The Year of the Virgins Read online

‘Goodnight, Dad. You too.’

  It was a fortnight later and around seven o’clock in the evening. Father Ramshaw was sitting in the library with Joe. Each was drinking a cup of coffee and the priest was saying, ‘I’m sorry I missed Daniel, I wanted a word with him. You say he’s gone to look at his old place at the foot of Brampton Hill?’

  ‘Yes. It’s odd, isn’t it, that it should become vacant at this time? He never wanted to leave that house really. It was one of the smallest on the hill and one of the oldest. I think it was the first one built before the élite of the town got started with their mansions.’

  ‘Yes, so I understand. And he’s going to set up house there with Maggie and Stephen? Well, that’s one part of the family that’ll be settled. What about you?’

  ‘Oh, I’m settled too.’

  ‘What do you mean? Have you got a flat?’

  ‘Yes, sort of. It’ll all be settled soon.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think you have very long to wait. He’s near his end; I feel that he should have the last rites tomorrow.’

  ‘But…but he seems bright, Father. I thought he could go on for some time yet.’

  ‘It’s a forced brightness, Joe. I thought you would have seen that. But he knows that his time is running out and fast. The doctor said to me when we had a crack the other day, he’s amazed that he’s lasted so long. It’s Annette and the child that’s kept him going, and he’s happy. It’s strange but he’s happy and quite ready to go. If I were you I’d sit up with him for some part of the next few nights. By the way, what’s going to happen to the staff, Bill, John, Peggie and Lily?’

  ‘Well, Peggie is going to stay with Annette, and John is going with Dad. Bill and Lily will stay in the lodge, and if the new people, whoever takes the house, want to keep them on, well and good, if not, Dad’s going to see to them in some way. So they are all going to be accounted for.’

  ‘Well, that’s good to know. And you, are you going to live in this flat of yours alone?’

  ‘Well, what do you suggest, Father?’ Joe pursed his lips now as he waited for an answer. And the priest, raising his eyebrows, said, ‘Well, from what I gather you wouldn’t have far to look for a partner. There’s two in the church I know of and one outside.’

  ‘How, do you know about Miss Carter?’

  ‘Oh, I know lots of things, lad. It’s amazing the news I get and where it comes from. Well, are you going to pick one of them?’

  ‘I may.’

  ‘So you’ve been thinking about it?’

  ‘Yes, Father, I’ve thought about it a lot; in fact, I’ve already made a choice. I made it some time ago.’

  Father Ramshaw’s eyes widened. ‘Well, well! That’s news. No inkling to who it is?’

  ‘Not as yet, Father. I’ll tell you when the time comes.’

  ‘Inside or out?’

  ‘I’ll tell you that too when the time comes.’

  ‘Well, that’s something to look forward to. Now I must be on my way. I enjoyed that meal. It was always a good meat house this. And it’s sad, you know.’ He stood up and looked about him. ‘It’s a beautiful house, especially this room and all those books. What’ll you do with them? Send them to auction?’

  ‘Some of them, but I’ll keep most of them.’

  ‘For your flat?’

  ‘For my flat that could be a house.’

  ‘Oh, oh, we’re getting somewhere now. The flat that could be a house. Well, well! You know me, Joe: once I get my teeth into anything I hang on until I know whom I’m biting. But it’s going to be a surprise to me. I know that, because I thought I knew all about you both inside and out.’

  ‘There’s always a depth, Father, in all of us that only the owner can plumb.’

  ‘Yes, yes, you’re right there, Joe, you’re right there. Nevertheless—’ He chuckled now and shook his head, turned away and went down the room and out into the hall and to the front door. And there he stopped and, looking back towards the stairs, he said, ‘If your Dad doesn’t sell this place to one of the tribe then my visits here will be cut short pretty soon. Goodnight, Joe.’

  ‘Goodnight, Father. And Father, you’re a great believer in the efficacy of prayer, so you should see what it’ll do about the new occupants.’

  The priest threw his head back now and laughed, saying, ‘That’s good advice, Joe. Yes, I’ll do that. Yes, I’ll do that.’

