matters to an acceptable standard. It did not occur to me not to flush the lavatory as I was finishing with the bleach. So ordinary a sound in a daytime way, in the darkness it roared, and I was afraid it would bring Arthur hurrying down the stairs, calling out. But the torrent of noise had already begun to subside, and then it stopped altogether, and still from upstairs nothing stirred. I walked calmly back into the kitchen. I was surprised by how slippery the floor felt under my shoes, and how the newly clean smell sprang to my nose. I wanted to clap my hands but instead I put on the kettle, humming a tune.
I scraped a foot here and there across the floor as I waited for the water to boil. I like a task with visible results, achieved by straightforward means. I like not just the fruits of my labours but also evidence of the expenditure of that labour. Here was a lovely clean floor and not only that, a bucket of filthy water to show for it as well.
And soon the floor would need its next wash, and once it got it, all it would be was clean again, and that was all: a floor neither more nor less clean than it always was after a good scrub. It was reassuring, this act of maintenance with no expectation of development. Nobody was waiting for the floor eventually to advance and blossom under my care, nobody hoped for any conceptual, breaking insight from me into the cleanliness of floors in general. I liked the certainty of the repetition that would never produce anything more surprising than a clean floor, a pleasing smell, and a gallon of water swooshing down the sink.
In that sense Arthur would be a bit like a floor; it would soothe me just to keep him nice, and judging by what I had so far seen, that would be a not entirely trivial achievement. And apart from any advantage to him, there was Ruth to consider. She was distressed by the state he had got himself into; she conveyed that loud and clear. I would henceforth enter Arthur’s house with ease. I had Ruth’s approval; more than that I was, quite possibly, acting under her instruction. All three of us would benefit.
Moreover, I had already found in myself a dedication to the task quite independent of any consideration for Arthur and Ruth, though I didn’t like to think of either of them knowing this.
But we would all see eye-to-eye. Already I detected something habitual and self-preserving in Arthur’s absence from the scene of any domestic operations. Once he was safely up in the attic, I sensed that by silent and mutual agreement he would stay there, leaving me to get on elsewhere in the house. And while we were both occupied we would be respectful of each other’s need for peace and quiet. Neither of us would make any unnecessary noise.
I made tea and drank mine in silence. Then I poured out a cup for Arthur and carried it upstairs. Shadows from the open hatch to the attic crossed the landing carpet like tiny patches of rapid, passing cloud. From the foot of the ladder I could hear, among the thudding of objects, Arthur’s voice rising in a muttering, plaintive monologue. I took the teaspoon from the saucer and tapped it against the cup, five times. The sounds from the attic stopped. I tapped another five times, and placed the cup and saucer gently on the floor. I went downstairs and into the conservatory. Already there was the merest threat of light in the sky and the garden walls and chimneys and roofs of Arthur’s neighbours’ houses were beginning to emerge out of darkness. Again it was time for me to go.
THE COLD AND THE BEAUTY AND THE DARK
Chapter 8: The Walk
The day following, Evelyn was up long before Stan’s Mam and was knocking on Daphne’s door at half past seven. She had popped into Woolworth’s on her way home from Daphne’s after their comfortable Saturday afternoon the day before and bought a bag of biscuits, her contribution to the picnic, even though Daphne had told her not to bother. On arrival, Evelyn could see why! There were enough sandwiches for a dozen, packed in an enormous basket.
“We’ll never eat all that! We’ll never
Daphne hooted with laughter. “You don’t know Paul! Besides, everybody gets hungry out of doors. It’s the fresh air.”
But the basket was very heavy. Daphne’s mother sided with Evelyn and sent Daphne to fetch another basket. They unpacked the first and divided its contents between the two, while Daphne’s mother clucked around them.
“It’s a shame you’ve not got your pram yet,” she said to Evelyn,“or you could’ve pushed your picnic along in that and saved your arms.”
Evelyn nodded. She didn’t like to say that she couldn’t see how she was going to get a pram at all unless Stan started saving a bit more. At this rate she’d be carrying that baby in a shawl on her back until it was ready to walk.
The three of them set off happily. Paul was dressed in a strange but practical getup of knickerbockers and thick boots that brought hoots of laughter from the girls. Evelyn and Daphne took a basket each and Paul carried, slung over one shoulder, a special case containing a spirit stove, paraffin, kettle, and all the tea things. He wasn’t going up Kinder Scout without getting a hot brew at the top, he said. He also carried a stout walking stick and a pair of binoculars.
They walked down to Aldbury High Street and caught the tram into Stockport, from where they had to catch the bus out to Hayfield. The tram had run a little late and now they were cutting it fine, and the bus station was milling with people. Paul said he’d never seen such a crowd on a Sunday. There were several extra buses laid on as well as hired charabancs and in the confusion Paul took off into the melee to find out where their bus was leaving from. After a minute he reappeared to say it was way over at the other side and they would have to run. Then he was off again, followed by Daphne, and Evelyn had a hard time keeping up. Puffing after them with the heavy basket, she fixed her eyes on Daphne’s bright green headscarf, bobbing ahead of her. It was lucky Daphne was so big and liked bright colours, she thought, or she’d have lost her by now. Just then she saw a frowning Paul coming towards her through the sea of people. When he caught sight of her his face broke into a grin.
“Eh, lass, you’re struggling! Give us that here.” So saying he took the basket from Evelyn’s aching arm and steered her towards the bus. She could have cried with gratitude.
They clambered aboard and got the last seats. The bus would wind its way through Stockport and on out towards New Mills before going on to Hayfield. From there it would go down to Chapel-en-le-Frith and on to Castleton and end up in Sheffield. Along the way it picked up more passengers and soon it was crammed with people, many of them standing, some with rucksacks and sticks, others in working jackets and caps. There were children, dogs, and numerous picnic baskets. A group of five men tried to board with a furled banner mounted on two tall poles, but the conductor refused to let them on.
