Seventy-Seven Clocks

∨ Seventy-Seven Clocks ∧

6

Mother & Daughter

The uncharacteristic clemency of the day had produced a mist from the Thames which thickened with the passing hours. By six-thirty on Thursday evening, it had obscured much of the South Bank promenade, providing London’s few remaining tourists with a Turneresque vision of the city.

After her session with Dr Wayland, her therapist, Jerry caught a cab to Waterloo Bridge. She descended the stone stairway towards the hanging coloured bulbs that decked the National Film Theatre’s bar.

At the last minute, her mother had called to change their arrangement. It couldn’t be helped, Gwen Gates had explained, as she was due to address a charity trustees’ meeting at eight, and would only be able to spare an hour.

Jerry hoped she would be able to survive the full sixty minutes without being backed into another pointless argument. Gwen’s unhappiness with the choice of venue was apparent from her expression. Appearing awkwardly out of place in her fawn Dior suit and gold jewellery (the look that would be redefined as ‘bling’ thirty years later), she was seated at a counter near the window, surrounded by hairy students and film buffs. Although she tried to keep her attention focused on the fog-shrouded river, she could not resist revealing her distaste for her surroundings at every opportunity.

As Jerry pushed open the door, Gwen beaconed her location with a violent coughing fit, pointedly fanning the smoke from someone’s cigarette. As she herself was a smoker, the gesture was redundant. Jerry threaded her way to the table and pecked her lightly on the cheek.

“All those badges are ruining your jacket,” Gwen remarked, carefully shifting an empty coffee cup away from some imagined mark on the Formica. “I don’t know why we had to meet in such a ghastly place. Surely a few linen tablecloths wouldn’t compromise their socialist ideals. If you want coffee, you have to serve yourself, apparently.”

Jerry bought beverages and returned to the table. “I’m sorry you don’t have time for dinner,” she told her mother. “There’s something I was hoping to discuss with you.”

Gwen’s eyebrows rose a fraction. Serious discussions rarely took place between them. “If it’s about the job, you already know my feelings,” she said.

“I like it there, Mother. It’s the Savoy, for God’s sake, not some flophouse. And it’s not as if I’m going to make a career out of it.”

Gwen examined her coffee suspiciously and sighed. “I suppose you’re mixing with the right sort of people.”

“I’m serving them. There’s a difference. That isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Then what is it?” Gwen set down her cup and searched her handbag for a cigarette.

“I want to move out.”

“Don’t be absurd, darling, you’re not even eighteen yet.” She tapped out a gold-tipped Sobranie.

“There’s a flat share going in Maida Vale. I could afford the rent, but there’s a down payment to be made…”

Gwen’s attention crystallized. “Share? You mean cohabiting? Have you met someone, Geraldine?”

“No, nothing like that. There’s a guy at work who shares with two others, and one’s moving out.”

“It’s simply out of the question.” Gwen spouted a column of blue smoke at the window. “You must try to understand that I only want what’s best for you. There’s absolutely no need for you to be stuck in some awful little flat when you have the complete run of the house. It’s not as if we hold you back, or stop you from having friends over.”

“I want to be independent for a while, surely you can appreciate that.”

“But why must you be? Why can’t young people accept the help of their parents with good grace? Other girls would be grateful for a helping hand, Geraldine.”

“I’m not a girl any more, Mother.” She didn’t want to be given a cozy position in the family business. Lately she’d been thinking about taking a course at an art college. It had been a mistake to inform Gwen of her plans. “Look, I wouldn’t need to borrow money after the initial loan. It won’t be a large amount.”

“That’s not the point, Jerry. You went behind our backs to get this job, and now you want to sever your home ties with us. You know what the doctor said about learning to deal with authority. Interaction with others is difficult for you. Besides, art is not a career for a woman, it’s a hobby. I’d be hard-pressed to name a single successful female artist.”

“That says more about the system than the artist, and anyway – ”

“So now you’re against the system!” Gwen shook her head sadly. “No, I know these rebellious feelings, and believe me, they only last for a couple of years. I blame all these students marching over Vietnam. Americans are trying to halt the spread of Communism, and they’re getting no thanks for it. You’ll see, soon you’ll want the things we wanted at your age…”

“I’m not like you and Jack. I don’t have the same values. Don’t you see how much things are changing? I don’t even know what I want yet. I’m just trying to figure out what I don’t want.”

“I suppose you think we’re snobs,” replied her mother, stung. “Well, I really have to put my foot down this time, Geraldine. I couldn’t possibly allow you to leave home yet. I hate to bring this up…” Jerry groaned inwardly, knowing what was coming. “After your illness, your father and I knew we had to do something to help you. That’s why we set up the trust in your name. We wanted to help you make a start in life. That trust matures when you are twenty-one, and until then we are empowered to influence your decisions about the future.”

She reached forward and sealed her hands over her daughter’s, pink nails ticking on the tabletop. “You know we love you. Darling, it’s for your own good. You’ll see one day that I was right. When you come of age, you’ll be able to choose for yourself. Until then, carry on in this job, if that’s what you want. But think about your father’s offer. Eventually you’ll meet a nice boy. You’ll want to settle down and start thinking about children. It’s only natural. And hopefully by that time you’ll be ready to assume your responsibilities in the business, just a couple of days a week, nothing taxing. You’re lucky that girls are taken seriously in the workforce these days. You can be a mother and still have a nice career.”