  At ten o’clock Annette said goodnight to Don and when he took her face between his hands and said, ‘I love you,’ she answered brokenly, ‘And I you, Don. Oh yes, and I you.’ And when he added, ‘Be happy,’ she drew herself from him, and going to the nurse who was at the other end of the room, she said, ‘I…I think I’ll sleep down here tonight.’

  ‘There’s no need, Mrs Coulson. If there was any change at all I’d call you immediately.’

  ‘I’d rather.’

  ‘Annette.’

  From the bed, Don said, ‘Go to bed upstairs, please. I’m going to sleep. I feel fine, really fine.’

  She went back to the bed again. ‘I’d rather, Don, if you…’

  He took her hand, ‘Do as you’re told, Mrs Coulson. Go to bed. If you are lying on that hard mattress I’ll be aware of you all night and I won’t rest. Moreover, I want my daughter seen to.’ He continued to look at her long and hard, then said, ‘Please.’

  To hide her emotions she turned and hurried from the room. But instead of going to her own room she went along to Joe’s apartment.

  When there was no answer she went in and called softly, ‘Joe.’ And when there was still no reply, she turned about and went hastily along the corridor, through the hall and towards the kitchen. He’d likely be there talking to Maggie. Strange, she thought, that Maggie should still be carrying on what duties she could in the kitchen and sleeping in her own room while her father-in-law slept upstairs: the proprieties must not only be kept, but be seen to be kept. And after all they had gone through it seemed silly to her.

  However, Maggie was not in the kitchen. Peggie said she was in her room and she had last seen Mr Joe in the library.

  She found Joe in the library. He was at the table thumbing through some books, and at the sight of her he raised his head and rose to his feet, saying, ‘What is it?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She gave her head a little shake. ‘He seems all right, but…but it was the way he acted. I wanted to sleep there but he won’t let me.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be staying up, and if there’s any change whatever you know I’ll come for you.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I suppose so. But he seemed different, sort of very calm and, in a strange way, happy. It…it was puzzling, even weird.’

  ‘Now, now. He’s in a weak state and he’s bound to react like that at times. Go on, get yourself to bed. I promise you, at the slightest change I’ll come and fetch you post haste.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘I’ve said so, haven’t I?’

  Turning abruptly, she made for the door; but there she stopped and, looking back towards him, she said, ‘Odd, isn’t it, that Dad’s going back to the house that he first lived in? It seems that everything is falling into place for everybody, even you; I heard Dad say that you had told him you had got a place, a house of some sort. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it’s right, Annette.’

  ‘Are you going to furnish it from here?’

  ‘No, no. The only things I’ll take from here are my books and papers, because there’s nothing here that really belongs to me.’

  ‘It’s all settled then?’

  ‘Yes, it’s all settled. For once in my life I’m going to please myself and do something that I know I should have done a long time ago.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I understand, Joe. You’ve never been able to please yourself. As I said the other night you’ve been at the beck and call of everybody, even of me of late. Well, I’m happy for you. Goodnight. And…and you’ll call me?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll call you. Goodnight.’

  He returned t
o the desk, gathered up his papers, put the books into their respective places on the shelves, then left the room and made his way to his own quarters. There, he took a quick shower, got into his dressing gown and slippers, then went along to the sickroom.

  He had hardly closed the door before the nurse greeted him with, ‘We’ve got a naughty boy here; he refuses to take his pills. What are we going to do about it, Mr Coulson?’

  ‘Hold his nose. I think that’s the only way.’

  ‘He’s not going to like that.’ She was looking towards the bed and smiling. And Joe said, ‘We’ve got to do lots of things in life we don’t like.’

  Joe took his seat beside the bed and Don looked at him and said, ‘All right, then; let’s have them. You look very fresh and handsome tonight, Joe.’

  ‘I don’t know about handsome; fresh, yes, because I’ve just had a shower.’

  ‘Yes, your hair’s still wet. Funny, I could never stand my hair being wet; I always had to dry it with the electric drier. Remember?’

  ‘Yes, I remember.’

  ‘What’s the weather like?’

  ‘Oh, it’s a very nice night: calm, not even a breeze, and quite warm.’

  ‘That’s nice. I feel very calm, Joe, very calm. Nurse!’ He now looked towards the nurse. ‘Do you think I could have a cup of hot cocoa?’

