don’t like it and, as a matter of fact, I’m sure I’ve mentioned that I’m engaged to be married.’
She almost had to laugh at herself, at how prim she had sounded. But she knew she hadn’t imagined him fondling her on the stairs, and what with Ariadne drooling over him and the endless renditions of ‘I Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble Halls’, she was finding the household a trial. This was not, however, something she needed Edwin to know.
Gwen’s mother was listening for the car, and had the door open, waiting as they ran in through the rain in her usual tense stance.
‘Come on in, dears! That’s it. Thanks so much, Edwin.’
Gwen’s mother was always terrifically nice to Edwin. She stood back to let them in, holding her thick cardigan round her. Mrs Purdy was a slim, neat woman in her late forties. Mr Purdy, a few years older than his wife and with a permanent air of anxiety, was also hovering in the hall.
‘Hello, Gwen dear,’ he said.
‘Hello, Mummy, Daddy.’ Gwen kissed each of them briefly, struck by the fact that even after an absence of a few weeks they seemed different. Didn’t the remaining hair round her father’s bald head look greyer? And her mother seemed smaller, somehow, and more compact.
‘Come along.’ Ruth Purdy hurried down the hall. ‘The kettle’s boiled. I’m sure you must need a good cup of tea. Morris – take Gwen’s case up will you, dear? It’s cluttering up the hall.’ Her tone managed to imply that he was cluttering up the hall as well.
They sat by the fire in the back room with tea and biscuits. The table at the far end had a huge jigsaw puzzle on it, partially complete, and on the mantelpiece were pictures of the three children: Gwen’s two brothers in a rowing boat off the Welsh coast as children, and one of Gwen when she was nine, a rounded, healthy-looking child with a wide smile, standing by the apple tree they had planted in the garden.
Though they didn’t say so, Gwen sensed, rather to her surprise, that her parents were pleased to have her home. As the youngest, she had left them with an empty nest, as Johnny was married and Crispin off in the RAF. Poor old Crispin, Gwen thought, looking at the younger of the boys in the rowing-boat picture. Never could do anything right compared with Johnny. No wonder he left home as fast as possible.
They exchanged news about the past few weeks. A neighbour had died a few days ago, a school friend of Gwen’s was moving away. Gwen asked her father whether everything was all right at the pharmacy.
‘Oh, yes.’ He nodded. ‘Everything’s going along nicely. Yes – ticking along.’ She could see him struggling to think of something else to tell her. ‘I, er—’
‘So,’ Ruth Purdy cut him short, staring appraisingly at Gwen, who thanked heaven that Edwin was there – he acted as an excellent buffer against her mother. ‘Your manners don’t seem to have deteriorated too much.’
She made a great joke out of this, eyeing Edwin to encourage him to join in and Edwin laughed with her, oblivious as ever to the undercurrents in the room.
‘Oh, I think I can still remember how to eat with a knife and fork,’ Gwen said. She suppressed a smile at the thought of meals in the smoky Soho Road house.
‘Well –’ Ruth Purdy gave another light laugh – ‘I’d think by now you’d have had enough of this silly little experiment of yours. You’ve proved your point, and Mr Jenkins said they’re missing you.’ Mr Jenkins was the head of the parish school where Gwen had met Edwin. ‘He’s very keen for you to come back. I don’t know if you realize how disappointed they were when you left.’
Despite her mother’s antagonism, Gwen felt temptation tug at her. In a way it was nice to be home, and it would be so easy to stay, to slip into the old routine, comfortably surrounded by the familiar, then slip easily into marriage. She thought of Millie Dawson, who wasn’t coming back to school any more. But already
She almost had to laugh at herself, at how prim she had sounded. But she knew she hadn’t imagined him fondling her on the stairs, and what with Ariadne drooling over him and the endless renditions of ‘I Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble Halls’, she was finding the household a trial. This was not, however, something she needed Edwin to know.
Gwen’s mother was listening for the car, and had the door open, waiting as they ran in through the rain in her usual tense stance.
‘Come on in, dears! That’s it. Thanks so much, Edwin.’
Gwen’s mother was always terrifically nice to Edwin. She stood back to let them in, holding her thick cardigan round her. Mrs Purdy was a slim, neat woman in her late forties. Mr Purdy, a few years older than his wife and with a permanent air of anxiety, was also hovering in the hall.
‘Hello, Gwen dear,’ he said.
‘Hello, Mummy, Daddy.’ Gwen kissed each of them briefly, struck by the fact that even after an absence of a few weeks they seemed different. Didn’t the remaining hair round her father’s bald head look greyer? And her mother seemed smaller, somehow, and more compact.
‘Come along.’ Ruth Purdy hurried down the hall. ‘The kettle’s boiled. I’m sure you must need a good cup of tea. Morris – take Gwen’s case up will you, dear? It’s cluttering up the hall.’ Her tone managed to imply that he was cluttering up the hall as well.
They sat by the fire in the back room with tea and biscuits. The table at the far end had a huge jigsaw puzzle on it, partially complete, and on the mantelpiece were pictures of the three children: Gwen’s two brothers in a rowing boat off the Welsh coast as children, and one of Gwen when she was nine, a rounded, healthy-looking child with a wide smile, standing by the apple tree they had planted in the garden.
Though they didn’t say so, Gwen sensed, rather to her surprise, that her parents were pleased to have her home. As the youngest, she had left them with an empty nest, as Johnny was married and Crispin off in the RAF. Poor old Crispin, Gwen thought, looking at the younger of the boys in the rowing-boat picture. Never could do anything right compared with Johnny. No wonder he left home as fast as possible.
They exchanged news about the past few weeks. A neighbour had died a few days ago, a school friend of Gwen’s was moving away. Gwen asked her father whether everything was all right at the pharmacy.
‘Oh, yes.’ He nodded. ‘Everything’s going along nicely. Yes – ticking along.’ She could see him struggling to think of something else to tell her. ‘I, er—’
‘So,’ Ruth Purdy cut him short, staring appraisingly at Gwen, who thanked heaven that Edwin was there – he acted as an excellent buffer against her mother. ‘Your manners don’t seem to have deteriorated too much.’
She made a great joke out of this, eyeing Edwin to encourage him to join in and Edwin laughed with her, oblivious as ever to the undercurrents in the room.
‘Oh, I think I can still remember how to eat with a knife and fork,’ Gwen said. She suppressed a smile at the thought of meals in the smoky Soho Road house.
‘Well –’ Ruth Purdy gave another light laugh – ‘I’d think by now you’d have had enough of this silly little experiment of yours. You’ve proved your point, and Mr Jenkins said they’re missing you.’ Mr Jenkins was the head of the parish school where Gwen had met Edwin. ‘He’s very keen for you to come back. I don’t know if you realize how disappointed they were when you left.’
Despite her mother’s antagonism, Gwen felt temptation tug at her. In a way it was nice to be home, and it would be so easy to stay, to slip into the old routine, comfortably surrounded by the familiar, then slip easily into marriage. She thought of Millie Dawson, who wasn’t coming back to school any more. But already
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