Pretty Lady Page 5

  He had waited until late one afternoon. They were tiring of their game then, but had thought of nothing new to replace it. He’d led them out of their own familiar territory and got a bit ahead of them, and cut down an alley he knew about. They’d thought they’d lost him. It was beginning to grow dark and, watching from the shadows, he had seen the uneasiness growing in them as they realized how far from home they’d strayed. They’d huddled together briefly, some of their cockiness leaving them, and obviously decided to abandon the game of baiting Denny and go back to the comfortable familiarity of their own neighbourhood. Unsuspecting, they’d turned and begun retracing their steps.

  He’d waited until they were almost upon him, then leaped out into the centre of the pavement, waving his arms and shouting, in his turn. He’d scared them, he’d really scared them good!

  They’d wheeled and run, screaming for help. Pursued by his gyrating shadow, cast by the street lamp behind him, stretching out eight feet long, so that he’d only had to run after them a few yards to make them think he was going to chase them for ever. He’d had to laugh. When he was laughing so hard that he could no longer run, he stood there, his laughter booming out with the uncontrolled note that always made Mum say anxiously, ‘All right, Denny, don’t get so excited.’

  So, he’d stopped laughing, except softly to himself now and then on the way home. Those bad kids had run in the wrong direction – that was a good joke, too. He’d bet they got so lost it would be hours before they found their way back. He’d enjoyed that moment, really enjoyed it.

  Only then, the police had come. ‘A complaint,’ they’d said, from the parents. About an incident.’ There had been tears – Mum’s mostly – and he’d tried to explain. They’d seemed to understand. They’d let him off with a warning, they’d said, but it must never happen again. Mum had made him promise it wouldn’t – no matter how much the bad kids teased him. And it hadn’t. Because the bad kids hadn’t come after him again. Just that once, he’d fought them with their own weapons, and they’d never bothered him again.

  So, maybe Merelda was right when she said he’d only need to scare her bad man once. Just once, and he’d be good. And Mum need never know. And it wouldn’t be the same as scaring kids littler than himself, even if the police found out about it. Although, with a rueful nod, Denny acknowledged the truth, he was bigger than practically everybody – except Rembrandt. Most grown-up men, he was bigger than. Only, in some funny way, it never seemed to make any difference.

  And Mum would get awfully upset, if she ever found out. So would Auntie Vera. ‘The incident.’ That was the way they still referred to that time, in hushed voices, when they thought he wasn’t paying any attention. And they’d been talking about it again recently. It seemed to have something to do with Mary-Maureen’s getting sick and going away for a long rest. That, too, had seemed to upset the family.

  Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea of Merelda’s, after s all. Maybe there was something else she could do that would work better, and then he wouldn’t have to break any promises. He looked across the table at her.

  ‘... Denny? Isn’t that so, Denny?’ She must have been talking to him for some time, and he hadn’t been paying attention. She was biting her lip, the way Sheila did when he wasn’t being quick enough, smart enough.

  ‘Yes,’ he nodded eagerly, not sure what he was agreeing to, but anxious to please her.

  ‘Oh, I’m so glad you think so, too.’ Her face cleared and the smile he adored beamed out at him. ‘It’s always best to get things over with, once they’ve been decided on, isn’t it, Denny?’

  Uncertainly, Denny nodded again.

  ‘Then, you’ll do it soon, Denny. Very soon. You’ll come back here, and let yourself into the house – the spare key is under the last flower-pot on the top step – and you’ll ... help me.

  ‘But soon, Denny, very soon. I ...’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I can’t go on much longer. Tomorrow, Denny? Or ... better still, if you could only manage it ... tonight. Tonight, Denny?’

  SHEILA

  All right, face it, he wasn’t going to call. He was never going to call again. He wasn’t the first – undoubtedly, he wouldn’t be the last. She ought to be used to it by this time.

