Mary Westmacott - Giant's Bread

Five months after he had gone out he wired that he had got leave. Nell’s heart almost stopped beating. She was so excited! She went off to Matron and was granted leave of absence.

She travelled to London feeling strange and unusual in ordinary clothes. Their first leave!

It was true, really true! The leave train came in and disgorged its multitudes. She saw him. He was actually there. They met. Neither could speak. He squeezed her hand frantically. She knew then how afraid she had been …

That five days went by in a flash. It was like some queer delirious dream. She adored Vernon and he adored her, but they were in some ways like strangers to each other. He was off-hand when she spoke about France. It was all right – everything was all right. One made jokes about it and refused to treat it seriously. ‘For goodness’ sake, Nell, don’t sentimentalize. It’s awful to come home and find everyone with long faces. And don’t talk slush about our brave soldiers laying down their lives, etc. That sort of stuff makes me sick. Let’s get tickets for another show.’

Something in his absolute callousness perturbed her – it seemed somehow rather dreadful to treat everything so lightly. When he asked her what she had been doing, she could only give him hospital news, and that he didn’t like. He begged her again to give it up.

‘It’s a filthy job, nursing. I hate to think of your doing it.’

She felt chilled – rebuffed, then rebuked herself. They were together again. What did anything else matter?

They had a wild delightful time. They went to a show and danced every night. In the daytime they went shopping. Vernon bought her everything that took his fancy. They went to a Paris firm of dressmakers and sat there whilst airy young duchesses floated past in wisps of chiffon and Vernon chose the most expensive model. They felt horribly wicked but dreadfully happy when Nell wore it that night.

Then Nell told him he ought to go and see his mother. Vernon rebelled.

‘Oh, darling, I don’t want to! Our little short precious time. I can’t miss a minute of it.’

Nell pleaded. Myra would be terribly hurt and disappointed.

‘Well, then, you’ve got to come with me.’

‘No, that wouldn’t do at all.’

In the end, he went down to Birmingham for a flying visit. His mother made a tremendous fuss over him – greeted him with floods of what she called ‘glad proud tears’ – and trotted him round to see the Bents. Vernon came back seething with conscious virtue.

‘You are a hard-hearted devil, Nell. We’ve missed a whole day! God, how I’ve been slobbered over.’

He felt ashamed as soon as he had said it. Why couldn’t he love his mother better? Why did she always manage to rub him up the wrong way, no matter how good his resolutions were? He gave Nell a hug.

‘I didn’t mean it. I’m glad you made me go. You’re so sweet, Nell. You never think of yourself. It’s so wonderful being with you again. You don’t know …’

And she put on the French model gown and they went out to dine with a ridiculous feeling of having been model children and deserving a reward.

They had nearly finished dinner when Nell saw Vernon’s face change. It stiffened and grew anxious.

‘What is it?’

‘Nothing,’ he said hastily.

But she turned and looked behind her. At a small table against the wall was Jane.

Something cold seemed for a moment to rest on Nell’s heart. Then she said easily:

‘Why, it’s Jane. Let’s go and speak to her.’

‘No, I’d rather not.’ She was a little surprised by the vehemence of his tone. He saw that and went on: ‘I’m stupid, darling. I want to have you and nothing but you – not other people butting in. Have you finished? Let’s go. I don’t want to miss the beginning of the play.’

They paid the bill and went. Jane nodded to them carelessly and Nell waved her hand to her. They arrived at the theatre ten minutes early.

Later, as Nell was slipping the gown from her white shoulders, Vernon said suddenly:

‘Nell, do you think I shall ever write music again?’

‘Of course. Why not?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think I want to.’

She looked at him in surprise. He was sitting on a chair, frowning into space.

‘I thought it was the only thing you cared about.’

‘Cared about – cared about – that doesn’t express it in the least. It isn’t the things you care about that matter. It’s the things you can’t get rid of – the things that won’t let you go – that haunt you – like a face that you can’t help seeing even when you don’t want to …’

‘Darling Vernon – don’t –’

She came and knelt down beside him. He clutched her to him convulsively.

‘Nell – darling Nell – nothing matters but you … Kiss me …’

But he reverted presently to the topic. He said irrelevantly, ‘Guns make a pattern, you know. A musical pattern, I mean. Not the sound one hears. I mean the pattern the sound makes in space. I suppose that’s nonsense – but I know what I mean.’

And again a minute or two later:

‘If one could only get hold of it properly.’

Ever so slightly, she moved her body away from him. It was as though she challenged her rival. She never admitted it openly, but secretly she feared Vernon’s music. If only he didn’t care so much.

And tonight, at anyrate, she was triumphant. He drew her back holding her close, showering kisses on her.

But long after Nell was asleep Vernon lay staring into the darkness, seeing against his will, Jane’s face and the outline of her body in its dull green satin sheath as he had seen it against the crimson curtain at the restaurant.

He said to himself very softly under his breath:

‘Damn Jane.’

But he knew that you couldn’t get rid of Jane as easily as that.

He wished he hadn’t seen her.

There was something so damnably disturbing about Jane.

He forgot her the next day. It was their last, and it went terribly quickly.

All too soon, it was over.

It had been like a dream. Now the dream was over. Nell was back at the hospital. It seemed to her she had never been away. She waited desperately for the post – for Vernon’s first letter. It came – more ardent and unrestrained than usual, as though even censorship had been forgotten. Nell wore it against her heart and the indelible pencil came off on her skin. She wrote and told him so.

Life went on as usual. Dr Lang went out to the front and was replaced by an elderly doctor with a beard who said ‘Thank ye, thank ye, Sister,’ every time he was offered a towel or was helped on with his white linen coat. They had a slack time with most of the beds empty and Nell found the enforced idleness trying.

One day, to her surprise and delight, Sebastian walked in. He was home on leave and had come down to look her up. Vernon had asked him to.

‘You’ve seen him then?’

Sebastian said yes, his lot had taken over from Vernon.

‘And he’s all right?’

‘Oh, yes, he’s all right !’

Something in the way he said it caused her alarm. She pressed him. Sebastian frowned in perplexity.

‘It’s difficult to explain, Nell. You see, Vernon’s an odd beggar – always has been. He doesn’t like looking things in the face.’

He quelled the fierce retort that he saw rising to her lips.

‘I don’t mean in the least what you think I mean. He isn’t afraid . Lucky devil, I don’t think he knows what fear is. I wish I didn’t. No, it’s different from that. It’s the whole life – it’s pretty ghastly, you know. Dirt and blood and filth, and noise – above all, noise! Recurrent noise at fixed times. It gets on my nerves – so what must it do to Vernon’s?’