The Greatcoat (16 page)

‘You’re sure it’s not too quiet for you out here? You aren’t lonely?’ Philip asked in the first months, but she always said no, and smiled to reassure him, so that he stopped asking. The thought of her tutoring French at the grammar school had fallen away, like everything else from the early months of their marriage. She had Michael, and there would be more children,
she
was sure of it. The house and garden would fill with them. The back door would always be open, so that she could keep an eye on them, and listen for their quarrels and laughter.

She had told her aunt that she wanted a large family.

‘It’s what people seem to be doing these days,’ said Aunt Jean.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well – the war,’ her aunt had explained briskly, as if it shouldn’t need to be spelled out. ‘I only had Charlie. Your parents only had you. It wasn’t uncommon at the time, but now … It’s to do with replacement, I suppose.’

‘Replacement …’

‘It’s a natural instinct,’ said her aunt.

‘I never thought of it like that.’

‘I don’t suppose you did.’

The word stayed in Isabel’s head for weeks.
Replacement
. But the frightening thing was how easily the world got on without the dead. All those thousands –
millions
– yet somehow the houses were full of people, just the same. The dead were gone. They were thought of, but the year rolled round, and then there was another year, and you couldn’t live in the past.

But the dead, of course, couldn’t feel that; if they
felt
anything. They had missed so much, years and years of life … How could they not feel resentment? The years that were rolling on were the very years that they were missing. They must want them back …

No, she wouldn’t think of that. Instead, Isabel snuffed the warm smell of Michael’s skin. It was so soft; you couldn’t think of anything that was like it. People said silk, or rose petals, but that was nonsense. Michael was here, in her arms, while all those others were not. Even her own mother, if she saw Isabel, might become hungry:
She has everything, and I have nothing
.

No mother would think that about her own child, Isabel told herself quickly. Her mother would be happy to see Isabel with Michael. She would never begrudge them their life, because she was alive in them.

How black the shadow was, under the pear tree that hadn’t been pruned for years – decades – and yet it still kept valiantly throwing out blossom, and bending down its branches with long drops of immature fruit.

It was early August, and Philip was out in the garden with Michael. Isabel wasn’t well. It was nothing definite, but she was pale and tired, she was sleeping
badly
and had lost her appetite. Perhaps she was pregnant again? But it was too early to be sure.

‘You go to bed,’ he said, when she couldn’t eat anything at lunch. ‘A couple of hours’ peace is what you need. I’ll keep an eye on Michael. I’ll have to leave at three for afternoon surgery, but I should be home by seven. We can have a scratch supper.’

A scratch supper!
Another of Dr Ingoldby’s expressions, no doubt, thought Isabel wearily, as she climbed the stairs. She lay down on top of the covers. It was too hot even for a sheet. People were starting to say that the weather was unnatural. There was talk of prayers for rain. She smiled to herself at the thought of the vicar as a rain-maker.

The bed felt as if it were floating away beneath her. She watched the sun patches quiver on the white walls. How her head ached. Perhaps she
was
pregnant. Next year there might be another baby. She could only imagine another Michael, as fair and peaceful as the first, waiting patiently for her to open the gate of life and let him in. Well, she could manage that. She had found pregnancy easy, and birth too, against all her expectations. It was only this feeling that kept gaining on her, as if she were living underwater, and the world were swaying around her …

Isabel dozed, and dreamed shallowly, skipping the surface of sleep. Sometimes she heard Michael,
sometimes
Philip’s deeper tones. He was always careful with Michael. She could trust him. He wasn’t one of these fathers who thought a baby needed to be toughened up by hurling it into the air or clapping his hands in its face.

I’ll go down, thought Isabel, seized with sudden tenderness for Philip. He gets so worried when I’m ill.

The dazzle of the afternoon sun hit her as she stepped out of the door. She shaded her eyes and squinted into the baking heat of the garden. There was Philip, patiently digging dandelions out of the yellowing grass. But the playpen was empty. Her gaze swivelled. No, it was all right, there Michael was, sitting on the—

Her breath caught. She felt the pounding of her heart.

‘Philip!’

