Riley, page 11
As she hurried out the three of them exchanged glances, but it was Fred who remarked, ‘Thoughtful bloke. Talks big at least with flowers,’ and turning to Louise, he added, ‘It used to be a single red rose in my time.’
‘But that was many, many years ago, dear.’
‘Watch it, woman! Watch it!’
Riley watched them chipping each other, their lovemaking hardly disguised.
At half past seven Nyrene, glancing at the clock, said, ‘I’ll give him another quarter of an hour. If he’s not here by then we’ll eat, because the puddings will be getting soggy.’
The next fifteen minutes were taken up mostly with question and answer between Fred and Riley, Fred being the questioner, and just as Nyrene rose from the couch saying, ‘Well, that’s that! We’re not waiting any longer; he can have it warmed up, or sandwiches or something. Come on,’ the phone rang. It was as if she hadn’t heard it for she made no response. It was Louise who said, ‘That’s the phone, Nyrene.’
‘The phone? Yes, of course. What’s the matter with me?’
She ran down the room and into the hall, and the three of them stood listening to her saying, ‘Hello, dear,’ followed by a silence during which they all concentrated their gaze towards the open door into the hall. Then Nyrene’s voice came again: ‘Oh, I am so sorry, dear. Still it can’t be helped. Until tomorrow then; that’s if possible. Yes, dear…Oh, yes indeed, dear. Indeed…Oh, please don’t worry…don’t attempt tomorrow if the roads are bad. I understand. Of course, I do…Oh, what is a meat pudding! Yes, my dear. Yes, all right. Goodnight. Goodnight.’
She came back into the room unsmiling and saying flatly, ‘He’s stuck in Manchester. He’s just got down. They’ve been going round and round for ages. They were an hour late leaving. I’m sorry.’
‘What’s to be sorry about? There’ll be other times. What’s worrying me at the moment is that pudding getting soggier and soggier.’
‘Oh, you!’ Louise pushed Fred and he fell back onto the couch and sat for a moment looking up at them and saying, ‘And only one port. That’s all I’ve had, one measly glass of port.’
‘Oh, get up! And come on with you. You’re like that man in the films who used to turn into the Incredible Hulk.’
‘Well, I like that!’ Fred pulled himself up from the couch and nodded towards Riley, asking, ‘Do you remember him?’
‘Oh yes, yes. And his eyes went funny just as he was about to change personalities. Yours go a bit odd at times, you know.’ And on this light note they made their way, laughing, to the dining room.
There were no starters; they went straight into the meat pudding, together with sprouts, glazed carrots and mashed potatoes, and the quality of this course received its due appreciation.
But the sweet was more elaborate: jellied fruits in a ring of puff pastry and topped with fresh cream and spikes of angelica. This, too, received its share of appreciation; and when Fred said, ‘All I can say, Nyrene, is that you’ll make a good wife for some man one of these days,’ Nyrene answered in the same vein, except even more lightly, ‘Well, I hope so.’ What could be said to be a tactless remark was passed over, yet all the while Fred was cursing himself for his stupidity and Riley was thinking, She wants to be married; you can see it in her face. She’s glowing. Yes, that’s the word, glowing …
It was ten o’clock when they left. Fred kicked a path through the snow on the pavement to the car door. The night was bright and clear. There was a stillness everywhere, and when Fred shouted to Louise as he walked back to meet her on the garden path, ‘Come on then,’ his voice rang down the street like that of a night watchman.
Riley was left standing in the doorway gazing at Nyrene. Her face, which up till now had appeared so bright, had taken on an almost sad look, and when she put out a hand and cupped his cheek he wanted to grab it and pull her towards him, only for him then to ask himself what she was playing at. Her bloke hadn’t turned up and she was disappointed, but she had played the hostess all night, hadn’t she? But now…
‘Oh, Riley! Riley! It’s been lovely seeing you. Don’t forget me, will you? Don’t forget me. And don’t think badly of me, please.’
He was about to say, ‘Think badly of you, why?’ when Fred’s voice boomed out again, ‘Come on with you! Let her get in out of the cold. She’ll freeze.’