  ‘A cup of hot cocoa? Why, of course. But you’ve never asked for cocoa before at this time of night.’

  ‘That’s what I would like, nurse.’

  ‘Well, that’s what you’ll have.’

  She went out smiling.

  ‘Hot cocoa?’ Joe gave a small chuckle. ‘What’s this, hot cocoa?’

  ‘I just wanted to say something to you, Joe. Time’s up. She’s gone. I told you she would stay until I was ready to go. Oh…oh, dear fellow, dear dear friend, and yes, dear brother, don’t look like that but be pleased that I’m going this way. Do you know, I haven’t got an ache or pain in my body: in fact, you would think I hadn’t got a body. I haven’t said anything about this, but I haven’t had a pain, nor an ache, for two or three days now. I seem to have got lighter and lighter. And I have no fear, not of Mother, or death, or the hereafter. It all seems so settled. Oh, please, Joe, be happy for me. Be happy that I’m going like this. I want you to stay with me tonight. Sit just where you are.’

  Joe’s voice was breaking as he said, ‘I should bring Annette down.’

  ‘No, no. I said my goodbyes to Annette. She knows it too. I couldn’t bear to see her weep. I wouldn’t go easy then. But with you, Joe, it’s different. You’re the only one I’ve ever been able to talk to, properly that is, to say what I think. I’m going to close my eyes now, Joe, and when the nurse comes back you can tell her that I’ve fallen asleep. In a short while she’ll sit in her chair over there and she’ll drop off. She does it every night.’

  ‘But…but I thought you’ve just taken your pills?’

  ‘I’ve become very clever at that, Joe. You know, you can hold things under your tongue for a long time.’

  ‘Oh, Don, Don.’

  ‘You know I want to laugh when I hear you say my name like that. You sound just like Father Ramshaw. There’s a man for you. He knew, too, that I don’t often take my pills at night, the sleeping ones. The other one and…and the brown stuff…oh yes, yes; I’ve had to take them sometimes. But, as I said, for the last three or four days I haven’t needed them. You know, Joe, when I was first put into this bed I was bitter. Oh dear God, I was bitter, and when they let me up out of the drugged sleep, I wanted to scream. And I can’t look back and tell you when that time changed. You know, Joe, I’ve lived a longer life these past few months than I ever did in all the years before. And I know that if I had lived to be ninety or a hundred I wouldn’t have understood half as much as I’ve come to understand in these past days. I’ve learned so much lying here, so I’m not sorry all this happened. Strange that, isn’t it, for me to say that I’m not sorry that all this happened? And here I am leaving a beautiful young wife and a child. But I’m not worrying about them either. It’s all right, Joe, it’s all right, I won’t go on. What will be will be. I hold you to nothing; you have your own life to live. And Father Ramshaw let it slip the other night that you had your eye on somebody. He was quizzing me to find out which one it was, but I couldn’t tell him and I’m not asking you now, Joe, either. Every man has a right to change his mind, and Annette and the child are in God’s hands. He’ll take care of them. Don’t look so worried, Joe, and don’t say anything. Please, don’t say anything. I understand everything.’

  ‘You don’t, you don’t. Who do you think you are anyway? God, already?’

  ‘Oh, Joe, Joe, don’t make me laugh. That’s funny, you know. I ache when I try to laugh. Oh, she’s coming. She’s heavy-footed, that one; she thumps the carpet. Hold my hand, Joe, and keep holding it, will you?’

  Joe took the hand extended to him and when the door opened it was all he could do to turn and look at the nurse as she entered with the steaming cup of cocoa on a tray. He couldn’t speak to her but he signalled to her that the patient was asleep, and she shrugged her shoulders, smiled, laid the cocoa down on a side table, then settled herself in an armchair.

  At what time Don died, Joe didn’t know. He had sat wide-eyed for a long period, the pale hand held in his. Once, he glanced at the clock, which showed a quarter past one. And it was at about this time that the nurse roused herself and apologetically said, ‘I must have dropped off. He’s sleeping quietly?’