‘What’s the matter?’ He was across to her in seconds, his arm round her. ‘You shouldn’t have come down. It’s too hot for you out here.’

‘Philip – the greatcoat.’ Her voice was a whisper. ‘You’ve put him on the greatcoat.’ She broke free of Philip’s grip and ran across the grass. There was the baby, looking up at her out of those eyes that were such a deep blue that they were almost navy. He smiled, and waved his hands at her. She bent down,
snatched
him up and held him to her so tightly that even placid Michael wriggled in protest. She kicked the coat away as if it were on fire.

‘Why did you bring that thing here? I told you to get rid of it.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Isabel, calm down. You’re frightening Michael. I did take it to the surgery, but Mrs Ramsden came across it when she was cleaning out the hall cupboard. I thought I could use it for gardening, in the winter.’

‘I don’t want it in the house. I want you to burn it.’

‘Don’t be silly. I’ll keep it out in the shed if you’re so bothered about it.’

He was smiling at her, showing his teeth.
You fool
, she thought,
you fool
, and for a moment she hated him with every fibre of her being. But she mustn’t show it. She would let him put the coat in the shed, and then she would get rid of it as soon as he’d gone. She could take a spade and bury it well away from the house, in a ditch, where the earth was soft. Michael would think that was an adventure.

‘I’ve got quarter of an hour before surgery,’ said Philip. ‘Let’s have some tea.’

There they were, the three of them, mother, father and child. Philip carried out the tea, and a sponge
cake
, and put their deckchairs in the shade of the medlar tree. Michael sat with his own piece of cake, smearing jam over his face, utterly content. The harshness of noon was past now; the light was becoming golden.

‘You look better,’ said Philip. He drank a second cup of tea, took another slice of cake, glanced at his watch.

‘Don’t go,’ said Isabel.

He got up and kissed the top of her head. ‘You know I’ve got to go. Will you be all right? Shall I ask Mrs Poole to come up for a couple of hours?’

‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Oh, I forgot to tell you. You remember our old landlady?’

How could he possibly imagine she’d forgotten? ‘Yes.’

‘Cerebral haemorrhage.’

‘What?’

‘Bleeding in the brain tissue.’

‘I know what it means. But what’s happened – is she dead?’

‘She’s in hospital in York.’

‘Oh … Will she …?’

He frowned. ‘She’s not my patient, Is. But it’s not usually a very bright outlook.’

Now she longed for him to go. She was so tired.
She
could not think about the landlady, not now. She would take Michael upstairs with her and lie down for a while. Michael might drop off – he hadn’t had his afternoon nap yet. Philip was wiping Michael’s face and hands with the corner of his bib. The baby looked up at him and laughed.

‘See you later, young man, look after your mother,’ said Philip, tapping Michael on the nose, and he was gone, striding away across the rough grass. He turned the corner of the house and disappeared. She heard the car door clunk shut, and then the engine started.

Isabel picked up Michael and rocked him gently, to comfort herself, but he didn’t want to be held. She wouldn’t bother to go upstairs. She would just lie down on the blanket beside Michael and rest her eyes until it was time to make his bottle. It was cool here, in the shade …

The tree rustled, and something fell on her face. A leaf or an unripe fruit. Isabel rolled over, pushed her hair off her face and opened her eyes. Michael was sitting up beside her, crowing and stretching out his arms to the distance. She looked where he was looking, out of the shade and into the dazzle.

Alec was walking towards her, in his greatcoat
despite
the heat of the day. As he crossed the lawn he smiled at Isabel, a warm, brilliant smile.

‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere,’ he said. He bent down and she smelled his smell: cigarette smoke, a trace of engine oil, the bitter tang of his oxygen mask. He lifted the baby from the blanket and cradled him in his arms. He handled Michael confidently, as if he had held him many times, and Michael, she could see, was happy with him. Isabel did not stir. She could not. The world was dissolving, breaking up around her. Dappled light glinted on the fairness of Alec’s hair, and the air moved like water.

‘I haven’t got much time,’ said Alec. ‘I shouldn’t be here. We’re off again tonight.’

‘You mustn’t tell me that,’ said Isabel.