  She slammed the oven door shut, hurled the fork clattering into the sink, taking it out on the small inanimate objects around her. Because who else could you take it out on? It wasn’t Denny’s fault. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t Mum’s fault – or Dad’s. It was just the way things were – and she was stuck with them.

  The family were all used to it by now. They’d had a long time to grow accustomed to it. It was strangers, acquaintances, newly-made friends meeting Denny for the first time, who reacted as though poor Denny were some sort of obstacle suddenly encountered in the middle of what should have been a smooth path. Poor Denny. He was a big hurdle for the uninitiated to take – few of them made it.

  By this time, she should have stopped minding. The worst had been in her teens, when childhood friends were turning into prospective sweethearts. They’d all grown up together, all lived in the same neighbourhood, gone to the same convent school. They’d known about Denny all their lives – accepted him – accepted her – she’d never expected it to make any difference to them.

  But suddenly, the difference was there. In their eyes as they looked at her, weighed her up, with new adult wariness. Just two of them in the family – and one of them wasn’t ‘right’. To their thinking, that made the odds fifty-fifty on any children she might bear. As though the cruel trick nature had played on Denny were some kind of latent gene, to be carried down, like haemophilia, through the female line. A man looked at her, and had a vision of himself looking down at his eldest son – and seeing another Denny,

  And so, they drifted away, the boys she’d known all her life. After that, she’d heard the banns read in church, gone to their weddings as they’d married her friends, been bridesmaid a few times. And the protective shell had begun to grow around her. ‘Always a bridesmaid –’

  Sheila stabbed viciously at the stubborn eye of a potato with the paring knife. Why had she ever thought it might be different?

  Working in the city-centre, meeting new people who knew nothing of her home life or her background, she had begun to think there might be a chance, after all. At first. And then the new difficulties had begun. When friendships had begun to blossom, when it was time for ties to grow closer, when dates began to insist on escorting her home, the problem rose up again. What did one do about Denny? Rather, what did one say about him?

  ‘By the way, my brother is a mental defective’? Or, ‘Don’t be surprised when you meet my brother – he isn’t all there’? Perhaps, just simply, ‘I have an eight-year-old brother – mentally, that is’?

  Or did you play it the smart way? Let some man thoroughly entangle himself before springing it on him? Even then, when – and how – did you let him know? Did you wait until the last moment? At the church, perhaps, when you walked down the aisle on Denny’s arm, to meet the man standing at the foot of the altar, to see him look past you at Denny’s pleasant empty face? Denny, giving the bride away.

  Well, Denny had given her away this time, all right. Two weeks ago, to be exact. Two weeks without a phone call, without a note. Another hopeful romance ended. She knew she was losing the courage to start many more. She was ready to give up – renounce the world. No, not a convent – Denny couldn’t come, too. And what would happen to him, if anything happened to Mum? Mum, looking thinner, tireder, more drawn, every day.

  That was something she did not want to have to face. Something she would, inevitably, have to face some day.

  But not yet. She put the potatoes on to cook, began setting the table, pushing away thought with the domestic businesses that needed attention. Time enough to think later. Time enough to face the worst when it actually happened.

  Bad enough, what had happened recently. The two of them, strolling down the high street, laughing tog
ether, delicately balanced in that mood which might veer either way. Pleased with the show they’d seen, pleased with the meal they’d had, pleased with each other’s reactions, the intangible intimacy gradually growing. And then -

  Then – Denny. Denny, loping along, like an ungainly puppy, his face brightening when he saw her. Heading straight for her, purposefully for once, eager and trusting. So trusting. She could not deny him – small use to, anyway, when he was so obviously sure of his welcome.

  He’d halted in front of them, eyeing her brightly, trustingly, waiting for her greeting. There’d been no help for it, none at all. Already the English face beside her was congealing slightly. Puzzled, but with a wary remoteness ready to set in, as it had, when she’d turned to him and said, ‘I’d like you to meet Denny – my brother.’

  And that had settled the question of how to break the news to that one. Settled the question of what his reaction would be. Oh, nice, quite nice. He’d bought them both ice-cream – and then she’d gone home with Denny. And stayed home ever since ...

