Уильям Николсон - Motherland

‘But is she still your girlfriend? Isn’t it time you settled down? How old are you, Larry?’

‘I’m twenty-eight.’

‘Leave the poor man alone, Louisa,’ says Kitty.

‘Well, you know what they say,’ says Louisa. ‘You’re not a man until you’ve planted a tree, had a son, and something else I forget.’

Louisa is desperate to have a baby, and makes no attempt to conceal it.

‘A woman, a dog and a walnut tree,’ says George, ‘the more you beat them the better they be.’

‘What on earth is he talking about?’ says Louisa.

‘Old English proverb,’ says George.

‘How extraordinary! The things he comes up with!’

Lying in bed that night, back in the room he occupied in the summer of ’42, Larry thinks to himself of the baby waiting to be born, who might indeed be a son. It seems to him that Louisa is right. He isn’t yet a man.

‘So how were your friends in Sussex?’ says Nell. ‘Did you tell them about me?’

‘We talked about you a bit,’ says Larry. ‘But I didn’t give away any secrets.’

He means about the baby.

Nell has returned from her trip looking tired and behaving restlessly. Larry shows her the paintings he’s been working on during his time away, but she only looks at them for a moment before moving on again. She makes funny little dance steps round the room, lights a cigarette, traces circles in the air with one hand.

‘Don’t you sometimes think there’s too much art in the world?’ she says.

‘Far too much,’ says Larry.

‘So what bit did you talk about?’

‘Oh, Louisa had a go at me for not settling down.’

‘Like a Labrador.’

‘Is that what Labradors do?’

‘My parents have one. He goes round and round in his basket, pawing at his blanket, and then he settles down.’

She acts it out, with such vivid mimicry that Larry laughs.

‘I can’t see myself doing that,’ he says.

‘So what excuse did you give?’

‘Oh, you know those sorts of dinner conversations. No one expects a serious answer.’

‘No, I suppose not.’

She stops pirouetting and stands looking out of the window, her back to Larry.

‘But you have more serious conversations with Kitty, I expect.’

‘Sometimes,’ says Larry.

‘What do you talk about?’

‘Ed, mostly.’

‘You talk to Kitty about Ed?’

‘Yes,’ says Larry. Nell’s voice has gone quiet and she’s become very still, as if she doesn’t want to miss a sound. ‘I’ve known Ed for ever. He can be a strange chap sometimes.’

‘What sort of strange?’

‘He goes off on walks by himself. Spends a lot of time away. He’s a bit of a brooder.’

‘He seemed rather interesting to me.’

‘He is. He’s remarkable, actually.’

‘I suppose all that going on walks by himself is hard for Kitty,’ says Nell.

‘Yes, it is a bit.’

‘And you talk to her about that.’

Larry goes and stands behind her, taking her in his arms.

‘What’s all this about?’ he says. ‘You’re not jealous of Kitty, are you?’

‘Should I be?’ says Nell.

‘No. Of course not.’

‘Why of course not? She’s very pretty. Beautiful, really.’

‘Because she’s married to my best friend.’

Nell holds herself stiff and upright, not yielding to his embrace.

‘I’m not blind, Larry,’ she says. ‘I saw how you looked at her.’

‘For God’s sake!’ He moves away. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? You do talk nonsense sometimes, Nell.’

‘There, you see,’ she says, as if he’s proved her point.

‘No, I don’t see. What am I supposed to see? That I enjoy looking at Kitty? Why wouldn’t I? She’s an old friend. What am I supposed to do? Glower at her?’

‘Why are you getting so worked up about this?’

‘Because it’s ridiculous! Because it annoys me that you even raise such silliness. You of all people! I thought you’d escaped all that conventional claptrap. You go off with Julius for two weeks and I don’t cross-question you about who you’ve been looking at or who you’ve been talking to.’

‘You can if you want.’

‘I don’t want. What I love about us is that we trust each other. You said it yourself. We don’t put each other in cages.’

Nell says nothing. Larry feels he’s proved his point, and is demonstrably right, while at the same time knowing he’s in the wrong. As a result he’s far more disturbed than he cares to admit.

Nell moves away and lights another cigarette. She stands by the window, smoking, looking out.

‘Good old fags,’ she says. ‘Something to do while we’re not talking.’

‘Oh, Nell,’ says Larry.

‘Do you feel hurt?’ she says. ‘Do you think I’m being unfair to you?’

‘Yes, I do,’ says Larry.

‘You know how I am,’ she says. ‘I’ve been the same from the start, haven’t I? All I’ve ever said to you is, don’t lie to me.’

‘How am I lying to you?’

‘I’ve never asked for promises. I’ve never tried to tie you down. We’re with each other because we love each other. There’s no other reason. If you don’t want to be with me all you have to do is say so.’

‘But I do want to be with you.’

‘More than you want to be with Kitty?’

‘Yes!’ Larry feels helpless rage growing within him. ‘Why do you keep going on about Kitty? She’s my friend, just like Ed’s my friend. Am I not to have friends now? Nothing has ever happened between me and Kitty. First she was Ed’s girl, and now she’s Ed’s wife. That’s all there is to it.’

‘Why do you keep going on about Kitty, Larry?’

‘Me!’ He waves his hands in the air with frustration. ‘Me! It’s you who’s been going on about Kitty, not me.’

‘Can you guess why?’

‘Of course I can guess why. You’re jealous of her. But I keep telling you there is nothing between me and Kitty.’

‘Still all about Kitty,’ says Nell.

‘All right! Forget Kitty! No more Kitty! She’s not important.’

His chest feels tight. He wants to hit something.

‘So what’s important, Larry?’

He gets it then, the thing that’s driving him wild. It’s the soft relentless tone, as if he’s a child who’s been set a puzzle, and she’s the teacher who wants to get him to work out the answer for himself. This has the perverse effect of making him not want to give the approved answer. He’s supposed to say, ‘You and me, that’s what’s important.’ But it won’t come out.

Instead he says, ‘It doesn’t matter. I’ve had enough of this conversation. I don’t think it’s getting us anywhere.’

‘So what do you want to do instead?’ she says.

‘I don’t know. Relax. Enjoy being with you. I haven’t seen you for two weeks.’

‘You want to go to bed?’

‘No, I don’t mean that. Well, yes, I do. But I mean just relax. Feel good together.’

‘I want that too,’ says Nell.

‘Come over here, then. Give me a kiss.’

She comes to him and they kiss, but he can feel her holding back from him. This, and the kiss, and having her in his arms, fills him with a sudden rush of desire.

‘We could go to bed,’ he says.

‘Would you mind if we didn’t?’ she says.

‘No, of course not.’

But his body minds. The more he knows he can’t have her, the more he wants her. The code of good manners sustains him. You don’t grab. You wait to be served.

‘I’m supposed to be having dinner with somebody,’ she says.

‘Who?’

‘A friend of Julius’s called Peter Beaumont. He came to your private view. He’s rich.’