February, 16th
Bessy:
I am out of work again. I'm not exactly surprised, they told me it would be just a month and there was no more to it.
Not having to go to work allowed me to attend Margaret's mother's funeral yesterday, where I saw Mr. Thornton... I thought about asking him for a job again, but a burial is not a place or time to do it. What I did do was to tell him I would like to speak to him but I'm not sure he heard me.
I'm torn regarding Margaret. There is something she should know but I don't want to worry her right now, when her mum has just died. Two rich people overdosed last week and the Police is on the track of this side of Milton's drug dealers, "Mickey Mouse" among them, as well as the people who buys from them. I just hope they leave her alone.
And I might be selfish but I am worried for myself too. It was me who gave her the number, and I don't want to get myself in trouble. I'm just terrified they might take Phil away from me.
February, 17th
Frederick:
It's 4.00 PM and I've already packed all my things. Tomorrow morning I'm flying back to Cádiz and my pregnant wife. I can't wait to be with her again and bury my face in her curly hair, feeling her taut and round body against mine. Her company is the promise of leaving behind all the sadness of this place and I'm more sorry for my father and sister than for myself.
I go down to the living room, where they are in silence. He is sitting, eyes fixed on the fire, she's standing near the window with a jewelry box in her hand, looking for a medal of the Virgin Mary for my child to be given at birth. I haven't lived with them for many years but they haven't changed all that much.
My father has kept lean and usually stands upright, physically looking much as I do though I'm taller by a few inches. He still dresses like a professor: pleated flannel trousers, tweed jacket (though he never abided to the elbow patch rule), V-neck sweater over rigurous white cotton shirt and tie, and leather tied shoes. He's always preferred brown to grey or blue, or maybe that was my mother's taste.
My sister still prefers skirts and dresses over trousers, and now is wearing a grey and pink cable knit dress that looks like a large sweater but isn't baggy or shapeless. Margaret would never look slovenly. The dress covers her knees, where it meets thick grey tights that go all the way down to ballerina clad feet. Her hair is longer than I remembered it and I think she has lost some weight, unsurprisingly I guess.
I complete the tableau in a more informal attire; dark denim, wool red windbreaker and loafers.
This morning my father informed that one of his students (Mr. John Thornton, whom I'd met briefly on a previous visit), would come this afternoon. He arrives after I came from upstairs and I open the door for him. After accepting his condolences I lead him to the room where my father sits.
He comes up straight to him and takes and wrungs my father's hands without uttering a word, for a minute or two, during which time my father's face acknowledges the sincerity of the sentiment. Then he turns to my sister (I know they don't get along very well) and offers his condolences. She accepts them with a nod of the head and returns her attention to her box, although I see her wiping a tear with a handkerchief and facing away from us and to the wall.
My father and his guest sit, and Margaret and I go to the kitchen to prepare tea. We return with the tray and join them. John, as my father calls him, asks me about my job as urban planner and my wife, and is generally polite. His comments and opinions seem to please and comfort my father, and when he's ready to leave my father begs him to stay a little longer.
The bell rings again and Margaret goes this time. A man comes in, she takes him to our father's study and closes the door. They spend about fifteen minutes there. Then he leaves and Margaret returns to the meeting as pale, bleary eyed and subdued as she had left.
Margaret:
Mr. Thornton is having tea with us and since I don't partake in the conversation I answer when the door bell rings. An unknown man in dark blue wool jacket stands there.
-"Margaret Hale? Detective Simon MacGregor from the Metropolitan Police's Organized Crime Unit. May I have a word with you?"
My heart just sinks to my feet and I struggle to keep my cool, which now is more like ice.
-"Of course. Come in, please." I lead him to the study while my mind buzzes. I don't want to give Bessy in or admit any wrong doing. I decide I will pretend it never happened and I will make him regret the impertinence of interrupting a mourning family.
The interview is excruciating. I don't think I moved a facial muscle, foreign to this man's problem. Apparently some people of influence died as a consequence of drug consumption and now the Police is investigating. Of course, when it's regular or poor people the ones who die it doesn't matter.
The man who sold me the pills has been captured and he named his clients, me among them. He didn't have my name but he described me, and apparently someone I don't know thinks they saw me that day at the park but weren't too sure.
What I did, I did it for my mother. She's dead now. The dealer is in jail. The remaining pills were promptly flushed down the toilet. I know that lying to a police officer is an offense, but there isn't much I could help here anyway. This MacGregor man gives me a card "in case I remember something" and tells me he might visit again.
After closing the door after him I rejoin the men near the fire, but facing Mr. Thornton the bitter taste in my mouth is so overwhelming that I'm positively sick. I am sure Mr. Thornton didn't get his business running by lying to police officers, by mingling with traders of death, by dismissing people's true value. He's too proud, too straight and too clear minded to fall in the dirt like I did.
He said I was a beautiful person but he was wrong. The walls of this house have heard enough form my lips to prove exactly the contrary.
Note: The original visit is told from Mr. Thornton's point of view, and I find this scene poignant without being melodramatic. Ch. 34 "False and True".