What are you doing? Are you lost? That's Sylvia's room. '
Oh, oh, I'm so sorry. I thought...
' It's late, said Andrew. ' Go back to bed. '
Franklin went down the stairs far enough to be out of Andrew's sight, where he collapsed, bending over, head on his knees. He cried, softly though, not to be heard.
Then he felt an arm across his shoulder, and Colin said, ' Poor old Franklin. Never mind. Don't you get upset about Andrew. He's just one of the world's natural prefects.'
'I love her,' sobbed Franklin. 'I love Sylvia.'
Colin increased the pressure of his arm and let his cheek lie against Franklin's head. He rubbed it on the springy mat which seemed to send a message of health and strength, like heather. 'You don't really,' he said. 'She's still a little girl, you know -yes, she may be sixteen or seventeen or whatever she is but she's... not mature, you know? It's all the fault of her parents. They've screwed her up. ' Here rather to his own surprise he felt laughter bubbling up: absurdity was confronting him. But he persevered: ' They' re all shits, ' he informed Franklin, and turned a laugh into a cough.
Franklin was more bewildered than ever. I think your mother is so nice. She is so kind to me. '
Oh, yes, I suppose so. But it's no good, Sylvia, I mean. You'll have to fall in love with someone else. What about...And he began on a list of girl's names from school, chanting them, like a song. ' There's Jilly and there's Jolly. There's Milly and there's Molly. There's Elizabeth and Margaret, there's Caroline and Roberta.' He said in his usual voice, and with an ugly laugh, 'No one could say they' re immature. '
But I do love her, Franklin was saying to himself. That delicate pale girl, with her golden fluffy hair, she enchanted him, to hold her in his arms would be... He turned his face away from Colin, and was silent. Colin felt the shoulders under his arm hot and miserable. How well he identified with that misery, how well he did know that nothing he said would make Franklin feel better. He began rocking Franklin gently. Franklin was thinking that all he wanted was to go back to Africa tonight, go for ever, it was all too much, but he knew Colin was kind. And he did like sitting here, with the kind boy's arms around him.
Would you like to bring your sleeping bag up to my room? Better than the company of Rose, and we can sleep as long as we like.'
Yes... no, no, it's all right. I'll go down now. Thanks, Colin. But I do love her, he was repeating to himself.
'All right, then,' said Colin. He got up, went up.
And Franklin went down. He was thinking, I'm going to get it in the morning meaning, from Andrew. But Andrew never mentioned it nor referred to it. And Sylvia never knew that Franklin had been forced by his longing to go up the stairs to knock on her door.
When Franklin reached the bottom of the stairs into the basement flat, there was Rose, her hands on her hips, her face twisted with suspicion.
' If you think you' re going to sleep with Sophie, then think again. Colin's mad for her, even if Roland Shattock isn't.'
' Sophie? stammered Franklin.
Oh, yes, you all have the hots for Sophie. '
' It was a mistake, said Franklin. ' A mistake, that's all. '
' Really? said Rose. You could have fooled me. And she turned her back on him and went to her bed.
She certainly wasn't in love with Franklin, or even fancied him, but she would have liked him to try. A sister, well she' d show him sister. She couldn't say no to a black boy, could she, it would hurt his feelings.
And Franklin in his bed was curled up and clenched, like a fist, weeping most bitterly.
That tumultuous year, 1968, was peaceful enough in Julia's house, which for a long time had not been crammed with ' the kids' but rather with sober adults.
Four years: it is a long time that is, it is if you are young.
Sylvia had turned out to be almost unnaturally brilliant, crammed two years' work into one, took exams as if they were pleasurable challenges, seemed to have no friends. She had become a Roman Catholic, often saw a magnetic Jesuit priest called Father Jack, at Farm Street, and went every Sunday to Westminster Cathedral. She was on her way to becoming a doctor.
Andrew had done well, too. He was home from Cambridge often. Why didn't he have a girlfriend? worried his mother. But he said his teeth had been set on edge by all the sour grapes he had had to watch being consumed 'by you lot'.
Colin had agreed to take his final exams at school but dropped out. For weeks he stayed in bed shouting ' go away' to anyone who knocked on his door. One day he got up, as if nothing at all had happened, saying he was going to see the world. ' It's time I saw a bit of the world, Mother. And off he went, postcards arriving from Italy, Germany, the United States, Cuba. You can tell Johnny from me he is barking mad. This place is a sink. ' Brazil, Ecuador. He would come back between trips, was polite but uninformative.
Sophie had finished drama school and was getting small parts. She came to Frances to complain that she was cast according to her looks. Frances did not say, ' Don't worry, time will cure that. ' She was living with Roland Shattock, who already had a name and had played Hamlet. She told Frances that she was not happy, and knew she should leave him.
