Doris Lessing - The Sweetest Dream

There was no lift, but Julia went briskly up steep stairs whose carpet had once been a good one, and the flat, when it was opened to them by Andrew, continued the theme, for it was large and full of varied furniture, and some of it had been grand but was ending its days. This had been a students' flat, or for young people beginning their working life, for decades, and the next step for most things here would be the rubbish dump. Andrew did not take them into the big general room, but into a small one at one end, parted from it by a glass wall. There were a couple of young men and a girl reading, or watching television in the big room, but here was a prettily-laid table, for four – white linen, glass, flowers, silver and proper napkins. Andrew said, 'We are going to have to drink our aperitifs at the table, otherwise we won'tbe able to hear ourselves speak. '

And so they sat, the three of them, and a still empty place waited for its occupant.

Andrew, his mother thought, looked tired. With adolescents dark circles around the eyes, a pasty look, fatness, spots, or a certain trembling self-possession on the edge of a threatened collapse -all these are signs of expected emotional disarray, but when adults look like Andrew, one has to think, Life is so hard now, it's cruel... Andrew was smiling, he was all charm, as always, he was well-dressed enough for a big occasion, but he was radiating anxiety. His mother was determined not to ask, but Julia said, 'You're keeping us on the edge of our seats. What is your news?'

Andrew allowed himself a little chuckle – a delightful sound – and he said, 'Prepare yourself for a surprise.'

Here a young woman came in from a kitchen next door with a tray of drinks. She was smiling and at ease and said to Andrew, ' Andy, we' re a bit low in the alcohol department. This is the last of the decent sherry.'

'This is Rosemary,' said Andrew. 'She's cooking for us tonight.'

‘I cook to earn my keep,’ said Rosemary.

' She's at London University, doing law,’ said Andrew.

She dipped them a mock curtsy, and said, ' Tell me when you' re ready for soup. '

' This isn't about my job,’ said Andrew. ‘I’m waiting to have that confirmed.’Now he hesitated, on the brink: something was about to become real that was still an airy or a sombre phantom: telling the family, now that's getting real, all right. ' It's Sophie, ' he said at last. ' Sophie and me... We are...’

The women sat silent, stunned. Sophie and Andrew! For years Frances had wondered if Colin and Sophie... but they went for walks together, he was always at her first nights, and she came to weep on his shoulder when Roland was again being impossible. Mates. Siblings. So they said.

The same practical thoughts were making their way through the two women's minds. Andrew was going abroad to work, probably to New York, and Sophie was an increasingly well-considered actress in London. Was she planning to throw up her career for his? Women did: they did, too often, when they should not. And both were thinking that Sophie was unsuitable as the consort of a public man, being so emotional and dramatic.

'Well, thanks,' said Andrew at last.

'Sorry,' said his mother. 'It's the surprise, that's all.'

Julia was thinking of those years spent apart from her love, Philip, waiting for him. And had it all been worth it? This seditious little thought more and more often presented itself, fair and square, and was not refused admittance. The fact was, and Julia was prepared to think so now, Philip should have married that English girl, so right for him, and she – but her mind went into panic when she contemplated what she might have done instead, with Germany in such ruins, such disaster, and then the politics, and then the Second World War. No. Her conclusion was, had been for some time now, that she was right to have married Philip, but that he should not have married her.

At last she said, ‘You must see it's a shock. She is so close to Colin.'

‘I know,’ said Andrew. ‘But they are like brother and sister. They have never...’And here he called out, 'Rosie, let's have the champagne. ‘Not looking at his mother and grandmother he said, ‘I think we should begin – she's late. '

' Perhaps something is keeping her – the theatre – something...' Frances said, trying to find words to smooth away the anguish – and it was that – gripping her son's face.

‘No. It's Roland. He takes no notice of her when he's got her, but he's jealous. He doesn't want her to leave. '

' She hasn't left yet?'

‘No, not yet. '

At this Frances felt better. She knew that Sophie would not easily leave that sorcerer Roland. ' He's my doom, Colin,’ she had cried. ' He's my fate. ' After all, she had tried to leave often enough. And if she came to Andrew... one had only to look at him to see him as an emotional lightweight, soothing perhaps, after the peacocking Roland, but no counter-balance. Scenes, shouts, thrown crockery – once a heavy vase, which broke her little finger – tears, pleas for forgiveness: what could civilised and ironical Andrew offer Sophie, who would certainly miss all that... but perhaps I am wrong, Frances admonished herself. I am much too ready to see the end of a story before it has even properly begun.

Now Julia spoke: 'Andrew, it will not be a good thing to ask her to give up her work.'

'I have no intention of doing that, Grandmother.'

‘And you will be such a long way off. '

‘We'll manage somehow, ' he said, and went to open the door for Rosemary, who was bringing in the soup.

By mutual consent, the champagne was not opened. They ate their soup. The next course was delayed, but Rosemary said it would spoil, and so they ate it, while Andrew listened for the doorbell or for the telephone. Then at last the telephone did ring, and Andrew went into another part of the flat to talk to Sophie.

The two women sat on, united by foreboding.

Julia spoke, ' Perhaps Sophie is a young woman who needs unhappiness.'

‘But I am hoping Andrew doesn't. '

'And then there is the question of children.'

' Grandchildren, Julia. ' Frances spoke lightly, and did not know that Julia was smiling because she could smell freshly washed baby's hair, and that close to her seemed to be the ghost of – who? a young creature, a girl perhaps.

‘Yes,’ said Julia. ' Grandchildren. I see Andrew as someone who would like children. '

Andrew, returning, heard this. ‘I would, very much. But Sophie sends apologies. She is... held up. ' He was on the verge of tears.

‘Well, has he locked her up?' enquired his mother.

' He applies – pressure, ' he said.

This was all awful, as bad as it could be, and they knew it.

He said brokenly, and sounded like a valediction, 'I can't imagine going on without Sophie. She's been so...’And now he really was breaking down. He rushed out of the room.

' It won't happen,’ said Frances.

‘I hope not. '

‘I think we should go home. '

‘Wait until he comes back. '

It was a good half hour before he came back, and the young people in the room through the glass wall invited the guests who were sitting alone to come and join them. Julia and Frances were pleased to do this. They might, they felt, easily break down themselves.

By now there were half a dozen young men and a couple of girls, one being Rosemary. She knew that a disaster – major? minor? – had occurred, and was being tactful, making conversation. A charming young woman, thought Julia: pretty, clever – certainly a good cook. She was in law, like Andrew. Surely they would be just right for each other?

The young men and women were talking about what they had done during the long summer holidays: they were all still at university. It sounded as if between them they had visited most of the countries of the world. They talked about how things were in Nicaragua, Spain, Mexico, Germany, Finland, Kenya. They had all had a thoroughly good time, but they had also been in search ofinformation, were serious travellers. Frances was thinking how well they contrasted with what had gone on in Julia's house ten or more years ago. These people seemed much happier – was that the word to use? She looked back on strain, difficulty, on damaged creatures. Not these. Well, of course these were older... but even so. Julia would say, of course, that these were none of them war children: the shadows ofwar were a long way behind them.