Caring for cathy, p.11
Caring for Cathy, page 11
“What is this deputation for?” she demanded.
Her voice was slightly cracked, and her cheeks red. The bold colours of her print dress seemed to emphasise her agitation.
“Mrs Temple, we have met at my office, Helmut … I do apologise…”
Anita Temple was only checked slightly by Helmut’s suavity, and his genteel appearance.
“Excuse me, but Justina must be returned to me.Now.”
“Certainly, certainly, but may I ask whether you would be prepared to sell Justina, please?”
Keith and David were astounded, and pulled curious faces at each other. Mrs Temple was surprised. David thought that after the financial consequences of the inspection, which Mrs Temple had provoked, it was a heroic offer.
“No. You’ve put me through hell for my dog.”
“I’m deeply sorry. But the dog keeps coming to the Hall because it used to belong to one of the residents.”
“No. The dog has been enticed away by that man,” she pointed to David.
“Please, Mrs Temple, let us end our mutual problems in the easiest way.”
“The problems aren’t of my making, and they can best be ended by you handing Justina over, and never coming here again.”
“You won’t consider selling Justina under any circumstances?” Helmut said regretfully.
Anita Temple was appreciating that Helmut’s proposal had some merit. She pressed her lips together thoughtfully. “How much are you prepared to pay?”
“Would fifty pounds be… reasonable?”
She let out a spurt of derision. “Don’t waste my time! This is a valuable animal, a pedigree golden Labrador.”
“How much, then?” Keith asked.
“Five hundred pounds would be a modest sum. I’m sure I could get more than that for her.”
“You’re off your rocker, lady,” Keith said, flatly.
“Keith, please. I’m sorry Mrs Temple, we don’t have that much money,” Helmut said.
Anita Temple’s eyes shone. “Well, that’s it then. Give me the dog, and don’t let me see or hear of any of you again.”
She took the lead from David, and pulled Poppy over the threshold. “That’s my lovely Justina!”
As they walked back disconsolately to Denby Hall, Keith said to Helmut, “It was a neat move to offer to buy Poppy.”
“Vell, it’s a solution, but an expensive one,” Helmut laughed.
“Mean old bitch!” Keith said.
David said, “I didn’t realise Poppy cost such a lot of money.”
“She’s a fine creature. Perhaps I vos being insulting in mentioning fifty pounds,” Helmut said.
David was the only one of them who knew who Anita Temple really was, and therefore the only one to understand her meanness. But he was still convinced of the simplicity and effectiveness of what he wanted to do.
“Cathy need only see Poppy for a little time,” David said.
“Yeah, and wouldn’t you think that could be fitted in for less than five hundred quid?” Keith said.
“Maybe it can,” David said.
“Pie in the sky, David,” Keith said. “That old cow will never budge.”
But David thought that Anita Temple’s strained handling of the meeting showed that she understood how badly she was behaving – and she might relent. In a way, this behaviour apart, he quite liked her, and couldn’t help feeling sorry for anybody entrapped for years in the dysfunctional Desmond-Anita couple and, at the same time, trapped in the worn out Anita-Graham couple.
20
David’s presence as a helper with Cathy had become routine on Desmond’s visits. When restaurants and coffee shops had become impossible, and Cathy had no obvious appreciation of a garden or a view, the only activity left to them, apart from playing films and discs in her room, was a walk along the cliffs. They used to walk slowly with Cathy’s wheelchair for about half a mile east, or half a mile west toward town, weather permitting. David pushed the wheelchair. Desmond walked slightly behind and to one side of him, his hands clasped behind his back, like a dignitary accompanying a head of state at a public engagement. In the later days, Cathy and David spent their time together in silence when they were alone. But when Desmond joined them, he seemed unable to bear the silence, and felt obliged to talk.
