Georgie was pouring a cup of cocoa between the floor-boards when I came in. That bright smile. ‘I didn’t mean you to see, darling. It was sweet of you to think of it, but I’ve never liked cocoa. I don’t know what Ada does to it, it looks more like that brown paint every day. Do you know the paint I mean? The plain one they use for walls?’
It’s all a game to her. Nothing’s more important than a bloody crossword puzzle. Nothing means anything except whatever word she’s chasing. ‘Distemper.’
‘That’s the one.’
She wasn’t surprised when she saw me carrying the gun. ‘You heard it, didn’t you, Edmund? What I said to Louisa?’
I heard every word of it. I was standing right outside the sitting-room door. Eavesdropping, I suppose. I was going to go in – to see Louisa, because I was upstairs when she arrived – but then I heard them talking about Roland, about when he died. Louisa said, ‘But it was so much worse for you when poor Freddie was killed.’
‘I was a child. I barely remember Freddie.’
‘I mean, at least there was a good reason for Roland’s death. He wouldn’t have wanted anything different.’
‘No, I don’t suppose he would.’
Then I heard Louisa say, ‘I’m sorry, Georgina, that was thoughtless of me. Does it still hurt to think of Roland?’ Georgie didn’t answer and she said, ‘I know, Georgina. I’ve known ever since I found that handkerchief you sent him. I recognised the writing. I thought you were so brave. You must have been desperately unhappy and yet you never said a word. Oh, you don’t need to worry, I’ve never told a soul. When I found out, I wanted to talk to you about it so much. Edmund said it was him, but I understood why you didn’t want to see me …’
Georgina started laughing. ‘You thought I was in love with Roland?’
‘I realised when I found the handkerchief. It was with his things. I kept trying to write you a letter, but I couldn’t think how to say any of it, and I was worried that James might read it and that there would be a terrible—’
‘What handkerchief?’
‘Surely you remember? It said “To My True Knight”. In red ink. You’d written it.’
Until that moment I had no idea what Louisa was going to say, but as soon as she started talking about it I knew it was the favour and I knew that Georgie would realise, too, and when she did, she would tell – because it was me, not Georgie but me, I had given Roland Georgie’s present – ‘To My True Knight’ – Georgie would guess everything, she’s clever and she knows everything, and she would hate me and want to punish me, and she would tell Louisa and … I stood there, outside the door, and I realised all those things, quick as a flash, one after the other. It was like being punched. I knew I must get away from the door before Louisa came out, but I couldn’t seem to move. I could hear Georgina talking, but I couldn’t take in the words. I heard her say something about Roland, then she – then I heard her say, ‘Don’t you understand, Louisa? Edmund and I have been lovers since the war.’
There were footsteps coming towards the door, they were too quick, I couldn’t get away, couldn’t get to the stairs in time. Louisa saw me standing there in the dark passage like some sort of criminal. I went towards her, I didn’t really know what I was doing, but I got myself in front of her, I suppose with some idea of trying to explain myself. I wanted to speak to her, but my mouth couldn’t seem to let the sounds come out. Then I tried to move my hand towards her to touch her, but I had somehow got myself jammed – I was stuck like a cheap sort of mechanical toy. Louisa was moving towards me very fast with her head down and I could see she wasn’t going to stop, so I tried to move again, this time so that she could come past, but I couldn’t. It was as if all my muscles had locked together; I didn’t have any strength to make my legs work, and I was standing between Louisa and the front door. I tried to say her name, but all that came out was a rasping noise. She wouldn’t look up, she was pawing at me to get past, sort of swiping me with her hands, and then she suddenly gave me a shove and I fell sideways on to the hall table. By the time I’d righted myself she’d gone.
I stood there holding on to the edge of the table for some time, I’ve no idea how long. I know at one point I tried to move, but my legs didn’t seem to be working very well and I only succeeded in knocking a lot of newspapers on to the floor, so I thought I’d better hold fire for a while.
It mended eventually, whatever it was, and let me get upstairs. I got hold of the gun. I hid it under the chest of drawers the day we came here. Georgie didn’t know. What they call a side-arm. Put six rounds in. To blow my head off, I suppose. Sat on the bed for a while, holding it … I shall be whiter than the whitewash on the wall. No bloody whitewash left on the wall now. Not one bloody brushful. Couldn’t bear the thought – without Louisa. Can’t let Georgie take Louisa. Can put up with many things, but not that. Can’t put up with it. Hope. That’s what it is. Chap’s got to have hope. No hope without Louisa. Might as well go straight on the scrap heap.
