World's End in Winter Page 10

  ’Right Royal was a bad horse in the past,

  A rogue, a cur, but he is cured at last..’

  Uncle Rudolf dropped lightly off to sleep.

  Carrie’s voice gave out before the end of the poem. He woke, rather cross, belched, and said, ’Time to go, Val.’ Now or never about the barn.

  ‘Before you go.’ His brother Jerome cleared his throat. ’There’s - er, just one - er, thing.’ He was always lending money and never getting it back. He hated being the one who asked. ’I hate to tell you, but we had a bit of bad luck in the storm.’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ Rudolf said frostily. ’I saw it as we were driving in. “Look what they’ve done to my fine barn,” I said.’

  ‘And I said, “Don’t be angry at Christmas, Rudie,”’ his wife put in.

  It did not sound likely, either for Val to say that, or for Uncle Rudolf to worry about a damaged barn, since the whole place had been a shambles before the Fieldings rebuilt it with love and labour.

  ‘We’ve found a man who can repair it,’ Mother said.

  ‘Waste of money. I’d rather tear it down and build a modern bungalow to sell at profit.’

  It was not for nothing that Rudolf was known as ’The Prince of Plumbers’. His plumbing business had grown to princely size by just such ruthless methods.

  ‘We’ll get the barn fixed,’ his brother said stubbornly.

  ‘Not worth it. You don’t need it.’

  ‘We do, Uncle Rhubarb.’ Michael looked up at him, his tired eyes ringed with dark shadows. ’We’ve got this friend, you see. She’s hankidapped. Like me.’ He raised his short leg. ’She can’t walk, so Oliver and I are teaching her to ride.’

  ‘Who’s Oliver?’

  ‘My pony.’

  ‘It sounds insane. If she can’t walk, she certainly can’t ride a horse.’

  ‘She can, Uncle Rhubarb.’ ’Don’t call me that.’

  ‘But it’s too cold outdoors. We must get the barn mended.’

  ‘Who’s paying?’ Not Rudolf, that was clear. Michael was silent. A tear ran down his nose and he licked it into his mouth.

  ‘I’m paying.’ His father stood up. ’Ha! What with?’

  Christmas, like too many family Christmases that start out quite promising, was ending in a quarrel. T finished my book, I told you.’

  ‘Your book.’ Rudolf pulled down his long top lip scornfully. ’You’ll be lucky if you ever get a penny out of that.’

  ‘It’s going to be published.’

  ‘That’ll be the day.’

  They faced each other, as they must have faced each other long, long ago, when they were fighting small boys.

  ‘The newspaper will print it.’

  ’You say so.’

  ’They say so. They’ve accepted it. They love it.’ In desperation, Dad had to embroider the lie. ’So how do you like that?’

  ‘I like it very much,’ his brother said with a chill smile. ’Very much indeed. I’ve been thinking for some time - I didn’t want to press you, but now that your book is such a success - I really ought to ask you to pay some rent for World’s End.’

  Nineteen

  With that disaster, Christmas sputtered out like a spent match. It was given its death blow when Liza’s mother arrived on Boxing Day in her vulgar purple van with ’E. ZLOTKIN, GREENGROCER. YOU WANT THE BEST? WE HAVE IT’ painted on the side. She had gone back to her maiden name of Zlotkin when Liza’s father left her.

  She had been in some boozers on the way and was noisier and shinier than ever, and a bit matier than usual.

  ‘Me and little Hubert just stopped by to bring you the compliments of the season.’

  She opened the back of the van and dragged out a blubbery boy, half asleep. ’Remember dear little Hubert?’

  Hube the Boob. How could they ever forget? Last summer, Mrs Zlotkin had only let Liza stay at World’s End if Hubert came for the holidays.

  ‘Same old boring old stinking dump.’ His piggy eyes surveyed the kitchen for food.

  ‘We’ve got some more puppies and kittens.’ Carrie made a feeble attempt to be nice.

  ‘Same old stinking menagerie.’

  ‘I can smell that old dog of Liza’s.’ Mrs Zlotkin sniffed with her fat beery nose.

  ‘You can’t,’ Carrie said. ’He died.’

  ’None too soon. She upset?’

  ‘She doesn’t—’ Carrie began, and Tom put in quickly, ’She’s gone away for a bit.’