‘Don’t you remember, you told me that you were a grave of secrets? I had to see you. Thank God for the old bike. I’ve only got a few minutes.’ He took off his greatcoat, spread it on the grass next to the blanket and knelt on it. He was about to lower the child onto the coat, but Isabel grabbed his arm.

‘Don’t put him down on that!’

‘Why on earth not?’

‘It might be … it might be dirty.’

Alec shrugged but got to his feet again, still holding the baby. Isabel held out her arms to take
him
, but Alec began to fool with him, bouncing him, chucking him a little way into the air and catching him again, while Michael squealed with delight.

‘
Dance to your Daddy

My bonnie laddie

Dance to your Daddy

My little man
’

sang Alec, and his eyes were on Isabel.

‘Give him to me,’ said Isabel sharply. ‘My husband will be back soon.’

‘That’s where you’re mistaken. He’s out on the far field. I saw him on the tractor,’ said Alec.

‘What do you mean?’

‘
The farmer’s in his den

The farmer’s in his den

Eee Aye Eee Aye

The farmer’s in his den
…’

sang Alec.

‘For God’s sake,’ said Isabel.

‘I can sing something else if you prefer.’

‘One of your mess songs, I suppose.’

‘Don’t worry, it’s perfectly decent.

‘
We don’t want to go to Chopland

We don’t want to go at all

We don’t want to go to Chopland

Where our chances are f*** all
…’

‘Sorry, darling. Not quite so decent after all. But it’s Laney’s song, not mine – you’ll have to blame him.’

‘You’ve got to go. He – my husband – he really will be back in a minute.’

‘He won’t be back until the light’s gone. You’ve told me before that he won’t waste a drop of daylight. He can plod up and down in his tractor for as long as he likes. What it is to be a man in a reserved occupation,’ said Alec, and the tang of bitterness in his voice made Michael’s face crumple.

‘Alec, don’t.’

‘Listen, Lizzie. Briefing’s at four. The gen is that it’ll be the big city tonight for sure – that’s more than seven hours, there and back again.’

‘It might not be,’ said Isabel quickly. ‘You’ve had duff gen before.’

‘You only have to look at the fuel load. Tell him you’ve got to go into town tonight. You can think of some excuse. I’ll come to the flat, whatever happens. I’ll be there as soon as I can after the debrief.’

Isabel’s hair crisped at the roots with terror. She must not let him see. She must not antagonise Alec in any way, not while he held Michael in his arms.
He
was back there, between the twenty-sixth and twenty-seventh ops. He hadn’t got away after all.

Lizzie
. Had it always been Lizzie he was looking for? When he first mouthed her name on the other side of the glass, she’d thought his lips were moving in the shape of her name:
Isabel
. But it might have been
Elizabeth
…

The landlady’s presence thickened around her. It wanted to come in. It wanted to flood her once again with memories that weren’t hers. It wanted to possess Alec through her.

The greatcoat, thought Isabel. It had opened the door for Alec again, and now he was here. The landlady had never let him lie. She had brought him back again and again. She walked and walked over that floor, until she had walked him back to her. If he couldn’t be with her, then she would still have him through Isabel. She might be lying flat on her back in a hospital bed in York, but in her mind she was walking still.

The child. The landlady would have her child too. She would have her child again, through Isabel.
A lovely little boy by all accounts. I never saw him
.

There was Alec, with Michael in his arms, bending down his fair head to the child’s fairness. Michael was so peaceful, gazing at the man whose eyes were the colour of his own. Gooseflesh rose on Isabel’s arms,
but
she said, ‘Give the baby to me a minute. I think he’s wet.’

She said it so matter-of-factly that he simply handed Michael to her. She took him and felt his nappy. ‘I thought so. I’ll have to change him, Alec. Wait here.’

‘But I can’t stay long!’ Alec burst out, and his face twisted. She saw the exhaustion etched into it again, the dark stains under his eyes, the twitch in his right cheek. He’d had enough and he knew it, but he was still trapped between the twenty-six and twenty-seventh ops. Death couldn’t wipe the fear from his eyes.
Not while she still kept him coming back to her
…