Riley, page 40
‘Is your face hurting?’
He took his hand away from his cheek. He had unconsciously been feeling the scar, and he said, ‘No. No, only my ear feels a bit odd at times. But they say they’ll finish it this week and that I won’t know any difference.’ He now put his hand up to his padded ear.
He looked at her now as he said, ‘You’re not going to the court then?’
‘No, Peter, I just couldn’t.’
‘Well, there’s no need. Anyway, Dad’ll be there, and Betty and Lily. Poor Lily.’
He seemed very sorry for Lily, yet as she thought this she had no feeling of jealousy towards the girl. It wasn’t her fault that this had happened; indeed it was her own, because if she had been at the flat to see to her husband’s laundry there would have been no need for Lily to pop in. She gave a quick shake to her head. She mustn’t let herself go into it again; this constant taking the blame for everything that had happened onto her own shoulders would break her down.
The door was pushed open and a nurse said, ‘Chariot’s on its way, Rip Van Winkle. Get prepared!’
The door closed again and Nyrene, now smiling at him, said, ‘Rip Van Winkle? That’s what she calls you?’
‘Yes, she’s from the therapy room. She calls me that, I suppose, because it’s from the story, you know where he slept for a hundred years, Rip Van Winkle.’
‘Yes, yes, I know the story.’
‘She said I slept for the first fortnight; but to tell you the truth, I’ve only vague memories of those first few days.’
The door opened again and a long wheelchair was pushed in, and, as Nyrene stood aside for Riley to be helped onto it, she said, ‘I’ll go to the flat; your father said he would call there.’
He turned his head to look up at her, saying, ‘Yes, do that, dear. Do that. I’ll see you this afternoon.’
‘Yes, dear. Yes.’ She kept nodding her head as he was wheeled away, attended by two laughing and joking nurses, a sight which somehow added to the constant hurt. Again here was youth being represented, gay and unaffected. She did not stop to consider that those two nurses might just as likely have acted the same with a doddering old man. No, because, together with her husband, they formed a triangle of youth.
Twenty-Five
In the small bleak room, Lily stood before the man who, since she had last seen him, seemed to have lost most of the flesh from his body. That had been the day after the incident, when he was allowed bail and she had told him that she was leaving him for good. She recalled that he had made no reply whatever to this, nor had he followed her home; but she understood he had been staying with his sister. And now she was looking up at him, her face twisted in pain and pity, and she was repeating to herself the judge’s words: ‘Although you committed an unprovoked crime the blame does not lie entirely with you, but also with the writer of the anonymous letters.’ And he had gone on to voice his own opinion of such writers. He had said he would have them publicly horsewhipped if they could be found; and he suggested that the police should take the same trouble in discovering the culprits as they would in their search for a murderer: such letter-writers were evil, and they ruined lives, they ruined families. In this particular case they had brought a man near to being charged with murder. In any case, the career of a talented actor had been wrecked, such that it was doubtful if he would ever again return to the stage. However, what had transpired was a serious crime to which the prisoner had confessed, and although he had expressed his deep sorrow, nevertheless what was done was done, and he must bear the punishment.
She now put her hand out and gripped Johnny’s forearm, saying, ‘It…it won’t be all that long. I’ll…I’ll be waiting for you…at…at home.’
The muscles in the big bony face all seemed to move together as if being controlled by a tick; then in a sort of throaty whisper the words came, ‘I’m sorry, Lily. I am. I am.’
‘I know, but…but try not to worry any more.’ She half-leant towards him now; then she looked to the side to where the policeman was standing, and when he made a motion with his head, an indication that time was nearly up, she suddenly put her hands onto the big shoulders and lifted her face, and when his arms came about her and held her close, she could feel the trembling of his whole body. It was as if he was afraid, and she could never imagine him being afraid.
Their lips parted as the policeman’s voice came from behind them, saying, ‘Time’s up. Come along.’ And now Johnny’s words came in a muttered rush: ‘You mean it, Lily? You’ll wait?’