“Like you, you mean.”

At the moment nothing seemed less desirable than following in her parents’ footsteps. She knew there was no point in trying to explain her confusion to Gwen.

“Anyway, how is the Savoy?” asked her mother, switching subjects to fill the uncomfortable silence.

“Someone dropped dead in the foyer on Monday, and the police think it was murder. Apparently the newspapers are suggesting he was a spy.”

“Why have I not heard about this? Is nowhere safe any more? Did you know there are homeless people sleeping in the Strand? It’s dreadful.” Gwen checked her watch and rose to leave. “I have to go. Stay and finish your coffee, and remember what I said. You can try speaking to your father, but it won’t make any difference. I know he feels the same way I do. Can you believe this weather? I haven’t seen fog like this since the fifties.”

Jerry watched through the steam-slick glass as her mother paused at the door of the café to snap on her gloves before walking briskly into the haze. She had always been this way, for ever suggesting the path of least resistance. Didn’t Geraldine realize how lucky she was, to have been born into a family with social standing and respect in the community? Did she understand how generous her parents had always been to her? And how ungrateful she’d been in return?

The coldness that had arisen between them was the result of her nightmarish fourteenth year – an unendurable sequence of fights and hospitals. After this there had been a reconciliation of sorts, but with it came a realization on both sides that the older Jerry grew, the less like her parents she became.

She was increasingly uncomfortable with her mother’s ostentatious displays of wealth, and felt unworthy of her cushioned life. It was as if the three of them shared a secret: that she was a common foundling, a usurper to the throne of commerce and society, whose presence would be tolerated for the benefit of both sides. For a while Jerry had failed to see how the arrangement could possibly benefit Gwen, who had shown her scant attention in the first fourteen years of her life. Jerry recalled an aimless, bored childhood spent in the old house at Chelsea, sprawled out on the untrodden pile of the midnight-blue carpet in the drawing room, reading for hours on end, minded by a slow-witted nurse, waiting for her parents to return home. She remembered exploring the floors above, creeping about as if any minute now her parents would discover the scruffy cuckoo in their midst and throw her into the street. But of course there had been times when they fussed and fawned over her, Gwen especially – and finally Jerry had come to understand.

Jerry was the final piece in the creation of her mother’s image. She was there to help Gwen show a caring side to the world. Gwen’s friends gathered to watch in warm indulgence as mother and daughter played happily together. Look at them, they seemed to say, what a perfect, loving mother she is. How does she manage it with all of her charity commitments?

“Hey, fancy meeting you here.”

She turned in her seat and looked up.

“Remember me?” said Joseph Herrick, smiling slyly. “I mean, how could you forget?”

Jerry was stumped for a reply. She was suddenly thankful that Gwen had left.

“You’re the receptionist at the Savoy, right? As I’m staying at your place, so to speak, I just wanted to thank you for your hospitality. Do many guests drop dead in your foyer? Is this some kind of regular occurrence I should know about?” He lowered himself into the opposite seat and set down his coffee cup without waiting to be asked. He seemed to be wearing some kind of leather biker’s outfit more suited to a science-fiction convention than the NFT caféteria. His dreadlocked hair was an odd look, but suited him.

“Actually, that was the first corpse this week.”

“I heard you found him. I’m sorry.”

She smiled uncomfortably, not really wanting to talk about it. The true effect of the death was impossible to share. “How do you like the Savoy?”

“Well, I’d have chosen something a little closer to the street, if you know what I mean, but it’s cool. I can’t believe what you charge for a coffee. I’m glad I’m not paying the bill.”

“So you’re here on business.” She watched as Joseph emptied four packs of sugar into his coffee. He was a little older than she had first thought, twenty-five or thereabouts.

“I’m preparing to start work on a show, set designing. This is my first big commission. They put me in the Savoy while we’re meeting with the backers. You’ve got a bunch of Japanese guys checking in tomorrow. They’re the ones putting up the money. Tasaka Corporation. Their boss is a man called Kaneto Miyagawa. In Japan he’s considered to be a great patron of the arts, and now he’s coming to London. That’s why I’m here tonight.” He pulled a National Theatre brochure from his jacket pocket. “I’m seeing a production at the Cottesloe. It’s supposed to be kinda lousy, but the sets are good. Big dreams on a tight budget. How about you?”

“I was having coffee with an old school friend.” Thanks to her sessions with Wayland, lying came easy.

“Listen, you want to come with me? They sent me loads of spare tickets.”

She laughed nervously. “I couldn’t, not tonight.”

“Why not? If it’s that bad we can leave. I’m alone and friendless in a strange land, many thousands of miles from home.”

“Don’t push it. Where are you from, anyway?”

“San Diego. I’m the only black guy ever to take theatre design there. I figured it would get me to Europe, and it did. Ten countries in eight days, package tour. I cannot recommend it. You want to come with me to the play?”

After trying to think of a way to turn him down, she realized that there was no reason at all why she should. She knew she should try to set aside the memory of Nicholas pawing at her.

“So, what’s your name? If you don’t tell me, I’ll have to try and guess, and that’ll embarrass both of us.” He studied her face with such an earnest expression that she gave in gracefully.

“Jerry,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Jerry, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Is that short for Geraldine?”

“Damn,” she said. “Just when we were getting off on the right foot.”

“How about I never call you that again?”

“How about that.”

So they went to the theatre.