Often some small event at Denby Hall would lead Desmond to recount his experiences with Cathy. And he would occasionally speak of things which might be too embarrassing to admit to his peers. In talking to David, he was not strictly sharing a confidence. He was mainly addressing himself. He expected no reply, no criticism or argument, and he got none. Desmond wanted to lay out his position, and reassure himself that it was as solid as he believed it was. David understood this. How much Cathy in her wheelchair heard or understood, David did not know. She never gave any sign that she followed, or was affected by any of it.
One day, Desmond began, “You see, David, the trouble with madness is that it seldom comes to life fully formed, like a new born baby. At first, madness is a mere absence of brightness in the house in which you live, then a haunting shadow, then a soft and palpable darkness around your actions. Before you realise it, if you’re lucky enough to have a flash of insight, your life is deformed. You’re a participant in the madness of the mad person. If I had fully understood the affair of the McFisheries jacket, I’d probably never have married Cathy. But to me, in those days, it was trivial, an irritation, not a warning.
“Cathy’s brain lost power over many years. Now, of course, it’s very obvious. Her brain can’t control her speech or movement. But twenty years ago it began to fade, almost imperceptibly. And the toll of those years of fuzzy deterioration, of lack of focus, of inability to concentrate, has been agonising in practical terms. It’s brought misery to both of us. And I suppose you’d say the interesting point about the brain of an intelligent woman like Cathy, is that it retained sufficient intelligence, even as it was failing, to work out devious ways of concealing its condition.”
Desmond told David about the McFisheries jacket, a very old and worn plaid garment with a dark brown check, purchased from a department store that had long since ceased business. Cathy bought and owned the jacket before they were married. She liked the jacket. It was warm, and suited her image on the housing estate where she worked. The cuffs were frayed. A sleeve had been torn and roughly stitched up. The lining showed through at the elbows, and there was a shiny patina on the lapels. She wore the jacket frequently when she was working.
As soon as Desmond saw the garment, he said it was disgusting, and suggested that Cathy should throw it away. He offered her the money to buy a new one. And the fact that this lone garment gained a particular name, ‘McFisheries’ showed that it became an object of critical attention between them.
One day, when Cathy was wearing the jacket, they went into a pub to have a beer. Desmond left her at the back of the crowd, and pushed through to the bar to buy their drinks. A man approached Cathy while she was on her own. He was probably homeless. He was dirty, unshaven, and dressed in filthy clothes. Cathy was used to dealing with such people, and she took no offence, nor made any remark to drive him away. When Desmond appeared with the drinks, glowering, the man winked in a friendly way, and scuttled off.
‘What did he want?’ Desmond demanded.
‘He asked if he could buy me a drink,’ Cathy said.
‘What did you say?’
‘I declined,’ Cathy laughed.
‘It isn’t funny. That man was a bloody tramp, trying to pick you up!’
‘Maybe he was.’
‘Now do you understand what a slag you look!’
“Cathy didn’t reply. But I think she understood for the first time, the impression she presented in the jacket. She put it into the rubbish bin that night without any contest. I didn’t appreciate it at the time, but there was something more than eccentricity in Cathy’s attachment to the jacket. Later on, after we were married, there were lots of strange events which I interpreted in Cathy’s favour. I dignified them with a logical justification. I bestowed rationality on them, although, like the McFisheries jacket and the pink bathroom, they were irrational.”
The instance of the pink bathroom particularly irritated Desmond. He talked about it in a self-critical way. He said he had been keen to increase their fortunes by advances in the housing market. He and Cathy had had three homes, each one requiring considerable renovation, and each one improving their financial position quite strongly. Cathy could not cope with the confusion of a house full of tradesmen, and eventually got Desmond to promise that he would only propose a new house, if it required no work, and was ready to be lived in. Desmond found yet another house and, he believed, it met his promise.
Desmond said in a sorrowful tone, “It was a lovely house in Wimbledon, David, and a wonderful investment, but Cathy wouldn’t move. I pressed her.
‘Because it has a pink bathroom,’ she said
‘It’s got a white one, too,’ he reminded her.