She was pushing him gently now on the chest, but his eyes remained tight on her silhouette until he felt his arm gripped none too gently by Fred who was saying, ‘What’s up with you? Louise is freezing. Come on, man! Come on!’
Sitting in the back of the car, he looked out of the window. She was still standing there…‘Don’t forget me,’ she had said. ‘Don’t think badly of me.’ That look on her face. It was so different, at least from what it had been all evening whenever she had looked at him. But, until that moment, she hadn’t looked him straight in the eyes.
‘Don’t forget me.’ Why did she say that? Why did she have to say that when she was full up with this other bloke? Foreign calls, flowers and skipping around all evening like a teenager. But the woman he had loved hadn’t been a teenager, she had been a woman, and at one time in their lovemaking she had looked at him with that same expression that she had had on her face just a few minutes ago.
Shut up! Drop it! You’ll drive yourself barmy, man. All right, all right. Perhaps you weren’t dreaming. Perhaps it did happen. Well if it did happen, as you’ve admitted before, it was with a drunken woman who has forgotten every blasted minute of it.
Or had she?
Dry up! For God’s sake.
Seven
Spotting Nyrene walking along the pavement, Louise pulled the car into the kerb and, lowering the window, she called, ‘Where’re you off to at this time in the day?’
‘Oh, hello, Louise.’ Nyrene bent down to the face that was upturned to hers and, smiling, she said, ‘I’ve cut the rehearsal; I was feeling a bit groggy.’
‘And meaning to walk home?’
‘No, madam, I wasn’t, I was making for the taxi rank at the end there.’
‘Well, get in, and I’ll charge you only half price.’
‘Thank you very much, ma’am. Will you come in and have a cup of tea?’
‘Yes, and I’ll be glad of one; I’ve been shopping. That young fellow of ours outgrows his pants, his sleeping bag, the lot, every week it seems.’
‘Well, Fred calls him his bouncing boy, and that’s what he is.’
‘There’s a pair of them.’
Five minutes later they were sitting in Nyrene’s kitchen, and Louise said, ‘I’ll see to the tea. Sit down; you look green. Have you eaten something bad?’
‘Could be; I’m eating too much altogether these days.’
‘Well, perhaps you are.’ Louise looked at Nyrene intently for a moment, then said, ‘I thought you were putting on a bit of weight. I said so to Fred but he said, not you; you’ve been like a rake for years.’
There was no response from Nyrene for a moment until, her head slightly drooped and her gaze directed towards the table, she said, ‘Well, pregnant women are known to put it on, aren’t they?’
The cup and saucer jangled in Louise’s hand, and she said, ‘What did you say?’
‘You heard what I said, dear: pregnant women—’
‘You’re pregnant, Nyrene?’ The question was soft and awe-filled.
And Nyrene answered it in the same vein, her voice scarcely above a whisper, saying, ‘Yes Louise, I am pregnant.’
‘Well, well!’ It was as if Louise was just emerging out of a doze or a dream: her eyes blinked, she moistened her lips, then said, ‘How far are you gone?’
‘Oh.’ It seemed that Nyrene had to consider; then she said, ‘Oh, just over two months.’
‘Well, well! Two months.’
‘Yes, Louise, two months; and don’t try to reckon up. I know I went up to Scotland for a weekend at the time Charles was there.’
‘You call him Charles? That’s the first time you’ve mentioned his name.’
‘Well, that is his name; and I’ve been up to Scotland since.’
‘Does he know?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Will he be pleased?’
‘Of that, my dear, I’m not certain. It’s slightly worrying.’
‘Oh, Nyrene.’
‘Don’t say oh Nyrene in that tone, Louise, because that part doesn’t matter.’
‘What d’you mean? You don’t mind if he cares or not?’
‘Oh yes, I do but it’s not all that important. What is important is—’ she paused and a smile came over her pale face as she said, ‘having a baby, the wonder of having a baby, something of your own, something belonging to you, something to cherish. You know what? It doesn’t matter to me what I have, boy or girl, twins or whatever, it will be a baby, something of my own.’
