Louis de Bernières - The Dust That Falls From Dreams

Daniel distinctly heard a cough nearby, and pricked up his ears. He looked around in the darkness, and then heard another cough, very near indeed. He wheeled about and realised that there must be someone in the storeroom below the conservatory.

Steeling himself, he walked to the doorway and peered in, but saw only the absolute darkness. He searched for his matchbox, and struck a match, holding it above eye level. He saw nothing in that orange glow but garden machinery, heaps of sacking, stacks of flowerpots, rakes and hoes. He nonetheless had a very distinct sense that there was someone there.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded. ‘Where are you hiding?’ He wondered if electric light had been installed down here yet, and peered about for a switch. ‘I know you’re here,’ he said, as the flame burned down to his fingertips and he was forced to shake the match out. ‘If you do not reveal yourself, I shall go back inside and return with a torch and revolver. This is your last warning.’

‘Hold hard,’ came a rough voice, ‘no need going over the top, as the actress said to the bishop. No point wasting a cartridge.’

Daniel lit another match, and a heap of sacking in the corner began to heave. Soon there stood before him a dishevelled man of about thirty-five years of age, holding out a hurricane lamp. ‘Light this,’ he said, ‘and stop wasting yer matches.’

Thinking how strange this all was, Daniel opened the mantle and lit the wick. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said.

‘That’d be true, whoever you said it to,’ replied the man.

‘You’re the gardener,’ said Daniel.

‘Lucky you told me. I mightn’t have realised. I know who you are. You’re married to Miss Rosie,’ replied the man.

‘What on earth are you doing, camping under the conservatory?’

‘Ain’t got no home.’

‘No home? And the McCoshes took you on?’

‘I told ’em I lived in Mottingham. They never asked me more. That Mr McCosh is a decent sort. I asked him for a chance, and he gave me one.’

‘The garden has improved enormously. The transformation is wonderful, really.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘You’ve got no family hereabouts?’

The man shrugged. ‘Dr Barnardo boy. Just about managed to keep out of Borstal.’

‘No wife either?’

‘Sodded off, sir. Went off with a Gordon Highlander. Buggered off to Scotland. Good luck to him, poor sod.’ He paused, then added, ‘It’s all right. She was a ten-pinter, and she was bloody horrible when she had the painters in.’

Daniel briefly tried to decipher this gnomic information, and gave up. ‘So you’ve no home at all?’

‘Not any more, sir. Used to, before I went to Kut.’

‘You were at Kut? You got through that?’

‘2nd Norfolks, sir. The worst thing was the march afterwards, sir. Johnny Turk marched us hundreds a’ miles. Johnny Turk thinks everyone else is as tough as he is. No transport, no food, no water sometimes. Sleeping under a conservatory ain’t so bad, really, when you come to think of it.’

‘All the same, you can’t possibly stay here. What if the family finds out?’

‘Mr McCosh already knows, sir. He likes coming out in the dark and standing by the dog’s grave. He talks to it. Anyway, he caught me. He wanted to throw me out, but in the end he promised not to tell his missus, and he said he’d let me stay here ’til I’d got enough of a wage to take a lodging somewhere. In fact he gave me thirty shillings in advance, and I’m looking already.’

Daniel was impressed. ‘He’s a decent sort. The longer I know him, the more I think so.’

‘Oh, that he is, sir. He’s decent in private, like. He just don’t flaunt it when anyone’s watching. Millicent thinks he’s something wonderful for that.’

‘And who’s feeding you? You must be living off something.’

‘Cookie, of course, and Millicent. They’re the salt of the earth, they are.’

‘In fact, you’re at the centre of a huge conspiracy.’

‘You could put it like that, sir.’

‘Don’t you get lonely?’

‘The cat comes in and makes a fuss. That’s nice, that is. You sleep better with a warm cat purring away in your face.’

‘Well, well, well. Is there anything I can do for you?’

‘You’re about the same size as me,’ said the gardener. ‘Got any cast-offs?’

‘I’ll have a look,’ said Daniel. ‘By the way, I’m not sure I know your name.’

‘Wragge, sir. Everyone calls me Oily. You may call me Mr Wragge, if you like, sir, because I was a sergeant major before, sir, and you can call me Oily if ever you know me better. I’ll call you sir if you don’t mind, sir. You’re probably an officer anyways, and it’ll save me having to remember.’

‘I am Captain Pitt, or at least I was before they turned the Flying Corps into the RAF. Well, Mr Wragge, I’ll bid you goodnight. Is there anything I can bring you?’

‘Not unless you got a spare floozy somewhere, sir.’

Daniel laughed. ‘If I had a spare one, Mr Wragge, I’d be keeping her to myself, and I’d be offering her a bed rather than a heap of sacks.’

‘Very wise, sir. I’d be doing the same. Could you spare me a gasper then?’

Daniel took out his case and removed three cigarettes, which he handed over, along with the box of matches. ‘I could probably find you a Sidcot suit, and an officer’s warm, if you’re getting cold at night,’ said Daniel.

‘That would be very congenial,’ said Wragge. ‘I’ll give ’em back when I find lodgings.’

‘Goodnight, Mr Wragge. Time for me to waggle my wings and venture back into Hunland. I have hail to fly through, an HB to deal with.’

‘Hostile battery? That’ll be the mistress, then. Goodnight, sir, and thank you, and watch out for archie. Watch out for that Mrs McCosh.’

‘I do, Mr Wragge, I do. I always beware of HBs. And the Hun in the sun,’ and he set off back up the steps to the conservatory, wondering if he could get to the staircase without encountering any of the family. He would now have to deal with the aftermath of his bad manners, and having left table before grace.

‘My shoe is size nine,’ called Mr Wragge softly. ‘Just in case you was wondering.’

HE FOUND ROSIE at the foot of the stairs, waiting for him, looking anxious and angry, so he forestalled her with ‘I’m going home.’

‘Home? To Partridge Green?’

‘Yes, Partridge Green.’

‘But you can’t! It’s so late.’

‘I have good lights.’

‘But what if you break down or get a nail in your tyre?’

‘I’ll sleep in a ditch. I’d rather sleep in a ditch than spend one more day in the same house as your wretched mother. Then I’ll go back to the airfield on Sunday evening.’

‘But why do you get so provoked? She does it because it’s so easy to get you angry! Why can’t you just stay calm, and smile, and shrug it all off like the rest of us?’

‘She picks almost exclusively on me. The moment she comes into the room I know I’m going to be attacked, and it gets worse every time I’m here. I’m sick of hearing about how I can’t hold a candle to “our lost son”, and I’m sick of being insulted and denigrated because of being half French.’

‘But you know she’s not herself! Don’t you remember her, from when we were small? She was so much fun. Don’t you remember?’

‘Of course I remember. That woman has gone.’

‘No, she’s still inside, somewhere, she really is.’

‘It’s immaterial,’ said Daniel. ‘I can’t stand it here and I’m coming back as little as I can.’

‘But, Daniel, don’t you understand? She found her dearest friend mangled. She saw a child’s head on a doorstep, looking at her. She’s never been the same. Surely you can see it’s not her fault? It’s shell shock.’