  There were metallic scrabbling sounds suddenly, and the front door clicked. ‘Is that you, Denny?’ she called out.

  No answer, but more shuffling, scuffling noises. She put down the tea towel and went into the front hall, ready to be stem. Denny had an amazing capacity for being ‘followed’ by stray dogs and cats. They’d had to put their foot down about this long since. But it was hard, since you couldn’t really explain to him that he constituted enough of a problem for one household, without complicating it with animals which needed looking after, too.

  Aunt Vera was in the hallway, trying to keep hold of Mum’s arm and march her along to the kitchen. Mum was trying to pull free, but not having much success. Aunt Vera, as they all had good reason to know, was incredibly tenacious – especially when she was convinced that she was in the right.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Sheila went forward to meet them, her heart sinking. Mum was so pale. ‘Is anything wrong?’

  ‘Wrong enough!’ Aunt Vera whirled on her triumphantly. ‘Your mother collapsed at work just now. I’ve had to take time off and bring her home.’

  ‘I never!’ Polly protested, like a child, still trying to pull away. ‘I just came over faint, for a minute, and closed my eyes. I was just dizzy, that’s all.’

  ‘And when you opened your eyes again, you were on the floor. You collapsed!’ Vera accused. She turned the accusation on Sheila, as she came forward to help.

  ‘Your mother’s dead on her feet. Has been, for a long time now. You ought to help her more, a great big strapping girl like you – ’

  'Sheila’s a good girl,’ Polly said. ‘She helps a lot, and she holds down a steady job, too.’

  ‘So do you,’ Vera said. ‘It’s too much for you, why don’t you admit it? Oh, it wouldn’t be, under ordinary circumstances –’ the accusation was back in her voice, in her eyes. ‘It’s the strain you’ve been under, all these years, it’s not doing you any good. And you’re getting older, it’s bound to get worse –’

  ‘Please, Aunt Vera –’ Sheila broke off, leaving it there. Anything she could add would only make Aunt Vera worse. You couldn’t tell her straight out to shut up. Nor could you suggest that she wasn’t doing anything to help the situation herself, with her nagging. That would only bring the injured sniff, the hurt look, and the fifteen-minute monologue about how hard Vera tried, but no one appreciated her efforts, some day they’d learn, and so on. In fact, Vera looked as though she might be going to launch out on that speech now, with as little provocation as she’d already had. Quickly, Sheila tried to forestall her.

  ‘Here, Mum –’ Sheila managed to detach Vera and lead Polly into the parlour – ‘lie down for a bit, and I’ll bring you a cup of tea. Or would you rather go up to your room?’

  ‘She couldn’t make the stairs – the condition she’s in,’ Vera snapped.

  ‘I’m all right,’ Polly said stubbornly. ‘I’ll stay down here because – because I’ve got to go out to the doctor as soon as his surgery opens. The doctor will fix me up just fine. I’m overtired, that’s all. He’ll give me something to let me sleep.’

  ‘You need more than that,’ Vera diagnosed. ‘That’s only treating the symptom, and not the cause – and we all know it.’

  Polly shook her head. ‘Denny’s a good boy,’ she said automatically.

  DENNY

  Denny stood at the picture window, watching the river traffic without really seeing it, replete with tea, cakes, and a curious warm bursting feeling of satisfaction such as he had seldom known.

  ‘You’re so good,’ a soft voice was saying, just below his ear level. ‘So strong, and so clever. Oh, it’s so good to know that I have someone I can depend on, at last.’

  Denny’s chest swelled with pride. He didn’t quite dare to look down at Merelda. ‘I’ll fix him,’ he promised. ‘I’ll scare him good.’

  ‘Of course you will,’ she said. ‘And with the gun, too. That will scare him more than anything. You do remember where the gun is kept, don’t you?’

  ‘In the desk downstairs.’ It was a question Denny could answer easily. ‘In the drawer.’