‘Oh my dear.’ Tears were in Louise’s eyes, then onto her cheeks as she rushed around the table to put her arms about Nyrene. And when Nyrene got to her feet, they held each other tightly, and Louise, the tears flowing now, said, ‘I know what you mean. Oh, I know what you mean. After I was dumped: and you know all about me being dumped, don’t you? I am sure his lordship has told you. Anyway I went a bit berserk; I had to go away for a time, you know. And it was strange, but that too was the thought in my mind during my bad periods: I’ll never have a child. I’ll never have a child. It would repeat itself, and when Jason first came and I knew that he was there inside me’—she now patted her stomach—‘it was as if…well, God himself had visited me.’
‘Yes, that’s what it’s like, Louise, you’ve said it, just as if God himself had entered into you. Well, I can tell you it’s the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me in my life, ever, ever, and if he wants it, it’ll be marvellous, but if he doesn’t want it, well…it’ll still be mine.’
‘Oh, my dear. My dear.’ Again they were enfolded; and now Nyrene’s face was wet. Then when Nyrene said, ‘The best way to express happiness is to cry,’ they both laughed; and she added, ‘An old actor said that to me once because, you see, I rarely cry off the stage although I can cry to order on it. In fact, it was due to being able to cry at will on the stage that I once got an offer to go to London.’
‘And you turned it down. Oh, I know all about it. I wonder what Fred will say.’
‘I think he’ll be pleased for me.’
‘Oh, he’ll be pleased for you, all right. Oh yes. He’s very, very fond of you, you know. I told him once that if he’d had any sense he would have cocked his cap at you years ago.’
‘You didn’t!’
‘Oh yes, I did. I love him to distraction but he can be a very irritating man, can our Mr Beardsley, when he gets a bee in his bonnet. And then it turns out to be the whole hive, not just a single bee. Oh, let’s have another cup, eh?’
Later, at the front door, Louise turned suddenly to Nyrene and said, ‘But what about the Palace and Mr David?’
‘I’ve told him.’
‘You have?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did he take it?’
‘He was pleased for me and said I could take as long off as I needed, that there’d always be a hole in the Palace for me to crawl into. He’s a good man, is David. Always has been; at least he’s been good to me.’
‘I wonder what Riley will say. I had a card from him this morning.’
There was a pause before Nyrene said, ‘Yes, so did I, from Eastbourne. They’ve done Wimbledon, Bournemouth and Worthing. I don’t know exactly where they’re bound for next.’
‘Oh, I think it’s Reading, then Oxford, Birmingham, Coventry and so on. Fred’s got it all written down. He’s very, very fond of Riley, you know, Nyrene, and he’s got it into that big head of his that it was he who started him on his career.’
‘Well, I’m sure he did. Has Fred had a letter from him recently?’
‘Yes, about a fortnight ago.’
‘Oh. Did he say when he’s likely to be here again?’
‘Perhaps towards the end of next month, or the beginning of May, when they end up in Newcastle after doing Sunderland. I think, too, they’re booked up for Scotland, and perhaps Ireland, too. It isn’t a controversial play, so it might take on there. And do you know something, Nyrene? His father comes round every now and again to see if there’s a letter for him, and there usually is; and I’m sure there’s something in it by way of paper money. But I don’t think he comes just for that, he seems genuinely concerned for him. Fred asked him once about his wife, had she softened towards Riley? But his father said, not a bit; hardened if anything. And apparently their daughter Betty is bearing the brunt of it. If Riley had gone on drugs, or got a girl or two into trouble, well, you could understand it, but as young fellas go today he’s kept as clean as a whistle, to voice my husband’s much used phrase. Hasn’t he written to you, I mean anything besides the cards?’
Nyrene gave a small laugh as she said, ‘No, just the cards, and always with the same message: he hopes I am well. Although sometimes there’s a little change when he says he used to look forward to weekends, but that now Sunday means scene shifting, followed by a train journey to some other oasis in the desert. The one I received this morning said he was going to write a book on seaside landladies, particularly theatrical ones.’
