Death of a Dormouse

‘No, I’m serious,’ said Trudi. ‘And it’s not just the drink. I woke up this morning feeling it might not be so bad to be me after all. I can’t remember the last time I felt like that, Jan.’

Janet looked at her disbelievingly.

‘But you’ve had the life of Reilly!’ she protested. ‘Highflying husband, glamorous cities, no kids to weigh you down. Don’t imagine I didn’t lie in bed many a night and think, that bitch is living my life!’

‘I certainly wasn’t living my own,’ said Trudi.

‘What’s this? Self-pity? I thought we were past that stage.’

‘Oh no. I may get maudlin later but right now I’m stuck at honesty. Let me tell you about my life, Jan, if you’ve a moment to spare. I married Trent and went off to Zürich. Only I didn’t really go to Zürich. I just stayed inside the private little atmosphere that existed for me round Trent and it went to Zürich. We had an apartment, lovely views, a skyful of Alps. I hated those mountains. All that space threatening to suck me away, to steal my private atmosphere. But I’d have climbed them with Trent. When he was with me, anything was possible. When he was away, which in his job was often, I never stirred from the flat. I’d stock up the larder in advance and just not budge. He never knew till one time he was delayed an extra week with engine trouble and came home to find me starving.’

‘What did he do?’

‘Got angry. Told me not to be stupid. Made me go out by myself.’

‘Great therapy,’ said Janet angrily. ‘Didn’t you talk to anyone else? Friends? A doctor?’

‘A doctor? Not that time. As for friends, how should I make friends? I didn’t want to make friends. We hardly ever entertained, thank God. When we did, it was disastrous. He brought Herr Schiller to dinner once. Trent was still working for the charter company then. I suppose he wanted to make a good impression with a view to getting more work through Schiller-Reise. Everything went wrong! We had burnt salad and raw trout I seem to recall. Trent said it didn’t matter. In fact he seemed to find it rather amusing. I thought I’d ruined his future.’

‘But you hadn’t.’

‘No,’ said Trudi sadly. ‘I should have known even then that ruining his future wasn’t an option Trent left open to anyone, especially me. Schiller came back several times, but just for drinks! Eventually Trent announced he was taking a job full-time with Schiller-Reise and we were moving to Brussels. I was delighted. Trent was giving up flying and becoming an executive. I thought he’d be home every night. It didn’t work out like that. If anything, he travelled abroad even more. So the old pattern reestablished itself. And Trent found out and got angry and ordered me to go out. And I did and it seemed to be all right. At least there weren’t all those mountain peaks threatening me. Till one day I was sitting in the Gran’ Place feeling rather proud and woman-of-the-worldish when a storm blew up. The sky went dark and swirly, there was a tremendous wind, the air seemed lurid. Everyone ran for cover, everyone except me. I couldn’t move. I knew it was me they were after …’

‘They?’

‘Them. Whatever’s outside wanting to get inside and destroy us,’ said Trudi calmly. ‘I just sat there paralysed with terror. No one paid much heed till the rain came. But after a while the sight of a woman sitting under a deluge attracted first attention, then concern. When Trent came back from that trip, he found me in hospital.’

‘What did he do? Command you to take up your bed and walk?’

‘He got me the best medical treatment money could buy,’ said Trudi, smiling. ‘I loved it. Suddenly I was the centre of Trent’s attention. When I was declared cured we moved to Paris. I felt so happy! But Trent’s job took him away as often as ever, so when one day I felt the old terror returning, I almost welcomed it! Wouldn’t it put me back at the centre of Trent’s life? Well, for a time I thought it had. But this time after the treatment was over, Trent started wondering whether it might not be better if we bought a house back in England where I wouldn’t feel so isolated. It might mean our separations would be longer, but at least I’d be among “my own folk”. I don’t know if he meant it as a threat or a genuine kindness. All I know is that it was the last thing I wanted. So I took it as a threat and became a changed woman!’

‘How the hell do you change something like that?’ asked Janet.

