Corduroy Mansions

60. Going Home

The hospital authorities in Cheltenham were doubtful at first, but there was pressure on beds and Terence Moongrove seemed to have made a remarkable recovery from his near-death experience.

‘Ideally, we’d like to keep you under observation, Mr Moongrove,’ said the doctor who had attended him, ‘but you seem to be pretty bright and breezy. How would you feel about going home?’

‘It’d suit me very well,’ said Terence, sitting up in bed. ‘I feel fully restored, both in karma and in body.’

The doctor smiled. ‘I gather that your sister is staying with you at present. She told me that she’d see that everything is all right.’

‘She’s very helpful,’ said Terence. He could not think of any way in which Berthea was particularly helpful, but she had saved his life, he had to concede, and that was helpful, he supposed.

‘Well then,’ said the doctor. ‘I think we can probably discharge you. But you will be careful, won’t you? Electricity is very dangerous.’

‘Oh, I know that,’ said Terence. ‘What happened was . . . Well, it was an accident really. I think that there was something wrong with my car battery. I’ll get my garage man to get me a new one.’

The doctor frowned. ‘You tried to charge it, your sister said. Was the charger faulty?’

Terence looked away. ‘Perhaps,’ he said.

‘You have to be terribly careful with these things,’ said the doctor.

‘Oh, I am, doctor. I’m very careful. But . . . Well, thank you so much for bringing me back from the other side.’

The doctor smiled. ‘That’s what we’re here for. We try to keep people from . . . going to the other side before their time.’ He laughed. ‘I suppose that’s our job.’

Terence looked thoughtful. ‘It was very peaceful over there,’ he said. ‘It was exactly the way I had seen it described.’

The doctor looked at his watch and excused himself while a nurse helped Terence out of bed and took him to a small compartment where his clothes had been stored. Shortly afterwards, Berthea appeared and accompanied Terence to the car park, where a taxi was waiting for them. In less than fifteen minutes they were on the driveway of Terence’s house. There, in the open garage, was the Morris Traveller, with the fatal cable leading away from it. While Terence went into the house, Berthea coiled the cable away. The incident had thrown the fuse switch and everything was quite safe, but she handled the cable with evident distaste: this, after all, was the instrument of her brother’s near-demise. He really was useless, poor Terence; imagine connecting the mains directly to the battery! What could he have been thinking? And would she ever be able to leave him now without worrying that he would do something really stupid?

She sighed. She could not take Terence back to London - there was not enough room in the house, unless she gave up her study, and it would be impossible having him mooching around, going on about sacred dance and such matters. There were plenty of soi-disant visionaries in London, of course, and he would doubtless fall in with others who shared his interest in Bulgarian mystics and the like, but she had her own life to lead and she just could not look after her brother too. No, Terence would have to stay in Cheltenham.

As she walked up to the front door, an idea occurred to her. If she could get to know some of Terence’s friends - the sacred dance crowd - then perhaps she would be able to find somebody who would agree to keep an eye on him. There were women in the sacred dance group, no doubt, and one of these might be taken aside, woman to woman, and asked to help see that he came to no harm. England was full of helpful women, Berthea was convinced: there were legions of them, all anxious to help in some way and many of them feeling quite frustrated that there were not quite enough men - for demographic reasons - in need of their help. One of these women would be the solution and, with any luck, it might even turn into a romance. That would be the best possible outcome - to get Terence settled with a suitable woman who would look after him and make sure that he did not try to do anything unwise with electricity.

Berthea sighed. It was something of a pipe dream. What woman in her right mind would take on somebody like Terence? What would be the point? He had no conversation to speak of, other than sentimental memories of things that no woman would be remotely interested in. He read nothing of any consequence, apart from peculiar tomes from small, mystically minded publishing houses, and even then he rapidly forgot both the titles and the contents of these books. He could not cook; he was inclined to asthma; and if sacred dance required any deftness of foot, then Terence would almost certainly be no good at it. And when it came to the romantic side of things - oh, dear, poor Terence with his square glasses and his untidy hair and his cardigans that always had buttons missing . . .

But she could try; it was the least she could do.

‘Terence,’ Berthea said as she came into the dining room, ‘I’ve decided to extend my stay a little, if I may.’

Terence, who had seated himself at the small bureau, where he was going through mail, seemed pleased. ‘You’re always welcome, Berthy. We could sort out some of those old photographs together. There are Daddy’s pictures of Malta - all those photies - and maybe we could even stick them in an album.’

Berthea nodded. She could think of nothing worse than going through the several boxes of old photographs of Malta that she knew Terence had in the attic, but he was her brother and she had to do something. ‘I thought that I might also come along to one of your sacred dance meetings,’ she said. ‘If you don’t mind, that is.’

Terence looked up from his letters. He beamed. ‘But that’s wonderful, Berthy. You’d be very, very welcome. You know that. And I could give you one of Peter Deunov’s books to read first. You could then see what the objectives are, and understand.’

‘That would be very nice.’

‘Good.’ He pushed the mail to the side of his desk. ‘And you know what, Berthy? You know what? I’ve decided to do something about my car.’

Berthea looked at him through narrowed eyes. ‘Oh yes?’

‘Yes,’ said Terence. ‘I’m going to get rid of it. I shall phone Mr Marchbanks immediately and ask him to find me a new one.’