‘Yes, yes.’ Her bobbing head emphasised her words and he slowly let go of her and took two steps backwards before he turned about and went through the door that the policeman was holding open.
She did not move for some minutes. Her eyes were screwed tight, her throat was full; she was overwhelmed with a pity she had never imagined she could feel for him. He wasn’t the kind of man that evoked pity; scorn yes, for at times she had been irritated by his ignorance which she believed was due to what she thought of as his inability to learn; yet there had been other times when he had surprised her by speaking with knowledge on certain subjects. She had, in a way, made excuses for him in her mind by telling herself he wasn’t a talker.
When she reached the street she was touched to find Mr Riley’s family waiting for her. There was his father, his sister, Nurse Fawcett, and his wife, Nyrene, and her friend, Mrs Beardsley.
It was Nyrene who said to her, ‘We thought we’d go and have a coffee somewhere; will you have time?’ She looked from one to the other before she stammered, ‘Ye…ye…yes, I’ve got time. Thank you very much.’
In the restaurant the conversation had been general until, of a sudden, Alex looked towards Lily and said, ‘He got off lightly; a year with six months suspended.’ But at this, Betty put in quickly, ‘Dad doesn’t mean that he blames him entirely. He really doesn’t, do you, Dad?’
And at this, Alex said, ‘No, no. As the judge said, it was the letter-writer.’ He had stressed the last two words, and Betty, her head nodding, looked from one to the other, saying, ‘Yes, as Dad says, it was the letter-writer.’ But when her gaze came to rest on Nurse, Betty almost vehemently cried, ‘Yes, the letter-writer! And I’ve had some of them too. She should be—’
‘You know who it was?’ This came sharply from Lily, and there was almost a chorus of ‘No! No!’ from the others, with an explanation from Nyrene of, ‘It’s usually a woman who takes to this form of malice, Lily, and Nurse had similar letters some time ago.’
‘Oh.’ Lily looked at Betty again; and then her gaze turned on Alex as he said, ‘It was because I had gone to live with Nurse, you see.’
‘Oh. Oh.’ The explanation seemed to satisfy Lily, at least for a moment, that is until she said harshly, ‘You know something? I’m going to make it my business to find out who was spying on me, and judging by those letters it must have been over a period. Yes, that’s what I’m going to do.’ Her head was bobbing now.
It was Alex who said quietly, ‘If you did find out, what would you do about it?’
‘Do about it, Mr Riley? I’d make them pay for it; I would take them to court. By, yes! I’d make sure they wouldn’t write any more anonymous letters, he or she, whoever it was.’
He was nodding at her now as he said, ‘You’re right in your feelings, oh yes, because that’s how we all feel. Every single one of us at this table feels like that, but we wouldn’t do it.’
She looked puzzled for a moment; then she said, ‘Why…why wouldn’t you do it, expose them?’
‘Because Peter wouldn’t like it; he’s not for it.’
‘Peter? You mean if he knew who caused him to be beaten up like he is and my Johnny to do a prison stretch, he wouldn’t?’
‘No, he wouldn’t.’
Alex looked from one to the other, and when his eyes came to rest on Lily again, he said, ‘We all know who did it.’
‘What! You do?’
‘You can sound amazed; you see it was Peter’s mother, my wife.’
Lily sat back in her chair and her eyes ranged around the group, and her voice was a mere whisper as she said, ‘No!’
‘Yes, lass, yes; and it’s been going on for a long time.’
‘Because of me.’ Nyrene had all their attention now; and when Alex put in, ‘No, lass, no; she was no good before that. I went through it for years,’ Nyrene put in, ‘Yes, but differently.’ Then she turned to Lily and said, ‘From when Peter married me, a woman nearly as old as herself, she set out to destroy him.’
‘Eeh, my God! Poor Mr Riley. How…how has he managed to put up with it all this time?’
It was Alex who answered, ‘Because she’s his mother, and I did the same earlier because she is my wife. Anyway, now you know, and you wouldn’t hurt him any more by bringing it into the open, would you?’