‘Don’t forget, I had medication, I had relaxation exercises, I had self-help psycho-programmes too. I put up a pretty good show of normality.’

‘But if you were cured, you were normal!’

‘Oh no. Normal people look at relationships critically. All I wanted was to make sure I stayed with Trent. He was my atmosphere. Take him away and there was that awful vacuum waiting to suck me up. So I took great care of myself. When I went out, I was always ready to head for home at the first hint of fear. I refused to even try to make friends. All I wanted was to please Trent when he was home and not to displease him when he was away.’

‘But you never hinted at any of this when you wrote,’ said Janet. ‘Your letters were …’

‘Dull? Just what you expected from me, I bet. I was leading a dull life, remember.’

‘But all those years! What did you do? How did you pass the time?’

Trudi laughed and drank some more. ‘Come on Jan. Add up the individual bits of your own life – anyone’s life – and you’ll find the majority of it is dull, routine, mechanical stuff. But there were things I did, partly to keep Trent happy that I wasn’t drifting around like a zombie and partly to stop me doing just that. Like you said, we lived in some pretty glamorous places. I did go out to the theatre, cinema, galleries, museums. I even took courses, pretty basic O-level type things at first, but eventually I aimed higher. History, literature, whatever was available wherever we were, by correspondence mainly, though I did occasionally have discussions over the phone. Eventually I got up to degree level; there, that surprises you!’

‘My God, you’ve got letters after your name!’

‘Oh no. I never actually took the final exams. I set out once, but halfway there I changed my mind. I don’t think it was agoraphobia, just a terror of finding out how thick I really was.’

‘Come off it. Thick you’re not.’

‘Oh yes I am,’ said Trudi grimly. ‘I managed to lead this odd half life for more than twenty years and kid myself I was happy. And for what?’

‘For … well, for happiness!’ urged Janet. ‘Everyone compromises. Don’t exaggerate your own compromise. You’d have gone on with it, wouldn’t you? You’d have lived happily ever after if that dreadful accident hadn’t happened, wouldn’t you? All right, now you think you’re awake. But the thing is, was the other state totally bad?’

‘I think so. But the thing really is, how much longer was I going to be allowed to stay what you call happy, anyway?’

‘What do you mean?’

Trudi hesitated, then thought: come on, don’t be coy, you’ve gone too far to head back for home this time!

She said baldly, ‘Trent was having an affair. I think he was planning to leave me.’

‘Good God, girl! What are you saying? I mean, why are you saying it?’ said Janet in an agitated tone.

‘Lots of reasons,’ said Trudi. ‘Lots and lots of reasons.’

It was rather pleasant, she discovered, to have Janet’s undivided attention and she paused, savouring the feeling as her friend regarded her with an expression of surprise bordering on shock.

‘I should’ve guessed,’ she resumed. ‘But I never looked beyond the nose on my face, did I? Quitting his job without telling me and bringing me back to England! It’s obvious he had something better to go to and he wasn’t taking me with him. He was kind enough to think I’d be better off being dumped here than back in Vienna. Or perhaps he planned eventually to go back to Vienna and didn’t want me still to be there. Yes, I bet that’s it. Not kindness. I mean, it was hardly kindness to leave me with a measly four thousand pounds. The rest of the money’s probably been transferred somewhere. I wonder if that bitch has managed to get her hands on it!’

‘What bitch?’ asked Janet, her voice still faint from surprise.

Now Trudi told her about Astrid Fischer. Her friend sank back into her chair.

‘So that was what that trip was all about!’ she said. ‘What a nerve, turning up at the funeral like that!’

‘I suppose Trent dying was as big a shock for her as it was for me,’ said Trudi. ‘Not as big a shock as I’m going to give her, though.’

Janet said, ‘You’re going to see her?’

‘Why not?’ said Trudi. ‘I’ve got to go back to Vienna. I want to get a certificate of health or something from Trent’s doctor and I’ve got to sort out the furniture in store there. I’ll sell most of it, I think. I need the money. And I think I may just call in on Fraulein Fischer and see what she has to say for herself. At the very least, the bitch can be a witness that Trent was parked safely off the road!’