‘I can’t use a pink bathroom. The colour upsets me.’
‘You don’t need to use it. Use the white one.’
‘I can’t bear a pink bathroom in the house.’
‘OK we’ll get it painted.’
‘Desmond, you promised.’
‘What’s in painting a bathroom? The work of a couple of hours.’
‘You promised.’
‘Painting a bathroom isn’t repair or renovation.’
‘What is it?’
‘Freshening up.’
“But it was no good. Cathy wouldn’t move. And, do you know, David, I accepted that? I did. I had no idea Cathy was unwell, other than a bit depressed. I actually declined what was a valuable financial opportunity for both of us, because of the pink bathroom. It doesn’t make any sense, does it? You see how a sane person can be led along a crazy path?
“When I found out that Cathy was seriously ill, I realised that this wasn’t so much about pink bathrooms, or worn out jackets, as an inability to face change, a desperate, almost subconscious clinging to the things she knew.
“I could only see it with hindsight, but after we married, Cathy began very slowly to avoid being put into social positions where her deficiencies, like her bad memory and her inability to concentrate, would show. She withdrew gradually from her more insightful friends. She withdrew from the social role of hostess and wife, which would have benefited my company commitments.
“At one point, I remember getting an anguished letter from Cathy’s best friend. We hadn’t seen Valerie and her husband in years, as a result of Cathy’s surreptitious withdrawal, but at the time of our marriage we had met regularly as a foursome. Cathy and Valerie had done their social work training together, and shared some university research work. In her letter, Valerie was complaining that Cathy hadn’t been in touch with her, and she was asking me why. Cathy was retreating to avoid being found out, and Valerie was upset, because she felt that Cathy hadn’t made enough effort to see her. Valerie stayed at home and got angry, instead of getting into her car, and arriving on our doorstep. And there were lots of cases where we lost friends for the same reason. Friendships work like a balance sheet, David. If you don’t return the dinner a friend bought you, you’re unlikely to be invited again. Cathy used this method to shield herself. We didn’t give any invitations, so eventually we didn’t get any.
“The biggest con of all was Cathy’s stance as a liberated woman. I know she was a genuine advocate of women’s rights, but it also provided a cover for her. She said she wasn’t going to be a ‘company wife’ and be towed around to social functions as an ornament to me. In this way, she avoided having to submit herself to the normal social criticism, and judgements, of friends and acquaintances. She participated less and less in dinner parties, and less and less in the dinners at the Grosvenor, the trips to Henley, Ascot, Goodwood, and Silverstone. At the time, inconvenient though it was to me, I had some admiration for her stance. Yes, I mean it, admiration!
“In the early years of our marriage, Cathy used to be a community worker on a run-down estate in east London. She had her own project, funded by the local authority. It was valuable work, but I didn’t stop to ask myself why an intelligent woman with top academic qualifications, and matchless experience, would choose to hole up for so long in a housing estate. The answer, I believe, was that she was dealing with people who were uncritically grateful for her help, and couldn’t see her deficiencies.
“Can you see how looney all this was, David? The shape of both our lives being subtly and unknowingly altered by the toxin of madness, or you could say, by Cathy’s fruitless attempts to combat the toxin. We suffered the loss of friends, and an almost complete withdrawal from the society of other people.
“That was in the days before I knew anything was seriously wrong. I was merely the man with the poorly wife.”
David had a vision of the Cathy-Desmond couple shrivelling slowly into a shell, increasingly blind to where it was going, moving away from the paths of other couples, into a desert.
On Desmond’s first visit, after the day Poppy had been taken back to Mrs Temple, Helmut found Cathy, Desmond and David in the garden. He leaned over for a few words with Cathy, and then shook hands with Desmond.
“You know Mr Marsden, we have had trouble with the dog, Cathy’s dog.”
“It’s not Cathy’s dog, Helmut,” Desmond said baldly, in a tone which suggested that this was a touchy subject.
“I’m sure we’re talking about the same animal.”
