Strange Music (34 page)

‘Thanks
so
much,' Angela replied, with an ambiguity to match her earlier
look
.

Debbie wiped her eyes and nose into her sleeve and then, remembering Felix's handkerchief, produced it and blew massively before crushing it in her hand and offering it to Angela, saying, ‘It's his – Mister Breit's.'

‘Keep it,' Angela said with a shudder. ‘Let's sit down here and you can tell me all about it. First, how late are you?'

For a moment Debbie seemed not to understand; then she said, ‘Oh! Three weeks. It's been three weeks since . . . you know.'

‘I'm not sure I do know, Debbie – may I call you Debbie? And we'll be Angela and Felix, OK? D'you mean three weeks since you and Chris “you know?” Or three weeks since “you know what” should have happened. And didn't?'

‘The second – the flowers.'

Angela laughed. ‘Oh Debbie – forgive me! I only ever saw that word for it written down, and I thought it was “flowers” like in a bouquet. I never thought of “flow” as in like a river flowing. Of course! I didn't mean to laugh.'

By now Debbie was laughing, too – at which moment Felix stuck his head round the door and said, ‘Splendid! Would you still prefer beer, Miss Kennedy?'

‘No. Tea,' she replied.

‘And we're Debbie, Angela, and Felix, OK?' Angela added. When he returned to the kitchen she asked, ‘And how regular are you usually?'

‘Not completely, I suppose.'

‘Have you missed three weeks before?'

She shrugged. ‘Two, anyway.'

‘In the war I missed “the flowers” for three years – but that's because I was more than half starved. But it doesn't look as if you starve yourself much. I don't mean you're fat, but—'

‘I don't eat all that much. Sometimes I drink rather than eat.' She gave a bitter laugh. ‘I've certainly been drinking these past ten days – gin and a scalding-hot bath, and jumping down the stairs backwards after it. Not that it's done any good.'

‘I shouldn't think it would do any good. In fact, if you are carrying, you could be doing the little mite a lot of harm. If he's about four weeks old, he's only about
this
big. A gulp of gin could do him a lot of harm. Oh, don't cry again, please! We've got to be practical. D'you want Felix here or can we sort it out – the two of us?'

She gazed at the kitchen door and said, ‘He told me he was going sketching in Regent's Park.'

Felix brought in a tray with three assorted mugs of tea, a half-pint milk bottle three-quarters full, a ripped-open packet of ginger snaps, and a Tate & Lyle sugar carton on which Mr Cube was still lecturing the nation on the evils of nationalization, almost a year after all danger of it had receded.

Angela gave an exasperated sigh. ‘We do have matching cups, saucers, milk jug, and sugar bowl,' she assured Debbie.

‘I thought a certain informality would go down better,' he said. ‘Help yourself to the ginger snaps, Debbie.' He took one himself and sat down facing her, beside Angela.

‘You didn't really say whether you wanted Felix here or not,' Angela said, not shifting up to yield him half the sofa.

The girl shrugged awkwardly. ‘I suppose . . . if he knows Chris well . . . knows how he might behave . . .'

‘But that's not really the point. The question is, what do
you
really want to do about it, assuming you really are carrying and not just late, which I'm not convinced about yet. But assume you are. The two extremes are . . . one, Chris is delighted, wants to marry you, and you have the baby in wedlock . . . or, two, Chris denies everything, says you're making it all up, and so you're left to have the baby alone and bring it up alone.'

‘Or get rid of it,' Debbie put in.

‘We haven't got there yet, and don't think it's easy. You should pop across the road from the Slade – to the women's wards in
UCH
. You'll find women who've done just that and it's not pretty. Well?'

Debbie glanced toward Felix, as if for support, ‘I suppose . . . if he'd marry me . . . if he's delighted . . .' She shrugged.

‘All right. Let's say he'd agree to marry but he's very far from delighted? What then?'

‘At least the baby would have a father. He wouldn't have “illegitimate” stamped all over his birth certificate.'

‘I don't think they do that any more. But stick to the point – what sort of marriage d'you think that would be?'

