The strange, rhythmic sound was the call of a bird with but two notes, a great tit, or a cuckoo. Standing in sunlight on the fringe of a pinewood drifted with bluebells, I thought what a pity one discordant note should break the tranquillity of the early spring morning. Near my feet, clumps of primroses bloomed on a small mossy bank, a tiny garden, perfect in itself, without weeding or tidying. A gift garden, I said to myself, given without asking and without effort.
‘Come here, come here, come here.’
The call of the bird grew insistent. I hunched my shoulders and refused to look around. If I paid attention to the bird, the flowers would disappear. Magical gardens always disappeared if you took your eye off them, even for a second.
‘Come here, come here, come here.’
I woke in the darkness and reached for the alarm clock. It was silent, but the telephone down in the hall was shrilling its head off. Daddy was ill. It had to be Daddy for anyone to ring in the middle of the night. I leapt out of bed, flung open the bedroom door and was blinded by sunlight as I raced along the landing and down the stairs. Brilliant golden beams poured through the south-facing windows and the frosted glass of the front door. As I skidded to a halt, I caught sight of the hall clock. Ten forty-five.
‘Helen’s . . .’
The familiar voice sailed in, without a moment’s pause, in the familiar way. Surely I wasn’t still in bed on a lovely morning like this. Harvey had arrived early and he was coming over right away to fetch me, so I’d better hurry up and get my face on. Harvey was looking so well and so was Mavis. So wear something nice and don’t keep Harvey waiting. She rang off before I had time to think of saying coldly I was in the bath or had been working at the bottom of the garden.
I sat on the padded bench, my heart banging loudly, perspiration breaking out on my bare skin and waves of nausea flowing over me. Your own fault entirely, Jenny. You shouldn’t move that fast. No wonder you feel like passing out. Stick your head between your knees.
I tried it, but it made me feel worse. A blinding headache had struck me as I lifted the phone. It felt as if the throbbing would blow my forehead off. I took some deep breaths and staggered into the kitchen for a glass of water.
As I sat, sipping it slowly, I stared at the red checked tablecloth and the eggy plates and thought of my early-morning breakfast with Alan. Slowly the nausea eased and my breathing calmed. ‘That bloody woman,’ I said aloud. ‘Put your face on and wear something nice,’ I mimicked. I didn’t know which was worse: the everyday unvarnished hectoring tone or the sugar-coated version we got when Harvey was around.
‘Why do you put up with it, Jennifer? Why ever don’t you tell her exactly where to go?’ I asked myself crossly. ‘Why don’t you just ring back and say you’ve too much work to do. School work or thinking work. Either way, there’s a hell of a lot to do before Colin gets back.’
I stood up cautiously, took two paracetamol and drank some more water. After what I’d said about my mother last night, I shouldn’t be surprised if all the old questions were turning up this morning. But however differently I saw her part in bringing about the disaster I now faced, the brute facts hadn’t changed. If I told my mother exactly what I thought of her, it wasn’t me that would suffer, but my father. And goodness knows, he had enough to cope with.
I washed up the dirty dishes and rearranged the table for a solitary breakfast. I had no wish to share the details of my evening with Harvey and at the speed he drives, he was bound to turn up long before I would be ready to leave.
‘Why don’t you call it off, Jenny? Do your dying swan act and say you’ve got a migraine.’
The prospect was very appealing and I knew I could carry it off. Five minutes’ droop with half-closed eyes and hand on head, and another five listening to the professional advice Harvey would not be able to refrain from giving, and the rest of the day would be my own. Enough time to plan next week’s work properly and still have a couple of hours in the garden to think things through before Colin appeared.
The idea was so enticing, I knew there had to be a catch in it. No, it wasn’t worth it. My mother would turn it to her advantage somehow, Daddy would be genuinely worried, and Susie would be disappointed. Susie is my youngest niece. She is two weeks older than my marriage. I first met her twenty hours after her birth and I’ve been her willing slave ever since. The thought of that small, vulnerable face crumpling into tears got me back upstairs and under the shower in record time.
