Читать книгу The Second Life of Sally Mottram - David Nobbs - Страница 18

She only found out what Sam’s great worry was on the last evening, after Beth had gone to bed.

The days had passed pleasantly enough. They had made trips to Covent Garden, and St Albans, and the Great Bed of Ware, which had led Sally back to Potherthwaite yet again. How perfect it would have been for Ellie.

The evening meals had raised no problems. Sally had eaten sparingly during the day, so that she’d be hungry enough to manage, and even enjoy, Beth’s cautious cooking.

It had been after Beth had gone to bed that things had got more difficult, as mother and son had sat in their dark green chairs, in front of the blank television, trying not very successfully to sip their wine more slowly as the evenings passed. Sally could see that there was still some subject that Sam was desperately wanting to broach. But he wasn’t a broacher, and he had a haunted look, and she was haunted by his haunted look.

On the second evening, Sally had tested the ground over the question of where she intended to live. Was that the issue?

‘It was good, despite the circumstances, having all that time with Alice,’ she had said. ‘We got pretty close. It’s a shame she lives so far away.’

This had prompted Sam to test the ground himself.

‘Would you ever consider going to live in New Zealand?’

‘I don’t know if Alice would welcome that. She certainly didn’t mention it. No, I don’t think I’d want to go that far.’

‘But would you consider coming back south?’

‘I don’t know. I might. They always say you shouldn’t rush anything.’

‘No. Well, there’s no rush, is there?’

‘Would you be happy if I came to live near you?’

‘I think it would be great. And you could be very useful. You could babysit.’

‘Oh, so you’re planning to have children.’

‘I presume so.’

‘You presume you’re planning. Surely you either are planning or you aren’t?’

‘I presume we’ll have babies. We haven’t planned anything. You’re jumping the gun a bit, aren’t you, Mum? We aren’t even married or engaged or anything.’

There had been quite a long silence then. Sally had realized that where she might live wasn’t Sam’s great worry, but it still was a bit of a concern. When he next spoke it was warily.

‘The only thing is, Mum … you know, about you coming to live near us … we aren’t settled here, neither of us likes our job very much, we might move.’

‘Well, I realize that. Sam, don’t worry, I’m not coming to live near you. I might go and live near Judith, that’s different.’

‘Why is it different?’

‘You’re still discovering your way of life. You don’t want your mother poking in. I’d be tempted to give advice all the time, and you’d come to hate me. My sister has her way of life. No advice. No hate.’

That second night she had slept better, but still not deeply. In the morning she had heard Sam and Beth talking earnestly, even urgently, in those ominous low voices.

On the third evening, over the wine, she had done a bit more broaching, while Beth washed up.

‘Don’t think I’m interfering, Sam …’

‘I don’t like the sound of that.’

‘No, no, it’s nothing, it’s just … are you and Beth … you know …?’

‘No, I don’t know, Mum.’

‘Is everything … you know … all right … between you? You know … in bed?’

‘Mum!’

‘I know. But … you know … well, no, you don’t know, but … your father and I … in later years … it just stopped. You’re young, and I shouldn’t be saying this, but in this flat … it’s so compact, the walls are so thin you hear everything.’

‘What on earth can you possibly have heard, Mum?’

‘Nothing. Nothing at all. That’s what worried me.’

‘Mum. You’re right about the walls. The soundproofing is disgraceful. We’ve complained, but what can you do? We’re helpless. But with these walls, Mum, and you right next to us, we wouldn’t dream of making love while you’re here. You’d hear every creak … every groan … every moan. Beth wouldn’t even contemplate it. Basically she’s quite shy about … those things. Her dad was a vicar.’

‘But … um … no.’

‘What?’

‘No.’

‘What do you mean, “no”? No what?’

‘Well … no.’

‘Oh, Mum. Now you’ve got me wondering what on earth you were going to say.’

‘Well, all right. I suppose it’s not that important, anyway. It’s just … well. Beth goes to bed early and you said she’s always asleep when you go to bed and I couldn’t help wondering … you know … when you … you know … make love.’

‘Right. Well basically, Mum, the timetable is as follows. We don’t make love at night because our bedtimes are so different. We make love when we get home from work. On Mondays and Thursdays.’

