Open Writing

The smile lingered as faint sounds made their way into her consciousness.

“Noises Off,” she thought as they came nearer.

The surprise was a wheelchair. David, wheeling it in ceremoniously, with Hilda and Delphine bringing up the rear. As the latter explained, they couldn’t take the chance of her being hiked round the house in an undignified way. It didn’t suit either their image or hers. Hilda rubbed her hands together and looked hopefully at Great’ma, not too sure of the reception. She nodded a few times and then started backing towards the door.

Leaving the chair they all began to go but Great’ma, much refreshed by a long sleep, told Delphine to stay.

“I think I know what’s coming,” the latter remarked.

“Why are you making such a melodrama out of it? Surely you’ve told Cynthia the details,” Great’ma countered.

“Well yes I did, but she doesn’t believe me. I told her that although we didn’t marry straightaway, we decided to do so when she was two years old.”

“Cynthia knows he wasn’t around for the first two years of her life. What are you talking about?”

Delphine began to look very annoyed. “That should have been enough.”

The two women looked at each other and Delphine’s jaw tightened. She was about to leave the room, then swung round and in a crisp voice said, “Do you think I was going to tell her that I thought I was in bed with one man and it turned out to be another? And that I didn’t know that till she was two - actually, to be exact, nearly three - years old.” This last was said with some of the old ironic emphasis. It quietened the atmosphere and there was a silence between the two.

Great’ma was back in time once again. David had come to see her, having got her address from a friend of Delphine’s at the time she was at university. He explained that one night he had seen Delphine go into the bedroom of an undergraduate who was giving a party. He said he had been in love with her from almost the first time he had heard her laughing in the pub. He followed her in as she seemed to him to be a bit the worse for wear. When he got in the room she was undressed and in bed and without any preamble was undressing him. He had tried, though he had to admit not too strenuously, to leave.

Great’ma smiled as she remembered his embarrassment while relating some of the details. He had been surprised that Delphine continued to treat him as a casual friend, but not being very egotistical he had accepted the situation. He finished his degree and was out of the country for the following years.

On arriving back he had heard of Delphine’s child and felt he might be the father. He had finally found out that she had a relation that had supported her and managed to convince Delphine’s college friend to at least give him that person’s address. He had said in a hesitant way that he had never forgotten that night. “It had,” he said, “remained the best experience…” Trailing off into embarrassment.

She asked him what he wanted her to do, suggesting that if she gave him Delphine’s address he should look her up as an old friend and give mother and daughter time to get to know him. In her own mind she was convinced he was the father, identifying the man in front of her as Delphine’s description of someone who kept appearing before her, acting in a strange way.

The memory made Great’ma smile and the smile was reflected back from Delphine.

“Okay. I will tell all. On your head be it.”

“Oh thanks. The ‘old lady’ is all thanks,” came from the bed as the door closed on the scene.

Left alone again, Great’ma pictured Cynthia sitting there hearing the explanation of her own conception. How would she cope with the news? Children have great difficulty in realising the youth of their parents. Not just a matter of knowing their age, but their life before any authority had conditioned them.

The door was again very quietly opened to show Jeffrey just peering round.

“What are you creeping about for? Or is that the way you usually come in?”

“Well I never want to wake you if you are sleeping,” he said as he crossed the room quickly to sit beside the bed. “I’ve just been home for an hour or two. There seems to be some sort of conference going on, so I thought it best to keep out of the way.” He began in a very conspiratorial voice to say, “Cynthia…”

“That’s enough, just keep your cool or whatever it is called these days. Don’t start getting involved, even with speculation. Everything should be kept as honest and open as possible.”

“All right Great’ma. Don’t get ….You must keep relaxed. I am sorry. I know what you mean. There are all kinds of hints and that sort of thing going on. Uncle David was very cross the other day. I think he is going to have a long talk with you. He says you are still capable of dealing with your own affairs. Or shouldn’t I tell you that either? I am sorry.”

Jeffrey trailed off as Great’ma looked at him with her eyebrows drawn together. Then she relaxed and asked him what he had come in for. He replied that he had been reading some more of her notebook and was interested in the lists of books he had found there.

“Every so often you have a list of books and I wondered if you had read them all,” he asked.

“Yes, as I came across ones I could get into, I would write them down. Sometimes I would read all day and night if I was interested.”