Dear Susie. If ever a child were to tempt me to motherhood it would be Susie. But when I find myself going weak at the knees, I remember her sister, Janet, and her brother, Peter. That sobers me up immediately.
I opened the wardrobe door. ‘Wear something nice.’ I heard my mother’s voice over my shoulder and I almost put out my hand for my jeans. ‘No, Jenny, no. Thompson’s Law.’
I smiled to myself. If I was going to hear voices, I was glad Alan’s would be one of them. ‘Save your energy,’ he would say. ‘Only tackle the issues you are ready to tackle or ones you can’t avoid. Remember, avoidance isn’t evasion.’
I flicked along my skirts and dresses and fingered the sleeve of a grey jersey-wool suit and laughed aloud. How about that, with the jumper from the knicker-pink cashmere twin-set? My mother had bullied me into buying the suit and when Karen saw it, the day of my interview for Queen’s Crescent, she’d said how elegant it was and how exactly right for me. Since then I’d only ever worn it for speeeh days and parents’ evenings.
I found what I was looking for, a soft wool dress with mohair in it, lightly checked in dark brown over cinnamon. ‘The stroky dress’, Susie calls it. I knew a dress I’d chosen myself would never meet my mother’s criteria for ‘something nice’, but at least it wouldn’t raise issues.
‘I’m doing well, so far, Alan,’ I said softly as I finished my make-up. ‘Hair up, or down?’
‘Up.’
‘Jennifer, for goodness sake,’ I said, shocked by the speed of the response. ‘You’ll soon have as many voices as Joan of Arc. And you know what happened to her!’
As I began pinning up my hair, I saw why the answer had come so promptly. Lying in Alan’s arms before we made love, he had stroked my cheeks, kissed my hair and gathered it in handfuls around his face. With my hair down, he said, I looked so vulnerable. Any man would rush to my defence, even an old cynic like himself.
But today was no day for being vulnerable and no one would rush to my defence, I said to myself as I hurried downstairs, switched on the kettle and dropped a slice of bread in the toaster. Moments later, I heard the roar of Harvey’s Jaguar. Rather than rush to the door, as I once would have done, I went on quietly looking out of the kitchen window to where the pink and gold leaves were blowing into the garden from the chestnut trees on the main road. They fell on the newly-cut lawn, rested there briefly till they were stirred and whirled off once more by the next breezy gust. Huge clouds towered up out of the west, brilliant white snowcaps shaded with grey, set against the clear blue that holds the promise of winter ice.
The toaster popped just as a long shrill note vibrated down the hall. I pushed my toast into the rack and gathered my straying thoughts reluctantly. ‘Right then, Jennifer,’ I said briskly. ‘Let’s see what dear brother Harvey has come for.’
‘Hello, Sis, long time no see.’
I smiled dutifully at the immaculately groomed figure on the doorstep. Harvey has the knack of making his carefully chosen leisure clothes look just as formal as the expensive suits he dons for his consulting room.
‘Hello, Harvey, I was just about to make coffee,’ I said agreeably. As he stepped into the hall, he glanced at himself in the long mirror by the front door.
‘Oh, just the thing, I’d love a coffee.’ He followed me into the kitchen and settled himself at the table with practised ease.
‘Biscuit?’
‘Nothing for me, Sis, thanks. Just coffee. Black, please. Got to watch the old waistline,’ he said with a jolly laugh.
Yes, indeed. No middle-age spread for Harvey. If we can’t hold on to the ‘boyish good looks’ style, we’ll have to go for the distinguished senior physician demeanour. Unfortunately, his hair wasn’t going discreetly grey at the temples. It was just going. And mostly from the top.
I watched him sip his coffee appreciatively. For God’s sake, I thought, it’s only instant. You’re behaving like one of those idiots in a TV commercial whose life is transformed by a steaming container of hot liquid. I concentrated on buttering my toast and spreading it liberally with honey.
‘Late night, Jenny?’ he asked, settling back in his chair as if we were about to have a long, pleasant chat.
