Letters From an Unknown Woman by Gerard Woodward

Author:Gerard Woodward
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: A Herman Graf Book Arcade Publishing New York

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Bathing had usually taken place in the sitting room, in a zinc tub before the fire. Lack of access to this room now made things rather difficult. The only answer was to erect a screen across the dining room, and to bathe in privacy behind it. This seemed to be a manageable, if slightly awkward, solution to the problem, and the family quickly became used to going about their business in the dining room, while splashing and trickling noises came from behind the faded Oriental fabric of the screen. And then the bathtub disappeared.

Tory rapped loudly on Donald’s door. ‘Donald, have you got the bathtub?’

Donald’s voice came from behind the door, sounding very distant, as though the room had become enormous and he was at the far end of it.

‘I need to have a bath like the rest of you. It takes a long time to get rid of four years’ worth of dirt.’

‘Well, when are you going to bring the bath back?’

‘When I’ve finished with it.’

‘I can’t hear you.’

‘When I’ve finished with it!’

When, after three more days, the bath had not been returned, Tory asked again: ‘Donald, can we please have the bathtub back? The children need a bath.’

‘I need it.’

‘But you can’t keep it all the time. It’s not fair.’

‘I need it.’

‘How are we going to wash?’

‘You can use the sink in the kitchen.’

Mrs Head protested again, but it was useless. He simply ignored their voices.

After another week or so, he began to leave the house in the evenings. His claims of immobility turned out to be somewhat exaggerated, it seemed, and he could manage to walk all the way down the road to the Rifleman on his own, leaning heavily on his stick and swinging his stiff leg after him. He would return at half past ten, sometimes with companions, shifty-looking men in dark, pulled-down trilbys, so that only whiskery chins were visible as they shuffled after Donald into the sitting room to have the door carefully locked after them. They would stay sometimes for an hour or more, not leaving till after midnight, and sometimes rather noisily.

Tory would go downstairs and knock on the door, asking them to be quiet. Her voice would immediately silence those within. Then she would hear Donald muttering something unintelligible, which would produce laughter among the guests, to be followed by Donald calling, ‘All right, my treasure,’ to more stifled laughter.

Catching Donald in the hall one morning, she asked him who those men were. Donald looked affronted by her questioning ‘They are heroes,’ he said to her, ‘warrior-heroes, every one of them, returned from the war to build a better life for us all.’

‘Do you have to bring them home every night? I don’t like the house being full of strange men.’

‘It’s not every night, my dear. And, anyway, that is why we confine ourselves to my room, so as not to disturb anyone else …’

She had meant to ask him about the bath as well, but as always, she was brushed aside.

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