  ’Where to?’

  ‘A friend. In Liverpool.’ All the family had this habit of spoiling a good lie by embroidering it.

  ‘Funny.’ Mrs Zlotkin let down her weight on a chair, kicked off her shoes and picked her teeth with a match.

  ‘The postmark wasn’t from there.’

  ’You’ve heard from her?’

  ‘Could have knocked me down. She never writes.’

  ‘What did she say?’ Tom tried to sound casual.

  ’I dunno. Can’t read her writing. She sent me a present.’

  ’Money.’ Hubert smacked his lips. Money and food were his Things.

  ‘That’s right. That’s why I came. To thank her. Me thank Liza! Never thought I’d live to see the day. I’d - well, I’d got behind with the rent of the shop, see. I wrote Liza I was worried they’d turn me out. Not that she’d care. I never expected no answer. Certainly not twenty pounds.’

  ‘Twenty pounds!’ Carrie gasped. ’Where did she get that?’

  ‘Nicked it, I daresay. Like she used to do when she was short of cash.’

  ‘Not Liza?’ Carrie looked at Tom, but he didn’t say anything.

  ‘Why not? For her poor old Mum. I always said she was a good girl.’

  ‘You said she was bad,’ Hubert said. ’And she is.’

  There was an apple on the dresser shelf. He stood on a stool to reach it, lost his balance, clutched at the shelf and knocked the Ant Farm to the floor.

  It did not break, but all the tunnels were blitzed, and black ants were coming out of the open top. Hubert screamed, tore at his clothes and rolled on the sofa as if in a fit. r

  ‘They’re on me! I’m crawling!’

  Hube the Boob. He was so awful, it was a gift.

  When Alec Harvey arrived to eat cold turkey, he saw the purple van and hid in a cupboard till Mrs Zlotkin had gone.

  ‘Dreadful old bag.’ He came out picking a spider off his hair. ’Old Red Hates her.’

  ‘She sent her twenty pounds,’ Carrie said, ’to pay the rent.’ She saw Alec and Tom glance at each other. ’What do you know that I don’t know?’

  ‘Nothing. I wish we did,’ Alec sighed. ’If Red doesn’t turn up before Tom goes back to the zoo, I’ll have to find someone else for her job.’

  ‘Find me,’ Carrie said.

  ‘You have to go to school.’

  ‘Who made that lousy law? They ought to be shot. I want a job. We need the money.’

  Outside the window, they could see the snow coming down again, big soft flakes mounding the mounded bushes.

  ‘Poor Bristler.’ Michael held Phillis up to twitch his nose at the cold window pane. ’Will it never be spring?’

  Tom went back to stay the night with Alec Harvey. They were operating first thing tomorrow, and there was no early bus.

  As he turned into his street in the Housing Estates, Alec said, ’Funny. I don’t remember leaving lights on.’ The waiting-room and surgery windows were bright. ’Must be getting senile.’ When he put his key into the side door, it wasn’t locked. ’I need a keeper.’ He opened the door.

  On a waiting-room chair, a man was sitting with his hands on his knees, staring at the opposite wall.

  ’Hello?’ he said. ’Who’s that?’ He was blind.

  ’I’m the vet,’ Alec said. T thought I locked up.’

  ‘She brought me in.’ The blind man tilted his head towards the door of the surgery without looking at it.

  ‘She—?’ In two strides, Tom was across the room and through the door.
Liza turned round, shaking back her hair. Her hands in rubber gloves were busy with a large yellow labrador lying limp on the operating table.

  ‘Just in time,’ she said. ’I’ve clamped the artery, but I can’t get the ligature under. I’m afraid she’ll move. Hold her, Tom.’

  Without asking questions, he put his hands firmly on the labrador.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Alec came in.

  ’Cut artery. But she’s restless. I’m afraid she’ll move before I—’

  ‘What did you give her?’

  ‘Tranquillizer into the muscle. I didn’t dare give anaesthetic by myself. She’s lost too much blood anyway. I injected 1 cc of Novocaine round the wound.’

  ‘Not quite enough. She’s feeling it.’ When Alec had injected some more Novocaine, he scrubbed his hands quickly, put on rubber gloves and tied off the cut ends of the artery in the dog’s front leg. Liza released the clamps after the knots were tied, and handed Alec the curved needle and suture she had prepared for closing the wound.