I munched enthusiastically. I really was hungry this morning and I had no intention of facing Rathmore Drive on an empty stomach.
‘Yes, it was rather,’ I agreed, licking my fingers. ‘Val had a party.’
‘Been having a lot of late nights, have you?’ He was smiling at me encouragingly. If he were playing a consultant gynaecologist who fancied his technique with women, I’d be telling him he was grossly overplaying it. But I wasn’t directing him, so I made myself another piece of toast and waited a moment before I replied.
‘No, actually. It’s ages since I’ve been to a party. I haven’t got time these days.’
He nodded sympathetically. ‘I expect the job is pretty damned hard work.’ His voice oozed with understanding.
‘No, I can’t say it is,’ I replied coolly. ‘It was to begin with. Like any new job. But now I have the experience, it’s fine. Time-consuming, of course. Like any profession.’
‘Yes, of course, it must be. I do agree. In fact, Jenny, I thought we ought to have a quiet word. I’ve become a little concerned about you and your job, you know.’ He paused as if he were considering judiciously just which aspects of me and my job concerned him most. ‘It’s never easy for a woman doing two jobs,’ he went on. ‘When I heard you hadn’t been looking too good, I did wonder if I might be able to help. Perhaps it is time you were thinking more about yourself and your future,’ he ended, underlining each pronoun heavily.
I concentrated on my toast. I had a horrible feeling that if I caught sight of his face switched into its professional sympathetic style, I might pour the rest of the honey over him to see if its actual sticky sweetness might have any effect on the phoney treacle in his voice.
‘Harvey, Mummy’s asked you to come and talk to me about starting a family, hasn’t she?’ I asked sweetly.
He looked startled and immediately uneasy. Harvey is a coward. If things don’t go exactly the way he’s planned them, he backs off rather than face up to what has happened. But this time there was a real problem. He knew as well as I did that he’d have my mother to deal with if he didn’t tackle me.
‘Well, yes, Jenny, you could say that in one way.’ His easy manner had quite gone. ‘She is very concerned about you, but naturally so am I. After all, you have been married over three years now and I wouldn’t want you to think I hadn’t offered you all the help I could. I know Mummy can be a bit sharp at times, but you do have to make allowances for menopausal women. She always has your best interests at heart, I’m sure.’
I watched him with growing disbelief. He was talking his way back into a very comfortable view of the way he was handling this little hitch in the programme. As I heard the professional unctuousness slowly creep back into the voice, I didn’t know whether to laugh or explode with fury. But his final words decided for me.
‘Best interests? Best interests?’ I burst out. ‘When have either of you ever let my best interests get in the way of your plans for me?’
‘What do you mean, Jennifer?’ he protested, the sympathetic look disappearing once more like snow from a ditch. ‘You’re surely not trying to suggest that I take the trouble to come and discuss your problems for my benefit?’
‘You can hardly claim you’ve come to discuss them for mine when you haven’t even asked me what I think my problems are,’ I replied sharply.
‘Oh, I think it’s fairly obvious—’
‘Yes, Harvey, of course you do. That’s just the point. It’s obvious to you and Mummy that my resistance to settling down and having a couple of children is what the problem is. I won’t play the game properly, will I? It’s a problem to her, and as she’s no doubt been going on about it ad nauseam, it’s become a problem to you. But it is not, Harvey, a problem to me.’ Given how furious I was actually feeling, I ended far more calmly than I could have imagined. But to my amazement a look of relief swept over his face, wiping away all trace of the irritation he had allowed to break through. He smiled forgivingly at me and spread his hands in an expansive gesture that reminded me of multilingual Popes giving the Easter Sunday blessing to the assembled crowds.
‘Well then, Jenny, if that’s what’s been the trouble, then it’s no wonder you’ve been off colour,’ he said warmly. ‘Early pregnancy can be a most trying time for a mother who is still at work. I suppose you and Colin wanted to keep this to yourselves until this new job was all settled.’ He sat there with a satisfied beam on his face, sure that all would be well and no ugly scenes would have to be coped with.
