Lover. What more could a girl want?
‘I suppose I could wear my blue dress. But there’s that stain on the shoulder.’
‘You can borrow my shawl if you like.’
In the end, though, Janet didn’t go after all. On the day of the dinner party she developed a migraine. She had had them occasionally since we were children, usually when under strain. When I came back for lunch and found her flat out on the sofa, I made her go to bed and arranged to collect Rosie from school. David came in later, with just time to bathe and change before going out again. I told him what had happened, and said there was no chance that Janet would be well enough to go out to dinner.
‘I’ll go up and see her,’ he said. ‘Perhaps she’s feeling better.’
‘She’s not. And if you try and persuade her she is feeling better, it’ll only make her feel worse.’
‘That’s plain speaking.’
I sensed the anger in him. I even took a step backwards and felt the edge of the hall table pushing into the back of my thigh. ‘That’s what we do up in Yorkshire, David. Honestly, I don’t mean to be rude, but I know what she’s like when she has these migraines. And this one’s a stinker.’
‘I’ll go and see her now.’
‘But please let her stay in bed.’
He stared at me. There was so much anger in his face now that just for a moment I was frightened, physically frightened. He could strangle me now, I thought, and no one could stop him.
‘I’ll see how she is,’ he said in a tight voice.
‘While you’re upstairs, perhaps you could say good night to Rosie. She was asking after you earlier.’
The jab went home. I saw it in his face. He went upstairs without another word. I felt guilty because I had been unkind to him and angry for being scared. I tend to attack when I feel defensive. I told myself that it wasn’t as if he didn’t deserve what I’d said about Rosie. David knew, and I knew, that Janet thought he should try to spend a little more time with her. He doted on her as he doted on Janet. But he was a busy man, convinced of the importance of what he was doing and in his heart of hearts he was a complete reactionary. Looking after children was something that you left to women. That was what they were for, along with the other marital duties which he probably assumed had been ordained by God and man since time immemorial. I wonder now if David was a little scared of young children. Some adults are.
The upshot of that was that Janet didn’t go to dinner with David and David didn’t say good night to Rosie. I went up later after he had left the house and found Rosie still awake.
‘Your light shouldn’t be on,’ I said.
She stared at me without saying anything. She was a child who knew the power of silence.
‘What are you reading?’
Rosie angled the book towards me. It was a big illustrated volume called Tales from the New Testament, an impeccable choice for a clergyman’s daughter. It was open at one of the colour plates. The picture showed the Angel Gabriel talking to the Virgin Mary. The caption read, ‘Hail, thou that art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women.’
She looked up at me with bright, excited eyes. ‘He looks like Daddy. The angel looks like Daddy.’
‘I suppose he does a bit, yes. Except the angel’s got fair hair and it’s rather long.’ I tried to make a joke of it. ‘And, of course, Daddy doesn’t wear a white dress or have wings.’
‘He sometimes wears a sort of white dress in church.’
‘Yes, I’m sure he does.’
‘Grandpa said he saw an angel.’
‘What?’
‘He told me. He looked out of his window and there the angel was, walking in the garden.’
‘How interesting. Now, why don’t I read you a story, just a quick one, and then you can settle down?’
I read her the story of the feeding of the five thousand, which I chose on the grounds that it was short and contained no angels whatsoever. Some children like to sit with you, or on you, while you read to them. Rosie preferred me to sit in the chair by the window. She said it was so she could watch my face.
Later, when the story was over, I tucked her up and kissed the top of her head.
‘Auntie Wendy?’
‘What?’
‘Was Lucifer an angel?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘He’d be a sort of naughty angel. A wicked one who lives in hell.’
‘You’ll have to ask Daddy. He’ll know.’
‘Yes,’ Rosie said. ‘He knows all about God and things like that.’
Mr Treevor had settled into his new home surprisingly quickly. As long as there were no major deviations from the routine he had established he seemed quite content. Janet worried that he might try to repeat his mock-suicide attempt but there were no more incidents like that. (Janet asked him on several occasions why he’d done it. Twice he said it was a joke to amuse Rosie. Once he couldn’t remember doing it at all. And the last time he said it was to see how much people loved him.)
If anything Rosie rather liked him. Perhaps it was because he was the nearest available man in the absence of a father. Sometimes he would go and say good night to her and an hour or so later Janet would find them both asleep, Rosie in bed and Mr Treevor in the armchair by the window. It was rather touching to see them together, asleep or awake. They didn’t communicate much and they made few demands on each other, but they seemed to enjoy being in the same room.
The next day when the migraine had subsided, I told Janet what Rosie had said.
‘An angel? Daddy must have been dreaming.’
‘Most people settle for gnomes in the garden. I think an angel’s rather classy.’
‘Perhaps it was the milkman. He usually wears a white coat.’
‘But he doesn’t come to the garden door.’
‘Daddy’s getting a bit confused, that’s all,’ Janet said. ‘Dr Flaxman said this might happen.’
Nowadays they would be able to narrow it down and perhaps delay the dementia’s progress with drugs. Mr Treevor could have had a relatively early onset of senile dementia, either Alzheimer’s or Multi-Infarct Dementia. Alzheimer’s can be a pre-senile dementia as well. He wasn’t a drinker so it can’t have been alcoholic dementia. Other dementias can be caused by pressure in the brain, perhaps from a tumour, or by rare diseases like Huntington’s or Pick’s. But Pick’s and Huntington’s usually start when their victims are younger. If it was Huntington’s it would have shown up when Rosie had the tests when she was an adult, even if she was not a carrier. The other main dementias, Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease and Aids dementia, developed later than 1958.
The worst thing, Janet said, was he knew what was happening. Not very often, but sometimes. He wasn’t a fool by any means. And occasionally he was capable of acting completely rationally. That was why we took the story of the robbery seriously.
It happened while he was alone in the house. David and I were at work. Janet had gone to collect Rosie from school. When they got back they found Mr Treevor in a terrible state, trying to phone the police.
According to him, he had been dozing in his room when he heard somebody moving around downstairs. Thinking it was Janet, he had gone on to the landing and called downstairs, asking when tea would be ready. He heard footsteps, and the garden door slam. He looked out of the window and saw a man walking quickly down the garden and through the gate into the Close.
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