Starlight (27 page)

‘No,' she answered at last. ‘I didn't tell him.'

‘Did you think I was going to talk to you about him?' Ben asked carefully, at which Jess's risen colour deepened.

‘Were you?'

‘I don't know. I'll confess, I was mainly thinking about Marguerite, but if you'd said anything – wanted to, I mean – I might have said that he's . . .'

‘What?'

‘A worry to me, too.'

‘Oh, God!' she said softly, and stood up. ‘Ben, can we go?'

‘Sure. I'll get the bill. Mustn't be late, anyway. Shall we go back through the gardens?'

‘Yes, I'd like to walk somewhere.'

On such a fine day, Princes Street Gardens were of course filled with people. City workers and mums with children; elderly people dozing on the benches; younger ones racing each other across the grass. All to Jess seemed so carefree, compared with herself and Ben, but who knew what worries they were concealing? Who would think that she herself had problems, or handsome Ben, strolling at her side, swinging his tie?

‘Tell me why you're worried about Rusty,' she said at last. ‘As though I didn't know.'

‘Ah, Jess, I'm sorry.' Ben caught at her hand and let it go. ‘I honestly thought, when he came back, that the camp had cured him of his problem.'

‘It had, that's the sad thing. But, seemingly, he doesn't want to stay cured.'

‘You have to try to understand, he's in a low state of mind, and Edinburgh's full of pubs. Drink helped him before – so he believed – and I can see why he must have thought it'd help him again.'

‘Never thought about me!' she cried. ‘Never asked my help!'

‘Probably hoped he could keep it a secret.'

‘He told me when it was too late. Said he wanted to be honest.' Jess stared fiercely into Ben's face. ‘How long have you known, anyway?'

‘Probably from the beginning.' Ben hesitated. ‘Sometimes, when we're both on, I can tell he's been drinking, though he conceals it pretty well.'

‘He told me it was just at lunchtimes that he had a drink. Said it was nothing, he could take it or leave it alone.'

When Ben made no reply, Jess drew to a halt.

‘You don't believe that, do you?'

‘No. Do you?'

She gave a long, troubled sigh. ‘No.'

‘The truth is, Jess, I think he's drinking a lot more than we know. He's going to have to get help. Otherwise, he's going to damage himself and you.'

‘Get help? You make it sound so easy. Get help how?'

‘Well, there's the doctor. He might be able to help. Might be medication or something.'

‘I don't see Rusty talking to a doctor somehow. He hates to talk to anyone about the problem.'

‘OK, there are these help groups. People who gather to support each other. We could find out if there's one here.'

‘People who support each other? People who've given up drink?' Jess shook her head. ‘If someone doesn't want to give up, those groups wouldn't work, would they?'

‘Deep down, Rusty does want to give up, Jess. He only uses it as a prop.'

‘If he'd really wanted to give it up, he'd never have gone back to it.'

She began to walk on, more swiftly, so that Ben had to hurry after her.

‘Jess, wait! Let's talk this through . . .'

‘There's no point, Ben.' She slowed down, glancing at her watch. ‘Look, time's getting on, and you should be back by one.'

‘Yes, ma'am,' he said smartly, giving her a mock salute, at which she bit her lip.

‘Sorry, Ben . . .'

‘Don't worry, only joking. But I also have a watch, you know.'

Only joking. Was he? She still wasn't sure how he really felt about her being in charge, or even how Rusty felt. Nothing had been said; it was just occasionally, as now, there were little slips that showed what might lie beneath their supposed acceptance.

‘Come on.' He took her arm. ‘Let's think about what to do. You can't deal with this yourself, you know. In fact, neither of us can deal with it. We need outside help and we should try to find it.'

‘The group you mentioned?'

‘Yes. We need to check if there's one here. God help us, there's so much alcohol swimming round Scotland, there must be somewhere folk can go if they want help.'

‘And who's going to ask Rusty to go along, if we do find one of these groups?'

Ben's eyes were soft with sympathy. ‘Dear Jess, that'll have to be you.'

