Read Online The Centre of the Green by John Bowen - Free Book Online

knew that the twenty minutes’ walk to his parents’ cottage would revive him. He walked through the dusk along the lonely road, and the evening scents came up to him from the hedges. When he arrived, he could see a light from the uncurtained window of the living-room, and he walked round on to the lawn to look in. There they sat, his parents. Their backs were to one another, the Colonel reading a detective story from the library by the light of the table lamp, his wife in the grey gloom before the television set.
    Dusk thickened into night, and Julian stood there watching. The window was open. He could hear the Colonel clearing his throat every three minutes or so, and he could hear the faraway din of the television programme . If only he could stay there for ever, just watching , not engaged! Then a thin breeze sprang up, blowing damply off the dew-soaked grass. Julian shivered, and went round to the kitchen door.
    *
    They didn’t hear him until he was actually standing in the doorway of the living-room, announcing himself. “Hullo, all,” he said.
    The Colonel said, “What? What?” and closed hisbook with a snap. Mrs. Baker switched off the set at once.
    Julian shut the door behind him, went over to his mother, and kissed her on the forehead, pulling back before she could return his kiss. “Hullo, Father! Hullo, Mother!” he said. “Is there a bed? I left my bag in the hall.”
    “Julian darling, why didn’t you let us know?” Mrs. Baker looked accusingly at her husband. “Unless there’s a mistake—— Surely it’s Charles who’s coming tomorrow ?”
    “Is he? Good old Charles. I never see him. You’ll have a houseful.”
    “The bed’s made up for him.”
    “Oh, good.”
    “Darling, we haven’t even told you how glad we are to see you,” Mrs. Baker said. “Have you had anything to eat? There’s some cold meat in the fridge, and I’ll make some tea. Your father won’t have any, of course; it only means he has to get up in the night. But
we’ll
have a nice cup of tea together while you tell me all your news.”
    The Colonel said, “Penny keeping well? You haven’t left
her
in the hall with your suitcase, eh?”
    “Penny?”
    “Justin, don’t fuss. Penny’s always so wrapped up in that job of hers; I expect she couldn’t get away. Just as well anyway, because we haven’t got a bed for her; the boys’ll have to share the spare room as it is. Do sit down, Julian. Or come into the kitchen, and talk to me. We’ll have our tea in there, and then we shan’t bother your father.”
    “Well, I——”
    “It’s past his bed time anyway.”
    It was obvious that she was in one of her “Chelseapensioner” moods, when she behaved as if she were the paid nurse to some infirm old man. This was her usual behaviour when first one of the boys came home. The Colonel was someone to be managed, to be packed off to bed or left in a corner, someone who was, of course, completely dependent on her (poor old thing), but not part of the family. The “pensioner” mood usually lasted until the Colonel gave some sign that he accepted the situation, and would not try to interfere. So that now when he said, “Yes, I was thinking of turning in,” Teresa replied at once, “Of course you were, dear,” and came across and kissed him of her own accord.
    “Good night, Julian,” the Colonel said. “You’d like tea in the morning, I expect?”
    “Yes please, father. Not too early though.”
    “No. No, of course not. Perhaps——”
    Mrs. Baker said, “I’ll take it in to him when I’m up, Justin.”
    “Good.” The Colonel felt that something else was needed. He rose stiffly to his feet, saying, “Old bones, I’m afraid,” (
Now why did I say that?
) and went out, taking his book with him. He would finish it in bed. Devonshire air is said to be relaxing, but however hard he worked or far he walked, the Colonel did not often fall asleep before one or two in the morning.
    She can’t ask me tonight,