Sally felt uneasy at what she took to be her son’s mockery.

‘I’m at night school on Tuesdays, and Beth is at night school on Wednesdays. It’s a pity they’re on different nights …’

Then she felt, if anything, even more uneasy. She realized that he wasn’t mocking at all. He was deadly serious.

‘… but it’s the subjects. And on Fridays we meet some friends in a pub and go for – I know it’s extravagant in view of the debt hanging over us, but you’ve got to live – a curry. Occasionally we just feel like it and might pop into bed at the weekend.’

‘Oh, good. I’m glad there’s some spontaneity.’

‘Mum!’

‘Sorry.’

‘Young people lead busy, stressful lives. We live with the knowledge that if we lose our job there are probably more than a thousand people waiting to take it. Those carefree youthful days, Mum, they’re a thing of the past.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘We’re all right. So stop worrying.’

‘I will. I will. Sorry. I won’t drink so much tomorrow.’

‘Good.’

‘May as well finish the bottle now, though.’

It’s amazing how quickly a little routine can set itself up, particularly when you know that you can afford to indulge the routine, because it will cease. Even in hospital, you can start to enjoy the routine, if you know that you’re going to be discharged fairly soon. Sally had actually found that, despite the tension, she was looking forward to that last evening’s chat with her son in the dark green armchairs with the wine bottle on a little severely distressed table between them. They might never have these little chats again.

One look at his face took away all the promise of enjoyment. He was even more severely distressed than the table.

Beth popped her head round the kitchen door.

‘I know it’s your last night, Sally,’ she said awkwardly, ‘but … I know it’s pathetic, but I’m no use at all if I don’t get my beau— my sleep, and I’m no use at work if I’m tired. It’s been great having you, Sally, though of course we wish it hadn’t been in these circumstances, and I’ll be a better cook next time because I’m doing cookery at night school. So, anyway, I’ll see you in the morning and I’ll say goodbye properly then, and thanks for all the wine, and … well, I’ll go along to bed then.’

‘Thanks, Beth, it’s all been great and I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep well,’ said Sally.

At the door, Beth turned and gave Sam a fierce stare. Sally’s heart sank. Whatever it was, it was coming.

Sam sighed, and Sally waited.

She waited quite a while.

‘Um …’ he began.

He paused again.

‘Mum?’ he continued.

He paused again.

At last he managed a sentence.

‘Beth has pleaded with me not to do this.’

‘I’ve heard you talking in low voices.’

‘Oh God, have you?’

He topped up both their glasses.

‘Tonight, alcohol is definitely a crutch,’ he said. ‘Beth thinks what I’m about to do is wrong, and I have no idea if it’s right.’

He looked so pale, his cheeks were so hollow, his eyes were so intense – the bags under them looked as if they had been waiting for years for him to slip into them. Sally was overwhelmed with love and pity. She reached out and pressed his hand. She could find no words.

He took a letter out of his pocket, held it with a shaking hand, tried to steady it by using both hands, failed.

‘You’ve said so much about there not being a suicide note,’ he said. ‘It’s worried you so much. You’ve told me so many times how you yearn for closure. I haven’t slept properly since I got it. I’ve even taken advice about closure and its value from a psychiatrist. I’ve shown this letter to him, and told him all I know about you, how strong you are, how brave.’

Sally looked at him in amazement. She still didn’t speak.

‘He advised me, very cautiously, covering himself in caveats, to show it to you. This is Dad’s suicide note, Mum. He sent it to me.’

‘Oh God.’

It was barely a whisper. Sally could scarcely breathe.

‘Read it,’ she whispered. ‘Read it, Sam, please. I don’t think I could bear to see his handwriting just now.’

‘Right. I’ll read it. I wondered if you might prefer that.’

He cleared his throat.

‘“Dear Sam,

‘“This is a letter that I never expected to have to write, and it is one that I wish with all my heart that I did not have to write now. In one hour’s time I will walk out of my office for the last time, and drive home, stopping only to post this letter. When I get home I will hang myself. In posting this letter I am, in a way, committing myself to the act. I am very frightened, but I am also extremely vain – see how carefully I compose this letter, taking care to put ‘extremely’ in place of a second lazy ‘very’!” He puts an exclamation mark there.’