  None of them talked until the stitching was done and the leg tightly bandaged, and the blind man brought in from the waiting room to lay his hand on the labrador’s sleepy head. Her tail thumped weakly.

  Then Alec said, ’She’ll do. OK. Now tell me what happened.’

  Liza had turned away to the sink, busying herself with the gloves and instruments.

  ‘I’d been to supper with a friend,’ the man said. ’Wendy and I were walking home. We’re often out after dark. We know all the streets of the Estates like the back of our hand. Or paw. But something happened. We were getting near the pub - I can smell the beer fifty yards off - and there were people shouting and running and someone must have thrown a bottle. I heard it crash just as Wendy moved to protect me. I put my hand down and felt the blood and then suddenly this girl was there. She was marvellous. The blood was spurting out. She put on a tourniquet. I think she saved Wendy’s life.’

  ‘Oh shut up, anyone can put on a tourniquet,’ Liza said.

  ‘What did you use?’ Tom asked.

  ‘My sock.’ She giggled and turned round. She had one knee sock and one bare leg under frayed, cut-off blue jeans. ’My last pair.’

  ‘I’ll buy you some more.’ The blind man smiled, and Liza said, ’Ta.’ They seemed to have come to a friendly understanding. ’She carried the dog here,’ he told Alec. ’You weren’t in, but she had the keys.’

  ‘There’s no other vet for miles,’ Liza said quickly, ’or I wouldn’t have come.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well - you know.’ She swung her red hair forward to hide her face. Then she lifted her head and looked Alec boldly in the eye. ’I took the money.’

  ‘I don’t care, Red. Your mother told me why.’

  ‘You don’t care! I thought you’d put the police on me. I been hiding. I been all over trying to get work. I came back here because I - because - oh hell, I don’t know why I came back, except that I thought somehow I could get some money and pay you back. I will too. I been hiding out with some hippies in that empty house the other side of the park. Got a few nights’ work over Christmas, washing glasses at the pub. I saw who threw the bottle.’

  ‘They almost killed Wendy,’ the blind man said, stroking the dog’s head. ’You ought to tell the police.’

  ‘No fear.’ Liza laughed. ’Not me.’

  When the yellow labrador was bedded down for the night, Alec said he would drive her owner home and then take Liza back to World’s End.

  ‘Tom’s sleeping here,’ he told her. ’He’s helping me with a hip joint operation early tomorrow.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Liza turned to Tom. ’Trying to take over my job?’

  ‘I’ve been keeping it open for you,’ he said, ’you stupid dope.’

  ‘Carrie!

  Carrie thought the whisper was in her dream. But she woke, and Liza was standing by her bed. ’Where’s Dusty?’

  ‘Oh, Liza.’ Carrie sat up. ’He’s dead.’ ’Tom didn’t tell me.’

  ‘You’ve seen him? He couldn’t, I suppose. He thinks it was his fault.’

  ’So what? If the old dog’s dead, he’s dead, that’s all.’ She turned away.

  ’Take Dump.’ Carrie fished under the blanket. ’He’s a good puppy.’ ’He yours?’

  ’He doesn’t like me,’ Carrie lied. ’You have him.’

  ‘OK.’ Liza took the spaniel puppy. She never said thank you, but you knew what she meant.

  Carrie could not get to sleep again. She went to the window and looked towards the yard. The snow lay bright under the moon. The stable was silver on one side, black on the other, with sharp corners. Leonora coughed her chronic winter cough, and one of the horses snorted.

  John. Carrie knew all the sounds of him, as well as all the smells.

  She knelt with her arms on the sill and her head on her arms, staring through the frost patterns on the glass. When John came to the window and she rode him up to the Star, his hoofs rang hollow on the icy sky.

  On the Star, it was always spring. The grass was always fresh and green. The horses never grew muddy winter coats and long burr-tangled tails.

  Most of them had forgotten what Christmas was, but one American Morgan horse remembered pulling a sleigh to church at midnight, and being given a bag of carrots and a bucket of ale.

  Carrie had given John a new halter, which Miss Etty had helped her to make out of different coloured cords braided together. He showed it off, turning his plain bony head this way and that with his eyelashes lowered.