  “That’s right.’ She breathed a sigh of relief. ‘And I’ll leave the key for you ...?’

  ‘Underneath the flower-pot.’ He could answer that easily, too. ‘On the top step.’ For the first time, he felt grown-up, clever. He knew the answers to the questions Merelda asked him. He could do what Merelda wanted, he could protect her, look after her, make the bully stop hurting her. And Merelda would be his friend for ever. He had been right, earlier, it was a good day. It was a wonderful day. He had made a new friend. He had met Merelda and the world would never be quite the same again.

  ‘I’m so glad I met you.’ She seemed to move faintly closer. ‘Just today it feels as though I’ve known you so much longer.’

  That was the way Denny felt, too. He dared to look down at her now, his arm ached to slip around her, but he controlled himself rigidly. (‘Stop that, Denny! Don’t be so free with your hands. All people aren’t like you, remember. You’re a big boy now.’)

  ‘Yes,’ he said fervently. ‘Yes.’ He looked away again. Maybe he could scare the bully really good. Scare him so much that he went away for ever. Then maybe Merelda could move in with him and Mum and Sheila, and they could all live happily ever after. A glimmering golden future of happiness shimmered like a mirage on the horizon of his consciousness. Surely, Mum and Sheila would love Merelda as he did, and they could have wonderful times together. Surely ...

  An icy gust of wind seemed to swirl through the room and lash against them. The door on the far side of the room slammed and the iciness built up until it wouldn’t be surprising if some gigantic glacier moved across the width of the drawing-room, crushing them in its wake. Denny flinched, and felt the small withdrawing movement Merelda made, although she didn’t turn around either.

  ‘So here you are,’ the voice was harsh and glacial. ‘I thought you might be glad to see me. But I wouldn’t have come home so early, happen I knew you were entertaining. I wouldn’t want to interrupt anything.’

  ‘You’re not interrupting,’ Merelda said, in a small, uncertain voice. Denny knew instinctively that this was the bully. This was the man who frightened Merelda, hurt her.

  ‘I – I’m glad you’re here.’ To his ears, it was unconvincing, but the man did not dispute her openly. He felt, rather than saw, her turn to face into the room. To face the bully.

  ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?’ The harsh northern voice grated on his ears. ‘Or didn’t you intend that we should ever meet, eh?’ There was menace, vague but threatening, in the voice. Again, he knew that Merelda was shrinking from it. He could not stand by and allow her to be intimidated like this.

  ‘Of course I want you to meet my friend.’ Her hand was a butterfly touch on his sleeve, turning him to face into the room. This is my friend, Denny. Denny, this is ... my husband.’

  Denny
was used to seeing people’s faces change as they looked at him. The man’s scowl vanished abruptly, leaving a curious momentary blankness on his face before he forced a reluctant smile.

  ‘I’m sorry, lass,’ he said awkwardly to Merelda. ‘For a minute, there, I thought –’

  ‘Shake hands with Denny, dear,’ Merelda instructed, and he moved forward obediently, holding out his hand.

  Denny glowered at him, might as well start the frightening now, show him someone wasn’t scared of him. Taking the offered hand, Denny deliberately squeezed it with full strength and saw the other man conceal a wince.

  ‘That’s quite a grip you’ve got there,’ he said. ‘Still, I’m glad to meet you, lad.' He was still trying to smile.

  ‘How do you do,’ Denny said mechanically. He kept on glowering and, gradually, the other man’s smile faded. That was better. But, bewilderingly, Denny felt a curious reluctance to continue trying to frighten him. The man looked kind. Was it possible that he was the bully Merelda had described?

  Uncertainly, Denny glanced at Merelda. The hard coldness of her eyes left him in no doubt. This was the bully. This was the man he must frighten with the gun. Later. Not quite now. Later ... tonight.

  ‘Denny was just leaving.’ As though to point up what he had just been thinking, Merelda spoke to her husband. ‘We’ve had a lovely tea, with lots of cakes, but it’s time for him to go now.’