allowances, Social Security and so on? Are you sure you are claiming all that you are entitled to?’
Sally looked at her without interest. ‘I’ve been into all that. I’m not entitled to anything. I haven’t got stamps on my card or whatever you need and I can’t claim Family Allowance because Paul’s working out of the country. And he hasn’t got any stamps either.’
‘But this is monstrous,’ said Blanche. ‘Do you mean there’s no money coming in at all?’
‘I thought you understood that,’ said Sally. ‘I only have what Paul’s mother can send me.’ For some reason neither of them mentioned the money left under the teapot. Blanche felt herself blushing and hurried on.
‘And you still don’t know when Paul is coming back? Have you heard from him?’
‘Oh, yes, I’ve heard. There’s some complication, apparently.’ She drew her fine brows together and lit another cigarette. Her instinct, when sensing trouble, was simply to abstract herself, to empty her mind, and increase the distance from annoying topics. Now, faced with mysterious complications which were, apparently for that very reason, not to be explained, she became expressionless and remote, imposing on Blanche, by the very stillness of her body, a reticence which effectively blocked any remonstrances that might have met this remark. There was a brief silence.
‘Well,’ said Blanche heartily, as she put her right arm into the sleeve of her raincoat. Glancing through the smeared window she saw that a weak sun had banished the rain and that the long days were now firmly established. It would be daylight until ten o’clock. ‘Is there anyone else who could help you?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Sally replied with apparent indifference.‘As far as I can see we’re on our uppers. Of course,’ she added, glancing covertly at Blanche, ‘Nellie will have to stay with Paul’s mother until we can get things sorted out. I can’t bring her back here if there’s no money.’
Blanche rose to her feet. The implications of Sally’s last remark were not lost on her. ‘I think the best plan’, she said, careful not to let her expression change, ‘would be if I were to get the allowance side of things worked out. Do you know which is your local office or bureau or whatever the thing is called?’ She busied herself with her empty shopping basket, rearranging things in it unnecessarily, trying to subdue the uncomfortable beating of her heart.
Sally’s reaction to her
faux pas
was an increased, a heightened indifference. It was implied that all misfortunes were equally graceless and did not deserve any refinement of manners. ‘Oh, don’t bother,’ she said. ‘If you could just tide us over. My husband will straighten it all out when he comes home.’
Ah yes, thought Blanche. He is now ‘my husband’. Absent, of course, but legal nevertheless. And coming home, some day.
‘Let me see what I can do,’ she said. ‘Bertie has a friend at the Home Office. They were at Cambridge together. A nice man. I’ll telephone him this evening and see if he can bring a little influence to bear.’ Treat the matter as one of simple need, she thought, not of obligation, not of misplaced hope. A matter of justice, or of charity. No involvement. No more of that.
Sally’s down-drooping mouth and half closed eyelids told her that her efforts would be wide of the mark. She would rather that people continued to tide her over, as she puts it, thought Blanche; probably the people in that set of hers were continually tiding each other over. That sort of person is usually characterized by prodigality and bad debts, both thought to be amusing. How cruel I have become, shethought sadly. It is as if I had never been young. I never had a bad debt in my life and now I am not proud of the fact. Perhaps a little more prodigality would have saved me. But I was careful and proud. ‘The best revenge is living well.’ What a fatuous remark. However, pronounced in
Sally looked at her without interest. ‘I’ve been into all that. I’m not entitled to anything. I haven’t got stamps on my card or whatever you need and I can’t claim Family Allowance because Paul’s working out of the country. And he hasn’t got any stamps either.’
‘But this is monstrous,’ said Blanche. ‘Do you mean there’s no money coming in at all?’
‘I thought you understood that,’ said Sally. ‘I only have what Paul’s mother can send me.’ For some reason neither of them mentioned the money left under the teapot. Blanche felt herself blushing and hurried on.
‘And you still don’t know when Paul is coming back? Have you heard from him?’
‘Oh, yes, I’ve heard. There’s some complication, apparently.’ She drew her fine brows together and lit another cigarette. Her instinct, when sensing trouble, was simply to abstract herself, to empty her mind, and increase the distance from annoying topics. Now, faced with mysterious complications which were, apparently for that very reason, not to be explained, she became expressionless and remote, imposing on Blanche, by the very stillness of her body, a reticence which effectively blocked any remonstrances that might have met this remark. There was a brief silence.
‘Well,’ said Blanche heartily, as she put her right arm into the sleeve of her raincoat. Glancing through the smeared window she saw that a weak sun had banished the rain and that the long days were now firmly established. It would be daylight until ten o’clock. ‘Is there anyone else who could help you?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Sally replied with apparent indifference.‘As far as I can see we’re on our uppers. Of course,’ she added, glancing covertly at Blanche, ‘Nellie will have to stay with Paul’s mother until we can get things sorted out. I can’t bring her back here if there’s no money.’
Blanche rose to her feet. The implications of Sally’s last remark were not lost on her. ‘I think the best plan’, she said, careful not to let her expression change, ‘would be if I were to get the allowance side of things worked out. Do you know which is your local office or bureau or whatever the thing is called?’ She busied herself with her empty shopping basket, rearranging things in it unnecessarily, trying to subdue the uncomfortable beating of her heart.
Sally’s reaction to her
faux pas
was an increased, a heightened indifference. It was implied that all misfortunes were equally graceless and did not deserve any refinement of manners. ‘Oh, don’t bother,’ she said. ‘If you could just tide us over. My husband will straighten it all out when he comes home.’
Ah yes, thought Blanche. He is now ‘my husband’. Absent, of course, but legal nevertheless. And coming home, some day.
‘Let me see what I can do,’ she said. ‘Bertie has a friend at the Home Office. They were at Cambridge together. A nice man. I’ll telephone him this evening and see if he can bring a little influence to bear.’ Treat the matter as one of simple need, she thought, not of obligation, not of misplaced hope. A matter of justice, or of charity. No involvement. No more of that.
Sally’s down-drooping mouth and half closed eyelids told her that her efforts would be wide of the mark. She would rather that people continued to tide her over, as she puts it, thought Blanche; probably the people in that set of hers were continually tiding each other over. That sort of person is usually characterized by prodigality and bad debts, both thought to be amusing. How cruel I have become, shethought sadly. It is as if I had never been young. I never had a bad debt in my life and now I am not proud of the fact. Perhaps a little more prodigality would have saved me. But I was careful and proud. ‘The best revenge is living well.’ What a fatuous remark. However, pronounced in
Similar Books