They arrived back at the Princes with time to spare and stood for a moment outside Jess's office, each feeling a sudden awkwardness that they'd spent the lunch hour together without their partners' knowledge. Yet there had been, of course, nothing to feel guilty about. Unless they felt guilty about discussing those partners in the first place.

‘Don't know that we got very far,' Ben murmured, dark eyes searching Jess's face. ‘Yet it helped, didn't it? Our meeting?'

‘It did,' she said warmly. ‘But I want to say again that you needn't worry about Marguerite.'

‘And if I can't say the same about Rusty, at least we have a plan of action. We'll be in touch, eh?'

‘Oh, yes. And thanks, Ben. For the lunch and everything.'

‘My pleasure. Now – to work. Remind me what I'm showing today. Not still
Notorious
?'

She laughed. ‘No, it's
Spellbound
– as though you'd forgotten. Another of my reshowings.'

‘And another Ingrid Bergman. Who'll complain?'

Fifty

Ben soon reported back that there was a support group in Edinburgh that Rusty might try, if he could be persuaded. He really seemed to have his younger colleague's welfare at heart, and Jess expressed her gratitude. But a great reluctance seemed to come over her whenever she thought of tackling Rusty on this so delicate a subject that was, nevertheless, cutting through their marriage like a sword with a sharp blade.

Already, she had begun to notice worrying changes in him that she knew she could not ignore, though they were not the changes she might have expected. He never behaved like a stage drunk, for instance, reeling in late at night, slurring his words and having to be put to bed. Nor did he ever offer her violence, or threaten her in any way. No, but what had happened was more frightening, for it was as though his whole personality had become blurred. He was himself, yet not himself. A mysterious double – what she'd heard the Germans called a doppelgänger – who still shared her bed, went through the motions of life and work, yet wasn't someone she knew at all. That was frightening, all right.

‘You haven't spoken to him yet?' Ben asked her, as the weeks went by and November was upon them, foggy and strangely warm. ‘For God's sake, Jess, what are you waiting for? You know things can't go on like this!'

‘I know, I know. It's just, getting through to him, I can't face it somehow.'

‘Do you want me to do it?'

‘No, no. I'll do it, I will.' She darted a quick glance at Ben. ‘Is everything all right at work, Ben? He can cope on his own?'

‘So far. I don't know how long for. Sometimes, I think I'll come in to find he's put the reels in the wrong order or something, but at the moment he's managing. Doesn't mean you shouldn't speak to him, though.'

‘I'll speak to him, Ben, I promise. As soon as I find the right time.'

It came after another of her re-showings, one she realised, too late, she should never have chosen. The film was
The Way to the Stars
, one she'd mentioned to George as a favourite with the public, set in wartime. It would make a good fill-in, she'd thought, until she remembered that Rusty would have to take a turn showing it from the projection room. And as a film that followed the sometimes tragic fortunes of the men and women serving on a RAF airfield, it would be certain to bring back memories he didn't want.

How could she have been so crass? She, who knew so well that his control hung by a hair's breadth, that the slightest thing might push him further into his own private black hole?

Summoning up all her courage, she caught him before the first matinee and told him she'd like a word.

‘What about? You look worried.'

‘It's just the film, Rusty. You realize it's
The Way to the Stars
?

‘What of it?'

‘Well, it's set in an airfield, isn't it? It's all about the war. I thought . . . it might . . . bring things back.'

‘Bring things back?' He smiled briefly. ‘I don't need a film to do that.'

‘I know, but I don't want you upset.'

Just for a moment, he seemed to lose his vagueness, to return to the man she knew, and she wished with all her heart she could just hold him, keep him, like that, as he used to be. When he put his hand on her arm and fixed her with a soft gaze, she could have burst into tears, but managed a smile instead.

‘That's nice of you, Jess,' he was murmuring. ‘To think of me.'

‘I'm always thinking of you.'

He touched her face, then drew away.

‘Don't worry about the film, Jess. I've seen it already.'

