The Flame of Life

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Washed plates lined the rack, and scoured pans were hooked on the wall. The duty roster of the new domestic regime had been drawn up in large plain letters and pinned on the notice-board. To avoid strife Myra had sorted them according to their tolerance for each other.

‘My second day’s stint since the New Order,’ Handley said, ‘one more sweep and I’ll have done.’

Dawley sat down. ‘You seem to be managing.’

‘I’m not one for complaining, once the rope’s around my gullet. Drudgery helps me to think about my painting. It’s even improved since this lark started.’

‘Any coffee?’

‘Make some. And wash your cup after. It may be a fair system but I still don’t like the way it was done.’

Frank plugged in the kettle. ‘Hoisted on your own democratic principles.’

‘We’ll have to get rid of you-know-who, before she thinks up another bundle of mischief. She’s an attractive woman, but I just don’t trust her. In fact there’s nobody I can trust except you, and Richard and Adam. As for Cuthbert, he’s on pot, he’s fallen for Maricarmen, and he’s my eldest son. There’s too much stacked against him.’

Frank set out two mugs for coffee. ‘I was up at the paddock for a quiet smoke, and heard him and Maricarmen talking. Do you have a gun in the house?’

‘Gun? Look, I might not trust him but it doesn’t mean I want to kill him.’

‘Maricarmen’s on at him to get one. Wants to take it back to Spain.’

‘I’ve got a horror of guns,’ Handley said, ‘since John died.’

‘Why do you keep so many in the house?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You said you had a sten, a rifle, and a few shot-guns.’

‘That was only a bit of a joke on our part. John came back from the war with a couple of revolvers, it’s true. I kept one in my room, and let him hug the other. I wish I hadn’t, because he took it to Algeria, and killed himself with it. Which makes me responsible for his death.’

‘If I hadn’t gone there, and he hadn’t had the blameless idea of coming to get me out of it, he’d have still been safe,’ Frank said.

Albert took his hand, and held it for a moment. ‘It’s good of you to share it, but I hope you aren’t regretting your time in Algeria.’

‘I don’t know. If John could be here now I’d rather not have gone. It’s terrible for a good man to get killed, and for somebody like you to lose a brother. I’m a different person to what I was a couple of years ago. The older you get the more there is to regret. I change, but at the same time I stay young. What’s the use of time passing if it doesn’t improve you? Wasted life. If you stay the same you’ve got no sense. I regret the killing I took part in. It seems as if I wasn’t responsible at the time. I’d give everything to go back and to do the right thing.’

‘What’s the point?’

‘It’s the only way for self-centred bastards like me to learn. Yet maybe if I had my life over again I’d do the same thing.’

‘We’ve got to stop this bloody gun nonsense, though,’ said Handley, ‘or Cuthbert will have his regrets as well, and God knows what effect it would have on somebody like him. John’s other gun is stowed in his toolbox.’

Dawley asked how safe it was. Handley put down his cup. ‘You think …?’

‘I expect he roams around.’

He was stricken at the thought, which he knew was true enough: ‘I love Cuthbert like a son, almost, but he makes me sweat at times. I saw him once in John’s room, and kicked him out of it. But I’ll move the gun in the morning. I’ll forestall him.’

Dawley hoped he would do it now, though didn’t say so. He saw no point in needlessly alarming him.

Myra was in bed, the light still on. She took off her glasses and put the book down. He glanced at Mark, whose cot was in the small dressing room opening off from theirs. His mouth and closed eyes were peaceful, but his brow suddenly wrinkled, as if some deep dream were passing there like a fish through water. Dawley loved him more than his other two, glad he’d got back from Algeria if only for him. Yet glancing through the door at Myra he didn’t know who he loved most. His child seemed too vulnerable, as if all the peril of the world had passed from himself to Mark, and he desperately wanted Mark to be safe, felt a biting need for the years to go quickly so that he would grow into a man and be able to hold his own. There were so many pitfalls, and Frank knew that the dangers never receded, no matter how strong a person was. He couldn’t bear the thought of anything painful happening to his son, or indeed to anyone he loved, as he looked again at Myra — who had been looking at him so engrossed in their son and wondering when he was going to turn back to her. She smiled: ‘At least we’ve produced something together!’

