Fay Weldon - A Hard Time to Be a Father

‘I don’t believe you,’ said Miss Oslo eventually. ‘George and I are totally open with one another in sexual matters. If there was anything to tell me, he would have discussed it with me.’

‘Disloyalty takes all forms,’ said Stella. ‘What you citizens of Oslo have to fear is not the enemy without, but the enemy within. It’s not the Russians creeping down from the tundra, or the Germans seeping up from the lowlands; it’s the serpent in your bosom, the snake you saved from the cold. George writes to me to say he wishes to marry Camilla; but he does not know how to break it to you.’

‘You’re lying,’ said Miss Oslo, white as a sheet: she had run her hand through her hair, and wisps had escaped from their confining band.

‘I wrote to him; why! I said, just to be honest about it, civilised. Do it in Camilla’s presence. Explain to her that her relationship with you is finished, dead. Your turn, Miss Oslo, to stand on the balcony, and try to breathe. Tora is so close to his father, from what you say, no doubt he’ll choose to live with his father and his new mother, not you and your no one.’

Some six or seven of the children had coins in their hands: they ran them in patterns over the car: the paint on bonnet and doors split, blistered and flaked as in their poison hands the sharp metal edges of the coins crissed and crossed. The children laughed to see the damage. Lothar reached for the gun in the glove compartment. He pointed it at the circling enemy, first this side then that. The children laughed louder and jeered and pointed. Either they thought the gun was a toy or they didn’t care what happened next. That last was the most frightening thing.

‘What goes around, comes around,’ said Stella, upstairs. ‘As life goes by, it becomes apparent there is some justice in it.’ Miss Oslo wept.

The leader of the boys leaned over and pressed his face, gargoyle-like, against the windscreen of the BMW. Lothar screamed aloud in fear and fired the gun; the bullet hit against toughened glass, failed to pierce it: instead ricocheted around the inside of the car, bouncing off walls and seat backs and dashboard, finally hitting and lodging in Lothar’s right shoulder. He screamed again, and the children scattered, scared off by noise, and running feet, and the wail of approaching police cars. By the time the ambulance had arrived, there was no sign of the children. Lothar freed the locks with his one usable hand, and even that was bloody. Someone opened the car door, and helped him out.

Stella came out of the apartment block in time to see the commotion: Lothar saw her and called out, but Stella could see it was not in her interests to be involved. She didn’t cross the road to him, but turned away and walked swiftly round the corner and out of sight.

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