Henry Green - Back

They sat tranquilly by.

“And it’s something you don’t discover till you’ve had your experience, dear,” she continued to Nancy. “Life is like that. Oh, I don’t mean not to have your good times when you’re a girl, but, to a woman, the truth and the meaning come after she’s married. So you’ll find a right husband, won’t you, if only to please your old mother here.”

“She will,” Charley echoed.

“What d’you mean, I will?” Miss Whitmore took him up, boisterously. “What do you know about it?”

“Me?” he asked, brought back to earth.

“Oh, you young people,” Mrs Grant smiled. “Now I think I’ll go sit with Father again. It’s my last afternoon with him.” She left quite naturally.

“She’s been wonderful,” Nancy said.

“I expect you’re a help yourself.”

“Don’t be stupid, silly. I only did what anyone would, who was here,” she protested.

“Don’t those kittens play the old cat up,” he remarked.

“Yes, they are cute, aren’t they?” she said.

“Well, it’s a grand thing Mrs Grant has come through the way she has,” he announced. Miss Whitmore noticed he seemed much freer. “Thanks to you,” he added. But she saw he was still watching the kittens.

“You’re coming to the funeral tomorrow, aren’t you?” she asked.

He had not intended to do this. He sat listening now, not knowing what to say.

“You could pass the night,” she explained. “I’d make your bed up on the sofa, once more.” He hadn’t considered this.

He stayed quite still.

“I’d not let it be like the last time,” she said, referring to the death of Mr Grant, but of course he was not to know this, not at once.

He began, again, to feel the old upset in his stomach. Only, because he really loved her now, he was much shyer.

“I couldn’t,” he said, pushing happiness off.

“Why, whatever’s to stop you? Not that old Mrs Frazier, surely?”

“You don’t understand,” he said, careful not to look.

“Mother’ll be terribly put out if you don’t,” Nancy explained. “You could be back at your office after the lunch hour.”

He seized onto this.

“It’s my work,” he said.

“You mean, you never asked leave? You are forgetful, Charley, aren’t you? And when I took the trouble to let you know, soon as ever we fixed it. Well, if you didn’t get permission, it’s too late now, naturally.”

While she was there he was all right, and while he was busy at the office he forgot. But he was sleeping badly once more, what with his doubts and fears, this time about Nance. He knew she wouldn’t come to him in this room, though sometimes she said things to make it so that he couldn’t be certain. But he felt that he might have a good night’s rest, at last, if he could remain on here this evening after all. He wondered how to put it.

“I might stay,” he said.

“And not go to the funeral?” He looked at her. There was a half smile of complicity on her face. “Oh no, you can’t do that,” she went on. “It wouldn’t be right. Mother wouldn’t understand.”

He saw he was not going to have his way. He began to feel miserable.

“Come up with you,” she said. “It’s not all that, sleeping on the old sofa, surely?” She kept herself from wondering what he wished to express. All she wanted was that he should speak out, whatever it might be.

“You’ve always something, bothering you, that you can’t seem to rid yourself of,” she went on, sadly, when he did not say it. “You mightn’t be sitting here with me. I might be an old ghost,” she said.

“Now Nance.” Greatly daring he turned to her, and made as if to put an arm round her waist.

“Steady,” she warned him. “We shan’t want much of that, shall we, or not until after the funeral, at all events?” Then she changed the conversation. “What was it passed between Mr Mead and his wife on the telephone, the time you rang me up about?”

“Oh you don’t have to notice them,” he protested. She saw with excitement that his eyes were anguished. He rapidly went on, quoting what she had commented, and without realizing it. “You won’t bring up a family on no more than good wishes will you?” he said.

“But can’t they get along together, then?”

“Corker’s all right,” he dully replied, in the dumps once more, his attention wandering back to the cat.

“Isn’t that like a man all over?” she asked, boisterous again. “With not a word to spare for Mrs Mead,” she elaborated.

“She’s got a goitre.”

“Has she,” Miss Whitmore said. “Yes, that might make a difference.”

He actually laughed. She was astounded.

“What is there funny in what I’ve just said?” she demanded.

“Wouldn’t be room on the pillow, would there?” he asked, watching the tabby kitten, free again.

“Why, Charley, that’s rude,” she joyfully protested.

They fell silent. When she spoke next the mood had passed, she was dead serious.

“No, it’s the end of life that matters, how it finishes,” she said. “Look at mother, now. Why, she was like a saint. I was proud to be here, there you are,” she ended, almost in defiance, as though daring him.

“You’re right,” he said. “To die in bed.”

“What in heaven’s name are you getting at now?”

He spoke with a casual manner, as of a great truth.

“Comfortably,” he said.

“Well they do say it should be with your boots on,” she said, greatly wondering. “I mean while you’re about your work. Seeing to the grandchildren, or whatever.”

“That’s bunk,” he said.

“Oh, so it’s bunk, is it?” she repeated, at a loss. Really, Charley had more a way of getting away from you than she had ever even suspected.

“Like what they tell you in the Army,” he explained.

“Well, my Phil was in the R.A.F., wasn’t he?” she demanded, beginning to show irritation.

“He’s got hold of her tail,” he said of the kitten.

“No you can’t slide away from me as simply as all that,” she protested. “What’s up with you, Charley?”

“Me? Nothing.” He was at ease, his mind a blank.

“You’re not saying anything against Phil, are you?”

At that he seemed to be disturbed.

“Never even mentioned him,” he said.

“That’s all right then. For you know, no matter what others suffered, it was his life he gave.” This was the third time she had said it, and it had been different each time. “And he died in action,” she added.

“Why Nance …” he began, turning to her, distressed, “I never …”

“Very good,” she said, “forget what I said. I’m funny where Phil’s concerned.”

“Didn’t enter my head …” he protested.

“Oh, all right, don’t go on,” she cried out. “You needn’t pay attention.” Then she took pity on him, he looked so puzzled. So she raised his nearest hand, and kissed it. “There,” she said.

He knew less than ever what to think, as the upset began once more in his stomach. Her mouth on his palm had been like a bird in the hand. He looked stupidly at where she had kissed him.

“They are sweet, aren’t they?” she remarked.

He did not catch the first word, and glanced at her. But she was watching the kittens.

“Aren’t they now?” she insisted. Once more he put happiness off. Then he did tell her something. It had suddenly come on the tip of his tongue.

“I had a mouse out there,” he said.

She had a quick inkling of this. “And the guards took it away from you?” she asked, as if to a child. But he did not notice.

“No, I had it in a cage I made,” he said.

“You don’t hold it against my puss?” she enquired. She was anxious.