The Paying Guests(126)

‘It’s very sad.’

‘It’s terrible. Terrible. We could hardly believe it, could we?’ He appealed to his wife, who didn’t reply. ‘On top of the other thing – No, it’s knocked us for six. It just doesn’t make any sense to us. To have had him come safe through the War… And then, he’s been getting on so well at the Pearl. We just wish we knew what happened. They’re all up there talking about it as if it were a murder. But I said, Well, how can it be a murder? Len’s always been so popular. The police didn’t give much away, you see.’

‘They didn’t?’ Guiltily, Frances found herself encouraging him to say more. But he clearly knew very little – hadn’t yet heard, for example, that no robbery had taken place; it seemed to hearten him slightly when she told him that. Then he learned that she had accompanied Lilian to identify Leonard’s body, and he looked at her with a bright, sad gleam of envy.

‘You saw him too, did you? We wanted to see him, but the police said not to. The surgeon had only just finished his examination and they hadn’t quite made him tidy. How was he looking, when you saw him?’

Frances thought back to that plasticine face. She said, ‘Quite peaceful. Quite – Quite calm.’

‘Was he? That’s good. Yes, we wanted to see him, but they said best not to, today. They said we can have him at home, though, while the funeral’s being arranged. We’ve spoken to Lilian about it, and we’re going to take him. You and your mother won’t have any of the bother of it, that way. We shan’t take him tomorrow, it being a Sunday; we’ll take him on Monday, and keep him at home. They’ve been very decent about it, the police. Yes, very decent. Of course —’

Here the boy gave a sort of squeal, making all of them jump: the grief had burst out of him; he hid his face in his sleeve. His father patted his twitching shoulder, but his mother spoke scoldingly. ‘A great boy like you! What must the ladies be thinking?’ He lifted his head at last, and Frances was horrified to see that his smile was still in place, rigid and agonised, even as his face ran with tears.

Once she had closed the front door on them, she returned to the sofa and sat down with a thump. ‘God, that was awful.’

Her mother was fishing for her handkerchief, looking iller than ever. ‘I wish this day would be over, Frances. Those poor parents! To have lost their son – and in such a way!’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘And to have lost their grandchild, too.’

‘Yes. It – It’s too cruel.’

Her mother had the handkerchief at her mouth. Her head was bowed, her eyes were tearless but tightly closed, and Frances, recognising the posture, knew that she was thinking now not so much of Leonard but of her own lost sons and grandsons – was slipping away into some bleak interior place peopled only by ghosts, by absences.

The thought brought with it a wave of absolute loneliness, and she longed and longed for Lilian. Could she venture upstairs, just for five or ten minutes? Just to be sure that she was all right? But there was fresh activity up there now. The baby was crying. Water was running. The drawing-room lights gave a dip, as a kettle was put to heat on the stove. A barrier of fuss and motion still lay between the two of them – so that it dawned on her that, of course, this was how life was to be now, not just for a few chaotic hours but for days and days. The single emergency of Leonard’s death, with which, last night, they had dealt together, had simply bred other emergencies, that were now certain to keep them apart.

The realisation made her shake. In an effort to calm herself, and to keep up some semblance of routine, she went out to the kitchen to put together some kind of supper; after staring blankly at the larder shelves she keyed open a tin of corned beef, put a couple of eggs on to boil. She and her mother queasily forced the small meal down. And then there was nothing to do but return to their chairs beside the fire to sit out the tatters of the day.

At nine o’clock there were footsteps on the stairs, followed by a tap at the drawing-room door. It was Netta and Lloyd, with Siddy asleep in his father’s arms. They were heading home, they told Frances. They were taking Mrs Viney and Min back to Walworth on their way. Vera was staying to look after Lilian, who couldn’t be persuaded to leave the house.

‘We thought it best not to cross her,’ Mrs Viney confided as she came down behind them. ‘She’s had a little sleep, and a little feed; she still looks like death, mind. But Vera’ll keep an eye on her, and we’ll see how she feels about it tomorrow. I should be easier with her near me, I do know that. And it ain’t fair on you and your mother, all this upset in the house!’

‘Please, please don’t think that,’ said Frances.

‘No, Miss Wray, you’ve done enough! We wouldn’t dream of asking any more of you. We shall get her to Walworth, don’t you fear, by hook or by crook; and until we do, me or one of her sisters’ll stop here with her.’

Frances couldn’t answer. With a sense almost of despair she saw the family from the house, then made a start on the bedtime chores. Her mother was anxious that the windows be properly fastened; she had to go from one to another, making a display of checking the bolts. When she climbed the stairs at last, and found Lilian’s bedroom door still shut, she paused, and considered tapping on it; only the thought of having to speak before Vera made her move on. But the sound of her step must have carried. As she crossed the landing she heard Lilian’s voice, strained but clear – ‘There’s Frances, isn’t it? Go on!’ – and a moment later the door was opened and Vera’s sharp face appeared around it. Did Miss Wray mind? She wanted the lavatory. She ought to have gone while the others were here. She wouldn’t be a minute, but didn’t like to leave Lil on her own…