“I had heard about the trouble it’s been causing. I suppose it’s inevitable. The dog was used to Cathy, but it’ll just have to get used to a new owner. May take time, but it’s an intelligent beast. It’ll learn.”
“But Cathy…” Helmut began.
“As far as Cathy’s concerned, I know she was fond of the dog, but I can’t think that it’s meaningful to her now.”
“I think she is still fond of the dog,” Helmut said.
Desmond nodded wisely. “Look, Helmut, Cathy’s focus on anything, man or beast, is no more than a few seconds. I know that. You know that. Don’t tell me that she’s fond of the dog. She isn’t capable of being fond of anything. I’m not here because she’s fond of me. I’m here because I have a duty to perform. Cathy’s no more fond of the dog, or me, than she is of her tooth brush, or her dinner plate.”
Helmut’s face creased tolerantly. “I think you are very wrong there Mr Marsden.”
“Helmut, I like you. You do a marvellous job with all these people. But you read a lot of things into their minds, which for practical purposes don’t exist. Cathy’s virtually a … well, I don’t need to say it … I’m not being rude or insulting about Cathy, or about your efforts. I’m being practical and factual.”
“Yes, Mr Marsden, you are practical and factual. But Cathy …”
“Helmut, there is only one reality. The reality of you and me, here and now. We are alive, intelligent beings. Cathy is, by any practical standards, little more than a pulse.”
David could follow the conversation quite well. Cathy simply stared ahead.
Helmut maintained his easy manner. “Well, I won’t trouble you with whether there is any other reality than that of the sane, and intelligent. Let us talk about the dog.”
“Yes, the other thing about the dog is that I simply couldn’t look after it. An animal like that has to be walked every day, it has to go to the vet, it has to be bathed and groomed, and it needs special food. Oh, there’s no end of running around after it. And expense. I gave it away. Glad to see it go to a good home. People I know who’ll look after it. I’m not callous about animals.”
“You gave Poppy to Mrs Temple?”
“Yes, she had to go for her own good.”
“Can I ask whether Poppy is very valuable, because I was thinking of buying her.”
“Oh, yes. Cathy never had any thought of money when she bought it. Got the dog as a pup.”
“Mrs Temple wanted five hundred pounds, and we could never afford that. I was buying her for Cathy, and some of the other residents. They like Poppy.”
“Five hundred?” Desmond’s voice rasped on the ‘hundred.’
“Yes. I offered fifty pounds. We can’t have dogs here permanently as pets, of course, not in a home like Denby Hall. But I could take her personally, and having a dog around a little could be good for some of the residents.”
“She asked for five hundred pounds? That much? I’ve been getting hell from Mrs Temple about the dog. It keeps on running away. I gave it to her, after all. And it’s nothing but trouble!”
“The police came. David was accused.”
“Yes, I know all that. Dreadful. I should have had the animal put down.”
“I’m worried Poppy is going to run away again, and we’ll have a whole lot more trouble,” Helmut said.
Desmond’s usually sincere expression had gone. His eyes reflected the light glassily, and his mouth crimped into a short line.
“I’ll have a word with Mrs Temple,” Desmond said curtly, and David wondered what he would do.
21
David met Paul Prosser in the first few days of his residency. Paul came to the door of his room, knocked, and asked if he could come in. David was lying on his bed, looking at the ceiling, and thinking of nothing very much.
Paul was the same short, fleshy build as David, but ten or fifteen years older, with fair hair. He had a red face, which looked swollen. The tip of his nose, his cheeks and his chin gleamed like tomatoes. His red-veined, shrewd blue eyes contrasted with the clownish appearance of his other features and he wore soft, dark, woollen clothes. He looked amusing, but David’s instinct was to be careful.
He levered himelf up on his elbows, and gestured the visitor inside. Paul entered with assurance, took a chair, and reached for the clock on a side-table. He picked it up, examined it in a cursory way, and set it back on the table.
