No, no. You go ahead, she said.
He was aware how comfortable he felt with her and told her what he’d done to Ted on the ward.
Non-violent action is the only way, said Mrs Kaur.
I’m a long way from that, he said. My wife was frightened of me.
Did you give her reason to be?
I never hit her.
That’s not what I asked.
Yeah, she had reason to be.
I’m not frightened of you, Mr Formiloe. So, there at least is progress.
Col drank his whisky. He said, I need to get Peg to Cress and Temps for a bit. Reckon you could look after Ginny again, Mrs Kaur?
Always my pleasure—
And I’ll find someone to manage the pub.
I can manage the pub, said Mrs Kaur.
You?
The pub and Ginny, both, yes.
You could handle that?
Mrs Kaur stared at him. She said, I was widowed twenty-five years ago, Mr Formiloe. In a place not my home. I have a thriving convenience store. I also have one in Leeds and I’m looking to open one in Southall. I support my family in the Punjab. I pray. I give shelter to people like me who came to this country to help people like you. In the tradition of langar, I often feed thirty people a night. I do not drink alcohol but neither do I judge those that do. A pub, Mr Formiloe, I can handle.
Col thought she was magnificent. He gave her the spare set of keys and went to the telephone.
God knows how Col managed it, but he got to Italy in a matter of days. Foot down all the way, the ambulance became a right old boneshaker, straining at the 60-mph leash. Peg was mostly quiet, head buffered by a pillow against the window, looking at the landscape. The movement of the sun and clouds and birds transfixed her and sometimes she sighed deeply and Col said, You OK, Peg? And Peg said, Yeah, I’m OK, Col.
And at about 4 p.m., the 1930s ambulance spluttered into the square for the last time, screaming and wailing with the bonnet steaming. Col cut the engine and the van rolled to a deathly stop. Here we are, said Col.
Through the windscreen, Peg could see Cress and Temps waiting for her. Formally posed with hands clasped in front and heads at a slight tilt. Like they were waiting for a hearse. And there, standing behind them, Alys. A brief collision of eyes before Peg looked away.
You ready? said Col. Give me a minute, said Peg.
Course, and he climbed out and stretched. Peg heard Ulysses say, All right, Col? and she watched the two men embrace.
She could have stayed in that van for the rest of the day, just her watching the world pass by. Not participating, not commentating, not caring, just removed. Cress always said she’d end up with them eventually. Cress and his ley lines. Peg took out her compact and looked in the mirror. She began to powder the bruising, get herself ready to bring the curtain up on the Peggy show, but she suddenly noticed that Alys had gone back inside and she put the compact away. No-show due to unforeseen circumstances. She opened the door and climbed out shakily.
She stood blinking in the brittle light of a February afternoon. Ulysses’ arms were open to her and his sweet sorrowful eyes, and there was no clack clack clack of Peggy’s tune, just heels in hand and stockings on stone, and a swing of those hips because that’s just the way it was. Oh, he smelt so sweet, so kind. Cress was choked and he moved towards her, but Peg cut him off at the pass and said, Don’t you dare go soft on me, old fella. I don’t have the strength for you and me both right now.
That gave Cress a shot of the masterfuls.
You lean on me, Peg, and I’ll lead the way, he said.
Col and Ulysses fetched the suitcases.
You look good, Col, last thing Peg heard as she climbed the stairs.
Peg went straight to her room. Lay in bed and listened to them all outside, the tiptoeing and the hush-hush as they passed by her door. Hours governed by bells and the shift of light and she slept.
One time, she was briefly aware of Alys standing in the doorway. But she didn’t move, too ashamed she was to acknowledge her. That see-saw tug in their guts that would never let them go. And the men stayed away. Kept a wide berth and she wondered what bright spark had set that in motion. Temps, of course. Could almost hear him saying, Peg needs women now and not us. Even you, Pete, he added.
In and out, in and out she faded, and it was the out she sought. No more pills and yet the pain ran deep. Ted the game she thought she knew the rules of. She got tired and he got meaner. She got small and he got richer. Looked about one day and he was the only one in the room. Sleep, Peg, sleep.
Alys sat on the floor of her mother’s room with a sketchbook on her lap. Her scrutiny was not loud and the sound of a pencil moving across the page was soft. Peg wouldn’t have agreed to this in waking life, but this was what Alys needed, not Peg, because in the space between artist and sitter could be found understanding and forgiveness and maybe love.