Уильям Николсон - Motherland

‘Yes,’ says Larry.

‘Oh!’ She buries her face in her hands. ‘What’s happened to you? What have you become?’

‘You’re right,’ says Larry. ‘I can’t have Kitty. Even by losing my immortal soul. But this isn’t about Kitty. It’s about me, and you.’

She waits, her face in her hands. He no longer has any doubts. Somehow his father’s death, the loss of the company, have set him free.

‘You and I must part. For my sake, and for yours. I’ll share all I have with you. I’ll give you this house. You’ll not be poor. We must each make new lives for ourselves.’

Geraldine begins to weep.

‘I’m sorry that I’m not the man you thought I was,’ says Larry. ‘I’m sorry to let you down. I’ve let many people down. I’ll try to do better in future.’

‘Please, Larry.’ The ecstasy gone now, and the bitterness. ‘Please promise me one thing. Talk to a priest.’

‘About my marriage? What does a priest know of marriage?’

‘A priest knows the mind of God.’

‘No one knows the mind of God,’ says Larry. ‘Not priests. Not the pope. Not even God. God has no mind. God is just our word for everything that is, and our hope that it has some meaning. But that’s all it is. A hope.’

‘You know you don’t believe that.’

‘Do I? Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Who knows what I believe any more? Everything’s changing.’

She says nothing. He’s not been looking at her, ashamed and afraid to meet her eyes. His whole body feels knotted and hard.

‘Larry?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m frightened.’

He looks at her then. She stands with her hands clasped before her, her head bowed, like a child come for punishment.

‘There’s no need,’ he says sadly. ‘No need.’

‘What is it that’s wrong with me? Why does no one love me?’

‘That’s not true. Not true.’

‘Why am I all alone? What have I done to deserve such a punishment? Please tell me. I’ll try not to do it again.’

‘There’s nothing, sweetheart. There’s nothing.’

No offence. No remedy. The gentleness forced out of him by pity. But it changes nothing.

‘Sometimes things don’t work out. That’s all.’

Kitty goes ahead of the others, with the girls running ahead of her.

‘Is it here?’ shouts Pamela. ‘Is it here?’

Ed and Larry come behind, carrying the baskets with the food and the rugs. The car is parked in the lane in Glynde below. They are hunting out the place where they picnicked ten years ago.

‘No,’ calls Kitty. ‘Further on. In the trees.’

It’s a golden October day, and on all sides the tawny Downs reach rolling down to the patchwork of russet fields. Kitty is happy, because Larry has come, and because Ed is light-hearted. She looks back down the hill to see them climbing slowly after her, laughing together; just as it was all those years ago.

‘Here!’ cries Elizabeth. ‘I’ve found it!’

The little girl stands on one side of the copse.

‘It’s all nettles!’ says Pamela. ‘Yuck!’

‘A little further,’ calls Kitty.

She remembers the place exactly. Nothing has changed. The trees rise up from the sloping land, their leaves more faded than they were then, but that was June and summer had just begun. She catches up with the girls and confirms the spot.

‘I found it!’ says Pamela.

‘You did not!’ says Elizabeth.

But the girls aren’t really quarrelling. They’re happy too, excited by the prospect of the picnic, and their father’s company, and Larry’s too.

The men join them, and lay out the tartan rug. Elizabeth at once sits down, right in the middle. The food comes out of the basket to whoops of delight.

‘Treacle sandwiches! Meat!’

‘It’s cold lamb, darling.’

‘Can I have cider, Mummy?’

‘No, Pamela. There’s orange squash.’

‘Are you sure this is where we came?’ says Larry.

‘Totally sure. You were over there. I was here, with Louisa here.’

‘Poor Louisa. It doesn’t seem fair.’

‘It isn’t fair,’ says Ed. ‘When will you get it into your head that life isn’t fair?’

Larry grins at Ed.

‘What was it?’ he says. ‘Impulse and glory?’

‘Something about an arrow in flight,’ says Kitty.

‘Dear God!’ exclaims Ed. ‘Did I really talk like that?’

Larry pours them all drinks and stands to make a toast.

‘My dear friends,’ he says. ‘My dear friends’ children.’

Pamela smiles up at him.

‘You are funny, Larry.’

‘You see me now, a poor bare forked animal— ’

‘You’re not bare,’ says Pamela. ‘You’ve got your clothes on.’

‘Be quiet. That’s King Lear upon the heath. He’s lost everything, just like me. No job. No father. No wife.’

‘Did King Lear have a wife?’ says Ed. ‘I suppose there must have been a Queen Lear to produce those daughters. You don’t hear much about her.’

‘For heaven’s sake!’ complains Larry. ‘Here I am baring my soul, and you keep interrupting.’

‘Go on, Larry,’ says Kitty.

‘I am the thing itself,’ says Larry, waving his mug of cider in the air. ‘Unaccommodated man. Off, off, you lendings.’ He looks down at the girls. ‘In the play he actually does take off all his clothes at this point. I’ll spare you that. My toast. Raise your glasses!’

They all do so.

‘My toast is – to freedom!’

‘To freedom!’ they cry.

Then they settle down to eat their picnic.

‘But Larry,’ says Kitty, ‘it’s terrible about your job. You loved it so.’

‘Gone,’ says Larry, his mouth full of hard-boiled egg. ‘Gone with the wind.’

‘He’s demob happy,’ says Ed. ‘It’s because he’s got away from Geraldine.’

‘Eddy!’ says Kitty.

‘You know we couldn’t stand her,’ says Ed, unashamed.

‘Geraldine was,’ says Larry, waving a fork in the air. ‘Geraldine is. Geraldine will be.’

Kitty bursts into laughter.

‘So much for Geraldine.’

‘So what are you going to do now?’ says Ed. ‘Live the life of the idle rich?’

‘Not at all,’ says Larry, indignant. ‘I’m not idle enough. And actually, I’m not rich enough. I shall find work. I shall offer the sweat of my brow.’

‘Yuck!’ says Elizabeth, looking at Pamela to check she’s got it right.

‘Well, here’s an idea,’ says Ed. ‘Kitty may have told you that my labours in the wine trade appear to have reached their natural end. So why don’t you take over? You could buy me out of the partnership. I’d have money, you’d have a job.’

‘When did you dream this up, Ed?’ says Kitty, surprised.

‘When Larry told us he’d been sacked.’

‘I don’t know anything about wine,’ says Larry.

‘Much like bananas,’ says Ed. ‘Except it grows in France, and ripens more slowly.’

‘Well, I suppose it’s worth a thought,’ says Larry. ‘But what will you do?’

‘Oh, I’ll find something.’

‘Larry,’ says Pamela, climbing onto his lap. ‘Is it true you’re not married to Geraldine any more?’

‘I won’t be soon,’ says Larry.

‘Does that mean you can marry me? When I’m older, of course.’

‘I suppose it does.’

‘You have to wait till I’m sixteen. That’s only nine years.’

‘But sweetheart, won’t I be too horribly old by then?’

‘Maybe,’ says Pamela. ‘We can decide then.’

‘Yes, I think that’s probably wise.’

‘What about me?’ says Elizabeth. ‘Who can I marry?’

‘You can marry Hugo,’ says Ed.

‘No,’ says Pamela, ‘I want Hugo as well.’

Everyone laughs except for Elizabeth.