After Purple (18 page)

Bernadette's mother, Madame Soubirous, had done still better. She'd had nine. Though five of them had died. Five little Soubirous pickled in jars. Perhaps that's why she looked so worn and grim. I'd borrowed a second book from the hospital library, one with photographs and maps, and stared at the photo of this stoic super-mother. She had a heavy peasant jowl and a resigned expression in her eyes. She was nothing like my own ma who had mini-lifts at the local beauty parlour and wasn't resigned to anything. I wondered what it would be like to undergo nine pregnancies. Your body swelling out and sanctifying, then subsiding, spitting you out a trophy, leaving you weaker and distended, every infant disfiguring you a little. Was Janet slackened and distended? Had she got stretch marks now and saggy breasts? Stitches in her cunt? Did she wince with pain when Adrian screwed her? Would they try again?

I slammed the photo upside down. I was sick of babies. Thank goodness Bernadette had none. Ray had hinted that she was wasted as a nun, but it was so much
safer
. She'd missed the divorces and the infidelities, the double shame of abortion and infertility, the broken vows, the broken vases. I was living like a nun myself — the white, the rules, the timetable. I had been lulled into the quiet, prayerful rhythm of the Sisters, restricted as they were, enclosed within four walls. I had almost taken their vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. I'd left my worldly goods behind and both sex and rebellion were impossible. Strange how it suited me. Early morning tea followed temperature-taking, and breakfast followed that; then bath, mouthwash, prayers in the chapel, chat with the nuns, reading, dozing, doctor, lunch. I felt as if I'd been there all my life instead of four short days. I didn't want to leave. I missed Leo fiercely, but I knew it was safer here without him. Everything was safer. I was part of some slow, white routine which God Himself had set in motion and which blocked out the splintered, fraying, random world outside.

There was a tap on the door. It would be afternoon tea, or the dentist with the most recent batch of X-rays, or the cosy cleaning lady who'd promised to lend me one of her daughter's night-gowns.

“Come in,” I called. I prayed it wouldn't be one of those frilly polyester nighties, with trailing lace and horrid little bows.

It was Adrian. I was so surprised, I just sat and stared. I hadn't been in touch with him — I hadn't dared to somehow, now that he was In Mourning — so how in God's name had he found me? He was hardly likely to have been exchanging news with Leo.

He was gazing at my face, looking almost numb with shock and fury, like when they assassinated Lord Mountbatten, or sacked the school caretaker for interfering with a second former. I'd almost forgotten how gruesome I appeared. After Father Sullivan, I'd made a point of avoiding mirrors. They only exaggerated.

“Thea,
darling
…”

I took the darling like a bunch of flowers. He had brought flowers too — well, one — a sturdy yellow primula in a pot. Adrian regarded cut flowers as an extravagance. Pot plants could be re-sited in the garden. Five years previously, he'd brought me something similar for Lucian, and when they discharged me with my weeping uterus and deflating breasts, he'd picked up the pot along with my suitcase and transferred it to our sixteenth of an acre. For all I knew, it could be still there. Or perhaps he'd dug it up again and presented it to Janet for the funeral. (Did you have funerals for foetuses?)

“How did you know I was here?” I asked.

He kissed me very gently on the cheek. He couldn't stop staring at my face. He looked as if he'd like to march me back to my manufacturer and complain about the breakage; storm and blame until we were granted compensation.

“A Dr Davies wrote to me. He thought we were still married.”

He would, of course. I'd written it on the form, and anyway, since I was posing as a Catholic, then I couldn't be divorced.

“Look, Thea, I
know
what happened. I've been to see Davies and he told me.”

“He doesn't know,” I said. I leaned across and sniffed the primula, but someone had already nabbed the smell — Janet, I suppose.

“Thea, darling, you
must
leave Leo. Davies is worried that he'll …”

In the pause, I could see clenched fists and hurtling paperweights. I suddenly felt frightened.

“Can I come back and live with
you?
”

He looked different, somehow. He was no longer Janetised, deodorised. There was a small brown stain on his tie — gravy, perhaps, or shoe polish. A button was missing from his shirt, and there were creases in the collar. Janet must be still in hospital, or convalescing somewhere. Now she was out of his house and hair, it seemed stupid not to take advantage of it.