If she expected applause from Janet, she didn’t get it. She poured herself another drink and said, ‘What’re you looking so disapproving about?’

‘Not disapproving. Just wondering if it’s worth the hassle, girl. Trent’s dead. Either she loved him, in which case she’s had her share of pain too. Or she didn’t. In which case, what’s the point of dragging it all out now? Forget it. You’ll just upset yourself.’

Trudi burst out, ‘What do you mean, forget it? If it was you, would you forget it? No! It’s just that you reckon I’m not up to it! Well, I’ll show you. You’re not the only one who can make decisions, girl! I might even give that dating agency of yours a go while I’m at it!’

She tossed her drink back dramatically and began to cough.

‘Take it easy,’ laughed Janet. ‘I don’t think you’re ready for the Lewis Agency just yet.’

‘Why?’ coughed Trudi. ‘How long did you wait?’

‘Not long,’ admitted Janet. ‘But it was different. Alan and I had been drifting apart for years.’

‘And Trent and I hadn’t?’ said Trudi bitterly.

‘Had you?’

‘I don’t know! That’s the dreadful thing, Jan. I really don’t know anything about our relationship. I don’t know what he saw in me, why he wanted to marry me, why he stayed married to me! All these things I ought to know better than anyone. I don’t! I bet you know more about me than I do myself, Jan! What does that make me? Where’ve I been? What sort of life have I led?’

For a second it looked as if Janet might be ready to take her question seriously. But then she smiled wryly and swung her legs off the arm of the sofa and on to the floor.

Standing up, she looked down at Trudi and said, ‘Not one where you got used to drinking, that’s clear. A little lie-down’s the best thing for you. Go on now! I’ll see to the clearing up.’

Trudi protested but Janet bossed her out of the room. In a last assertion of independence she paused in the doorway and said, ‘But I will go to that agency, you’ll see.’

‘All right, we’ll see,’ grinned Janet. ‘Now you sleep on it.’

So Trudi slept on it. In her sleep for the first time in weeks the dream came: the flight from Trent, the slow footsteps to the door, the handle turning; and the locked door slowly opening to admit her death.

She awoke, sweating and trembling. Why had the dream come back now? For the first time she also asked herself, Why should I dream of Trent at all in this way? Why would he hurt me in death when he never hurt me in life!

And then she remembered and thought, oh yes, you did, you bastard. Yes, you did!

Part Three

Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste, An’ weary winter comin’ fast, An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,

Thou thought to dwell,

’Till crash! the cruel coulter past

Out thro’ thy cell.

BURNS: To a Mouse

1

The Sheffield branch of the Lewis Agency was situated at the top of a time-blackened building in a tall Victorian terrace not far from the squat Victorian cathedral.

There was no lift, and Trudi laboured up the stairs passing other offices en route, a debt collecting agency on the first floor, an insurance broker’s on the second, a typing and secretarial bureau on the third. Two girls were standing outside this door, chattering like house sparrows, but they fell silent at her approach and did not resume their giggling conversation till she went by, face burning with the certainty that they had guessed her destination. Only pride prevented her from retreating there and then. It was pride, or rather a kind of stubborn pique, that had brought her here in the first place. There had been no more mention of the dating agency till Trudi had been packing to leave. Then Janet had casually tossed her a slim brochure and said, ‘You were asking about this, remember?’

It had been the Lewis Agency’s hand-out. It was a smallish northern business, limited mainly to large towns in Lancashire and Yorkshire. The Sheffield address had been underlined in red.

The blurb claimed that the agency was based on sound scientific principles but it still relied on human judgment rather than computer print-outs for matching its clients. While not specifically a marriage bureau, it aimed at a clientele who were looking for serious relationships, rather than just casual dates.