“You have a very wide taste. I went to the library and got a couple out to read myself. I liked ‘Portnoy’s Complaint’, but I didn’t care much for ‘Why Are We In Vietnam?’ All that swearing, Great’ma.”

“Oh, I had quite forgotten that one. Don’t let Auntie Hilda know you have read that. I just skipped the first part. When I read ‘American Dream’ by the same author, it seemed like a psychological exploration of American involvement with the Irish and German aspects of their history. That sort of thing. And then I read everything I could find of his. I used to read the ‘Woman’s Weekly’ – everything, in fact, that I came across. There’s something to be said for the way I read things. In my day one just read anything. Well, my sort of upbringing anyway. Though the more modern authors I was introduced to by my second husband. Has anyone ever mentioned him?”

“Yes. There was a card from Sophie. She was his daughter wasn’t she? Have you seen all the cards?”

“I looked at some of them, but I suppose I should have a better look. They are over there on the side table.” Then as Jeffrey started to get up to fetch them, “No I won’t look at them now. Tomorrow.”

The door opened once again, this time very sharply, and Cynthia swept in. When she saw Jeffrey she turned and rushed out again. “Enter centre stage and sweep out, leaving everyone in suspense,” Great’ma observed.

There was a moment of reflection before Jeffrey continued, “After one list of books you read you have written ‘Who am I?’ and then ‘A rose by any other name’ with a lot of question marks. Then ‘Label for other people’. It intrigued me.”

“Did I? I’ll have to think about that. Perhaps it only happens to people who don’t quite identify with their own name. I never did really with mine. I should imagine I came to the conclusion that names are so other people can identify individuals, but they are no help in identifying oneself. It fits in with how I felt related to life. Like an individual type of river, say, and we run through different types of experience – different terrain. There we glimpse for a while an aspect of ourselves. I always felt experience could tell me about the conditioning I have had and how to leave it behind.”

“You thought a lot about things didn’t you? I’ve been reading about existentialism after what you wrote about it. Did you just come across ideas like that?”

“No, Jeffrey, one read about ideas in the newspapers. I was always curious – all sorts of things intrigued me. Reading was like a drug really.”

Great’ma began to smile as a real memory surfaced.

“A neighbour once came in while I was getting food cooked and I had a book propped up on the cooker. She said she didn’t have time to read.”

Jeffrey was about to ask another question, but once more the door was opened and Delphine walked purposefully in, saying in a tense voice as she crossed to the bed, “I couldn’t do it – you will have to.”

Jeffrey stood up and indicated that he had better go which elicited from Delphine an emphatic nod, which sent him on his way to the door.

“And don’t listen at keyholes,” she stabbed after him.
Greatly offended he replied that he never did and left with a stiff back.

Great’ma tried for a light touch, “Jeffrey said you were having a family conference so I thought you were coming clean.”

”Why does he spend so much time in here? I’m beginning to think Hilda is right about him.”

“Now don’t get nasty because you are feeling bad.”

“I don’t feel bad. I don’t see why I have to expose myself.”

“Like you did at the conception?”

“I could hit you.”

“See you are feeling bad,” holding up her hands as if to protect herself. “The one time in your life when you were not in control, fate - or whatever you care to call it - tripped you up. You have since controlled everything you possibly could. I think that might be why you call me Jenny. I never thought of that before.”

Delphine, most unusually, flung herself into a chair across the room and said, “I don’t feel in control now.”

“So you do feel bad. What did you tell her?”

“That he really was her father, but we hadn’t got round to marrying till later. She asked to see the birth certificate and I couldn’t show her because the father was left blank, so that wouldn’t have convinced her.”

“She probably realises you are not telling the whole truth. She is a bright girl.”

Delphine had begun to relax a little and after some hesitation said, “David is like that. Knows when something happens I can’t talk about, but he just holds me. I’m safe with David.”
Great’ma was surprised at this confidence. It was against the sense of the very private person she had always thought Delphine to be.

Even discussing the pregnancy had always been done in a controlled manner - practically no emotion shown.
Delphine had got up and was pacing the room.

Great’ma felt uncomfortable and tried humour once again, “I wonder if this is why I came back from the dead. It seems a bit trivial to have passed up on the glory of heaven so that I could tell the child the grand story of her conception.”