Debbie took too large a gulp of tea and had a fit of coughing. ‘That's what I wanted to ask . . . Felix.' She smiled at him shyly. ‘Is Chris living with someone? How serious is it? And could he ask if Chris would face his responsibilities and marry me?'

‘Ooooh!' Angela let out a quiet, despairing sigh and, at last, yielded half the sofa to Felix.

‘Sorry if I was asking too much,' Debbie said.

Felix started to assure her he'd do what she was asking but Angela spoke over him: ‘No, no, no! It's not the point. You're fixated on marriage, as if it's going to make everything come out right. But of all the
bad
reasons for getting married, this one is the most disastrous. Look, why don't you wait until you're absolutely sure? I don't want to pry but how well do you know Chris?'

‘About a year.'

‘That's how long, not how well.'

She sighed. ‘OK. He's been popping in and out of the Slade every so often . . . two or three times a month . . . and he sort of took an interest in me, in my work. He suggested things where I was lost.'

‘He's not a tutor there,' Felix said.

‘No, it was personal. He just wanted to help. And then he'd treat me to a meal sometimes – a mixed grill or something up in Camden Town. There's a porters' café there beside the Bedford. And we'd talk about art. And he took a real interest in my work.' She saw the scepticism in Angela's face and said, ‘It was genuine. He never took liberties. He never even tried to kiss me, though I wouldn't have minded. He'd walk arm-in-arm with me up to Camden Town but that was all. He was interested in
me
.'

‘
Very
interested on at least one occasion! Tell us about that.'

‘I was down in the workshop and he showed me a cheap way of framing my work for the diploma show and . . .' She made a vague gesture with her hands.

‘And one thing led to another.'

She fixed her eyes on the floor. ‘Yes.'

‘Just the once?'

She nodded.

‘He never brought you out to the Dower House?'

She shook her head.

‘And never mentioned Nina? Nor Anna? Nor Julie . . .?'

Her mouth was an O of shock, filled with chewed ginger snap.

‘Darling!' Felix chided. Ginger-snap cud complimented her hair rather well, actually.

‘Look, if ever there was a time for the truth – time for a dose of realism, it's now.' Angela turned to the girl. ‘Listen, my dear – I think I know Chris Riley-Potter better than my husband. And I can assure you that he's just not ready for marriage – if he ever will be. And the sort of marriage you're thinking of would be . . . I'll say it again – a disaster.'

Debbie nodded morosely but said nothing.

‘Besides, it may just be a false alarm – if you only did it once. Why not wait a couple of weeks until we're certain, eh?'

‘The thing is,' Debbie began, and then lapsed into silence, staring at the floor.

‘What?' Felix prompted.

Once again tears rolled down her cheeks, this time in silence. Then, in a small, strangulated voice, she said, ‘My parents have kicked me out.'

Thursday, 5 June 1952

Felix and Angela were just turning off the main drive when she said, ‘Talk of the devil!' Felix glanced away to their left and saw Chris Riley-Potter running toward them from the main house; he knocked the car into neutral and let it freewheel to a halt. ‘Flat tyre,' Chris said between gasps. ‘Punctured spare. Pump leaks. Can you . . . could we . . . I mean . . . mate of mine in trouble . . . mate from Camberwell . . . needs to lie low . . . could I borrow your car and collect him at Welwyn North?'

Felix was about to get out and hand the car over when Angela said, ‘No! You hop in the back. We'll all go – and there's something else we can talk about on the way.'

He hesitated, ‘What?'

‘D'you want to collect him or not? Because that's the only offer you'll get from us.'

‘Blimey!' He climbed in and slammed the door. ‘Sounds ominous, what.'

Felix backed the short distance to the main drive and set off again for the station.

‘This is about a girl named Debbie Kennedy,' Angela told him.

‘Shit!' he said.

‘Yes,' Angela said. ‘A whole creek full of it.'

‘What did she . . . I mean, where is she now?'

‘At Robert Street. Her parents have slung her out – she
says
.'

Felix looked at her sharply. ‘Don't you believe her?'

‘I'll believe it when
they
tell me. This is none of our business, Felix. It's between them and her and' – she turned to the back – ‘you, Chris. Between you three. You've got to sort this mess out between you.'

Felix turned on to the Dormer Green Road. Angela broke off and asked, in surprise, ‘You're going this way?'