Trudi and Janet weren’t meeting till the first week of the New Year. Determined that her friend should not have the satisfaction of getting the expected negative response to her casual enquiry if the brochure had been of any use, Trudi had rung up the agency on New Year’s Eve. A woman called Fielding had answered in a most businesslike way and Trudi’s vague general enquiries had been swiftly translated into a firm appointment the following Wednesday morning before her lunch date with Janet. She had sat up alone that night, toasted the New Year and gone to bed, hopeful that she would wake up in the morning a new woman.

Now here she was, the same old nervous neurotic, labouring up the last flight of stairs and wondering what the hell she was getting into.

A few minutes later she felt rather better, mainly because Mrs Fielding was such a pleasant surprise. A comfortably plump woman of perhaps sixty with rosy cheeks and white, uncontrollably curly hair, she sat behind a desk even more untidy than her hair and cheerfully proffered a cup of tea just brewed with the help of an electric kettle and an old brown teapot. If this was a demonstration that new scientific methods had not been introduced at the expense of the personal touch, it worked.

After some preliminary chat which may or may not have been searching, Mrs Fielding said, ‘Shall we get down to it, Mrs Adamson?’ and extracted a blank form from the autumnal heap of papers before her.

It all proved very painless. When she hesitated about her age, Mrs Fielding said cheerfully, ‘Knock a couple of years off. Everyone does it, so if you don’t, you’ll just end up being taken for two years older than you are.’

After her own details came the details of what she was looking for. These seemed to form a fairly bland recipe when Mrs Fielding checked through them with her.

Age, forty-five to fifty-five. Height, not less than five feet nine inches. Build, preferably well made but not fat. Non-smoker. Social drinker. Professional man. Generally middlebrow. Should like plays and music, but not too abstract or intellectual; town dweller, country lover; knowledgeable about food and wine, but not pretentious …

As Mrs Fielding droned on, Trudi found herself thinking with amusement how fussy a penniless widow in her mid-forties imagined she could be! She was able to feel amused because none of this seemed real, it had all assumed the dimensions of a game.

Even when she handed over the registration fee and signed a form agreeing to the payment of a further sum for each introduction that went beyond a first meeting, she could not feel it was real.

It was only when she had descended the now empty stairs and regained the open air that the sound of traffic and the sight of people walking along the busy pavements brought back reality. She felt a sudden inrush of panic at what she had done. What if somewhere out there was a man who fitted the pattern of her imagined requirements exactly? What if there were dozens of them?

She didn’t have to meet anyone, she told herself firmly. That was quite clear. She didn’t have to meet anyone.

That stemmed the panic for a moment but it came back tenfold as she walked away, running over in her mind what had been said and written during the interview, and suddenly it dawned on her with terrifying clarity that what she had drawn in the limits of that stereotyped form was a blueprint for Trent.

Janet’s unconcealed amazement almost made it all worthwhile. Typically, however, once she got over the surprise, she launched an armada of good advice.

‘First time, always meet somewhere public. Don’t let him pick you up or anything like that. I did that with one and he was over the doorstep, flashing his teeth and God knows what else, before I could say hello!’

‘Oh Jan! Not really?’ said Trudi, amused and horrified at the same time.

‘No, not really,’ Janet reassured her. ‘But really enough to be worth taking care over. So, somewhere in public. Inside, not out. You don’t want to risk hanging around in the rain, catching cold. Somewhere that you can sit around without attracting notice. Hotel bar rather than a pub, perhaps, though either’s a bit chancy.’

‘How?’

‘Well, I was approached by this chap in a hotel bar when I was waiting once; he fitted the general description, so I gave a big smile and chatted away merrily and thought that maybe I’d struck lucky till he suddenly produced the key of his room, asked me how much and whether I took American Express!’

‘Janet!’

‘Sorry. Joking again, but it was almost like that. Hey, what are we worrying about? Here. Here’s the ideal place! Lots of people, but wide open, very mixed population. And it’s familiar ground.’

‘Here’ was the open-plan bar-foyer of the Crucible, Sheffield’s civic theatre, where the two friends often came either for coffee or for a lunch-time drink and snack.

