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Authors: Madeleine St John
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of Guy’s.’
‘Toil and trouble, toil and trouble. Bubble on.’
‘I think I’ll just telephone Nicola now quickly and make sure she’s all right.’
‘Are we meant to be getting any supper tonight or are you too busy with Nicola?’
‘Yes, there are some bangers in the fridge. Perhaps when you’ve got me those crates you could get them out and put them under the grill. I’ll be there in a minute.’ Susannah picked up the telephone receiver and Geoffrey with a look of helpless resignation left the room.
Ten minutes later she came into the kitchen.
‘Well, that’s all right,’ she said.
‘What is?’
‘Nicola.’
‘Oh, all sorted out again, is she? That’s good. We needn’t bother about that rail.’
‘No, she isn’t sorted out . She hasn’t seen him yet, he hasn’t returned from the country yet. But she seems to feel that she should stay put for a few days at least.’
‘Of course she should.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t.’
‘She hasn’t got your proud and fiery nature. Anyway, just so long as we needn’t bother about that rail.’
‘We need. She might change her mind. She probably will. She might suddenly become proud and fiery: I hope in fact that she will.’
They were interrupted by Guy.
‘I’m hungry.’
‘Good, I’m just getting supper now.’
‘Can we have chips?’
‘Look in the freezer and see if there are any.’
He did; there were; Susannah turned on the oven.
‘I wish I could learn to ride,’ said Guy, not for the first time.
‘I’ll have to see if we can afford it,’ said Susannah.
‘You said that before, but you haven’t.’
‘I will. I’ll put it in my diary.’
‘We probably can’t,’ said Geoffrey.
‘It doesn’t cost very much,’ said Guy in a small voice.
Susannah more or less made up her mind then that, cost what it might, Guy should learn to ride; and quite right too.
27
Jonathan glanced up at the sitting-room windows and saw the light. So she was still there. Steeling himself, he crossed the street and ascended the stairs to the second floor.
Nicola was on the point of dishing up some tinned soup when she heard Jonathan’s key turning in the lock. She waited— terrified—for his entrance; in a moment, he was before her in the kitchen doorway.
‘Hello.’
Jonathan ever so slightly shrugged. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d still be here,’ he said.
‘Where should I be?’
He shrugged again and turned away.
‘Would you like some soup?’
‘Is there enough?’
‘I’ll just make some more toast.’
He sat down as if only half willingly and she put the soup in front of him and then sat down herself. He picked up the spoon and idly took an experimental mouthful. Cream of celery.
Now that he was here, speechlessly drinking soup, Nicola all at once perceived that he was even less able to manage their dreadful new situation than she. Her fear abated and she began to feel a sort of pity.
After a moment, ‘I was hoping,’ she said carefully, ‘that we might talk.’
‘Talk? About what?’
‘About what has happened. About this decision you’ve come to. I was hoping that you might be ready to explain yourself.’
There was a silence, and she dimly saw that the wretchedness within him which had brought about the dreadful announcement of Thursday night had engendered a black fog which obscured all paths to enlightenment: the very fact of his acting and speaking as he had done indicated an incapacity for any other kind of discourse. The black fog seemed to creep through her own pores; soon she would be as incapacitated as he. What in God’s name ailed him?
‘I told you: there’s nothing to explain, further to what I’ve said already.’
She might now have become angry; but perhaps because she was so exhausted, depleted by anguish and fear and interrupted sleep, she could feel only a kind of impatience, and still that ghostly pity. In any case it seemed that nothing she could do or say might touch his
‘Toil and trouble, toil and trouble. Bubble on.’
‘I think I’ll just telephone Nicola now quickly and make sure she’s all right.’
‘Are we meant to be getting any supper tonight or are you too busy with Nicola?’
‘Yes, there are some bangers in the fridge. Perhaps when you’ve got me those crates you could get them out and put them under the grill. I’ll be there in a minute.’ Susannah picked up the telephone receiver and Geoffrey with a look of helpless resignation left the room.
Ten minutes later she came into the kitchen.
‘Well, that’s all right,’ she said.
‘What is?’
‘Nicola.’
‘Oh, all sorted out again, is she? That’s good. We needn’t bother about that rail.’
‘No, she isn’t sorted out . She hasn’t seen him yet, he hasn’t returned from the country yet. But she seems to feel that she should stay put for a few days at least.’
‘Of course she should.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t.’
‘She hasn’t got your proud and fiery nature. Anyway, just so long as we needn’t bother about that rail.’
‘We need. She might change her mind. She probably will. She might suddenly become proud and fiery: I hope in fact that she will.’
They were interrupted by Guy.
‘I’m hungry.’
‘Good, I’m just getting supper now.’
‘Can we have chips?’
‘Look in the freezer and see if there are any.’
He did; there were; Susannah turned on the oven.
‘I wish I could learn to ride,’ said Guy, not for the first time.
‘I’ll have to see if we can afford it,’ said Susannah.
‘You said that before, but you haven’t.’
‘I will. I’ll put it in my diary.’
‘We probably can’t,’ said Geoffrey.
‘It doesn’t cost very much,’ said Guy in a small voice.
Susannah more or less made up her mind then that, cost what it might, Guy should learn to ride; and quite right too.
27
Jonathan glanced up at the sitting-room windows and saw the light. So she was still there. Steeling himself, he crossed the street and ascended the stairs to the second floor.
Nicola was on the point of dishing up some tinned soup when she heard Jonathan’s key turning in the lock. She waited— terrified—for his entrance; in a moment, he was before her in the kitchen doorway.
‘Hello.’
Jonathan ever so slightly shrugged. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d still be here,’ he said.
‘Where should I be?’
He shrugged again and turned away.
‘Would you like some soup?’
‘Is there enough?’
‘I’ll just make some more toast.’
He sat down as if only half willingly and she put the soup in front of him and then sat down herself. He picked up the spoon and idly took an experimental mouthful. Cream of celery.
Now that he was here, speechlessly drinking soup, Nicola all at once perceived that he was even less able to manage their dreadful new situation than she. Her fear abated and she began to feel a sort of pity.
After a moment, ‘I was hoping,’ she said carefully, ‘that we might talk.’
‘Talk? About what?’
‘About what has happened. About this decision you’ve come to. I was hoping that you might be ready to explain yourself.’
There was a silence, and she dimly saw that the wretchedness within him which had brought about the dreadful announcement of Thursday night had engendered a black fog which obscured all paths to enlightenment: the very fact of his acting and speaking as he had done indicated an incapacity for any other kind of discourse. The black fog seemed to creep through her own pores; soon she would be as incapacitated as he. What in God’s name ailed him?
‘I told you: there’s nothing to explain, further to what I’ve said already.’
She might now have become angry; but perhaps because she was so exhausted, depleted by anguish and fear and interrupted sleep, she could feel only a kind of impatience, and still that ghostly pity. In any case it seemed that nothing she could do or say might touch his
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