Уильям Николсон - Motherland

‘I’m so sorry, Nell. I’m so, so sorry.’

‘Are you, darling?’

Her gentle voice is back.

‘What happened? When did it happen?’

‘Almost two weeks ago now.’

‘What about your trip?’

‘There wasn’t any trip. Don’t keep asking me questions, darling. It’s been beastly, but I just tell myself it’s over now.’

‘You poor, poor sweetheart. And there I’ve been, making it all worse. You should have told me.’

‘Well, I’ve told you now.’

They retreat to the bed, not for sex, but for mutual comfort. They lie there, curled in each other’s arms, like babes in the wood. The child that existed for so short a time seems to lie in their arms with them like a ghost, uniting them.

‘We can have another,’ says Larry, whispering.

‘Do you want to?’

‘Of course I want to,’ he says. ‘Don’t you?’

‘I’m not sure I’m ready yet,’ she says. ‘Do you mind?’

‘No, I don’t mind.’

She’s wiser than him. When he talks of another baby it’s no more than his way of consoling her, and showing her he loves her. For him ‘another baby’ is an idea, not a reality. But she is the one whose body will carry the child. For her it’s more than an emotional gesture.

‘I want you so much to be free,’ she tells him.

It amazes him how instinctively she understands his workings. Of course the baby placed him under a certain obligation. Hadn’t he asked her to marry him? But she knew better than him that this was not a free choice. Now she gives him back his freedom. Her truthfulness and her generosity humble him.

Then he remembers the way she reached across the table at the Savoy Grill to stroke Peter Beaumont’s hand, and confusion overtakes him once more. He feels he’s being manipulated, but has no idea to what end.

‘Sometimes I don’t understand what’s happening to us,’ he says to her.

‘It doesn’t need to be understood,’ she says. ‘People either love each other or they don’t.’

‘I do love you, Nell. I’m sure of that.’

In this moment, lying with her in his arms, released by her promise of freedom, he can say the simple words.

‘And I do love you, darling,’ she replies.

For a while they stay like this, warmed by each other, silent. The immensity of the information they have exchanged has exhausted them. Then Nell pulls herself up into a sitting position and straightens her clothes.

‘I’m going to go now,’ she says.

‘When will I see you again?’

She gets up off the bed and stretches like a cat. Then she turns to him with a smile.

‘Darling Lawrence,’ she says. ‘You can see me any time you want. But do you know what I think? You’re not to be cross with me. I think what you need to do now is have a real, truthful talk with your friend Kitty. Tell her whatever it is you’ve got to tell her, and hear what she has to say to you. Because until you’ve done that, I don’t think you’re really going to be able to love anyone else, not with all of your heart.’

‘That’s not true,’ protests Larry, going pink. ‘No, that’s wrong. That’s not how it is at all. And anyway, even if it was, what’s the point? She’s married to Ed.’

‘Is she happy with Ed?’

Larry stares at Nell in consternation. It’s like hearing his own secret thoughts out loud.

‘I can’t do that, Nell.’

‘You’re quite a one for not doing things, aren’t you, Lawrence? But if you want something, you have to do something about it. It’s no good just waiting for it to fall in your lap. If you want Kitty, tell her so, and see what happens. And if it doesn’t work out, and you decide it’s me you want after all, tell me so, and see what happens.’

She gives him a soft lingering kiss on the mouth before she leaves.

‘Don’t be such a scaredy-cat, darling. Those that don’t ask don’t get.’

Towards the end of January 1947 snow begins to fall over southeast England, and it continues to fall until the land is thickly blanketed. Within two days the roads and railways have become impassable. Larry, visiting River Farm for the weekend, finds himself obliged to stay longer than he intended.

On that first weekend they go out sledging. Heavily wrapped in warm clothes, they cross the silent main road and climb the long diagonal track to the top of Mount Caburn. Ed carries the sledge. Larry holds Pamela’s hand, so that he can swing her up out of the deep drifts. Kitty follows behind, only her nose and eyes visible in the bundle of scarves and woolly hats.

The sky is clear as ice. From the top of the ridge they look out over a white world. Their breath makes clouds as they stand, panting from the climb through shin-deep snow, marvelling at the view.

‘It’s like the whole world is starting again,’ says Kitty. ‘All young and unwrinkled.’

‘Are we to go right to the top?’ says Ed. ‘I have a tremendous urge to ride the sledge down the front of Caburn.’

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ says Kitty.

The south face of Caburn drops steeply down to the valley, too steep for the shepherds and their sheep to climb. The tracks are all up the gentler sides of the Down.

‘Want to sledge!’ cries Pammy. ‘Want to sledge!’

Even here the slope is of some concern.

‘It’ll be all right if we run sideways,’ says Ed, volunteering to test the ground.

He lays the sledge on the snow and sits on it. He rocks his upper body back and forth, and away he goes. For a few minutes he proceeds sedately across the hillside. Then the sledge tips on a snow-covered ridge and he topples off to one side. The onlookers cheer.

Ed comes trudging back, caked with snow, dragging the sledge. Kitty brushes snow off his hair and eyebrows.

‘Why aren’t you wearing a hat, you foolish man?’

‘Me, me, me!’ cries Pammy.

The little girl has her turn, squealing with excitement, Ed loping along beside the sledge on the downhill side, holding the rope. When she in her turn tumbles off he scoops her up out of the snow and sits her back on the sledge and tows it up to the others. The collar of her coat is thick with snow, and there’s snow all down her neck, but she’s jumping with the excitement of it.

‘Your turn, Larry,’ says Ed, giving him the rope.

‘Me, me, me!’ cries Pammy.

‘I’ll share,’ says Larry.

He sits on the sledge, and Pammy sits between his knees, little arms gripping his thighs. Ed gives them a push off. All the way down Pammy carols with joy, and Larry tries with outstretched gloved hands to control their direction and speed. The cold wind on his face stings his cheeks and makes his eyes water. The eager child wriggles and shouts between his legs. The sledge lurches and sways, steadily gathering speed. There are no brakes, no way of stopping, other than tumbling off into the snow.

Then Pammy isn’t shouting any more and he realises they’re going too fast. The sledge is plunging directly down the slope. The speed is thrilling and frightening. The child’s arms cling ever tighter to his thighs. The hill stretches far below, to the snow-covered roofs of the village of Glynde and the carpet of farmland beyond. Larry knows he must bring the sledge ride to a stop, but he lets them ride on for a few moments longer, captivated by the sensation of being out of control. Pammy twists her head round then and he sees the same look in her bright eyes: her first taste of the addictive drug that is danger.

Then he holds her thin body in his arms and tips them both off to one side, to tumble over and over in the deep snow. They come to a stop, dazed and snow-covered but unhurt. He brushes her face clear, and she does the same to him. The sledge too has turned over onto its side and lies just below them.