  He nodded at her. She didn’t come towards the bed but busied herself at a table for a little while; then sat down again, wrote something in a notebook, and within a short while, if not quite snoring, was emitting quite heavy nasal sounds.

  His arm and wrist were in a cramp but still he didn’t move. What he did do was try to edge his chair a little nearer to the side of the bed to relieve the tension on his shoulder. It was some time after this that he closed his eyes and some time again before a voice said, ‘Oh! Mr Coulson. Mr Coulson!’

  His eyes sprang wide open and he stared at the nurse on the other side of the bed as she had Don’s other wrist between her fingers.

  ‘I’m afraid…I’m afraid, Mr Coulson…’

  He looked at the face on the pillow. It appeared to be warm and alive, yet stiff, as if it had been set into a mould. It could have been a sleeping face, but it wasn’t.

  ‘He’s…he’s gone, Mr Coulson.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know.’ Slowly, he lifted the thin white hand and unwound his fingers until they were straight, then just as slowly eased his cramped arm from the bed.

  ‘I’d…I’d better phone the doctor.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, nurse.’

  ‘And…and call his father and his wife.’

  ‘Leave that to me.’

  Why was he so calm? It was as if he had imbibed the feelings that Don had expressed a short while ago: he was feeling no sorrow, no remorse, just a quietness that was expressed in the face on the pillow and that seemed to fill the whole room, for, it was true, she had gone too. Definitely she had gone.

  He flexed his arms and went towards the door; but he found he couldn’t grip the handle with his right hand, so opened it with his left.

  Instead of making for the hall and up the stairs to alert both Annette and his father, he turned the other way and towards his quarters. And from his sitting room he opened his door into the conservatory; then he opened the conservatory door and stepped out into the night, which was bright with moonlight: the full moon was hanging like an enormous yellow cheese in a pale blue sky. The air was cool and there was just the slightest breeze. He felt it through the sweat on his brow. He put his head back and took in the great expanse of nothingness in which just the moon floated and the stars twinkled and into which Don and his mother had gone, but in their separate ways.

  Fourteen

  Within seven weeks the house had been sold and almost completely denuded of furniture. Daniel had furnished his new home with t
he better pieces, and Maggie and Stephen were already installed there.

  The new owners of the house agreed to keep on Bill and Lily in the lodge. All that remained was for Annette, the baby, and Peggie to be moved into the cottage. And it was strange that, although it was weeks since Don had been buried from the house, Annette still seemed hesitant to move permanently away from it. She had driven backwards and forwards to the cottage almost every day, returning to the house at night to sleep. Today, however, was her final day here; as it was Joe’s. And where was Joe going?

  Only this morning he had filled his car with cases holding his clothes and boxes holding his books, and had driven them to his new home. Where was this?

  As yet no-one knew, and the question was now being put to him by Daniel. They were standing in the empty drawing room, and when Joe told him where he was to live Daniel didn’t speak for a moment; then he said, ‘You can’t do that, man.’

  ‘Why can’t I?’

  ‘Well, there’ll be talk.’

  ‘My God! Dad, for you to say that to me: there’ll be talk.’

  ‘Oh, I know, I know, but my life’s mine and I’ll have to stand the racket for it, I always have. But you’re different. Here you are twenty-six years of age and no-one could raise a finger to you.’

  ‘Dear God! I just can’t believe it.’

  ‘I’m only speaking for your own good. There’ll be talk.’

  ‘Yes, there’ll be talk. And what the hell does it matter to me who talks? What is amazing to me at this moment is the way you’re talking.’

  ‘All right, all right. I don’t want to argue with you, Joe. I’m past arguing in all ways.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so.’

  ‘I’m only thinking of you.’

  ‘Only thinking of me? And Father Cody? And Father Ramshaw? Well, let me tell you, you can cut Father Ramshaw out.’

  ‘I would doubt it in this case.’

  ‘We can wait and see then, can’t we?’

  As Joe turned away Daniel said, ‘Joe. Joe, we are breaking up. It’s as if a bomb had hit us, a time bomb left over from the war, and it’s knocking us to blazes one way or another. You and me, we don’t want to part like this. You’re all I’ve got in the way of a son, and it’s because of that I’ve said what I’ve said.’