I stood up and took my time washing traces of honey from my fingertips. I couldn’t believe it. How on earth could he reach that conclusion from what I’d actually said? Could I really have been so ambiguous? Or was the man so obsessed with motherhood he saw signs of it everywhere?
‘Harvey,’ I said, taking a deep breath, ‘I am not pregnant and I am not likely to be pregnant in the foreseeable future. You can report that to Mummy, as planned, or I’ll tell her myself. Take your pick.’
He swallowed hard, put down his coffee cup and rearranged his face muscles. ‘Now look, Jenny,’ he began quietly. ‘You really shouldn’t be so touchy when someone is trying to help you. I’ve known lots of mothers who felt just like you do,’ he went on quickly. ‘Now, a few years later, with a couple of lovely children, they feel really fulfilled. All it needed was a little professional help. I’m sure, Jenny, that would make it much easier.’
‘Easier for whom, Harvey?’ I asked politely.
‘Why, for you, Jenny. Obviously.’
I laughed as I dried my hands and stood leaning against the sink looking across at him. He really thought he had all the answers, didn’t he. Well, it was time someone put a dint in his well-polished amour-propre and I felt just in the mood for doing it: ‘Come off it, Harvey. When have you ever showed the slightest interest in me? The only thing you’ve ever been interested in is you, followed by the practice and then by a quiet life. And life hasn’t been quiet, has it? Mummy’s been a pain in the neck. Maisie McKinstry keeps dropping hints that I’m not doing my wifely duty, so she starts on you. And what do you do? Not having laid eyes on me for months, you do the brotherly advice bit and expect me to get you off the hook by doing what Mummy wants. Well, I’m sorry I can’t oblige. I only have one life to live and I don’t intend to live it for the benefit of the McKinistrys, or Mummy, or you.’
Harvey opened his mouth to protest, but having got launched, I found that I hadn’t nearly finished.
‘And the next time you’re busy advocating motherhood to some hapless woman who comes to you with premenstrual tension, or advanced marital breakdown, or just a pain in her lower back, you might think of the women in your colleagues’ surgeries queuing up for their Valium. And after you’ve looked at the figures for depression among women, you could take a look at the figures for child abuse and then teenage suicide statistics. It might just give you a less cosy picture of family life than the one you’re so happy to peddle.’
‘Cosy?’ he threw back, when I had to pause for breath. ‘If anybody round here’s managed to make a cosy life, it’s you, Jennifer,’ he retorted. ‘We don’t all expect to have the benefits of marriage and a house like this without doing something to fulfil our obligations. We don’t all manage to do exactly what we want without any regard for the wishes of our partner. I must say if your concern for Colin figured as largely in your conversation as your anxiety for various problem pupils then your comments on how other people fulfil their obligations might not seem so inappropriate.’
‘As inappropriate, perhaps, as your suggesting that a wife is supposed to pay for her board and lodging by bearing children. Or that my role is to have children so that you and others like you can go on enjoying your own comfortable view of how you want the world to be.’
He stood up. ‘I think, Jennifer,’ he said in measured tones, ‘that this conversation has gone far enough. I came here to offer you help and advice and you’ve used the opportunity to make an entirely ridiculous personal attack on me. I see no point in trying to discuss the problem in a rational manner. I can only put down your outburst to the inadequacy you have so often revealed in the past.’ He drew himself up to his full height, adjusted his tie, which had not suffered at all in the dialogue, and moved towards the kitchen door.
I smiled at him. ‘Inadequacy, Harvey? I would have thought that a man so obviously threatened by his sister’s reluctance to become a mother, impelled to challenge her on the orders of his own mother, and apparently unable to relate to any woman except as a potential mother was in no position to talk about inadequacy.’
He dropped his eyes and walked out, banging the front door behind him. I heard the engine and waited for it to zoom off. But it didn’t. It just went on revving.
‘You’ve done it this time, Jenny,’ I said to myself, as I picked up my coat and handbag from the cloakroom. ‘You’ve really cooked your goose.’