Decided to go downstairs with the gun. Not angry, quite calm in fact. Arms and legs working again, in good order. Sounds coming out of the mouth. Practised a bit of talking in the mirror: ‘Hello, this is Edmund Lomax speaking to you in English.’
I thought I would kill her, you see, but her pouring cocoa between the floor-boards and talking about distemper threw me off a bit. She made me a drink. Gin. Strong one. Said I needed it. I didn’t need it – drank it to please her, that was all. Always done everything to please her. What she wanted. Not her knight, though. Not anybody’s knight. Wanted to be Louisa’s, but wasn’t good enough. Never good enough.
Georgie wanted me to kill her, you see. To shoot her. I didn’t realise at first. She said, ‘I knew you would have a gun somewhere. Have you got bullets or shells or whatever they’re called?’
I said, ‘There’s not much use in a gun if you haven’t got bullets, is there?’
She said, ‘Well, is it loaded?’ She wasn’t at all frightened, more excited, as if it was an adventure. ‘You’re the man of the family, Edmund. You have responsibilities.’ I asked her what on earth she was talking about and she told me to sit down. We had the drinks then, while she talked. I don’t know if it was the gin, or what it was, but everything just started slipping away from me, I couldn’t get a proper grasp of things … When I entered the room I thought I wanted to kill her, but then she made me so confused, I couldn’t think. I didn’t want to, I wanted to put the gun down, just to … oh, I don’t know. I don’t know what I wanted. But then Georgie said, ‘I didn’t want to have to tell you this, Edmund, but I killed Freddie.’
‘You didn’t kill him. A stranger killed him, a madman.’
‘I killed him, Edmund. He was making too much noise. Always following me around. “Dordir, Dordir,” in that silly way of his, demanding attention. Making a noise. “Little boys are allowed to make a noise, Miss Georgina. Little girls must play quietly.”’
‘No, it was a stranger. Just somebody who was there. They killed him. It was an accident. They killed him by accident, then they ran away.’
‘I hit him with a stone.’
She kept saying that she’d killed Freddie. What I said about an accident, I didn’t know if it was true or not, it was the first thing that entered my head, because I couldn’t believe …
But she insisted. She kept telling me, ‘I threw the stone into the privy afterwards. I killed him, Edmund.’
‘No.’
‘I did it, Edmund. You know I did. Haven’t you always known it?’
Have I always known it? I can’t remember. I don’t think I’ve always known it, but perhaps that’s wrong. A thing like that, you’d remember whether you knew it or not, wouldn’t you?
Georgie said, ‘I killed your brother, Edmund. Don’t I deserve to die?’ Deserve to die … I don’t know if she deserved to die. I don’t even know if she was telling the truth. She said I’ve got responsibilities, but how am I supposed to know what to do? She’s always told me what to do. She could have been making it up – I don’t know, I can’t remember anything about it. Georgie said, ‘Be careful, Edmund. Don’t spoil my dress. Madame Tussaud’s will want it.’ Then, ‘Goodbye, Edmund. I love you. Kiss me, I want to die with a kiss on my lips.’ So I kissed her and she made me – she took hold of the gun and made me put it into her mouth, and then she started retching and coughing so I took it out, but she made me put it back – her eyes were staring, looking at me, making me do it. She’s always always telling me what to do … And I did it. I did it.
I suppose I must have forgotten about Ada. She’d obviously heard the shot and she came up to see … But she startled me, popping round the door like that. I didn’t mean to shoot her, it was just a reaction, a … reflex. Poor Ada. I suppose most of her life has been spent with us one way or the other. Where would she go when we didn’t need her any more? What would happen to her? Perhaps it was for the best, really, she couldn’t do much any more. Still, not much reward for a lifetime of service, was it? But at least you don’t have to come up here and find us, poor old girl. At least I’ve spared you that.
Too tired to stand up any more. Have to slide down the wall – like so – easier to be on floor. Put the gun between my knees … Nice to sit down here in the doorway between Georgina and Ada. My two guardsmen. I thought I would die at Passchendaele. Should have died. I suppose one ought to be grateful, but I’ve made such a mess of everything. People leave notes, don’t they? Jimmy did. Not that there’s any paper down here apart from old newspapers … Got no pen. Can’t get up again. That rhymes. Got no pen, can’t get up again. Never get up again now. Besides, who would I write to? Not Louisa, not now. ‘I’m sorry.’ That’s what they usually write, isn’t it, suicides? But I’m not sorry. I’m glad. I’ve been waiting for this for a long time. Such a long, long time …