The Flight of Gemma Hardy_ A Novel - Margot Livesey [156]
“Hello,” said a woman’s voice. “Marian is phoning from Perth. Will you accept the charges?”
“What charges?” In my confusion I forgot Vicky’s lesson about how to make a phone call without money.
“Do you want to talk to Marian MacGillvary?” said the operator.
“Yes, of course.” The air on the line changed. Before Marian could say anything I said, “You have to talk to Robin. Tell him that you’re all right and you’ll be back soon.” I knelt down and held the receiver to his ear. Faintly I heard Marian say she had gone to Perth to take care of his grandfather. She would see him tomorrow, or the day after. He must help me and be a good boy. Robin nodded, solemnly, not realising that she couldn’t see him. “Say goodbye,” I said, and he did.
I reclaimed the phone, and asked about George. Marian reported that he was still in surgery. They had had to call the doctor in from the golf course. She was staying in a bed-and-breakfast near the hospital. “I’m sorry to land you with Robin but I’m in no state to drive back and forth. I want to be here when George wakes up.”
Her voice broke on the “when.” She promised to call again tomorrow and was gone. As I replaced the phone, I recalled the Latin phrase annus mirabilis; today was my dies mirabilis, day of wonders. I had seen my aunt. I had learned that she too had a secret sorrow. I had two pieces of paper that proved I was Gemma Hardy. And as Jean Harvey I was in sole charge of a small boy and a large house.
Together Robin and I finished making supper and ate. He took a bath and I read to him about parliamentary reform. Then, using cushions from the sofa, I made a bed for him on the floor of my room. While he snored softly I sat at my desk, copying the details of my birth certificate into my notebook. Here was the time and place of my birth, 3:37 A.M. on 18 April 1948. My mother’s maiden name: Agnes Hardy. My father’s name: Einar Arinbjornsson; his occupation: fisherman. For their address they gave Yew House. The certificate was copied from the registry of births, marriages, and deaths in Edinburgh. The idea of these details, safe in some office, was profoundly reassuring. So too was the discovery, when I opened Birds of the World, that the lyre-bird and the puffin and the fairy-wren were still there, enjoying their habitat.
The next morning Marian dialed directly. As she reported that George was awake and had said her name, I heard the soft click of coins dropping into the phone. She did not mention coming home but told me that I would find housekeeping money in the top drawer of her dresser. When I looked beneath her neatly folded underwear, there was more than two hundred pounds, mostly in the one- and five-pound notes her pupils paid her.
As the day progressed, I learned what Marian’s life had been like before I arrived. My timetable for Sunday read:
9–10 Algebra + trigonometry
10–11 Latin
11–12:30 French
12:30–1:30 Walk + lunch
1:30–2:30 French
2:30–4:00 English
Tea
4:30–6:30 History
Supper
King Lear + Great Tradition
By the time I put Robin to bed I had managed a few algebra problems and twenty minutes of French, but when I opened King Lear, I was so tired that I could not keep Edgar and Edmund straight. After half an hour I closed the book in despair. I would never get the results I needed unless I studied hard this last week. On Monday afternoon, when I usually attended classes at the school, Robin and I walked into Aberfeldy to post my passport application. Then we went to Honeysuckle Cottage. At the sight of my face, Hannah fetched some clay and set Robin up on a sheet of plastic on the kitchen floor. Could he make us each a present? Under Emily’s scrutiny, he set to work.
Hannah already knew about George. Now I told her that Marian was staying in Perth. My exams started next week, and these last days of study were crucial. And what if Marian was still away next week? How could I sit the exams and take care