“
Please
,” I murmured. I shut my mouth, so I didn't look too monstrous. I was glad the light was fading. Some of the bruising might even look like shadow.

Adrian's broad shoulders were caving in like cardboard. He seemed so upset, I opened my mouth again to make it easier for him. No one would want to live with a toothless hag.

“OK,” I shrugged. “It doesn't matter. I can easily stay here. I rather like it, actually. Apart from the blancmange. If you wait until seven o'clock, you can sample the blancmange. It's pink on Wednesdays. In fact, it's
always
pink. Except on Sundays when we have icecream.”

“Look, Thea, darling,” (another darling — my face had obviously impressed him) “you
can't
stay here. That's really what I came about. Leo filled in some form when he brought you here. Guaranteeing to pay the fees. Except that he filled it in all wrong — on purpose, I suspect. The hospital got on to me, so I phoned him straight away. He's refusing to pay, Thea. Says he can't. Or won't. It's costing £120 a day.”

“A
day
!” I almost shouted. “For pink blancmange?”

“I'll help, you know I will. But, private medicine on a teacher's salary, it's simply out of the question.
Janet's
in the ordinary NHS place.”

I felt a little dart of triumph. She'd have semi-qualified students peering up her cunt and low-grade agency nurses grumbling about their pay.

“Why aren't I, then? I didn't
ask
to come here.”

“God alone knows. Leo's got half a dozen hospitals more or less on his doorstep and he drags you down to Surrey! He said the nearest casualty was closed, which sounds suspicious, anyway. They told him to take you to St Mary's, Harrow Road. But apparently he'd been there as a patient once himself. I don't know — perhaps he got scared about publicity, or being blamed or questioned, or meeting someone he knew. He wouldn't say much about it. Frankly, I suspect he panicked — bolted out of London, if you like, so he could hush up what he'd done.”

I stared at Adrian. He never lied — he was too literal and unimaginative for that. But Leo didn't panic or bolt or hush things up. Adrian made him sound like a petty criminal.

I took a sip of water. Adrian was sitting on my foot. It hurt a bit, but I almost welcomed it. A lesser pain was a distraction from my mouth.

“There was some other chap involved — Otto, I think he said. That's how he heard of this place.”

“
Otto!
” I gasped.

“Yes, weird name, isn't it? The whole thing sounded odd. Apparently, this Otto character's got an aunt who's one of the nursing nuns here. Sister Robert, I think he said — or was it Roland? — something with an R. Anyway, he knows the place quite well, so he phoned the Reverend Mother there and then, even though it was the middle of the night, jabbered on about an emergency, and thirty minutes later you were carried through the door.”

“Otto,” I repeated. I felt I was unravelling, little pieces flaking off me and crumbling to the floor. Otto had seen me bleeding and distorted, Otto had manhandled me, tossed me in a blanket and dumped me in his car. I knew that car — a snub-nosed, low-slung brute which liked nothing better than to swallow Leo into its second seat and roar away with him, leaving me numb and powerless on the pavement. Except this time, I'd gone with them. They must have done a ton to arrive in thirty minutes. Otto risking my life to save his friend — stop the gossip, preserve Leo's reputation. I wondered if my blood had stained his car. It was red already, a shameless scarlet jade with two seats and a boot. I preferred not to ask who had travelled in the boot. It wouldn't have been Leo.

I could feel scarlet shouting through the room. My mouth was bleeding again, everything too bright. The primula was blazing like a sun. Even Adrian looked too gaudy. His navy-blue sweater and rust-coloured trousers were colliding with each other. I wished he'd go away. I didn't want upheavals and hypotheses, personal history lessons, textbook explanations. Better to remain unconscious, as I had been — mercifully — when Otto bundled me up and threw me in his car.

I picked up the packet of custard creams and tore the wrappings off. It still upset me that Leo had brought me biscuits which I could no more eat than concrete. I'd tried one earlier — a ginger-nut — and my mouth had bled with it. But at least Adrian could enjoy them.

“Have a biscuit,” I urged. “They're nice.”