Frances had almost gone back to the theatre. She had actually said yes to a tempting part, but then again had to refuse. Money, it was money, again. Colin's school fees were no longer an item, and Julia had said she could manage Sylvia and Andrew, but then Sylvia came to ask if Phyllida could live in the downstairs flat. This is what had happened. Johnny had telephoned Sylvia to say she must visit her mother. And don't say no, Tilly, it isn't good enough.'
Sylvia had found her mother waiting for her, dressed to make an impression of competence, but looking ill. There was nothing to eat in the place, not so much as a loaf of bread. Johnny had moved out to live with Stella Linch, and was not giving Phyllida money, nor paying the rent. ' Get a job, ' he had said to her.
How can I get a job, Tilly?' Phyllida had said to her daughter. I am not well. '
That was evident.
'Why don't you call me Sylvia?'
'Oh, I can't. I can always hear my little girl saying, "I'm Tilly." Little Tilly, that's how I remember you.'
'You gave me the name Sylvia.'
'Oh, Tilly, I will try. And before the real conversation had begun, Phyllida was dabbing her eyes with tissues. ' If I could come and live in that flat then I could manage. I do sometimes get money from your father. '
I don't want to hear about him, said Sylvia. ' He was never a father to me. I hardly remember him. '
Her father was Comrade Alan Johnson, as famous as Comrade Johnny. He had fought in the Spanish Civil War he really had and was wounded. He was described by Julia who had watched his emergence into stardom as a 'roving Eminence Rouge like Johnny' .
' Johnny thinks I get more money than I do from Alan. I haven't had a penny from him for over two years.'
I said, I don't want to know. '
They were sitting in a room almost bare of furniture, for Johnny had taken nearly everything for his new life with Stella. There was a small table, two chairs, an old settee.
' I've had such a hard life, ' Phyllida began, on such a familiar note that Sylvia actually got up no ruse, or tactic, this: she was impelled away from her mother, by fear. She was already feeling the beginning of the inner trembling that in the past had left her helpless, limp, hysterical.
' It's not my fault, said Sylvia.
'It's not my fault,' said Phyllida, in the heavy see-sawing voice ofher litany ofcomplaint. ' I've never done anything to deserve the way I've been treated. She now noticed that Sylvia stood across the room from her, as far as she could get, hand to her mouth and staring over it at her as if afraid she was going to be sick.
'I'm sorry,' she said. 'Please don't go. Sit down, Tilly Sylvia.'
The girl returned, pulled the chair well away, sat down, and with a cold face, waited.
'If I came to live in that flat I could manage. I'd ask Julia, but I'm afraid of Frances, she'd say no. Please ask her for me.'
' Can you blame her? snapped Sylvia. People who knew and loved the delightful creature who, as Julia said, ' lights up this old house like a little bird' , would not recognise that adamant face.
But it's not my fault... Phyllida was off again, and then, seeing that Sylvia had sprung up to go, said, Oh, stop, stop. I'm sorry. '
I can't stand it when you complain and accuse me, said Sylvia. 'Don't you understand? I can't bear it, Mother.'
Phyllida tried to smile, and said, I won't do it, I promise. '
'Do you really promise? I want to finish my exams and be a doctor. If you' re in the house getting at me all the time, I'll simply run away. I can't bear it. '
Phyllida was shocked by this vehemence. She sighed, and said, Oh, dear, was I really so bad?'
Yes, you are. And even when I was tiny you were always telling me it's all your fault, without you Id be doing this or that. Once you said you were going to make me put my head into the gas oven, with you, and die. '
Did I? I expect I had good cause. '
'Mother.' Sylvia got up. 'I'm going. I'll talk to Julia and Frances. But I'm not going to look after you. Don't expect me to. You'll only get at me all the time. '
And so just as Frances had joyfully decided to give up journalism and Aunt Vera for ever, and the serious sociological articles, not to mention the odd bits of work she did with Rupert Boland, Julia said that she was going to have to give Phyllida an allowance and ' generally look after her. She's not like you, Frances. She can't look after herself. But I've told her she must be self-contained, and not bother you.'
And, surely more important, not bother Sylvia. '
' Sylvia says she believes she can cope with it. '
I do hope she can. '
'But if I give Phyllida an allowance... can you do Andrew's fees? Are you earning enough?'
Of course I am. And so there went the theatre again. All this had happened in the autumn of 1964, and so had this: Rose had gone. She knew she had done well in her exams: she did not need the results to tell her that. She came up at a time when Frances, Colin and Andrew were together to say, 'And now I've got super news. I'm leaving. So you'll be rid of me now. I'm off for good. I'm going to university.And she ran off down the stairs. Suddenly she wasn't around. They waited for her to ring, write but nothing. The flat had been left in a mess, clothes on the floor, bits of sandwich on a chair, in the bathroom tights hanging up to dry. But that was the general style of' the kids' and need not mean anything.