‘When? You weren't here when we showed it.'

‘Saw it in our demob centre, when I first came back.' He shrugged. ‘Top brass idea of cheering us up, no doubt.'

‘So you'll be all right with it?'

‘Of course I'll be all right with it. You know I don't watch every film the whole way through, anyway.'

‘That's a relief, then.' As he glanced at his watch and said he had to go, it came to her that he seemed so much more his old self, she might just be able to talk to him that evening about getting the help he had to have.

‘Rusty,' she cried, hurrying after him as he turned towards the projection room. ‘Rusty, can you come home early tonight?'

‘You're leaving early? You know I can't do that. Somebody has to stay till the end, and it's my turn to lock up.'

‘I'll lock up with you, then we can both go straight home.'

Their eyes met and she knew he understood her. No finding a pub that was still open, she was saying. No drinking on his own in the cinema, which was something she was sure he did.

‘What's the hurry to get me home?' he asked, and she could tell his brightness was fading and she was losing him, but she still pressed him to agree – they'd lock up and go home together.

‘If it's what you want,' he said at last.

‘It is what I want.'

‘OK. See you tonight, then.'

‘Yes, tonight. Thank you, Rusty.'

With a puzzled look, he left her, and she, returning to her office, fell on the work on her desk as though it were a lifeline. Which, of course, it was.

Fifty-One

Sitting next to Rusty in the tram going home, Jess tried to make small talk.

‘So warm, isn't it?' she asked. ‘I mean, for November. Yet they say there's a cold winter on the way.'

‘Never know what the weather's going to do in this country,' he muttered.

‘There's talk of a fuel crisis, too.'

‘Are you trying to look on the bright side?'

She laughed, but he didn't, only lit a cigarette and stared ahead. Better not ask him about the film, she thought, as the task before her grew in magnitude. Maybe she'd postpone talking about the help group for another time? No, no, she wouldn't. It had hung over her head long enough. Tonight was the night. Now or never.

‘I've got some ham we can have when we get in,' she told him. ‘We won't need much, seeing as we had something earlier on.'

‘A sandwich will do.'

‘And tea, of course.'

‘Oh, God yes. There's always tea.'

When they'd had their small supper and washed up, and Rusty said he'd turn in, he was ready for his bed.

‘If you wouldn't mind, I'd just like to talk to you first,' Jess told him.

‘Here it comes. I knew there was something coming my way.' Rusty flung himself into his armchair. ‘What have I done now?'

‘It's more what I want you to do.'

At that, he sighed, and stretched out his legs.

‘OK, tell me what it is and then we can get to bed.'

‘Remember, during the war, you said there were groups you might have gone to for help . . .'

At the word ‘help', she saw him stiffen in his chair and a shutter descend over his face, but he said nothing.

‘Only, you couldn't go to them, of course, because of the war,' she struggled on. ‘Well – what I wanted to say was that you could go to them now. And there's one here, in Edinburgh. I've got the address.'

He sat up straight, his grey eyes steely.

‘You've been looking up this place without a word to me? Without even asking if I wanted to go?'

‘Yes, I have, because I wanted to make sure it was there before I told you. Now we know it exists, we know you can get help. You could go there and try it. Or maybe see the doctor?'

‘I am not going to see the doctor. I don't believe any doctor could give help, even if I needed it.'

‘It's an addiction, Rusty. Some people call it an illness.'

‘I'm not seeing the doctor, Jess. Don't ask me to.'

‘All right. But you do need help, Rusty. You know that's true.'

‘I have never said I needed help.'

‘Yes, you did. When we discussed it back in the war. You said then you wished you could stop. I remember your very words – “I wish I could, Jess, I wish I could.”'

‘That was in the war. I was in a very difficult situation. Things are different now.'

‘How, different?'

‘Well, the prison camp cured me, whether I wanted to be cured or not. So, my drinking now is not the same as before. As I've told you, I can take it or leave it alone.'

Silence fell, as Jess kept her eyes on Rusty's, never moving her gaze, until, finally, he looked away.