'Did I ever tell you so?'
'Sometimes one knows about these things,' said Tina.
Micky turned and looked at her.
'You're such a quiet, soft little creature, Tina. Like a little black cat. I want to stroke your fur the right way. Nice pussy! Pretty little pussy!' His hand stroked the sleeve of her coat.
Tina, sitting very still, smiled at him as he did so.
Micky said: 'You didn't hate her, did you, Tina? All the rest of us did.'
'That was very unkind,' said Tina. She shook her head at him and went on with some energy: 'Look what she gave you, all of you. A home, warmth, kindness, good food, toys to play with, people to look after you and keep you safe –'
'Yes, yes,' said Micky, impatiently. 'Saucers of cream and lots of fur-stroking. That was all you wanted, was it, little pussy cat?'
'I was grateful for it,' said Tina. 'None of you were grateful.'
'Don't you understand, Tina, that one can't be grateful when one ought to be? In some ways it makes it worse, feeling the obligation of gratitude. I didn't want to be brought here. I didn't want to be given luxurious surroundings. I didn't want to be taken away from my own home.'
'You might have been bombed,' Tina pointed out. 'You might have been killed.'
'What would it matter? I wouldn't mind being killed. I'd have been killed in my own place, with my own people about me. Where I belonged. There you are, you see. We're back to it again. There's nothing so bad as not belonging. But you, little pussy cat, you only care for material things.'
'Perhaps that is true in a way,' said Tina. 'Perhaps that is why I do not feel like the rest of you. I do not feel that odd resentment that you all seem to feel — you most of all, Micky. It is easy for me to be grateful because, you see, I did not want to be myself. I did not want to be where I was. I wanted to escape from myself. I wanted to be someone else. And she made me into someone else. She made me into Christina Argyle with a home and with affection. Secure. Safe. I loved Mother because she gave me all those things.'
'What about your own mother? Don't you ever think of her?'
'Why should I? I hardly remember her. I was only three years old, remember, when I came here. I was always frightened — terrified — with her. All those noisy quarrels with seamen, and she herself-1 suppose, now that I am old enough to remember properly, that she must have been drunk most of the time.' Tina spoke in a detached, wondering voice. 'No, I do not think about her, or remember her. Mrs. Argyle was my mother. This is my home.'
'It's so easy for you, Tina,' said Micky.
'And why is it hard for you? Because you make it so! It was not Mrs. Argyle you hated, Micky, it was your own mother. Yes, I know that what I am saying is true. And if you killed Mrs. Argyle, as you may have done, then it was your own mother you wanted to kill.'
'Tina! What the hell are you talking about?'
'And now,' went on Tina, talking calmly, 'you have nobody to hate any longer. And that makes you quite lonely, doesn't it? But you've got to learn to live without hate, Micky. It may be difficult, but it can be done.'
'I don't know what you're talking about. What did you mean by saying that I may have killed her? You know perfectly well I was nowhere near here that day. I was testing out a customer's car up on the Moor Road , by Minchin Hill.'
'Were you?' said Tina.
She got up and stepped forward till she stood at the Look-out Point from where you could look down to the river below.
'What are you getting at, Tina?' Micky came up behind her.
Tina pointed down to the beach.
'Who are those two people down there?'
Micky gave a quick cursory glance.
'Hester and her doctor pal, I think,' he said. 'But Tina, what did you mean? For God's sake don't stand there right at the edge.'
'Why — do you want to push me over? You could. I'm very small, you know.'
Micky said hoarsely: 'Why do you say I may have been here that evening?'
Tina did not answer. She turned and began walking back up the path to the house.
'Tina!'
Tina said in her, quiet, soft voice: 'I'm worried, Micky. I'm very worried about Hester and Don Craig.'
'Never mind about Hester and her boy friend.'
'But I do mind about them. I am afraid that Hester is very unhappy.'
'We're not talking about them.'
'I am talking about them. They matter, you see.'
'Have you believed all along, Tina, that I was here the night Mother was killed?'
Tina did not reply.
'You didn't say anything at the time.'
'Why should I? There was no need. I mean, it was so obvious that Jacko had killed her.'
'And now it's equally obvious that Jacko didn't kill her.'
Again Tina nodded.
'And so?' Micky asked. 'And so?'
She did not answer him, but continued to walk up the Path to the house.
Ill
On the little beach by the point, Hester scuffled the sand with the point of her shoe.
'I don't see what there is to talk about,' she said.
'You've got to talk about it,' said Don Craig.
'I don't see why. Talking about a thing never does any good — it never makes it any better.'
'You might at least tell me what happened this morning.'
'Nothing,' said Hester.
'What do you mean — nothing? The police came along, didn't they?'
'Oh yes, they came along.'
'Well, then, did they question you all?'
'Yes,' said Hester, 'they questioned us.'
'What sort of questions?'
'All the usual ones,' said Hester. 'Really just the same as before. Where we were and what we did, and when we last saw Mother alive. Really, Don, I don't want to talk about it any more. It's over now.'
'But it isn't over, dearest. That's just the point.'
'I don't see why you need to fuss,' said Hester. 'You're not mixed up in this.'
'Darling, I want to help you. Don't you understand?'
'Well, talking about it doesn't help me. I just want to forget. If you'd help me to forget, that would be different.'
'Hester, dearest, it's no good running away from things. You must face them.'
'I've been facing them, as you call it, all the morning.'
'Hester, I love you. You know that, don't you?'
'I suppose so,' said Hester.
'What do you mean, you suppose so?'
'Going on and on about it all.'
'But I have to do that.'
'I don't see why. You're not a policeman.'
'Who was the last person to see your mother alive?'
'I was,' said Hester.
'I know. That was just before seven, wasn't it, just before you came out to meet me.'
'Just before I came out to go to Drymouth — to the Playhouse,' said Hester.
'Well, I was at the Playhouse, wasn't I?'
