The Angel in the Corner - Monica Dickens [134]
She lay down on the bed without bothering to take off her dress, swallowed the tablet, and waited for the mercy of oblivion. After a while, her head ceased to ache. She felt more peaceful, but she was nowhere near sleep. She closed her eyes, but to keep them closed was an effort, when it should have been an effort to keep them open, if the pill was doing any good. She took another – Felix had said it was all right – and when she found herself still staring miserably at the opposite wall, she reached over for another tablet, then lay back again and let her thoughts wander, hoping that they would wander her away into unconsciousness.
Her thoughts were all of Jenny. All the time, it was only Jenny – coughing so pitifully, struggling for breath with those pinched cheeks and that anguished little cry, sleeping finally in damp exhaustion, with the thin, dark hair plastered on the veined skull. The picture of the sleeping baby was so vivid that Virginia almost got up and went into the next room to look into the crib.
But the crib was not there any more. She remembered Joe carrying it down the stairs. What had they done with it? They had given it to somebody’s sister, who was going to have a baby. There was always somebody’s sister. Betty’s sister, who had left all the tins and rags and paper in the flat at Weston House. … Tiny’s sister, watching the television. … Miss Sunderland’s sister, waiting in Kensington High Street … always somebody’s sister, to take away the crib. The crib had gone. She saw in her mind the place where it had stood on the pink-and-white rug, and without it, she could not recapture the picture of the sleeping baby. Other pictures were in the way, fleeting impressions that came and went in Virginia’s heavy head, wavering, unreal, punctuated by words that were as loud as if they were shouted, yet as fantastic as if they had never been spoken.
Mrs Batey’s face, affectionate, coarse, the pores like orange-peel. ‘They go quicker than they come.’ Who had said that? Was it Joe? Joe, standing at the side of the crib in that familiar position with his hands in his pockets and his chin thrust forward. ‘They go quicker than they come,’ he said, in Mrs Batey’s voice.
Why was Joe laughing? Why was he grinning like that, with his teeth so white and his eyes so gay? He looked like a faun. Now he was gone, spinning away in her spinning head that was spinning her down, down into the bed – what bed? What room? This wasn’t Weston House. The walls receded as she fell down into the bed, through the bed into the wheeling dreams of space, while the voices beat their echoes into her ears.
The echoes of Big Ben striking New Year’s Eve … bong … bong. … ‘I’m sorry,’ Felix said, as he took his mouth from hers. No, it was the doctor. His little moustache was brown and close-clipped, like a new doormat. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to take her away.’ He was holding Jenny. He had her wrapped up so that Virginia could not see her face. ‘Let me see! Let me see!’ she called out, but she could not hear her voice. The doctor could not hear. He carried Jenny away without turning round.
The stripes on his coat met exactly in the back seam as he went away, hiding Jenny with his broad back.
Where had he taken her? Virginia struggled to remember. Joe was holding her back to keep her from following. He was pulling at her shoulders. She must go quickly before it was too late. Let me go! She broke free and sat up. No one was holding her. She was alone in the room, shivering on the bed.
She threw off the blanket and put her feet down to the floor. Her legs were as unreal as if she had been in bed for months. Her mouth was dry and her head was light and empty. She went to the door with her hands out to feel where the door was. Down the stairs carefully, holding the rail with both hands, her feet dropping from step to step without feeling where she trod.
Where was she going? Out into the street. The air was cold on her bare arms. It stung her into purpose.