Sally, the blood draining from her face, made an impatient gesture, which said, Never mind the punctuation. Get on with it.

‘“I’m very scared, but I’m much too conceited to allow even my son to see how weak I am.

‘“The obvious reason for my killing myself is very simple. I’m losing money hand over fist and will soon have to declare myself bankrupt if I live. I cannot bear the disgrace. I cannot bear the thought of meeting our wealthy friends at the Rotary lunch and the golf club after such a disgrace. I dread the thought of even facing you, and Alice, after such a disgrace.”’

Sally listened with a stony face. It would have been impossible for even the cleverest psychiatrist in the world, who undoubtedly was not Dr Mallet, to see what she was thinking. Was she turned to stone by the horror, by sympathy, by disgust, by simple pique at her children being mentioned in the letter before her?

‘“But there is another reason, sadly also not very original. In death, fittingly, I reveal the reason that my life has failed. I am indescribably ordinary, a lawyer of no great talent or imagination, a husband with no real tenderness or warmth or understanding, a father bringing up his children as if from the pages of a manual.

‘“I look at myself in a mirror and I see a little man, a dull man. I hate myself. I don’t fear not existing. I look forward to it. I will be glad to be gone.”’

Sam paused. He looked up at his mother. His hands were shaking as much as ever, the paper trembling as if being held in half a gale.

A single tear, a harbinger of floods to come, ran slowly down his mother’s face.

‘It gets worse, Mum. Can you take it?’

She nodded fiercely, almost angrily.

‘“The one unusual thing that I am doing in this last act of my unmemorable life is sending this, my suicide note, to you and not to your mother. I feel a tiny, ridiculous, entirely callous twinge of pride at doing this. It will mean an inquest. My little life can entertain Potherthwaite just for a moment at the last. Potherthwaite, dear God, how did I end up there?

‘“But no. The main reason for my sending you this letter is that I cannot send it to your mother. There are things I find I cannot die without saying. I want to say them. I want to tell you, which is very unfair on you, but you see my hatred of myself has made me a very unpleasant man. I …” I don’t think I can go on, Mum. I think I’ve made a dreadful mistake.’

‘Go on!’ She tried to keep the sudden irritation out of her voice. ‘You can’t stop now.’

‘No. No.’

He gasped. The simple, naked words came out very fast, as if he feared his voice would break.

‘“I haven’t said anything truly meaningful, or meaningfully true, to your mother for about ten years.”’

He couldn’t look at her now.

‘“It’s just … it’s become … as if neither of us are real when we’re together. It’s as if we were holograms. There is no connection. It has turned into a dead, dull drama, a dismal fiction. I tried to write this to her, I just couldn’t think of any words. I couldn’t move my hands. The last few times …”

‘I can’t read this bit, Mum.’

‘You must. You can’t stop now.’

‘Oh God.’

He went bright red. He was shaking. He came out with the words very fast.

‘“The last few times we made love, I pretended that she was somebody else. Who, you may well ask. Sam, I can’t tell even you that. That must remain my sad little secret shame.

‘“There is no need to reveal the existence of the letter at the inquest. I haven’t a shred of respect left for the law.”’ Sam was beginning to cry. ‘“And please don’t tell your mother. She hasn’t the character to survive this letter. Lies are almost always so much better than the truth.

‘“This letter comes to you, Sam, with, if not love, the nearest perhaps that I can come to love.”’

He was rushing now. The tears were coming. She could hear them approaching.

‘“Do better in life than I have, Sam.

‘“Your wretched, late father.”’

As he read the last words Sam dissolved into tears.

‘Have I done wrong?’ he wailed. ‘Mum, have I done wrong?’

She was crying too. She shook her head.

‘You see, Mum, I don’t think lies are better than the truth.’

Sally tried to smile.

‘You see, Mum, I think you do have the character. I think you’re marvellous.’

They clutched each other, then, mother and son, both with tears streaming down their faces.

‘Beth’ll kill me,’ he said.