The Millstone by Margaret Drabble Page B

permanence in the ménage, so for a few days they had all struggled along together, in two rooms and a kitchen, with Lydia sleeping on the settee. The husband had then become irritated by Lydia's continual presence and had told her to get out, whereupon the wife had burst into tears over the breakfast table and had said that she preferred Lydia to him, and she wished he would get out instead. Lydia had realized that she should have left at this point, in order not to confuse other people's matrimonial problems, "but," she said, "I just couldn't face the thought of finding myself a new place and moving all my stuff out, especially when anyone could see they wouldn't last the month, so I hung on and I'd have stuck it out only last night I got in very late and was undressing very quietly and considerately when the wretched man emerged from the bathroom and made a grab at me, so after that I felt I was
non grata
on all counts, so I left this morning."
    "Well," I said, "you might as well stay here until he leaves."
    "Perhaps he won't leave," said Lydia. "Just to spite me after what I said to him last night. The awful thing was that he was rather attractive. The only justification for his existence, I expect. I used to like out-and-out bastards like that, but I've right gone off them recently. Give me nice timid decent little men like Alex; they're the kind I really get on with."
    "Does she like him?"
    "I suppose she must. Or must have done. I'm not so sure that she hasn't gone off him too. And there's another thing. I lost my job this week."
    "Oh dear," I said mildly. "Why?"
    "I kept on not going," said Lydia plaintively, "and in the end they said I'd not gone once too often. I don't blame them either. But the result of all this is that I'm broke."
    "Oh," I said, "perhaps I could lend you..."
    "Oh no," she said, "nothing like that. I've got a bit here and there, it was just that I was going to ask you a favour and since you suggested it yourself, I mean to say it's not as though ... anyway, what about my moving in with you? I could baby-sit for you and all that. I'd pay you rent of course, but it'd have to be fairly nominal, you know what I mean. I'd be very useful to you, don't you think? I could pick things up for you, and carry your shopping basket. That is, if it's not too much trouble. I mean, you haven't got anyone else living here, have you?"
    Clearly she was referring to my prospective child's elusive father: I shook my head and denied any other lodgers. The more I thought about the scheme, the more hopeful it seemed, because there was plenty of room, and the thought of having to ring alone for the ambulance had begun to haunt me slightly: though the greatest point in its favour was that she had suggested it as a favour to herself and that I had not had to ask. To put myself totally in the clear and upper position, I insisted that she should pay no rent, explaining that as I paid none myself, and as my parents had let me have the flat so that none should be paid, I could not dream of taking anything off her, though we could split the electricity bills. She heaved a sigh of relief and seemed genuinely elated by the prospect.
    "It's so
posh
round here," she said, "and you're so posh, and I do have such a thing about being posh."
    "I bet you move out," I said, "when the baby arrives. Babies aren't posh at all, you know."
    "Rubbish," she said, "I agree that ordinary babies aren't much of a status symbol, but illegitimate ones are just about the last word."
    We celebrated our agreement with the remains of a bottle of very sour wine and some bacon and eggs, then Lydia rang up all her friends to tell them where she was, which precipitated some discussion about the phone bill. Then she said where was the television, and I said I didn't have a television and would on no account have one in the house, I had too much work to do. She didn't think much of that and asked if she could borrow a nightie, she wanted to go to bed. So I found