Doris Lessing - The Sweetest Dream

He spoke quietly, even jauntily, but with a forlorn bravery that melted her heart. ' Look, Frances, this is just as bad as it can be for you. Don't imagine I don't know it. ' She wasn't going to say it wasn't bad, so hesitated, and he came in quickly with, ‘I won't blame you if you left...' His voice was thick.

‘I’m not leaving. I'm just thinking. ' He kissed her cheek, from which she learned that his face was wet.

'If you sold this flat and we put our money together, and bought a big flat, even then there would be the problem – it would be the first wife and the second incumbent in separate rooms, like an African polygamist. '

' Or like Thurber's cartoon. I don't really see Meriel on the top of a cupboard. '

They laughed. They did laugh.

'Do we have enough money for a house?’ she asked.

'Not in any decent part of London. Not a big one.'

'I take it Meriel is not going to be earning?'

' She was never one for a career. ' His voice was dry, indeed: she knew that here was a history. ' An old-fashioned woman, that's Meriel. Or the last word in feminism. And of course she wasn't working when she was with Jaspar, she was enjoying the high life. So, yes, we can take it that she will have to be kept. ' A pause. ' They did say, the doctors, that we have to assume the depression will recur. '

'I've been thinking, Rupert. It would be two wives in one house, but at least not on the same floor.'

‘I gather you've done that one already?'

‘I’m an old hand at it. '

‘Are you planning to marry me, Frances?'

'It would certainly be better for the children if I did. Fancy-woman into wife. Never underestimate the conservatism of children.'

Frances telephoned Colin, asked if they could talk, and he suggested she should come and he would cook. She found herself back in Julia's house, in the kitchen, at a table which was the smallest she had seen it. Two chairs. Colin arrived, all energetic welcome.

They embraced.

Frances said, ‘Where's the little dog?'

He hesitated, turned his back to lift plates from the refrigerator – using it as she had done so often to avoid or postpone notice, set cold soup in front of her, and sat opposite her.

' Vicious is with Sophie. She's downstairs. '

She laid down her spoon, and absorbed the shock. ' Sophie and you are together?'

'She's ill. It's a kind of breakdown. The man after Andrew -no good. She appealed to me.'

She had taken all this in and now applied herself to the soup. He was a good cook. ‘Well, that certainly puts a different face on it.'

' Enlighten me. '

She did, and he showed his grasp of the essentials with, ‘Well, Ma, you' re a glutton for punishment. '

' The thing is, I really do...’she had been going to say, like, but said, ' love this man. I do. '

' He's a good bloke,' said her son.

'Have you moved in to Julia's flat yet?'

' It's such a period piece, I can't bear to demolish it. But yes, of course we're going to use it.'

'Suppose we put Rupert's wife in the basement flat?'

' Just like poor Phyllida. '

‘But I hope not for ever. Rupert says that Meriel couldn't wait to get rid of him. More fool her. '

' Right then. Meriel in the basement. Sophie and me at the top of the house. We will use Sylvia's old room, and I will go on working in the sitting-room. So you and Rupert and the two kids will have the six rooms, on Andrew's floor and mine, and your rooms. And of course, there is this ever faithful kitchen.'

‘I wouldn't have thought of it if I didn't know the house was virtually empty. And it would give us a breathing space...’

'It's not a bad idea.’With the energy he brought to everything, he removed the soup plates and produced grilled fish. He poured wine, he drank his down, poured himself some more.

‘And you and Sophie?'

' Andrew wasn't good for Sophie. It was more of the same. She says Roland was like a black hole when it came to the crunch, and Andrew – well... every good intention, but he is a bit of a lightweight, you'll have to agree to that? He doesn't engage,' explained her son, with a grin that expected complicity in understanding. ‘Whereas I, ' he said, stating his case, ' take people on. I have victims in my past to prove it, well-gnawed and mangled, but taken on. No, you don't know about them. I've taken Sophie on.'

'Two loonies in one house,' said Frances.

Elegantly put. '

'And not for the first time. But never mind, with children at ten and twelve, they'll be grown-up soon, won't they?'

'In the first place, I haven't noticed Andrew and me – or Sylvia – not needing a family base, even when grown-up. And in the second place – well, I wouldn't have understood your peremptory ways with time until recently. What's four years? Six years? Ten? Nothing. A mere breath. There's nothing like a death to bring that home... and there's another thing. Has it occurred to you that the kids might prefer you to their delinquent mum?'

Delinquent! She's ill. '

She went off with her demon lover, didn't she? She ditched them?'

No, she took them with her. But now they' re – ditched. '

I hope they' re at least passable. Are they?'

So far they've been on their best behaviour. I don't know. '

Aren't you haunted by all this recurrence?'

Yes. Oh, yes, I am. And it's worse than you know. Meriel is the daughter ofSebastian Heath – you probably don't remember that name? You do? He was a famous communist, just like Johnny. He was arrested by the comrades in the Soviet Union and disappeared for ever. '

I suppose to have a father who was shot in the back of the neck by his own side is enough to explain a certain amount of emotional disarray. '

And then her mother committed suicide. She was a communist too. Meriel was brought up by a communist family – but they aren't communists now, apparently. '

So she had what might fairly be described as a broken childhood.'

'Hence my feeling of being pursued by more of the same.'

'Poor Ma,' he said cheerily. Never mind. And don't think your housing problems will be solved permanently if you come here. I intend to get married. '

'Sophie!'

' Good God, no. I'm not that mad. She's just my mate. We' re mates. But I'mdefinitely on the look-out for a wife. And I shall get married and have four kids, none of your two and a half stuff. And then I'll need this house. '

'Right,' said his mother. 'Fair enough.'

Frances, supper over, remarked that it was getting late, and that it was time Margaret and William were in bed. The girl got up, and faced her, the fair maidenly lightly freckled forehead presented to Frances like a little bull about to charge. ‘Why should we? You can't order us about. You aren't our mother. ‘And now William said the same. Clearly the two had discussed the situation and decided to make a stand. Two obstinate faces, two antagonistic bodies, and Rupert, watching, was pale, like them.

‘No, I am not your mother, but while I'm looking after you I'm afraid you'll have to go along with what I say. '

‘I’m not going to,’ said Margaret.

‘I’m not going to,’ said William.

Margaret had a round little girl's face waiting to take on definition, features that at a few yards seemed to disappear into a pale outline where only a little pink mouth asserted itself. Now the mouth was primly virtuous with disapproval.

‘We hate you,’ said William carefully, having rehearsed the line with Margaret.

Frances was inordinately, irrationally angry.

' Sit down,’ she snapped, and, surprised, the children slid back into their chairs.

‘Now, you listen. I did not expect I would have to look after you. It wasn't something I wanted.’ But here she glanced at Rupert, who was so hurt by the whole awful situation. She went on, 'I don't mind doing things for you. I don't mind cooking and your clothes and all that – but I'm not putting up with nonsense. You can forget about the sulks and making scenes, because I won't put up with them. ' She was really getting into her stride, and the two pale dismayed faces were not enough to stop her. ‘You don't know this – and why should you – but I've had all I'm going to take of slamming doors and adolescent rebellions and all that infantile rubbish.' She was shouting at them. Never, ever, had she shouted at a child before. ‘Do you hear? And if you start all that I'm going to leave. So I'm giving you due warning. I shall simply go. ' Lack of breath stopped her. Rupert's eyebrows, usually ready for irony, were signalling that she was overdoing it.