Louise laughed as she said, ‘On Fred’s this morning he wrote, “Why didn’t you educate me, Beardsley, when you had the chance, instead of thrusting me out in the cruel wide world, where people talk proper?” He’s still the natural comedian. Well, I must be off, and I’m dying to pass your news on to him.’ But Nyrene thrust her hand quickly out and grabbed Louise’s as she said, ‘Oh no! Don’t, please. Don’t tell him; I’d rather you didn’t.’
‘Fred? Not tell Fred?’
‘Oh yes, yes, Fred; I thought you meant Riley.’
‘Oh no, no, I’ll leave that to you, dear.’
Nyrene nodded. ‘Yes, leave it to me.’
After the door had closed on Louise, Nyrene stood with her back to it and drew in a long shuddering breath before putting her hands on her stomach as she repeated, ‘Leave it to me.’
Eight
At about four o’clock in the afternoon on a day in the middle of May, Riley rang her doorbell. He expected her to be at home about this time. The air around him was heavy with the smell of may as it drifted from the large hawthorn tree in the next garden, its branches obligingly stretched over the dividing fence.
When there was no immediate reply he again put his finger on the bell, but this time before his hand had dropped away there she stood, this strange woman. She had evidently just pulled an apron from her waist: she was dressed in a shapeless blue cotton dress; she had no stockings on and her toes showed through openwork sandals. Her mouth was agape as she whispered his name: ‘Riley.’
He did not say, Hello, Nyrene or, Aren’t you going to ask me in? He just remained still and looking at her. The last time he had seen her she had been as thin as a rake; now her face was showing plumpness. She was big all over.
His eyes came to rest on a stomach that seemed to be gently forcing her dress out of shape, and the sight of it caused him to say, but to himself, ‘No. No.’ Then, ‘Good God, no!’ And again, ‘No. No.’ It was as if there was a shout coming out of the top of his head crying, ‘Good God, not that! And at her age!’ Well, what age was she now? Thirty-eight come thirty-nine? They had bairns at forty-five today, and after. But…but her.
‘Aren’t you coming in?’
‘Oh yes, yes.’ He turned and looked at the may branch, then remarked, ‘Nice smell that, may.’
She nodded. ‘It is a beautiful smell. No-one has yet been able to reproduce it. When did you get in?’
‘Oh, about an hour ago. There was no-one in’—he jerked his head to the side as if indicating the Beardsleys—‘except the cleaning woman, to whom I had to prove my identity.’
It was strange. He was speaking differently: ‘to whom I had to prove’, he had said, not who I had to prove my identity to, but, ‘to whom I had to prove’. He looked different: so much older. Oh yes, so much older. And he looked so smart. He was handsome…a young man.
‘The house looks the same.’ He was walking into the sitting room now. ‘This hasn’t altered, but’—he stopped abruptly and turned to face her—‘you have, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, yes, Riley, I have. A blind man could tell I have. Are you shocked?’
‘I don’t know. To tell you the truth I don’t know how I’m feeling. I can’t imagine you with a—’ He couldn’t say kid, he couldn’t say child, he couldn’t say bairn, he had to force himself to say, ‘baby’.
‘I couldn’t at first either, but…but I can now.’
‘You want it then?’
‘Want it? Oh, Riley, yes, yes I want it. As I’ve never wanted anything in my life before, I want this baby.’
There was that sick feeling in him again. He had a desire to yell at her, Why? Why? Why? But need he ask why? That damned nightmare was still with him. At this moment he would like to take her by the shoulders and say, Tell me, don’t you remember? Please tell me that you remember something of that night, just something, and he would go on to say, because that night has bloody well altered my life. I should be enjoying myself as only a male my age knows how, but what do I do, turn me nose up. There’s a girl in the troupe just breaking her neck to jump into bed with me. But she now thinks I’m a poof, in fact she’s nearly said as much. And married women; well, those with boyfriends, you’d think they’d be satisfied with one, but no. And I can’t let myself go. D’you hear that? I can’t let myself go. All because of that bloody nightmare. Or was it a nightmare? You’re the only one that knows. Instead, he found himself asking a question, ‘Does he want it?’
She turned her head away from him, saying, ‘Not really.’
‘What?’
