Уильям Николсон - Motherland

‘Of course she’s pretty!’

‘Look.’ He takes the volume from her and finds the page in question. ‘“This black-eyed, wide-mouthed girl, not pretty but full of life”.’

‘Oh, but she’s still only a child,’ says Kitty. ‘She’s only thirteen. She grows up to be beautiful.’

February is half gone, and the wireless news is that the miners in South Wales are to work full shifts even on Sundays. Ships have finally been able to dock with cargoes of coal. There are no signs of a thaw, but the trains are running once more, and everyone is telling everyone else that the thaw must come soon.

Kitty and Larry find themselves alone on either side of the Oak Room fire. Larry puts his bookmark in his place, closes his book, and lays it down.

‘I shall go back to London tomorrow,’ he says. ‘I’ve been gone too long.’

‘But we haven’t had a chance to talk,’ Kitty says. ‘Not properly.’

She too lays down her book.

‘I like having you here so much, Larry,’ she says. ‘I shall hate it when you go.’

‘You know I’ll always come back.’

‘Will you? Always?’

‘That’s what friends do.’

Kitty looks at him, only half smiling.

‘It’s not much of a word, is it?’ she says. ‘ Friend . There should be a better word. Friend sounds so unimportant, someone you chat to at parties. You’re more than that for me.’

‘You too,’ says Larry.

‘I shan’t like it when you marry, you know. Whoever it is. But of course you must. I’m not so selfish as not to see that.’

‘The trouble is,’ says Larry, ‘I can’t help comparing every girl I meet to you.’

‘Oh, well. That shouldn’t be too much of a problem. There are so many girls who are far more thrilling than me.’

‘I have yet to meet one.’

She holds his gaze, not pretending she doesn’t understand.

‘Just tell me you’re happy,’ he says.

‘Why ask me that? You know I’m not happy.’

‘Can’t anything be done?’

‘No,’ she says. ‘I’ve thought about it so much. I’ve decided this is my task in life. Yes, I know how terrible that sounds, like some grim duty. I don’t mean it that way. Do you remember saying to me once, Don’t you want to do something noble and fine with your life? Well, I do. I love Ed, I’ll never hurt him or be disloyal to him. This is just the thing I have to do. Being happy or unhappy doesn’t matter any more.’

‘Oh, Kitty.’

‘Please don’t pity me. I can’t bear it.’

‘It’s not pity. I don’t know what it is. Regret. Anger. It’s all such a waste. You don’t deserve this.’

‘Why should I get a happier life than anyone else?’

‘It could have been so different. That’s what I can’t bear.’

‘Why think that way?’ she says gently. ‘I made my choice. I chose Ed. I chose him knowing there was a sadness in him. Maybe I chose him because of that. And I do love him.’

‘Isn’t there room in our lives to love more than one person?’

‘Of course. But why think that way? There’s nothing to be done.’

‘Kitty—’

‘No, please. Don’t make me say anything more. I mustn’t be selfish and greedy. You’re more than a friend to me, Larry. But I mustn’t hold on to you. What I want more than anything is for you to find someone who makes you happy. Then all I ask is that she lets you go on being my friend. I couldn’t bear to lose you altogether. Promise me you’ll always be my friend.’

‘Even though it’s not much of a word.’

‘Even though.’

‘Do friends love each other, Kitty?’

‘Yes,’ she says, her eyes on him. ‘They love each other very much.’

‘Then I promise.’

That same day Kitty sings to them, accompanying herself on the piano in the morning room. She sings ‘The Ash Grove’ and ‘Drink To Me Only With Thine Eyes’.

The thirst that from the soul doth rise

Doth ask a drink divine …

Larry’s eyes never leave her face as she sings. She plays by ear, and sings from memory, a slight frown of concentration on her face.

Then at Ed’s request she sings ‘The Water is Wide’.

A ship there is

And she sails the seas.

She’s laden deep

As deep can be;

But not so deep

As the love I’m in,

And I know not if

I sink or swim.

Little Pamela is unimpressed by the sad songs and agitates for ‘Little Brown Jug’.

Ha ha ha!

You and me

Little brown jug

Don’t I love thee!

The following morning Larry walks the snowy road into Lewes, her sweet voice still sounding in his memory, her bright eyes reaching towards him across the piano.

London is quiet and mostly empty, the snow that lines the streets now a dirty shade of grey-brown. Occasional taxis clatter by over the lumps of ice. People passing on the pavements, heavily wrapped in overcoats, hats pulled low over their ears, keep their heads down to avoid stumbling on the ridged snow. All business seems to have closed down. Every day now like a Sunday in winter.

Larry returns to his room in Camberwell and lights the gas fire. It burns at low pressure, taking a long time to warm the chill air. Everything is cold to his touch, the covers on his bed, his books, his paints. He looks at the canvas he had begun before going to Sussex, and sees at once that it has no life in it. His room too, despite his return, has no life in it.

Suddenly he wants very much to see Nell.

He phones Weingard’s gallery and a female voice answers. The gallery is closed. No, she doesn’t know where Nell is. He writes a note to her, telling her he’s back, and walks up the road to the post office on Church Street to send it. From there he goes on to the pub on the corner. It’s a Monday and early for the evening crowd. The Hermit’s Rest is eerily quiet. He sits at a table close to the meagre fire and works away slowly at a pint of stout. He thinks about Nell.

Ever since his last talk with Kitty he’s been thinking new thoughts about his future. His feelings haven’t changed. But he sees more clearly now that he must take active steps to make a life without Kitty, or he’ll doom himself to live a life alone. Once again he marvels at Nell’s insight. It seems she knows him better than he knows himself. She accuses him of never taking the initiative, and she’s right. For too long he’s allowed events outside his control to determine his course. The time has come to take charge of his own life.

He interrogates himself, sitting alone in the pub. Do I want to marry Nell? He recalls her elusiveness, her moodiness, her unpredictability, and he trembles. What sort of life would that be? But then he thinks of never seeing her again and he almost cries out loud, ‘No! Don’t leave me!’, so powerful is the longing to hold her in his arms.

What is the gravest charge he has to bring against her? That she spends time with other men. That she leads them on to love her. In other words, that he does not possess her exclusive love. But what right has he to her exclusive love, when he makes no promise on his side? See it from her point of view: she has made herself over to him, body and soul, while he has kept much of himself apart.

But I asked her to marry me.

Ah, she saw through that. She knows me better than I know myself. She saw that I was doing my duty because of the baby. She puts no trust in duty. She requires true love.

Thinking this makes him admire her, and admiring her he feels he does love her after all. It’s just a matter of letting go whatever last inhibition holds him back. Offer her all the love of which he’s capable and she’ll give him back love fourfold, and his fears will melt away.