Delphine stopped pacing and said, “So you will do it for me?”
Great’ma quietly said, “Of course.”

Delphine crossed to hug her. “I owe you that from long ago. It is always hard for me to do that sort of thing.”

“I remember you crooning and dancing with Cynthia in your arms.”

“Yes, I was lucky to have got her.”

They were both quiet, thinking of the fact that she had been unable to conceive again.

“We’ve also got to talk about what to do with me, you and I. I can’t stay here forever. Well, for as long as I may last.”

“David has some ideas about that. I’ll get him to fill you in. But you will have the last word on things.”

At this point the door opened once more and Cynthia entered, showing a very penitent face. She came up to her mother and put out her arms. Hesitating just for a minute, Delphine swiftly moved to her and they stood together quietly at rest.
Great’ma had never seen them together like this and for a moment was rather cynical, but almost immediately realised that she was envious. You get old and no one holds you any more. Not like that at any rate.

As mother and daughter drew apart Cynthia said, “Dad told me he took advantage of you, but didn’t know that I was the result. Did you marry him for me?”

Delphine went to speak and then put up her hand in front of her mouth.

Great’ma broke into the scene with a suggestion that Cynthia stay with her, while nodding to Delphine to leave.

She then watched Cynthia as she, in turn, watched her mother leave, before turning back looking bemused and going toward the bed. Sitting herself down in the bedside chair, she folded her hands in her lap and waited.

Great’ma said “Are you sitting comfortably”

There was a tentative smile from Cynthia. She wanted to go after her mother.

Great’ma, feeling tired yet trying to make her voice less like that of an old lady, began by saying, “You are the same age as your mother was at the time I am going to tell you about. I think you know your parents well enough to understand their attitudes at the present time, but – I emphasise this – you have to see them both at a similar age to yourself, with all the youth and inexperience that implies. I’m not talking about worldly matters but emotions one has to deal with. Think of your doubts and your feelings for Jeffrey.” She paused. “You must bear with me. I’m rather tired.”

Cynthia took her hand, smoothing the papery skin, “Dad…”

“I’ll just tell it to you like a story.” Great’ma went on to relate what she had learnt from both Cynthia’s parents’ different understanding of the events that had led up to their daughter’s birth.

“Your father had woken before your mother and went off to buy some roses, so he told me, forgetting the shops wouldn’t be open. When he got back, the chap whose rooms they were in was coming out of the bedroom saying as he did so, ‘What the hell are you still here for?’ and then to your father, ‘There’s this tart in my bed. I don’t know what she thinks she is doing.’

“You can imagine what were your mother’s feelings at this point, thinking they had just spent the night together. Your father didn’t even then realise that he had been mistaken for someone else and just watched your mother come out of the room and swiftly leave. He only realised it when he had tracked me down after finding out your mother had had a baby and thinking it might be his. Then he wanted to know what I thought he should do, so I suggested he get to know you both before explaining to your mother the real events of that night.”

Cynthia just sat looking absently at Great’ma, who let the silence lengthen between them.

The young girl’s mouth twisted slightly and the old woman in the bed felt again the tiredness - almost disinterestedness - of age.

“So mum was so drunk she didn’t know who she was in bed with.”

Well at least it wasn’t someone who called her a tart, Great’ma wanted to say but didn’t.

The silence continued for a while longer until then she was pleased to see a smile begin to the curve the young mouth. “I can’t believe Mum was ever that way. A drunken night of pleasure. Well I hope it was.”

“I expect you were a factor in the decision to marry, but can you really believe your mother would have married just for that reason? After all, she had got on well without anyone else for some time.”

“Did you know about this at the time?”

“Yes, I looked after you while she finished her degree.”

“What was I like?”

Great’ma registered the egotism of the young person beside her – almost selfishness.”

“You were very quick and agile,” she replied.

“Did you like me?”

“Yes. Seeing you and your mother together was a treat in itself. She did sometimes wonder where you got that head of dark hair.”

“And it’s from Dad. It’s really great knowing how and where the egg that was me got started. I think I’ll go and find Mum.”
“Don’t expect her to want to talk about it.”

“Oh no, I understand that. I can see now why she didn’t want to explain. You telling it like a story – something on telly. Well …”

She was saying this as she left and the old woman’s eyes closed as she drifted between years in a confused sea of thoughts and emotions, still rather disinterested.