‘Now, one thing you’ve got to recognize, Trudi, is that men lie. Even more than us. We may trim our ages a bit, but men lie about everything. So you’ve got to use your eyes and your ears. He may say he’s a brain-surgeon on eighty thousand pounds per annum basic, but check his shirts for frayed cuffs. Have a close look at his shoes. Big money buys real leather. Check his mouth. If his dental jobs have been done by some NH jockey on piece-work, it shows. Ask him to spell pericranium. Tell him you’re doing a crossword or something.’

‘But what if he’s a radical brain-surgeon who likes gardening, has no interest in clothes and can’t spell?’ said Trudi.

‘Drop him,’ said Janet with a shudder. ‘You’re like me, dear. Too old for radicals. Next thing. No body contact. Shaking hands is the limit. Nudges, squeezes, accidental brushes, they deserve one warning. Hand up your skirt or erection against your bum, that’s it. Walk away.’

‘With his hand up my skirt?’ said Trudi. ‘That could be awkward.’

She was still surprised to discover how lively she could be in Janet’s company. The renewal of their girlhood friendship had not after all simply meant a renewal of the dormouse – cat relationship. Perhaps those years of catatonic domesticity had been a necessary fallowness rather than a needless waste.

Janet said, suddenly serious, ‘Trudi, joking apart, are you sure this is for you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The agency. Meeting men like this. It’s a step in the dark in a way. Are you sure you’re ready for it? I mean, it’s really no time at all …’

‘You mean it’s only five months since Trent died, and am I really such a callow, unfeeling cow as to put myself back on the market so quickly?’

‘No! I didn’t mean that, you know I didn’t,’ Janet protested.

‘Yes, I know,’ said Trudi. ‘But I wonder about it myself, Jan, so there’s no reason why you shouldn’t wonder it too. The way it seems to me, looking back, is that it was almost inevitable, like a good play I mean. If it had happened while I was still in Vienna, comfortable, secure, almost torpid, God knows what the effect would have been. But I’d been suddenly uprooted and dumped here at a moment’s notice, in a strange town, in a strange house, without even my own furniture to keep me company. It was like being woken up out of hibernation to find it’s still winter! And then, Trent’s death. It was as if I had been nudged towards it somehow. God help me, it almost nudged me over the edge. If you hadn’t come along …’

‘You’d still have spewed up and been all right,’ said Janet sensibly.

‘Perhaps. But it wasn’t grief that got me to that point; it was selfish terror, I think. Just as violent in its effect, but not so long-lasting.’

She fell into an introspective silence and Janet said, ‘Well, that wasn’t what I meant anyway. I just meant that maybe you’re not, well, tough enough to be doing this. I mean, it’s all right for the bold, brash types like me …’

‘But I thought that the whole idea of marriage agencies was to help the shy, the timid, the socially static?’ said Trudi ironically. ‘What you really mean is, if things go disastrously wrong, you don’t want to feel responsible.’

‘All right. That’s what I really mean.’

‘You won’t be,’ said Trudi. ‘Janet, don’t take me wrong, but a good reason for me to do this is that I want to be responsible for myself. Or rather, I can feel something in me that’s crying out desperately to find someone else who’ll take the responsibility off me, and I’ve got to be careful not to let that happen, not like it happened before. I can’t afford another twenty years, not at my age!’

‘But I don’t understand. Why go looking for another man at all if you’re so worried about someone taking over and making your decisions for you?’ queried Janet.

Trudi smiled and took her friend’s hand.

‘Darling,’ she said. ‘At the moment I haven’t got another man, and sufficient be the evil, etc. At the moment I’m afraid I’m talking about you!’

She squeezed Janet’s hand to remove any offence and went on, ‘And to start with, in this bold new bid for independence, I’m breaking our date on Saturday.’

‘Oh, hoity-toity! The Lewis Agency have fixed you up already, have they?’

‘Nothing so dull,’ said Trudi, smiling. ‘And I did tell you. I’m spending a couple of days in Vienna, that’s all.’

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