‘We need petrol. I should have come back this way and filled up.'

‘See!' She turned again to Chris. ‘It's throwing us out in every way.'

He licked his lips nervously. ‘What has she been telling you?'

‘You tell us, Chris. What do you
think
she's been telling us? What would induce her parents to chuck her out?'

‘You're not going to see her parents?' Felix asked anxiously.

‘I certainly am, if it's not cleared up
PDQ
.'

‘You won't get anywhere with them,' Chris warned. ‘He's an old Victorian father and she's worse. When they speak, dust comes out of their mouths, I'll swear. Being kicked out is the best thing that could happen to Jenny.'

‘Debbie.'

‘Yeah, Debbie, sorry. I'm worried about Terry, that's what.'

‘Terry who?'

‘Garlick. That's his name. Terry Garlick. He got in a fight with a barman in Deptford and something happened and now he's got to make himself scarce for a bit.'

‘Not here he won't,' Angela said.

‘He's got nowhere else. Come on! He's a mate.'

‘“Nowhere else” includes the Dower House, Chris,' Felix said. ‘We've got twenty children living there. You can't go introducing people who damage someone so badly they have to—'

‘What exactly did he do to this barman?' Angela asked. ‘It sounds pretty bad.'

Chris just sniffed and looked away across the fields.

‘Either you come clean – completely clean, Chris, or we're turning round as soon as we've tanked.'

‘Filled up,' Felix said.

Chris sighed. ‘It seems he may have blinded the barman.'

‘Right!' Angela said. ‘He's not coming within a mile of the Dower House. We'll drop you off at the station and you can talk it over with him and . . . take a taxi to wherever you decide is best for him. Have you got enough money? Here.' She fished out a crisp, white fiver and thrust it into his hand.

‘You're a bit hard, Ange,' he complained while Felix was out paying for the petrol.

‘And you're a bit . . . off your head,' she replied. ‘The very
idea
of bringing a creature like that into the community.'

‘He's not “a creature like that.” I admit, when he's had a skinful, he can be a bit . . . you know. But he writes poetry. He was on
In Town Tonight
a couple of years ago. He's had it published and all.'

When Felix got back in she brought him up to date. ‘He's a poet who happens to have blinded a barman in a fight. He's been on the wireless with his poetry. Chris still thinks he's harmless.'

‘He could sleep in a tent in the walled garden,' Felix suggested. ‘I don't suppose he's likely to blind any of the children. Or any of us, come to that.'

‘But we'd be harbouring a criminal on the run.'

‘You don't know that,' Chris said eagerly. ‘I never breathed a word to you – and I wish I never had, come to that. As far as anyone else knew, he was just a mate visiting us for the weekend. When you meet him, you'll see how gentle he is.'

‘I'll say no more until I see him,' Angela responded. ‘And I'll have my fiver back, please? Thank you. Meanwhile we can get this Debbie Kennedy business sorted out. She's three weeks overdue and she's sure she's pregnant. Is she just being hysterical or is that possible? More to the point, is it probable?'

‘Hysterical,' he said at once. ‘Most likely.'

‘That would be good for you, wouldn't it!'

‘Well . . . it's
possible
. Just about. But probable? No. I mean, I pulled out in time. In good time. Fuck it, I came into her knickers, which she was holding in her hand. She was squeezing and—'

‘Enough already!' Angela cried. ‘You can spare us
those
details.'

Chris caught Felix in the mirror, corpsing. He tried desperately not to laugh, but to no avail. Soon all three of them were hysterical. Felix had to pull over into the mouth of someone's driveway, where they laughed while the tears ran down their cheeks. They stopped only when someone knocked on the window and said, ‘Either share the joke, old man, or let me out, eh?'

‘Couldn't . . . possibly share . . . the joke,' Felix assured him breathlessly. ‘Sorry. I'll pull forward.'

‘Well,' Angela said as they set off for the station again. ‘I think we've heard sufficient detail to be fairly sure that Miss Kennedy is more hysterical than actually pregnant. Which' – she rounded on Chris – ‘does not let
you
off the hook. Pregnant or hysterical, she's in that state entirely because of you.'