Read Online The Watchers on the Shore by Stan Barstow - Free Book Online Page B

solution's in your hands,'I say.
    I feel her begin to shake, her body close to mine, and for a second I think she's crying. Then I realize she's laughing, giggling fit to burst. And I wonder why I don't make her laugh more often.

    The next day she capitulates. It's up to me, she says. I'm the one who earns the main living and one day I'll have to earn it all. So I can make the decision. If I want to go all that badly she won't stand in my way. But I can't expect her to be happy about it. Not yet. We shall have to wait and see. And contrariwise, now the way's open, I'm more undecided than ever. I had to put up the arguments for it to Ingrid and make her think I was keener than I really am. But I hadn't decided. I still had the feelings I had on the bus. Why not stay where I know my way around?
    It's my mother who does decide me. She comes her usual wet- blanket act when I tell her, doing what she's always done when there's a smell of change or something new in the air, and using all Ingrid's arguments and a few of my own on me again. It's got nothing to do with her, of course. Oh no. She doesn't want to influence me. I'm old enough to know my own mind. But...
    And then I know why I have to go: to get out, once and for all, of this dead, dreary, do-as-you've-always-done atmosphere to somewhere where I can stand on my own two feet in some good free air. I want to escape and it would have been better if I'd done it years ago, before I met Ingrid. Am I saying I wish I'd never met her? In a way I suppose I am. It's not that I don't like being married to her now. I've settled down to it in a way. It's not a bad life. Better than being at home. And I'm fond of her. I could even say I love her in a way. Her life's tied up with mine and that's all there is to it. It wasn't the way I wanted it to happen but it's the way it did happen. And if I'd got it in the way I always wanted it, it might well have come to this by now. You can waste a lot of time brooding about happiness. Maybe it just means jogging along and doing your best and taking your pleasures as they come. And when you add up all those pleasures that's where your happiness is. No, it's all right -I don't believe it; but it's all most of us have got.
    The Old Man's on my side. He doesn't say much in the house but when I leave he comes out to the gate with me.
    'Don't take any notice of your mother, Vic,'he says straight out. 'You weigh it all up for yourself then make up your own mind. You can't blame her, I suppose. There's Jim away at university and David after this job in Leicester. She just thinks she's losing all her family at once.'
    'It's not just that, though, Dad. She's always full of sour grapes. She just resists any sort of change.'
    'That might be her age and upbringing, you know, lad. There's safety in what you know. When you've been through hard times like your mother has you can't forget 'em. You've allus half a feeling they're waiting round the corner again.'
    'It ... it just sometimes gets you round the throat and stifles you.'
    'Well you break clear of it, lad. You've your own way to make in t'world and there's nobody knows better than you what you want. If you and Ingrid can agree about it there's nowt else matters.'

    The man from Fenwicks has fair, slightly wavy hair, prominent fish-eyes and not much chin. I'm stocktaking in the shop with the door locked when he appears against the glass and taps on it, his face floating up close like a trout in an aquarium. I go over and open the door, thinking he's just another to add to the number who can't read the notice stuck to the inside of the window: 'Closed due to bereavement.'
    'I'm sorry, we're closed.'
    'I know,'the chap says. 'I'm from Fenwicks. The bank said it was all right for me to come round.'
    'Oh, come in, then.'
    I let him by me and lock the door again.
    'You'll be Mr Brown.'
    'That's right.'
    He sticks his hand out. 'My name's Harrap.'He moves up the shop, carrying a fat briefcase. 'Is it all right