The Sea, the Sea

‘Hello.’

‘Hello, Charles!’

It was Lizzie.

I said, ‘Hello, wait a minute.’

I put the instrument down on some books and sat there trying to calm myself and collect my wits. I had a misery-pain in the stomach about Hartley which I knew would now not go away. Everything now was urgent.

‘Sorry, Lizzie, I was just turning off the gas.’

‘Charles, are you all right?’

‘Yes, why shouldn’t I be? Well, I’ve been having ’flu, but I’m better. Are you all right?’

‘Yes, I’m at the Black Lion. Can I come and see you?’

‘No. Stay there. I’ll come and see you. What’s the time? My watch stopped days ago.’

‘Oh about ten or something.’

‘Are they open?’

‘Who? Oh, the pub. No, but they will be by the time you come.’

‘I’ll be along.’

At the sound of Lizzie’s voice I felt a sudden frantic desire to get out of the house. I ran into the kitchen and looked at myself in the little mirror above the sink. I had not shaved during my illness and had developed a repulsive reddish beard. I shaved, cutting myself, and combed my hair. I found my very crumpled jacket and my wallet. A watery sun was shining but the air was cold. I ran out of the house and over the causeway and turned towards the village. I soon stopped running however as a sort of cloud of weakness enveloped my body and twirled it about. I walked on rather slowly, breathing carefully; and only then did it occur to me to wonder whether James had tipped Lizzie off to come and see me. I was glad to find that I did not care, and I stopped thinking about it. When I turned into the village street the first thing I saw was Gilbert’s yellow Volkswagen parked outside the Black Lion.

‘Charles!’

Lizzie saw me coming and ran to me. I could see Gilbert smirking at the door of the pub. What was my role in this play? I felt myself being relaxed and smiling like a man in a dream who cannot remember his lines but knows he can manage impromptu.

‘Why, Lizzie, hello there, and Gilbert too, how nice!’

‘Charles, you’re looking all thin and pale.’

‘I am gratified to hear it, I’ve been ill.’

‘Ought you to be still in bed?’

‘No, I’m fine. What a nice surprise to see you two here.’

‘Hello, dear Charles,’ said Gilbert coming forward. His handsome self-conscious much-wrinkled face wore a dog-like look of nervous guilty imminent delight. If patted he would jump, bark.

‘Charles looks quite ill.’

‘Not still infectious I hope?’

‘No, no.’

‘We’ve been sitting outside,’ said Lizzie. ‘It’s quite warm in the sun.’

‘How nice.’

‘What’ll I get you, Charles?’ said Gilbert. ‘No, no, you sit down, you’re the invalid, I’ll get it. What about some of that cider, or is it too sweet for you?’

‘Yes, fine, thanks. Well, Lizzie, what a treat to see you and how delightful you’re looking.’

Some women, and as I said before Lizzie was one, vary in appearance amazingly on the scale from really ugly to really beautiful. Lizzie was up the beautiful end today, looking young and bright, like a plump principal boy, her hair blown into little screwy curls by the wind. She was wearing a long blue and green striped shirt over black trousers. Her face expressed something of the same Gilbertian dog-like uncertainty, with in her case an added air of apologetic impish confidence.

We sat down on the wooden bench outside the pub and looked at each other, I vaguely beaming and she intent and shining-eyed. I felt as never before exposed to the citizenry, but there were very few of them about.

I said, ‘It was kind of you to ring me. Are you just passing through? Forgive me if I don’t ask you to stay, I’m not feeling up to visitors at present.’

‘No, no, we’ve got to get back to the motorway, Gilbert’s going to see somebody in Edinburgh. There’s this play coming on at the Festival-’

‘Don’t tell me.’

‘Oh Charles, darling, darling, you do forgive me, don’t you?’

‘Whatever for, Lizzie?’

‘Well, you do, don’t you?’

‘Yes, if it’s necessary, but I’m quite in the dark. What a little mystery-monger you are! Ah here’s dear Gilbert with the drink.’

Lizzie and Gilbert had come simply to be let off. They sat staring at me and smiling, like two children wanting to be given a certificate of forgiveness which they could rush off with, capering and flourishing it in the air. They wanted me to love them and to remove a blot on their happiness. How carefully they must have discussed the matter before coming to me almost formally like this. They were like children to me now and I suddenly felt old, and perhaps I had significantly aged in the time since I came to the sea.

I had lost Lizzie but when, how? Perhaps I should have grasped her at the start. Or perhaps she really did like Gilbert or life with Gilbert better. Or perhaps in some deep way when I sent her off with James I had frightened her too much. Lizzie was opting for ease and happiness and no more frights, I could not blame her. And I knew that James had made a barrier between us. Although with James there really had been ‘nothing there’, that ‘nothing’ was more than enough. That had always been the way with James. He could spoil anything for me by touching it with his little finger. Perhaps my childish idea was indelible, the idea that James must always be preferred. Of course James had intended no ill. But the lie itself was indeed a fatal flaw. I had probably not lost James but I had lost Lizzie, I had effectively ‘strayed’ her, as I had wanted to earlier on. And, I found myself almost laboriously remembering, I had wanted to stray Lizzie because of Hartley. And I had come running out of the house this morning finding it intolerable to stay there for a second longer, because of Hartley. My illness had marked the span of waiting time and it was now over. Lizzie’s telephone call had been an unwitting signal, a summons to action. For me and for Hartley the hour had come.

And meanwhile I sat there beaming at Lizzie; and smile as we might-and perhaps she smiled innocently, hopefully, not realizing what had happened and imagining that she could still hold me and not hold me, have me and not have me, and all manner of thing would be well-the bond was broken. I recalled what James had said about it being my destiny to live alone and be everybody’s uncle. I said, ‘So you’re glad to see your Uncle Charles?’

They laughed and I laughed and we all laughed and Lizzie squeezed my hand. I had given them the licence to be happy and I could see how pleased and grateful they were. Everyone seemed to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed except me.

The cider was too sweet and rather strong and it was beginning to have its effect. My air of joviality was becoming easier, when the thought of Titus came to me almost solemnly as if someone had brought in a severed head upon a dish. James had been saying something about Titus which I could not remember. Causality kills. The wheel is just. I remembered Lizzie’s scream on that day. Perhaps somehow after all I had lost Lizzie because of Titus, because she blamed me, because it was all too much. How tightly it was woven, the web of causes. Lizzie was screaming with pleasure now. Well, she had to survive, we all had to survive. Titus was a stranger who had not sojourned with us long.

We talked for a while, chatting easily as old friends do. Gilbert had a good part in a TV series which seemed likely to run forever. They were going to have the house redecorated. Lizzie had gone back to her part-time hospital job. I was to come to dinner. They said nothing about Hartley and the discreet omission seemed to set the seal upon my separation from them, although it was hard to imagine what they could have said.

I asked the time, took my wrist-watch from my pocket and set it right by Lizzie’s. They said they had to go and I walked them to the car. Lizzie wanted a little hugging scene but I hustled her in with a pat. I think Gilbert wanted to kiss me. I waved them off as if they were the end of something. Then I began to walk along the street in the direction of the church and the road that led up to the bungalows. I had nearly reached the corner when someone