Doris Lessing - The Sweetest Dream

' An old friend of Johnny's – from the old days. '

‘What is he telephoning you about?'

‘I don't know. Perhaps we'll go and have a cup of coffee, for old times' sake,' she said, lying casually, for already that aspect of her self was re-emerging.

‘I’ll get back to school,’ said Colin, abrupt, suspicious, and he did not say goodbye as he went off to catch his train.

As for Andrew, he said, ‘I’ll go and help Julia with our guest, poor man, ' and left her with a smile that was both complicit and a warning, though it was doubtful he was aware of this.

A woman who has shut a door on her amorous self as thoroughly as Frances had, has to be surprised when suddenly it opens. She liked Harold, that was obvious, from the way she was coming to life, pulses stirring, animation seizing hold of her.

And yet why? Why him? He had got under her guard, all right. How very extraordinary. The occasion had been extraordinary, who could believe such a thing, if they hadn't seen it? She wouldn't be at all surprised if this Harold was the only person there who had allowed himself to take in what Reuben Sachs had said. A good phrase, take in. You can sit for an hour and a half listening to information that should shoot your precious citadel of faith to fragments, or that doesn't match easily with what is already in your brain, but you don't take it in. You can take a horse to water...

Frances did not sleep well that night, and it was because she was allowing herself to dream like a girl in love.

He telephoned next afternoon, and asked her to go with him for a weekend to a certain little town in Warwickshire, and she said she would, as easily as if she did this often. And she had to wonder again what it was about this man who could turn a key so easily in a door that she had kept shut. He was a solid, smiling, fairish man, whose characteristic look was of cool, humorous assessment. He was, or had been, an official in some educational organisation. A trade union official?

She supposed the usual assortment of kids would arrive for the weekend, and went up to Julia to say that she would like to take the weekend off. Using those words.

Julia seemed to smile a little. Was that a smile? Not an unkind one...'Poor Frances,' she said, surprising her daughter-in-law. 'You live a dull sort of life.'

'Do I?'

‘I think you do. And the young ones can look after themselves for once. '

And, as Frances went out she heard the low, ' Come back to us, Frances, ' and this surprised her so much she turned, but found that Julia had already picked up her book.

Come back to us... oh, that was perceptive of her, uncomfortably so. For she had been seized with a rebellion against her life, the relentless slog of it, and had wandered into a landscape of feverish dreams, where she would lose herself – and never return to Julia's house.

And there were her sons, and that was no joke. Told that their mother would be away that weekend, both reacted as if she had said she was off for a six-month jaunt.

Colin, from school, said on the telephone, ‘Where are you going? Who are you going with?'

'A friend,' said Frances, and there was a suspicious silence.

And Andrew gave her the bleakest smile, which was full of fear, but he certainly did not know that.

She was the stable thing in their lives, always had been, and it was no use saying both were old enough to allow her some freedom. But at what age do such insecurely-based children no longer need a parent to be there, always? This was their mother, taking off for the weekend with a man, and they knew it. If she had ever done anything like it before... but how obedient she had always been to their situation, their needs, as ifshe was making up for Johnny's lacks. 'As if'? – she had tried to make up for Johnny.

On the Saturday Frances crept out of the house knowing that Andrew would be on the look-out, for he was a restless sleeper, and Colin might have decided to wake earlier than his usual mid-morning. She glanced up at the front of the house, dreading to see Andrew's face, Colin's – but there were no faces at the windows. It was seven in the morning of a wonderful summer's day, and her spirits, in spite of her guilt, were threatening to shoot her up into an empyrean of irresponsibility, and here he was, her beau, her date, smiling, obviously enjoying what he saw, this blonde woman (she had had her hair done) in her green linen dress, settling herself beside him, and turning to him to share a laugh at this adventure.

They drove comfortably through the suburbs of London, and were in the country, and she was enjoying his enjoyment of her, and her pleasure in him, this handsome sandy man, and meanwhile she combated thoughts of the helpless unhappy faces of her sons.

Dear Aunt Vera, I am divorced and I bring up two boys. I am tempted to have an affair but I am afraid of upsetting my sons. They watch me like hawks. What shall I do? I'd like to have some fun. Don't I have any rights?

Well, if she, Frances, was in line for some fun then do it: and she shut her sons firmly out of her thoughts. Either that, or say to this man, Turn around and go back, I have made a mistake.

They stopped by the river near Maidenhead and had breakfast, rested later in a town whose public gardens looked inviting, drove on, were invited by an attractive pub, and had lunch in another garden while sparrows hopped about them in the dust.

He said once, 'Are you having difficulty suspending disbelief?'

'Yes,' and stopped herself saying, It's the boys, you see.

'I thought so. As for me, I am having no difficulty at all.’And his laughter had enough triumph in it to make her examine him for the reason. There was something in all this she was not understanding – but never mind. She was quite recklessly happy. What a dull life she did lead: Julia was right. They drove up side roads to avoid the motorways, got themselves lost, and all the time their looks and smiles promised, Tonight we are going to lie in each other's arms. The day continued warm, with a silky golden haze, and in the late afternoon they sat in another garden, by a river, observed by blackbirds, a thrush, and a large friendly dog who sat by them, until it gained its bit of cake from both of them, and wandered off, its tail slowly swinging.

' A fat dog,’ said Harold Holman, ' and that's what I shall be, after this weekend.' Replete, yes, he looked that, but as well there was this other ingredient, a pleasure in her, in the situation, which made her say, without planning to, ' Just what are you so pleased with yourself about?' He at once understood, so that the aggressiveness of it, which she regretted, for it contradicted the radiant content she felt, was annulled as he said, ‘Ah, yes, you are right, you are right, ' and gave her a laughing look, and she thought that he looked like a lazy lion, his paws crossed in front of him, lifting a commanding head in a slow lazy yawn. ‘I’ll tell you, I'll tell you everything. But first, I want to get somewhere when the light is like this. ‘And off they drove again, into Warwickshire, and he parked outside their hotel, and came to open the door for her. ' Come and look at this. ' Across the street were trees, gravestones, shrubs, an old yew. 'I was looking forward to showing you this

no, you're wrong, I've not brought a woman here before, but I had to stop in this town, months ago, and I thought, it's magic, this place. But I was alone. '

They crossed the street hand in hand and stood in the old graveyard where the yew seemed almost as tall as the little church. It was an early summer dusk, and a moon was emerging bright into a darkening sky. The pale gravestones leaned about and seemed to want to speak to them. Breaths of warm summer air, wisps of cool mist, brushed their faces, and they stood in each other's arms, and kissed and then were close for a long time, listening to the messages from each other's bodies. And then the pressure of unshareable emotions made them step back from each other, though they still held hands, and he said, ‘Yes, ' with a quiet regret she did not need to have explained. She was thinking, ‘I could have married somebody like this, instead of...’ Julia called him an imbecile. Since Johnny did not telephone Julia after that little meeting,’ so that everyone could hear the truth' , Julia had rung him to find out what he thought, or rather, what he was prepared to say. ‘Well?’ she had enquired. ' Surely that was worth thinking about... what that Israeli said?' 'You must learn to take a long-term perspective, Mutti.' 'Imbecile.'