The Little House Read online

  He nodded. Her speech was getting worse; she sounded drunk.

  ‘I’m sure you shouldn’t be mixing them with gin,’ he said.

  She chuckled. ‘You’re an old woman,’ she said. ‘Now shut up and tell me the gossip. What story were you covering, and how much did you have to do? Is the Bath studio still in the bottom of the council cellar? Is the mad caretaker still there who won’t let you in unless you show your driving licence?’

  David nodded. ‘Yes, she’s still there. I’ve been there three times in the last fortnight and she pretends not to recognize me. I say, “Hello, Mrs Armitage,” and she says, “Name?” just like that, and I have to sign in. It was a vote about selling a school playing field to a supermarket. I did a nice package for Westerly and I’ve sold it.’

  She smiled. She felt as if he were far away, a charming, once-beloved friend. ‘And what were you doing before – on the other three times in the studio?’

  ‘Planning inquiry – a new bypass. And a Farmers Union meeting. Ruth-’

  Her eyelids were drooping. ‘Yes?’

  ‘You look half asleep.’

  ‘It’s the baby,’ she said drowsily. ‘Every time I fall asleep he wakes up. I think he knows it. When he’s up at the farm he sleeps all the time. But when he’s with me he does it in half-hour shifts.’

  ‘It’s not the baby,’ he said. ‘You’re completely out of it.’

  She giggled sleepily. ‘I wish I was,’ she said. ‘Completely out of it. Completely. Out. It.’

  Her head was dropping towards the table.

  ‘Ruth …’ he said urgently.

  ‘Your round,’ she said. She folded her arms on the table, and to his horror she slumped lower and lower until her head was resting on her forearms. ‘Nighty night,’ she said. Her smile, half hidden by the sleeve of her smock, was her old mischievous smile. ‘Sorry, David, I’m a complete goner.’

  He went to shake her but she was already asleep. For a moment he looked at her with tenderness, and then he realized that she was stranded in the pub with him, with no way of getting home.

  ‘Ruth!’ he said urgently, and shook her shoulder.

  She slumped to one side. She was clearly not going to wake. He glanced uncomfortably to the bar; the barman was watching him.

  It suddenly occurred to David that she might be seriously ill. He did not know how many Amitriptyline she had taken, nor if she had taken more than the two gins he had seen her drink. ‘Christ!’ he said.

  He shook her again, more urgently. She was completely limp. He let her fall gently towards the table and went up to the bar. There was nothing to do but face the music.

  ‘Watch her,’ he said flatly to the barman. ‘I’m getting my car up to the door and I’ll drive her home.’

  ‘Pissed?’ the barman asked.

  ‘She’s ill,’ David said loftily. ‘She’s on antibiotics and she shouldn’t have mixed them with drinks. I’ll take her home.’

  The barman raised an eyebrow. ‘She won’t remember a thing then,’ he said suggestively.

  ‘Christ,’ David said again miserably, and went out to fetch his car.

  The barman had to help him lift Ruth into the front seat. Her legs had completely gone. David thought that in all their times of comradely drinking he had never seen her completely out of control. He missed, with a brief passionate pang of nostalgia, Ruth’s giggly drunkenness, he remembered her howling with laughter and clinging to his arm.

  ‘Christ,’ he said again and started the car.

  He knew he had to take her home, and he dreaded meeting Patrick. He drove to the cottage in a mood of stoical dread, but when he drew up outside the little house and saw the drive empty of cars and the door shut he realized that it would be worse than that – he would have to take her to her mother-in-law’s house.

  ‘This is a fucking nightmare,’ he said precisely to the windscreen. He shook her gently. ‘Ruth, Ruth!’

  Her head dropped back, her jaw dropped open. Again he was afraid. He thought that for all he knew she might be sliding into a coma caused by a drug overdose. He thought of Elizabeth’s air of calm competence and he felt a great longing to hand over the whole problem to her. Besides, she was baby-sitting Thomas, and she would have to know that Ruth could not collect him. He gritted his teeth and turned down the drive towards Manor Farm.

  It was worse than he could have predicted, for when Elizabeth opened the dark front door he saw Patrick in the hall behind her.

  ‘I’m dreadfully sorry,’ he said. ‘Ruth is with me, and I think she’s ill.’

  Patrick exclaimed and came quickly past his mother out to the car.

  ‘We were at the Green Man,’ David said to Elizabeth. Her steady gaze never wavered. ‘She had two gins, and I know she took at least one Amitriptyline. I think she’d had some before she came out. I’m afraid she’s ill. Perhaps you should call a doctor.’ He spoke precisely; he felt quite sick with embarrassment.

  Patrick came up the shallow steps with Ruth in his arms. David shrank back.

  ‘Put her in the yellow bedroom. I’ll come up in a moment.’

  Patrick nodded grimly and climbed the stairs. He ignored David completely.

  Elizabeth’s face was full of sympathy. ‘Thank you for bringing her home,’ she said. ‘We’ve been worried. We didn’t know where she’d gone or what she was doing.’

  ‘She was quite safe,’ David said awkwardly.

  Elizabeth came out with him to his car. ‘Does she often drink to excess?’ she asked gently.

  ‘Never!’ David exclaimed.

  ‘You’ve never seen her drunk before?’

  ‘Well … we’ve been friends a long time,’ he said. ‘We were at college together. We all used to drink then … and in the old days, when we were working, we might have a drink after work, we used to drink a bit then … but everyone did … after work you know … after a tough day …’ he sounded as if he were making excuses.

  She nodded gravely. ‘So this is nothing new.’

  ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ David said. ‘But it’s not how it looks.’

  Her silence was worse than an interrogation.

  ‘We’re just friends,’ David said. ‘Very good friends. I’m very fond of her. But that’s all. She’s always been in love, madly in love, with Patrick.’

  Elizabeth nodded. ‘Is she still?’

  David was about to swear that nothing had changed, but then he remembered Ruth in the pub saying that men were like women on Amitriptyline – cut off from life, insensate.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said honestly. ‘She’s not like herself at all.’

  Elizabeth lowered her voice; David leaned closer to hear.

  ‘We are thinking that she needs a complete rest,’ she said. ‘A complete break.’

  David felt an intense sense of relief that someone else would deal with the problem.

  ‘Do you think that would be a good idea?’ Elizabeth asked him. Her anxious scrutiny of his face assured him that his opinion was of material importance. ‘Do you think that would be the best thing for her?’

  ‘Yes,’ David said. ‘Yes, I think so. She can’t go on like this.’

  Elizabeth nodded. ‘I’ll see if I can find somewhere that she can go, and get her booked in at once then,’ she said. ‘But if she calls you – or writes –’ she paused.

  David waited.

  ‘You wouldn’t take her away, or visit without telling us, would you? Even if she asked you. If she has a drink problem or a drug problem she must stick it out. You will help her stay there, won’t you? Even if she calls you and wants to leave?’

  ‘Jesus,’ David said miserably.

  Elizabeth touched his hand. ‘I am sorry to have to ask for your help,’ she said. ‘But you are her only friend. If she were to turn to you we have to know that you would do the best for her – which isn’t always the easiest thing to do.’

  David nodded. ‘If she calls me, or writes, I’ll let you know,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t w