Mary Burchell - Nobody Asked Me

‘Oh. no,’ Alison said. But two minutes later it seemed too much trouble to open her eyes again.

When she woke up it was pitch dark outside, with the blackness of the completely open country. She glanced at the little car clock and gave an exclamation.

‘Is it really as late as that, Julian? Quarter-past ten?’

‘Hello. Awake again?’ He smiled at her. ‘Yes, that’s the time.’

‘But hadn’t we better stop somewhere? You must be dead tired, driving all this time.’

‘We will stop, my dear, when we can find somewhere.’ Julian laughed ruefully. ‘To tell you the truth, I don’t know where the deuce we are.’

‘Oh, I see. Well, we’re sure to come on something or somewhere soon,’ Alison said equably.

He cocked a quizzical look at her.

‘How refreshingly philosophical of you. You’re quite at liberty to call me a fool for losing the way, if you like.’

But Alison smiled and shook her head.

‘It can happen to anyone. Especially on a night like this,’ she added, as a tremendous gust of wind and rain seemed to hit the car broadside on.

‘Well, that’s a very charitable point of view. But I certainly think we had better make do with almost any sort of place we can find. Petrol’s getting low and-Aren’t those some lights ahead there on the left?’

Alison peered through the rain-streaked window.

‘Yes.’

‘Good.’

Three minutes later they were running up the one street of a dreary little hamlet. It consisted of about a dozen houses, one shop, and a tiny inn.

‘This looks like our quarters for to-night.’ Julian drew up and looked distastefully at the place. ‘What do you think of it? Shall we drive on and chance hitting something better?’

‘No, I think we’d better try this,’ said Alison. And, climbing stiffly out of the car, they both went in.

A woman came forward, with a surprised and not specially friendly air; and Julian explained that they wanted quarters for the night.

She didn’t seem enthusiastic, and, glancing at Alison’s coat, she said, ‘I don’t know that I’ve got anything that’d suit you. I’ve only one room anyway.’ Then, suddenly fixing her eyes gloomily on the few tell-tale pieces of confetti that had shaken from Alison’s coat, she added, ‘Though perhaps that don’t matter.’

The laborious train of thought was so obvious that Alison had a hysterical, though hastily suppressed, desire to laugh. Perhaps Julian had too, because he bit his lip sharply, and then said, ‘Well, how far are we from a town?’

The woman didn’t seem very good at guessing distances. She murmured something about ‘eight or ten miles, or perhaps twelve.’ And then added, ‘But that’s by the straight road, and that’s flooded. You’d have to go round.’

‘Is there anywhere in the village where I can get petrol?’ Julian asked patiently.

‘Only here, and we’re run out,’ said the woman dispiritedly.

‘I think we’ll have to stay here, Julian,’ Alison said quietly.

‘Do you mind very much?’ He looked troubled.

Alison smiled reassuringly. ‘No. We’ll manage.’

He didn’t say anything, but he gave her an odd glance as he went out to fetch the cases and put away the car. Perhaps, of course, he was wondering how Rosalie would have reacted in similar circumstances.

‘You just been married to-day?’ the woman asked Alison as she led her up the stairs.

‘Y-yes,’ Alison admitted.

‘Ah!’ There was a wealth of meaning in the word, but, as Alison couldn’t decide what meaning, it didn’t help much. ‘I’ve buried three,’ was the startling addition to that.

Alison didn’t know quite what she was expected to make of this cheerful opening, so she just said politely-and rather fatuously, she felt-’Have you really?’

The woman nodded, and led the way into a fairly large, chilly room. But at least it looked clean, and the white ‘honeycomb’ quilts on the two iron bedsteads were spotless.

She seemed pleased when Alison declared it would do very well; and a moment later Julian came in with a couple of suitcases.

‘If you come down right away, you can have a hot supper,’ the woman remarked, and withdrew.

‘What-a cheerful-spot,’ observed Julian, setting down the cases and studying a steel engraving entitled ‘The Young Martyr,’ wherein a very pretty girl appeared to be thoroughly enjoying being drowned slowly.

‘Well, it’s clean-’ Alison began.

‘Alison, you’re an angel,’ he interrupted her. ‘Any other girl would raise hell at starting her honeymoon like this. Now come on and let’s see about this hot supper, or else I shall be making you emotional speeches of thanks, like a popular actor on a last night.’

Alison laughed a good deal, and came down with him to the really excellent meal which had been set for them by a good fire.

She supposed she ought to be feeling thoroughly embarrassed and nervous, but she felt neither. And, when supper was over, she said quite naturally. ‘I think I’ll go up right away. We’d better both get to bed soon if we want to start again fairly early to-morrow.’

This time it was he who didn’t do it quite so well. He nodded with elaborate casualness, however, and said, ‘All right. I shan’t be long.’

Upstairs in the cold bedroom again, Alison undressed rapidly, washing sketchily in the icy water supplied, and climbed into one of the unexpectedly comfortable beds.

When Julian came up half an hour later, she didn’t answer his knock. It would probably be less embarrassing for both of them if she pretended to be asleep.

He seemed to think so too, because she heard him moving about with exaggerated care so as not to wake her.

‘Poor darling!’ she thought. ‘Perhaps it’s even worse for him than for me.’

Or was it? Could anything really be worse than sharing a room with the man you loved, and having him behave like a courteous stranger?

She tried to remember one or two little incidents which had happened that day. The time he had spoken of himself quite naturally as her husband. The time he had called her ‘an angel’. She tried to gather courage from them-but it was hard.

She lay there for a long time, dozing fitfully. Then suddenly she woke to full consciousness. The storm had completely passed, and a clear, rain-washed moon was riding high in the sky and pouring its cold fight into the room.

Turning on her side, she could see Julian quite clearly. He was asleep, his dark hair inclined to fall forward over his forehead. But he evidently slept uneasily, and he had tossed off half the bed-clothes.

‘He’ll catch cold,’ Alison thought, with a sort of possessive tenderness that was very sweet, and she slipped quietly out of bed.

Very carefully and gently she put the clothes round him again. He sighed impatiently, but he didn’t move, and she thought how weary and unrested he looked.

She longed suddenly to kiss him. It didn’t seem very fair to do it without his knowing. But he had said she could yesterday-before Simon had interrupted.

She bent quickly and kissed him.

He did move then.

‘Rosalie,’ he said, half questioningly. Then he turned his cheek against the pillow like a contented child, and she saw that the look of strain had gone.

Alison stood there motionless for a long time, until she became aware of the iciness of the floor against her bare feet.

She crept back to bed, and lay for a while watching the moonlight slowly travelling over Julian. Then presently she pulled the bed-clothes over her head, so that he shouldn’t hear her crying.

WHEN Alison woke next morning, Julian was evidently already up and dressed, for she was alone.