Read Online Other People's Children by Joanna Trollope - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Joanna Trollope
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used to drink. Dale still drank, if you offered it to her. He picked the tumbler up and tasted the drink. The vodka was hardly noticeable. He might as well have left it out altogether.
From behind him Dale said accusingly, âNext thing youâll be saying is you didnât mind Josie!â
Lucas didnât turn. He looked at his bookshelves, at his collection of contemporary male novelists, of modern poets, of travel books. He hadnât minded Josie, in the end. In fact, once he had got over his eighteen-year-old shock that his father could give his love to anyone in the world but himself and Dale, he had begun, quite early on in his relationship with Josie, to feel that the house was better for having her in it. It felt more balanced, it had more vitality. And he had, from the first, liked Rufus. It was disconcerting to imagine Rufusâs conception, because Lucas, deeply preoccupied with his own turbulent teenage sexual drive at the time, was thrown to think of his father being driven â even temporarily â by the same urges. But once Rufus was there, he seemed to make no special claims and, to their credit, neither Tom nor Josie made any special claims for him. He was the baby, like Basil was the cat, and in his fatherâs attitude to Rufus â almost diffident at first â Lucas sensed an element that had never occurred to him before. He began to see, or thought he could see, that his father felt guilty; guilty for impregnating Josie in the first place, guilty about the carelessness that that implied over the one thing you should never, ever be careless about â human life. Maybe heâd married Josie out of guilt and that guilt had compounded another guilt about introducing as radical an element as a stepmother into the stable Carver household. All these thoughts had knocked about together for some years in Lucasâs head, quite gently because he couldnât honestly say that his own life â increasingly independent â wasmuch disrupted by Tomâs re-marriage or Rufusâs birth. Once or twice, heâd tried to talk to Dale about it, to suggest to her the complex humanity that might exist in a father you thought you knew inside out. But there was something in Dale that couldnât hear him. She was deafened by what she felt for her father, by her need for him.
Lucas turned slowly from the bookcase. Amy had swung her legs up on to the sofa and was lying along it, her eyes half-closed. Dale was sitting back, her arms tightly crossed, as if she was containing something dangerous or painful. They might have been in separate rooms for all the consciousness they showed of one another. Lucas wished, and not for the first time, that his fiancée and his sister would realize that there was plenty of him to go round.
âDale,â Lucas said.
She didnât look at him.
âDale, Dadâs not going to marry again.â
Amy opened her eyes.
âThink about it,â Lucas said. âJust think. He lost Mum tragically and he was on his own for over ten years. He didnât try and marry anyone all that time, did he? We know he didnât. We were there and we know he didnât. I think he had his reasons for marrying Josie, and they werenât, on the whole, just because he was mad about her. He was fond of her, and she was pregnant. You
know
that, Dale. You saw it. And then she left him, and he was shattered. He couldnât believe that anyone heâd done so much for could treat him like that. He was inpieces, wasnât he? He felt all that trust had just been chucked in his face. We were really worried about him during the divorce. Remember? You wanted him to go to a doctor, didnât you? Nowââ Lucas paused and took a breath. Dale was very still.
âNow,â Lucas said with emphasis, moving across the room to stand over his sister. âNow, is a man like Dad, a man with a personality like Dadâs, with two â in
From behind him Dale said accusingly, âNext thing youâll be saying is you didnât mind Josie!â
Lucas didnât turn. He looked at his bookshelves, at his collection of contemporary male novelists, of modern poets, of travel books. He hadnât minded Josie, in the end. In fact, once he had got over his eighteen-year-old shock that his father could give his love to anyone in the world but himself and Dale, he had begun, quite early on in his relationship with Josie, to feel that the house was better for having her in it. It felt more balanced, it had more vitality. And he had, from the first, liked Rufus. It was disconcerting to imagine Rufusâs conception, because Lucas, deeply preoccupied with his own turbulent teenage sexual drive at the time, was thrown to think of his father being driven â even temporarily â by the same urges. But once Rufus was there, he seemed to make no special claims and, to their credit, neither Tom nor Josie made any special claims for him. He was the baby, like Basil was the cat, and in his fatherâs attitude to Rufus â almost diffident at first â Lucas sensed an element that had never occurred to him before. He began to see, or thought he could see, that his father felt guilty; guilty for impregnating Josie in the first place, guilty about the carelessness that that implied over the one thing you should never, ever be careless about â human life. Maybe heâd married Josie out of guilt and that guilt had compounded another guilt about introducing as radical an element as a stepmother into the stable Carver household. All these thoughts had knocked about together for some years in Lucasâs head, quite gently because he couldnât honestly say that his own life â increasingly independent â wasmuch disrupted by Tomâs re-marriage or Rufusâs birth. Once or twice, heâd tried to talk to Dale about it, to suggest to her the complex humanity that might exist in a father you thought you knew inside out. But there was something in Dale that couldnât hear him. She was deafened by what she felt for her father, by her need for him.
Lucas turned slowly from the bookcase. Amy had swung her legs up on to the sofa and was lying along it, her eyes half-closed. Dale was sitting back, her arms tightly crossed, as if she was containing something dangerous or painful. They might have been in separate rooms for all the consciousness they showed of one another. Lucas wished, and not for the first time, that his fiancée and his sister would realize that there was plenty of him to go round.
âDale,â Lucas said.
She didnât look at him.
âDale, Dadâs not going to marry again.â
Amy opened her eyes.
âThink about it,â Lucas said. âJust think. He lost Mum tragically and he was on his own for over ten years. He didnât try and marry anyone all that time, did he? We know he didnât. We were there and we know he didnât. I think he had his reasons for marrying Josie, and they werenât, on the whole, just because he was mad about her. He was fond of her, and she was pregnant. You
know
that, Dale. You saw it. And then she left him, and he was shattered. He couldnât believe that anyone heâd done so much for could treat him like that. He was inpieces, wasnât he? He felt all that trust had just been chucked in his face. We were really worried about him during the divorce. Remember? You wanted him to go to a doctor, didnât you? Nowââ Lucas paused and took a breath. Dale was very still.
âNow,â Lucas said with emphasis, moving across the room to stand over his sister. âNow, is a man like Dad, a man with a personality like Dadâs, with two â in
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