The Sleeping and the Dead

‘You must be Sally’s friends.’ His voice was light, clipped, a little spinsterish, and again she felt she should recognize it. ‘Not a good day for a drive, I’m afraid. Poor you. This weather doesn’t show any sign of breaking. I suppose we shouldn’t complain. By the time you’ve had a chance to freshen up Sally will be home. She was sorry not to be here when you arrived, but today’s a busy one for the paper. She’s looking forward to the reunion.’

He picked up Hannah’s holdall and directed them towards a curving staircase. Rosie went first and he stared as she walked ahead of him at the long brown legs appearing through the slit in her skirt. Hannah wanted to hit him, but knew Rosie would probably take the attention for granted. Across the graveyard the church clock struck five. The noise seemed to shock him out of a trance and he turned to Hannah, muttering something about the age of the tower. Their room was at the back of the house. It was large and high ceilinged with a full-length window looking over a rose garden and across more lawn. Beyond that, dazzling in the sunlight, was the lake.

Roger seemed to have regained his composure. He gave them an arch little smile as if he were enjoying some private joke and left them alone.

‘Hey,’ Rosie said. ‘This is a bit of all right.’

Hannah dragged her attention from the lake and looked at the room. Solid Victorian furniture was lightened by pale yellow bedspreads and curtains. Rosie dropped the sophisticated pose she put on for her friends and became a child again. She bounced on the bed and danced around the room opening drawers and doors. ‘No mini-bar but two sorts of biscuits on the tea tray and very nice smellies for the bath. And Sky.’ She began to strip for the shower with a sort of mock striptease, not caring that the curtains were still open. Remembering Roger, Hannah closed them.

They had made themselves tea and were watching the early-evening news when Sally came in. Hannah thought she had put on weight, especially on the hips and the bust, but that she’d have known her anywhere. She was stylishly dressed in a thrown together, ramshackle way, in a cream linen skirt which came down to her ankles and a long cream top, crumpled at the back where she’d been sitting. There wasn’t any awkwardness. She pulled Hannah towards her so she bounced against the pneumatic bosoms. Then she sat on the bed and started talking.

‘God, what a gorgeous daughter. You’re so lucky, H. I only had boys and they were monsters. They left home long ago, thank the Lord, and they only appear when they want something. Roger puts up with it, the sweetie. God knows why.’ She paused. ‘You know, it’s so good to see you. I’d given up thinking I’d ever get you here.’ She grinned wickedly. ‘You didn’t recognize Roger, did you? He didn’t think you did.’

Hannah was embarrassed. She dredged back in her memory for the circumstances when she’d heard the pedantic voice. She had a fleeting image of school, of sitting with a crowd of others on the edge of the stage in the hall, then it was gone.

She mumbled, ‘Something about him was familiar,’ knowing how pathetic she sounded.

‘Probably best forgotten,’ Sally said. ‘That’s what I thought until I met him again. I came to do a feature on him when he bought this place. You won’t believe it but he swept me off my feet. Perhaps this will jog your memory.’ She stood up, put her hands behind her back and in a surprisingly accurate imitation of her husband’s voice said, ‘If that homework’s not handed in tomorrow, Miss Marshall, I’ll be down on you like a ton of bricks.’

It was the final phrase that released the memory. It was the threat for every occasion. Hannah started to giggle, quickly put her hand over her mouth to cover it.

‘You married Spooky Spence?’ It was impossible to keep the astonishment from her voice. She wanted to ask Sally how on earth she came to do anything so ridiculous.

‘Exactly,’ Sally said, enjoying Hannah’s surprise. ‘Spooky Spence.’

He had taught them Latin for O level. At the time Hannah had thought of him as middle-aged, verging on the elderly, but he could hardly have been more than thirty. Now that she had fixed him in her memory she thought his appearance had hardly changed over the years. She remembered those lessons as restful occasions. A quiet sunny classroom. Mr Spence’s voice a drone in the background as they plodded through Virgil and Caesar’s Civil Wars. And he had been involved in the school play. That was what the flash of memory had been about.

‘But you couldn’t stand him,’ Hannah said.

Sally had never liked drama and had hated the Latin lessons. She’d never got to grips with the grammar. Spence had been quietly but menacingly sarcastic.