Song at Twilight (15 page)

Now I must think of the future. But what, if anything does the future hold for me? I sigh and an autumnal melancholy descends on me once again.

*

October 18th

Eric is back. For a day or two that is. He has left Morag in London and has come to pack up his house. It is under offer to a retired admiral. Eric hopes I will like him. I am not interested in the retired admiral.

But I am, of course, delighted to see Eric. More than delighted, but at the same time pained at the prospect of his leaving again.

He came to supper with me last night, looking, I thought, older and sadder.

The finality of the move clearly upsets him, besides which life in London does not entirely suit him. He feels too old for all that dirt and all the crowds and all the hustling and bustling and aggression and the petrol fumes and the traffic jams and the crime and the underground…

But Morag is different. Morag loves London. She has lived in cities all her life and cannot envisage spending more than a few days at a time in the country. She is younger than Eric and still enjoys the hurly-burly of the city. He sometimes wonders what he will do without a garden. Luckily the flat is close to the park.

Perhaps Morag will change her mind in a few years' time. You never know. Eric hopes that one day they'll come back to the country. Better not leave it too late or we'll all be dead.

I wonder to myself why on earth he is going away at all.

Eric looks at me and takes my hand.

"You probably wonder why I'm going," he says.

"It's none of my business what you do," I reply tartly.

He changes the conversation abruptly, drops my hand and says in an everyday voice, 

"Have you seen anything of Laurel lately? She hasn't been to London for a while. I wonder what she's up to."

Laurel has gone to a Polytechnic in the North of England to study comparative religions. I shall hear more about her on Sunday, no doubt, when I am due to have lunch with Victor and Patricia.

I am not looking forward to the occasion. Eric will have gone back to London by then so even without Patricia's traditional moaning, I shall be feeling rather gloomy. I have already gathered from speaking to her on the telephone that she is in her usual despondent state about both her children. I cannot think why, since one is away studying at a respectable college and the other is, at last, making a successful career for himself. But Patricia feels that this satisfactory state of affairs is hardly likely to last.

"Poor Laurel," says Eric. "She can be quite silly at times, but then can't we all?" He sighs.

"The truth is," he goes on, "that I have a weakness for Laurel."

I feel my heart contract.

"Not the kind of weakness you imagine, Prudence my dear. No. Not that. Not at all. It is just that my own daughter would have been exactly the same age and might have been, I suppose, just as silly."

I gasp.

"I'm so sorry," I say. "I had no idea…"

"How could you have known if I didn't tell you?" Then he clears his throat awkwardly and looks straight at me. "But I did tell you, if you remember, that Morag's daughter had died…"

Suddenly everything falls into place and I feel tremendous compassion for Eric, and an overwhelming sadness.

Eric does not like to talk about himself but, for some reason, he feels that he owes me an explanation. After all I have been a good friend to him over the past year, he says, and we have had some happy times.

Eric's liaison with Morag lasted for years. Because of the child it dragged on long after it should have died a natural death. When the child died they became united in grief and grew closer to each other again. Eric's wife, who was a good woman, never knew about the child, never even knew about Morag, he thinks, but you can't be sure.

Many years ago Eric and Morag agreed that if they were ever to find themselves alone, they would settle down together. He still feels bound by this agreement because Morag is so very, very lonely and because he has been the cause of so much suffering in her life. Of course he is fond of Morag. Very fond indeed. He is sure that he is making the right decision and that it will all be for the best in the end.

But at the moment he is tired and sad at having to leave his home and the countryside.

“I’m exhausted," he says and pats my knee. "I must go back to bed. I expect I'll feel better in the morning."

As Eric left me last night he looked like an old, old man. Old and world-weary.

This morning I was up early, having slept rather badly, and have been sitting writing my diary at my kitchen table since seven o'clock. I must try to put on a cheerful face for Eric's sake today as I have promised to go round and see him this afternoon for a last cup of tea in his house and to prevent him from being too gloomy. It is always sad to see the contents of a house packed up. Tomorrow he goes back to London.

*

October 19th

Just before I left home to go and see Eric yesterday afternoon Patricia rang. She was in a dreadful state and wanted me to come round and see her immediately. I told her firmly that I was coming to lunch on Sunday but simply could not manage to get over before then.

"But Prudence," she wailed, "It's the children… and Victor… I don't know what to do about Victor… or the children…”

If I had not been so concerned for Eric and so sad at having to wish him farewell, I would have been tempted to laugh at what Patricia told me next.

Laurel, in her studies of comparative religions, has come across Tantric Buddhism which she has decided to espouse as the one true faith. Tantrism, according to Laurel – Patricia thinks she must have made some mistake – centres around the idea that divine bliss, wisdom and peace of mind can only be achieved through the sexual act. With this in mind Laurel has set about desperately and frantically seeking this divine bliss at every opportunity.

Whenever she comes home she lectures her parents ceaselessly about her search and urgently beseeches them to embrace the same ideal.

Victor is so disgusted by what his daughter has to say that he has bought a pair of ear-plugs which he solemnly puts in his ears whenever Laurel is in the house.

And, as if all that weren't enough to drive anyone to distraction, Victor has forbidden Leo to cross his threshold, for Leo – Patricia is in tears now – has come right out of his closet and my ridiculous pusillanimous brother is frightened of catching AIDS from his own son. Patricia is weeping for the grandchildren she will never have.

I despair of Victor and Patricia, but nevertheless I promise to come early on Sunday and to have a word with Victor.

"Tell him to take his ear-plugs out before I come," I told Patricia sharply.

Despite my mood as I put the telephone down, I couldn't help smiling to myself at the thought of Victor and Patricia adopting Tantrism.

When I eventually arrived at Eric's house in time for a cup of tea, I went round to the back and as I pushed open the door and stepped into the kitchen I was surprised to hear Eric singing. He was boiling a kettle and he looked much more relaxed than he did the night before.

"Wait 'til the sun shines Nellie,

Don't you cry,

We will be happy Nellie,

By and by…" he sang.

"How nice to hear you singing," I said. 

"I used to do it rather well,' he replied, unusually boastful. "But I'm afraid the old voice is a bit off key nowadays."

Then he looked at me with a funny smile and said,

"Prudence, I've changed my mind. I'm not going. I'm too old for such an upheaval. I've spoken to Morag this morning. She feels the same. And I've taken the house off the market – it's too bad about the admiral… I've spent all morning unpacking everything I packed yesterday…"

I began to laugh… and to laugh… and to laugh.

"What on earth are you laughing at?" Eric asked me with a startled look.

"It's just Laurel," I spluttered. "She's become a Tantric Buddhist… and Leo's come out of his closet at last… poor, dear Patricia…"

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Song of Twilight
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