Lily answered by a slow shake of her head before she said, ‘No, no, I wouldn’t. But…but I can’t take it in: a mother would do that?’
When no answer was forthcoming, she went on, ‘But it doesn’t seem fair.’ She looked around them again. ‘She…she should be punished in some way because if she can go as far as she has gone she won’t stop now.’
‘Yes, I agree with you, lass,’—Alex was nodding at her—‘something should be done, and it will, lass. But let’s leave it until Peter’s really on his feet again. Yes, then we’ll see.’
Twenty-Six
They had the day room to themselves. Riley sat in a wheelchair and Nyrene was by his side and holding his hand and shaking it up and down as she said, ‘Oh no, no, Peter, you can’t.’
‘Look,’ he patted her hand now quickly as he said, ‘it’s better this way.’
‘You still need attention.’
‘Well, what better than a nurse in the house? Maggie’s a good nurse; she’s on night duty, and if I should need help in the daytime she’ll be there. And then there’s Dad. I’d like to spend some time with Dad. He should go into hospital again, but he keeps putting it off, for I think he feels it will be his last visit. Maggie thinks so too: he’s been in severe pain and his pills are not having much effect now.’
‘Oh, I am sorry, I really am, Peter, but…but if you came home, your dad could come with you. He loves being there.’
He looked at her and shook his head tolerantly for a moment as he said, ‘Aberdeen’s a long way from the RVI, dear.’
‘Oh, Peter!’ Her voice had dropped almost to a whimper now. ‘They’re all expecting you for Christmas, and I’—her gaze dropped from his as she added—‘I want you home.’
‘Nyrene…look at me. Now, look at me.’
When she lifted her eyes to his he said, ‘If this hadn’t happened’—he touched his head and then his leg—‘we would still have remained in the situation we were in, wouldn’t we? You would never have had me home again, as I was then.’
‘Oh. Oh, you don’t know: I was warring inside myself all the time; I…I wanted you, but I couldn’t make the first move.’
‘No, you couldn’t, dear; nor would you ever have, being you. And now you are again playing a part, because circumstances have set a different scene.’
‘Oh no, Peter! No.’
‘Oh yes. You were playing a part so as to give me a career, you were playing another part to give me my freedom. This business of youth to youth was filling your mind again. Oh I know. I know you wouldn’t let yourself understand that I didn’t need youth; I was never young inside myself. There was no call in me for youth.’ He now turned his head away and stared at the line of chairs flanking the wall to the side, and when he began to count them, he stopped himself—it was a habit that had come on him lately, of counting things—then he went on, ‘The urge was sex, pure and simple, and sex by itself knows nothing about love. Painfully I’ve learned that.’
A silence ensued for some minutes; and then in a low murmur, he said, ‘There’s another thing: you are suffering with a feeling of guilt towards me and although I know that things could never return to what they were before, I couldn’t tolerate…I really couldn’t tolerate being accepted back on your feelings that swing between pity and guilt.’
‘Peter. Peter, believe me, you’re wrong. Oh, you are very wrong in thinking along those lines. Yes, I have felt guilty, and yes, pity too. Who wouldn’t in the state you were in? And any guilt I felt stemmed from that state, for we both know that, in the first place, I was the cause of it. Listen. Listen.’ She had hold of his hands again, gripping them now, but she found she couldn’t utter the words that were filling her throat because they might not touch any reciprocating feeling in him. Yet she knew if she did not say them, she would never know, so, her eyes dropping from his, she murmured, ‘I love you, Peter, as much as ever I did; if it’s possible to say, more. And I want you; but much more I need you; I need you in my life to make it whole. My love over the years has been tainted with fear of what might happen, and it happened. Since then, all such feelings and fears have gone from me. No matter what you are likely to do in the future, with me or without me, I shall continue to love you.’
‘Oh, Nyrene.’ His head was bowed and both his hands were returning her grip when suddenly the opening of the door made them spring apart, then they both sighed as Alex entered the room.