Safer if we stuck to simple things like afternoon tea in the country. With any luck, Sister would bring the tray in, and after all the fuss and clatter of teacups and hot-water jugs, Adrian might forget what he'd been saying. Even without the tray, I could still provide refreshments à la carte. I didn't want to think beyond refreshments. If I worked out how I got here, I came face to face with dangerous things like paperweights and Leo's fears and Louis de Gonzague, and if I looked the other way, they were trying to turf me out.

I couldn't bear to leave. Everything was white and safe and holy at St Maur's. It was like being a little girl again, returning to the nuns. Thea Wildman — that was my maiden name. My mother had always distrusted it. “With a headstrong name like that, I should have
known
I'd be in trouble.” When my father proved her right by disappearing, she reverted to her own name which was Elliott. (“Two l's and two t's, if you
don't
mind” — Ma always clung on to her every right and asset, even if they were only consonants.) I suppose Elliott is a harmless sort of name, but to me it sounded harsh and unforgiving, full of grudge and spite. I tried to stick to Wildman, which wasn't easy with my mother pouncing on it and introducing deed-polls. Marrying Adrian at least solved something for me. I could turn my back on both Elliott and Wildman, and be simple Mrs Morton — my third official name in only eighteen years.

But if they forced me out of hospital, then who should I be, and where? I was Morton and married on their records, but once outside, the divorce took grip again. I could hardly revert to my maiden name when my father was a stranger and there was nothing left of the maiden, and Elliott I out and out refused. Safer to stay where I was and be simply Thea. Children and nuns and invalids need only a Christian name.

I stole a glance at Adrian. He hadn't touched the biscuits and looked coiled up like a spring. I was scared he was going to return to dangerous subjects. “Look,” I said quickly. “If you don't like custard creams, I've got some other sorts. Or there's Lucozade if you're thirsty. They may bring tea in soon, but if you're too parched to wait, you'll find a glass in that …”

“Thea, I'm here to discuss your
Future
.”

I hate the word future, especially with a capital F. Adrian always gave it one, which made it sound terribly solemn and dreary, as if life was a form which went on and on for ever, with little spaces for boring things like pensions or insurances or Forward Planning.

“How's school?” I asked.

“Fine … Look, darling, you can't stay here any longer. I'm sorry to sound harsh, but I
must
make you understand.”

I tried to plug my terror with a biscuit. My hands were trembling, but I rammed the concrete rectangle hard against my gums. At least pain was a distraction. “Have they replaced the Art Master — you know, the one you said everyone was … ?”

“Thea, you've
got
to concentrate. Every day you stay here means another hundred and twenty pounds. And that's just basic. All your drugs and X-rays are charged as extra and every doctor you see sends in his own separate account. Just try adding that lot up!”

I
didn't
try. It's useful sometimes being bad at maths. “I can't leave, anyway,” I muttered. “I've got to have an operation.”

“I know, darling.” I was awash in darlings, but even they were dangerous — brightly-coloured bribes to tempt me out. I wanted pale, safe, undemanding darlings which would leave me where I was. Adrian's voice fretted me like a nutmeg-grater. “Dr Davies told me. But they're not going to do it yet. Not until all that swelling's settled down. Anyway, they want to fix your front teeth first. The dentist here can do it on the National Health. I've already spoken to Sister Ursula about it. So long as you see him in his surgery, he's willing to take you on as a …”

“I'm ill,” I whimpered. I was. Everything was slowly festering — hands, legs, lips, arms — turning septic, dropping off. “I'm not well enough to go to surgeries.”

“I'll take you, Thea, you know that.”

“I've got to have a lump cut out. There's a sort of growth in my gum where a bit of tooth got embedded. They can't do
that
in a surgery.
And
they're doing something to my upper jaw. The dentist told me. He saw it on the X-rays. He says he can't dig out the bits of broken root unless he removes a piece of the jawbone first.”

“That's
later
, darling. They're going to do it all at once, so you'll only need one anaesthetic. Sister's just explained it to me. It's far too swollen for them to touch it now. Anyway, Dr Davies thinks you're still in a state of shock. He suggested you had a little convalescence. We've been discussing it together. What about going down to Tom and Maggie's? You like it there. It's quiet.”