Morag Joss - Half Broken Things

Michael had never developed the habit of anticipating too closely the consequences of his actions, beyond taking the usual steps to avoid immediate chaos. He had never been convinced that anything he might do could be important enough to have consequences that would matter that much. That had changed. With the knowledge that he now had something worth keeping came a huge fear that he might lose it. He saw that what he was about to do might destroy everything, but he was also looking straight into the blank fact that he had no other options. His existence, and Steph’s and Jean’s, were at risk anyway, endangered by a simple lack of money. He could not make them safe from that without first exposing them all to other risks, and he would have to concentrate. It would not be his fault if, while he was fending off one danger, Steph was out God knows where creating others. He would deal with her next.

So when he saw Steph trudging along, head down (her mood never was reflected in the way she walked, it was always the same slow tread, hands in pockets) he thought, here it comes, the next thing. She was still making her way up between the fields. The sight of her alone, not yet within the boundary of the garden, appalled him. He watched from the window, timing it carefully until Jean had finished eating. Then, anxious not to hurry or show his fear, he took the tray and reassured Jean that everything was fine. He clattered downstairs and ran outside, his panic rising.

Steph might be making her way back, but he was not fooled. She was shaking herself loose, moving beyond and away from them. What was wrong with her, that she needed to go outside, to mix with other people? What was wrong with him, that he was tolerating it? Was she blind? As long as they lived quietly, keeping themselves to themselves, there would be no need for actual secrecy, certainly nothing as blatant as outright lying. But if other people came poking in, if other people were actually being encouraged, how long before certain things came out? God knows what she might already have told them, these people she was ‘working’ for. And who, anyway, were they? He suspected that not only did she not really know, she was so blind and trusting that she did not even recognise the importance of knowing.

She had no right to spoil everything like this. He marched down the drive to meet her. As he drew closer he broke into a run, shouting, and the noise shook a few birds out of the trees at the far side of the paddock. Steph stopped, looked up and watched them rise and fly off, in that moment realising that Michael would reach the point where she was standing within the next ten seconds, and that he was probably going to hit her. She lowered her head and waited for it to happen so that it would be over. She had no firm opinion on the matter, but it had come as a slight surprise that he was turning out to be the same as the others, after all.

Out of breath and half-sobbing, Michael grabbed her by the arms. His voice was a thin wail. ‘Jesus Christ! Isn’t it enough for you! Isn’t it enough? Don’t you see you’ll ruin it? Look at me! What’s the matter with you?’

But Steph barely raised her head.

‘What’s the matter with you! Isn’t it enough, all of us here together?’

Steph tried to pull away for a moment and then, throwing him a look of puzzlement, she cried, ‘Together? All of us? Oh sure, all of us, minus Miranda!’

Surely he would hit her now, after a remark like that.

‘Miranda’s dead, ’ she said, ‘in case you’d forgotten.’

He was bound to hit her now. But Michael let go of her and wiped a hand over his face. ‘Oh, look, I only meant- Steph…’

He raised his arms as if to hug her, saw her face, and dropped them again.

‘Oh, Christ. Look- Steph, it’s… look, I know, I know. I do, honest.’

Without saying more, Steph walked on. Michael followed a few steps behind. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘it’s not all bad. I mean I’ve sorted the money. I’ve done it. We’re OK. Come on .’ He pulled at her arm and drew level. She shook herself free, but walked along beside him, at least.

‘Steph, listen, you don’t have to. You don’t have to, there’s enough money now,’ he said. ‘Please. Please don’t go back.’

‘But it’s not just the money.’ She stopped again, turned to him and shook her head. ‘It’s Charlie.’ Other words of explanation were stranded in her mouth. Her face crumpled, because she could tell from his eyes that Michael was not, after all, going to hit her, and never had been. He was frightened, that was all. But she could not help that, not now that there was Charlie. She turned away, sobbing.

‘You wait! Just wait, Michael, you’ll see!’

Then she spun past him and ran the rest of the way back to the house, where Jean was already in the kitchen wondering which of three massive joints of meat to put in the oven for supper. Steph flung herself at her and wrapped her arms round her neck.

Michael hovered in the doorway. Jean looked carefully at him over Steph’s shoulder as she patted Steph’s heaving back. She was feeling rather unsteady on her legs and Steph had nearly knocked her over, but she would have to find the strength from somewhere. Taking a deep breath, she said, ‘Oh, Michael dear. I think a drink’s called for. Would you, dear? Then we’ll all settle down and talk things over.’

And then there was Charlie. Suddenly, there he was. From that day onwards, he was ours. It was all Steph’s doing, the clever girl, and she was proud of herself for doing it, and quite right too. I was with her over Charlie right from the start, without even having to think about it. It was in her face, for one thing. The necessity of it, I mean. Charlie was, purely and simply, a necessity. He still is. When she burst into the kitchen that day, there was, I don’t know, a very important look on her face, I can’t describe it any other way. She was in need of something- exactly what, of course, I didn’t know just that minute- but she was in very serious need. I still cannot see that there is anything extreme in the idea that people should have what they need, particularly if they have had to go without it for most of their lives.

That same evening we managed to settle Michael down about it all. You know, it is amazing how much more amenable people are when they have been properly fed. I wonder less, now, at Mother’s permanent irascibility when I was growing up, remembering what we ate in that house! Mother’s meals were not just unappetising, they seemed to take more out of you than they put in. We would rise from the table debilitated, thwarted and restless; afterwards I would wash up and clear away but I could never wipe the surfaces clean of my disappointment.

So over dinner, together Steph and I persuaded Michael about Charlie. Because of course the minute she told me about her job, I saw it as clearly as she did. She began to explain it to me when we were doing the potatoes and beans together in the kitchen, while Michael was in the cellar deciding on something to go with the beef. I still feel some pride in the way I took control that evening, weak though I was myself. Because they needed me; my two young people were quite ragged with tiredness and hunger and with this matter of Charlie, so I kept them both busy and away from each other until we were at table. The little jobs I set them to were those pleasant tasks that fill the hungry waiting time and slowly transform a dining room while the cooking proceeds: replacing candles, setting out the beautiful claret glasses and the silver (we always used the dining room in the evenings, but did so that night with special ceremony), decanting the wine. I sent Steph out to pick flowers for the table and she, bless her, came back with hedgerow flowers: some late primroses, buttercups and campion. She wasn’t sure if she was meant to pick the garden flowers, she said. I point this out because that’s the sort of girl she is. Not greedy. Not inclined to assume that things are hers for the taking. But if it’s a question of necessity, well, that puts a different complexion on it. Anyway, by the time we sat down to dinner the tension had almost gone; by then we could think of little else but the food. And afterwards, such a happy atmosphere, it’s funny how you remember the details.