‘Hello, both! Nearly ready for the road?’
Alex pulled a chair round to face them both and, looking at Nyrene, he said, ‘He’s told you he’s coming to us? It’ll only be for a few days, just until he hobbles a bit better. It’ll not be for long. You’ll soon have him home. In any case I have to go back into hospital soon. But as I told them’—his head now moving in a cocky fashion—‘I’ll come in when I’m ready, and not afore. Well now, Nyrene, will you come along home with us?’
She could only nod: there was that lump in her throat again, the lump she dreaded. But Alex went on, ‘And you know there’s no need for you to stay on at Mr Beardsley’s, there’s another spare room upstairs.’ Shrugging his shoulders, he added quickly, ‘But of course it isn’t as swanky as theirs. Still, the sheets are changed once a month.’
‘Oh, Alex!’ She found that she had to laugh, and it dissolved the lump, and when she said, ‘I’ll take you at your word, Alex,’ Riley put in quickly, ‘No, no, you’d better go home again; it’s nearly a week since you were there.’
‘I’ll go when I’m ready,’ she said sharply now; then, turning to Alex again, she muttered, ‘Thanks, Alex, I’ll stay for at least a couple of nights.’ Then she looked at Riley and they held each other’s gaze until he turned his head away…things were now out of his hands.
It had been five days since he was in the hospital listening to his father making arrangements for him to stay at Nurse’s; and now here he was again making further arrangements as to where he was to go, for Alex was saying, ‘It was a good idea at first, when I thought you’d have rest and peace and quiet and we’d have time for some cracks, but my heavens! Cracks? We’ve hardly had time to say hello. I wouldn’t have believed it. I could see you being visited by our lot and by Mr and Mrs Beardsley, but I didn’t count on the whole blooming company from the Palace dropping in.’
He punched his son softly in the shoulder now, saying, ‘Remember when I was in hospital and you brought me those flowers and Sister said men never got flowers? Well, just look round here, it’s like…it’s like a chapel of rest.’
‘Oh, Dad, shut up!’
‘Shut up, you say! Well, I wouldn’t mind shutting this place up, ’cos it’s been like a blooming cafe: with all the cups of tea I think I’ve earned half the boxes of chocolates and the wines. They’d certainly save me on Christmas boxes. And it’s not going to get much better, for too many people know where you are now, and with kids coming to the front door wanting autographs. I bet you never guessed you were so popular.’
Popular. He could hear Yvette’s voice saying, ‘A big fish in a little pond,’ and he had enjoyed being the big fish. Oh yes, he had. But now he knew he’d never be a fish of any kind again, the way he was looking now. But it wasn’t only his looks that had carried him through before, but his body and the agility of it. But now that was gone, too.
It was as if his father had picked up his thoughts, because he was saying, ‘And you’re walking better, fine, but, as I said, you’ll never get any real rest with all the people who know you’re here.’
Alex stopped speaking and walked towards the fire, and stood staring down into it before he muttered to himself, ‘Why the devil didn’t I think about her before? Of all the people who would know he was here, she would; and God knows what she’ll be up to next.’
Riley was saying, ‘But, Dad, you broke your neck to get me to come here, and I’m happy here.’
‘Happy here,’ Riley had said; at times he longed to be back in hospital, in that quiet little room where there were set hours for visitors. People were kind, more than kind, so wonderfully so he would never have believed it; but nevertheless it was wearing, and he was tired, very tired, much more so than when he was in hospital. His father was saying, ‘I know I did, and it was all for the best at the beginning; but I didn’t think it would turn out to be like Newcastle Central. Yes, what you want now is peace and quiet and rest.’ He came to Riley now and, gripping his wrist, he said quietly, ‘Go home, Peter. I’m asking you this specially: I’m going to say to you, do this for me. I’ve never really asked anything of you, have I? But now I am. I want you to go home. She’s been gone only two days and already you’re missing her, and lost without her. You always will be, so swallow your pride.’