‘He’s beautiful,’ he said, going into their room and sitting at the end of the bed. ‘But I’m so full of fear for him. It’s daft, I know. I can almost see why people believe in God: they’d do anything to put such anxiety behind them.’

‘You’re a violent person,’ she said, ‘to think that so much can threaten your son.’

‘Fearful,’ he admitted. ‘My spirit’s gone, and peace with it. Danger and violence have their own peace. How does one get it back?’

‘You need a long, tranquil life,’ she said.

‘Will I ever get it?’ he wondered, closing the door to Mark’s room.

‘Only with me.’ She lifted her hand, and he went closer to hold it. He undressed slowly, and pulled the bedclothes back, getting in naked beside her. She had the most beautiful eyes, yet only took off her glasses in bed. Nipples showed through her pink silken nightdress.

‘Take it off, so that I can feel your skin against me.’

She did so quickly, and then embraced him: ‘I’ve always loved you so much.’

‘There’s nothing else that means anything.’

She wanted to say: When will you get a divorce from Nancy so that we can be married — but she was a proud person who treated others as being as free as she had always hoped to be, and so didn’t speak. She suspected that this was part of her conditioning in a man’s world, not something out of her own basic nature, and so would ask him when the time came, whatever she thought. ‘What do you think you’ll do?’

It wasn’t the right time for such a question, but he slowed down the speed of his desire, to do the right thing and tie it to her own. ‘I don’t know about the future. I want to finish my book first.’

She was pleased at hearing him call it a book for the first time. ‘I was reading George’s book this evening,’ she said, ‘and thought that perhaps his publisher would like to see yours when it’s finished. He’s got that sort of list. He likes revolutionary literature from young working-class men!’

‘Is that his name for it? And how many of us does he think there are? Anyway, it’s not a book yet. When I’ve finished you’ll have to tell me what you think. Make sure it’s all ship-shape and grammatical. I haven’t felt like a young working man for a long while, though I expect I could slot back into it if I had to.’

‘You won’t need to,’ she said. ‘All I want is for you to be happy.’

He craved a smoke, but knew she didn’t like it in the bedroom because of Mark. ‘If I stop living from day to day I might be able to see some distance ahead. Then I’ll know what I want to do, though finally I don’t know what happiness is. A necessary illusion, maybe.’

‘We’re unhappy so that we’ll know when we’re happy,’ she said, wondering whether he wasn’t too locked up in himself to ever give her anything at all.

He smiled, and kissed her. ‘We’ve got enough to eat, and we aren’t being bombed, so we ought to feel happy. But I can’t while such atrocities are going on in the world. I’m happy now and again though, in spite of myself. Life would be insupportable otherwise. I sometimes think: to hell with the world! Why should it make me miserable? But that’s weakness. I’m so weak I can’t stand my own bloody weakness.’

‘That might turn out to be your strength,’ she said, pushing the clothes back so that she could see his body. It seemed ridiculous that only their heads were visible, as if they were some form of transmuted life, not whole and to be seen even by each other when making love. He lay facing her, and she stroked his flattened stomach. ‘Why do you worry about everything?’

His gloomy preoccupations were an area in which she seemed powerless to help, and she wanted to cure him, bring his whole person back to herself and Mark. ‘It’s more than mere worry,’ he said. ‘I feel pity and fear and hope for Mark, and for you, and so can’t help extending it to everybody else. While they are threatened, you two are threatened, and I can’t stand that.’

She lay on her back, her head turned to him, kissing the wrist of the hand that touched her short dark hair where it met the pillow. ‘We have to look after ourselves, then do what we can for others. It’s all part of the human pattern.’

Was there any point in arguing? If he agreed they might make love sooner. Now that he was no longer in danger he was becoming civilised. Her hand roamed down his stomach until his penis became alive. When he kissed her the rest of the world vanished. ‘This is happiness,’ he said, thinking that when he loved he was most at rest.

Her breasts pressed into him: ‘I want another baby.’

They were both so ready that he was in her without guidance. There was no greater happiness, at the moment.