The girl hesitated for a second. “No, it’s been a while. I’ve been very busy, Mrs. Axon, and—let’s be honest now—you don’t always let me in when I do call, do you?”
“Why should I?”
“I do want to help you, you know,” the girl said gently. “You’re not getting any younger, Mrs. Axon, and I know there are some things that Muriel can’t do for herself. You’re always hostile, but nobody’s against you. Nobody means to upset you.”
“I don’t appreciate these visits. I never have done.”
“I know that, Mrs. Axon. But I need to see Muriel, so let’s get it over with, shall we? Can I put the light on?”
“It’s gone. The bulb’s gone.”
“Can’t Muriel change it for you? She’s a big girl. You ought to let her do things like that.”
“Would you like a cup of tea?” Evelyn asked abruptly.
The Welfare woman stopped short, struck by the change in her tone. “Why, that’s very kind of you, Mrs. Axon. Actually, no thank you, but I appreciate the offer. I really do.”
She looked very pleased. She thinks it’s going to be a new era in our relationship, Evelyn thought. “My daughter’s upstairs,” she said sweetly. “In my husband’s old room. Just one minute.” She opened the drawer of the hallstand, felt about, and pulled out a key on a piece of string.
“You haven’t locked her in, have you?” the woman asked in consternation.
“She’s been wandering, Miss Field. Wandering off. I don’t like to think she might get into trouble, and how else do you stop a grown woman going out?” Evelyn made her voice pathetic. “I’m getting on in years, Miss Field.”
“Yes, I know that.” The girl was striding upstairs ahead of her.
“She hides from me,” Evelyn said. “She’s always up to something.”
“I told you always to call me if you felt you couldn’t cope.” Her voice had an edge to it; Evelyn fumbled with the key. “I can’t live in your pocket, Mrs. Axon, and I can’t read your mind.”
The door was open now.
“Where is she?” the girl said. “I don’t see her.”
“Hiding again. Under the bed, very likely. In the wardrobe. Go and fetch her out. She won’t come for me.”
She stepped into the room, her heels clicking on the floorboards, and wrenched open the door of the huge wardrobe. An empty mothball dimness within, but a space big enough for two. As she bent down to peer under the high old-fashioned bed, her dark hair slid forward over her shoulder.
“There’s no one—”
Evelyn stepped out of the room, closed the door, and turned the key in the lock. Smiling to herself on the landing, she imagined that she had heard the girl’s neck click back as she glanced up in surprise. She waited for the inevitable. Yes, there she was, banging on the door. Predictable as Muriel, and not much cleverer.
“Mrs. Axon, let me out. For goodness sake, Mrs. Axon. What do you think you’re doing?”
The noise hadn’t attracted Muriel into the hall. Muriel had many faults, but curiosity wasn’t one of them.
Isabel fumbled for the lightswitch. At least there was a bulb in here, though it was dusty and dim, the strength you’d have in a table lamp; unshaded, it cast patchy shadows into the corners of the room. She looked around. Besides the wardrobe, there was a heavy chest of drawers, and the bedstead with its mattress inside a yellowing cover, and a solid bolster lying across it. The top of the chest of drawers was thick with dust, and there were drifts of it under the bed and on the windowsill.
She raised her fist and banged on the door twice, as loud and hard as she could. I might as well save my strength, she thought. By now she had realised that the room was very cold, colder even than the rest of the house. Even in her jacket and scarf she felt it, not icy, but a clammy chill like wet earth. Let me think, she said to herself, let me think.
She thought she caught a movement from the corner of the room. She swung round. Nothing there. Crossing to the window, she looked out. Worse luck, the room looked over the gardens. The light must be on in Evelyn’s back room, and so perhaps were the lights in the house next door; a dim glow allowed her to see a little. Could that be Colin’s sister’s house? Not that it would be any help, if it were. Colin’s sister was unlikely to make a habit of gardening in the wet February darkness. It had turned half-past five. Not even hope of a delivery man calling at this time. Besides, could she be seen from the garden next door? Why did I come, she asked herself angrily. That stupid, malign old woman. The daughter will have to go away, and I’ll have to make out a very good case to explain why I didn’t see the situation deteriorating. She knew why she had come, of course; guilt had brought her back. Guilt, and duty, and an inability to go on living with a set of stupid and groundless fears. Whatever Muriel’s problems were, a secret sex life wasn’t one of them.
Perhaps if she leaned out of the window and shouted, somebody passing on the street might hear her. Even Colin’s sister. She might bring out something to the dustbin. I could shout myself hoarse, she thought, waiting for that to happen.
Or climb out of the window? She wrenched out the handle from its notch halfway up the frame, lifted the metal bar from its peg, and pushed outwards. Nothing. Running her hand over the wood, she could see that it was swollen with damp. The window was quite big enough for her to climb out, if there was anything to hold on to. She pushed the frame with the heel of her hand, but couldn’t exert the pressure that was needed. She was afraid to push against the glass in case she went through it; Mrs. Axon certainly wouldn’t be ready to administer first aid.
She regarded the window again and sucked at her bruised hand. Thoughtfully, she took her gloves out of her pocket and put them on. She could take off her jacket and wrap it around her hand, but she felt reluctant, not only because of the liquid, intense cold, but because she felt irrationally that, with one layer less, her flesh would be vulnerable. There is no point in asking yourself what you are afraid of, she told herself, only know that you are afraid, and then take some action to remedy the situation. What was that? Some sort of rag, lying by the door. She would use that. She scooped it up. It was a pink angora cardigan with shiny white buttons. Even in this light it looked grubby. What a strange garment, she thought, for either of the Axons to possess. If I push that window
