The Blind Assassin - Margaret Atwood [225]
“I was in Avilion, at first,” she said.
“But it was all closed up!” It had been, all through the war. We hadn’t been back for years. “How did you get in?”
“Oh, you know,” she said. “We could always get in when we wanted to.”
I remembered the coal chute, the dubious lock on one of the cellar doors. But that had been repaired, long ago. “Did you break a window?”
“I didn’t have to. Reenie kept a key,” she said. “But don’t tell.”
“The furnace can’t have been on. There couldn’t have been any heat,” I said.
“There wasn’t,” she said. “But there were a lot of mice.”
Our coffee arrived. It tasted of burned toast crumbs and roasted chicory, not surprising since that’s what they put into it. “Do you want some cake or something?” I said. “It’s not bad cake here.” She was so thin, I felt she could use some cake.
“No, thanks.”
“Then what did you do?”
“Then I turned twenty-one, so I had a little money, from Father. So I went to Halifax.”
“Halifax? Why Halifax?”
“It was where the ships came in.”
I didn’t pursue this. There was a reason behind it, there always was with Laura; it was a reason I shied away from hearing. “But what were you doing?”
“This and that,” she said. “I made myself useful.” Which was all she would say on that score. I supposed it would have been a soup kitchen of some kind, or the equivalent. Cleaning toilets in a hospital, that sort of thing. “Didn’t you get my letters? From BellaVista? Reenie said you didn’t.”
“No,” I said. “I never got any letters.”
“I expect they stole them. And they wouldn’t let you call, or come to see me?”
“They said it would be bad for you.”
She laughed a little. “It would have been bad for you,” she said. “You really shouldn’t stay there, in that house. You shouldn’t stay with him. He’s very evil.”
“I know you’ve always felt that, but what else can I do?” I said. “He’d never give me a divorce. And I don’t have any money.”
“That’s no excuse.”
“Maybe not for you. You’ve got your trust fund, from Father, but I have no such thing. And what about Aimee?”
“You could take her with you.”
“Easier said than done. She might not want to come. She’s pretty stuck on Richard, at the moment, if you must know.”
“Why would she be?” said Laura.
“He butters her up. He gives her things.”
“I wrote you from Halifax,” said Laura, changing the subject.
“I never got those letters either.”
“I expect Richard reads your mail,” said Laura.
“I expect he does,” I said. The conversation was taking a turn I hadn’t expected. I’d assumed I’d be consoling Laura, commiserating with her, hearing a sad tale, but instead she was lecturing me. How easily we slid back into our old roles.
“What did he tell you about me?” she said now. “About putting me into that place?”
There it was, then, right out on the table. This was the crossroads: either Laura had been mad, or Richard had been lying. I couldn’t believe both. “He told me a story,” I said evasively.
“What sort of a story? Don’t worry, I won’t get upset. I just want to know.”
“He said you were – well, mentally disturbed.”
“Naturally. He would say that. What else did he say?”
“He said you thought you were pregnant, but it was just a delusion.”
“I was pregnant,” said Laura. “That was the whole point – that was why they whisked me out of sight in such a hurry. Him and Winifred – they were scared stiff. The disgrace, the scandal – you can imagine what they’d think it would do to his big fat chances.”
“Yes. I can see that.” I could see it, too – the hush-hush call from the doctor, the panic, the hasty conference between the two of them, the spur-of-the-moment plan. Then the other version of events, the false one, concocted just for me. I was docile enough as a rule, but they must have known there was a line somewhere. They must have been afraid of what I might do, once they’d crossed it.
“Anyway, I didn’t have the baby. That’s one of the things they do, at BellaVista.”
“One of the things?” I was feeling quite stupid.
“Besides the mumbo-jumbo, I mean, and the pills and machines.