. Indeed, for Mary, the ominous silence that had greeted her revelation was a fair indication that she had all the trouble she needed in the car with her. She waved perfunctorily at a doleful policeman and drove in when he had opened the garage doors for her.
She led the silent Julia through the kitchen and into the living room. The roughly plastered white walls glowed pinkly in the reflected light from the red quarry-tiled floor.
Julia flopped into a deep armchair, and gazed blankly at the oak-beamed ceiling. Mary carefully checked the curtains and switched on the fire. She turned on the radio, adjusting the volume to act as a sufficient blanket for conversation—just in case a policeman heard voices, which was unlikely. For a moment she made minute adjustments to the positions of various objects on the high mantelpiece. Still Julia did not speak.
Mary sighed, and, opening the door of the grandfather clock, pulled the ancient weight up and set the pendulum in motion. Then she turned and faced her sister.
“All right, Julia. Let’s get it over before John arrives. Say your piece.”
Julia did not immediately take up the invitation. When she did, it was with her eyes averted, and in a cold, indifferent voice. “I don’t know that there is much to say. One after another people let you down. Matron, Parsons, John—and now you—and you are the lowest and most despicable! My own sister!” Warmth began to color her voice. “I always knew you wanted John. Fair enough. I don’t blame you for snapping him up, with me out of the way—but to get him to marry you! That is beyond everything!”
“I didn’t make him—”
“For God’s sake, try to be honest, just for a moment! We both know John can be led by the nose—and you really made a job of it!” There was nothing cool about her now. Red with anger, she practically jumped out of the chair, and pointed with a shaking hand at her twin, “You filthy cow! You’ve got the morals of an alley cat! Not content with stealing my husband, you have to steal my name as well!”
Mary was deeply angry, breathing hard trying to keep control of herself. “If you must talk like a cheap novelette, I can’t stop you. I am trying to make allowances, but I can’t see you have to weep salt tears over a name you cannot use anyway.” Her rage boiled over, “You’re so bloody wrapped up in your own sad story, you can’t see any other! Right, so I married John! It may have escaped your notice, sitting back counting your damned medals, but John is the next Prime Minister! D’you think I should let him go through life with me as his mistress? That would look fine, wouldn’t it? Or do you think he should remain faithful to you, and wait for your return in twenty years time? And if he wants love and affection—yes, dammit, to put it at its lowest level—if he wants a woman in his bed, has he got to wait twenty years for your doubtful charms?” Instantly, she regretted the last part, but it was too late.
“You filthy whore, you bitch!” Julia spat the words venomously at her, “By God! Somehow I’ll fix you! I’ll remember that, I’ll get even—”
“Yes?” said Mary swiftly. She was taut, ready for action. “You’ll—what?”
There was a faint squeal of brakes. A car door slammed. Mary took a deep breath. She nodded slowly. “Right. Now we both know where we stand. Let it go at that.”
“Oh yes!” jeered Julia. “Mustn’t upset poor old John, must we?” Nevertheless, she sat down again, and stared once more at the ceiling.
“I’m sorry, Julia, I shouldn’t have said—”
“Don’t be mealymouthed. You thought it, that’s enough.” For a brief second the two sisters stared at each other in hate, and then John walked in, stooping slightly to clear the low doorway.
He rubbed his hands and held them to the fire. “Well, that went off all right, then?”
“Yes,” said Mary, switching off the radio, “we had no trouble—did we?”
“No, none at all,” agreed Julia. Both sisters had their claws well out of sight.
“I was just going to make some cocoa for us—do you want any?”
John shook his head and sat down. He yawned. “God! What a day!” He looked thoughtfully at Julia. “Well, that’s the first big hurdle over. You’re quite safe here, quite safe. You can stay here for a few days while I get you a sterility certificate—and some money.” He dug into an inside pocket and produced a roll of notes.
Julia stared at him. Just like a man. Walks into the beginnings of a blazing row, and does not notice it.
“Have you thought what you want to do?”
“I would like children’s nursing.”
John grimaced. “That is a hard one. They’re very thoroughly vetted. Background, previous jobs, psychological adjustment—that sort of thing. You’d have to build up a genuine background first. Nurses are needed badly in the old people’s homes—we’re an aging nation now, you know—”
“How about old Mums’ homes?” interposed Julia.
“What! How did you know that?” He was obviously concerned.
“A little loose talk I overheard. Don’t worry, your charming secret is not general knowledge.”
John thought for a moment, then caught sight of the roll of notes in his hand, “Oh yes, you’d better take this for now. It’s only about seventy or eighty pounds, but it’s a start.” He looked slightly apologetic. “I don’t have much use for money.”
Julia looked surprised.
“No, it’s not a lot these days. Average wage is just over thirty pounds a week. Inflation is still with us.”
She took the money without speaking and put it in her handbag. Mary came in with the cocoa and biscuits. It all looked so nice, cosy and domestic.
“Mary,” said John as casually as he could, “it’s a damned nuisance, but I’m afraid there’s another crisis. I have to do a lightning tour of the east coast.”
Both women stared at him, both with different aspects of the same thought in their minds.
Hastily he explained, “I can’t give details, but we’ve decided to give the Homes strong military protection.”
Julia laughed shortly, “I’m honored!”
“It has absolutely nothing to do with you. But I must go. I’m not going to have the Army stamping and banging all over my parish.”
“Farm would be a better word,” observed Julia acidly. “Mustn’t disturb the herd; bad for production.”
John gave her a hard look. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. There was a long silence broken only by the ponderous march of the grandfather clock. Then John stood up, and said abruptly.