  ‘Cissy,’ a carthorse jeered. ’It will be a plastic browband next, no doubt.’

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ Priscilla’s bay show pony jumped a low rail with as much flourish as if it was a five-barred gate. T had a green shiny browband with stars on it. They twinkled.’

  ’If a horse could throw up,’ John said, T would.’

  ’How is - er - what’s-her-name?’ the show pony asked. She pretended not to care, but being a horse, and therefore basically good-natured, she did feel bad about Priscilla.

  ’Grounded,’ John said, ’for lack of money.’

  ‘Money, what’s that?’ The carthorse stared stupidly, his moustached lip hanging.

  ‘It’s what you can’t get anything on earth without,’ Carrie said bitterly. ’If we can’t pay for the barn roof to be mended, Priscilla can’t ride for the rest of the winter. Money spoils everything. It made Liza run away. She stole some, I think.’

  On the Star, you could tell any secret, because the only people who came from earth were dead already and looking for their horses.

  ‘Stealing is wicked,’ a black, big-footed police horse said smugly.

  ‘She stole me.’ John turned his head in the fancy halter and nudged at Carrie’s bare toe. ’Out of a pig van.’

  ‘My dear,’ said the show pony, ’spare us the grisly details of your past.’

  Twenty

  Every morning and every afternoon, Jerome Fielding watched for the Post Office van to bring him a letter about his book. Sometimes it slowed and Dad ran out across the iron-frosted lawn, jumped the snow-filled ditch before the postman opened his door, then turned and slogged dejectedly back with a bill or a circular or a picture postcard from one of his world-wide café acquaintances.

  One morning, he could stand it no longer. After breakfast, he yelled up the stairs for Em.

  She had been lying on the small floor space of her cupboard room, reading her play. In the last scene, the heroine was tied to the stake for burning because she would not betray her lover. Em wept behind her eyes, as the audiences would weep.

  ‘Want to come to London?’

  Em got up at once and collected the papers into the cracked satchel which she now took everywhere, in case someone got at the play. She slung it on her shoulder and jumped down the crooked stairs, with ink on her hands and face, dust on the front of her jeans.

  ‘In a skirt,’ Dad said. ’We are going to try and sell ourselves to the Editor
of the Daily Amazer.’

  They waited two hours in the reception room, while impressive, busy people came and went, and the receptionist handled telephone calls that sounded earth-shakingly important.

  When they were finally called in, the Editor of the Daily A mazer had the manuscript of Sailor of the Seven Seas on his wide desk and the photographs of Mother and the boat.

  Dad and Em walked nervously over the thick carpet and sat down. The Editor watched them approach, a bald, rosy man who twinkled at Em to show that he was good with children.

  ‘Didn’t make a special trip, I hope?’

  ‘Oh no. I have a lot of business to see to.’ Dad tried to sound airy, but he fiddled nervously with the gold ring in his ear. He waited for the Editor to say something about his book.

  The Editor waited for him.

  ‘So I thought...’ Dad uncrossed his legs and crossed them the other way. T thought, as long as I was here...’ He cleared his throat.

  The Editor waited.

  ‘... I’d just drop in to see what you thought of - of the book.’

  ‘To save you a stamp,’ Em added politely.

  ‘Good of you.’ The Editor smiled. ’I’m sorry.’

  Em’s heart stopped. Her father had gone white round the edges of his beard.

  ‘Don’t you like my book?’

  ‘I like it all right. But it’s not right for us. Nor are the pictures.’

  ‘What do you mean not right?’ Dad stood up.

  ‘We can’t use it. I’m sorry.’ The Editor held out the manuscript. Em was horrified to see that when her father reached for it, his strong brown hands were shaking.

  It was like when someone cuts themself and you see the edges of flesh open and the blood, and you double up in pain because you feel it too. Em could have been sick on the Editor’s plushy carpet, as he called her up to take the pile of photographs. On top was the worst one of Mother, her hair wet and stringy, knock-kneed in a faded swimsuit against a sullen grey sky. You could almost hear her teeth chattering.

  ‘Beautiful daughter you have there, Mr Fielding. You should take pictures of her in a boat some time. “Child of the Sea.” In colour. Those eyes...’ He twinkled his own. Em, who usually loved compliments, could only put her head down and stumble for the door.