sensible, if we're good strong people, we understand dying, we know about it but we don't let it worry us. Now I know you're grown-up and sensible, I know you're a good strong person, so I want you to promise me you won't worry about dying, that you won't be frightened of it happening to me, or to you. And I want you to promise that you'll try to be a man about partings, that you won't make poor Dawnie unhappy by being unhappy yourself. Dawnie is alive too, she has as much right to find her own way of enjoying living as you do, and you mustn't make it hard for her by letting her see how upset you are."
She took his chin in her hand and looked into the clouded eyes. "Now I know you're good and strong and kind, Tim, so I want you to be all of those things about your Dawnie, and about all the things that will happen to make you sad, because you mustn't be sad a minute longer than you can help. Promise?"
He nodded gravely. "I promise, Mary."
"Then let's go back to the house. I'm cold."
Mary turned on the big space-heater in the living room to warm it up, and put on some music she knew would make him light-heartedly happy. The treatment worked, and he was soon laughing and talking as if nothing had ever happened to threaten his world. He demanded a reading lesson, which she gave him gladly, then declined another form of amusement, curling up on the floor at her feet instead and sitting with his head resting against the arm of her chair.
"Mary?" he asked after a long while, and just before she opened her mouth to tell him it was time to go to bed.
"Yes?"
He twisted around so that he could see her face. "When I cried and you hugged me, what's that called?"
She smiled, patting his shoulder. "I don't know that it's called anything very much. Comforting, I suppose. Yes, I think it's called comforting. Why?"
"I liked it. Mum used to do it sometimes a real long time ago when I was just a little shaver, but then she told me I was too big and never did it again. Why didn't you think I was too big?"
One hand went up to shield her eyes and stayed there a moment before she dropped it onto her lap and clenched it tightly around her other hand. "I suppose I didn't think of you as big at all, I thought of you as a little shaver. But I don't think how big you are is very important, I think how big your trouble is is much more important. You might be a big man now, but your trouble was much bigger, wasn't it? Did it help, to be comforted?"
He turned away, satisfied. "Oh, yes, it helped a lot. It was real nice. I'd like to be comforted every day."
She laughed. "You might like to be comforted every day, but it isn't going to happen. When something is done too often it loses its attraction, don't you think? If you were comforted every day whether you needed it or not, you'd soon get a wee bit tired of it. It wouldn't be nearly as nice any more."
"But I need comforting all the time, Mary, I need to be comforted every day!"
"Pooh! Fiddle! You're a conniver, my friend, that's what you are! Now I think it's bedtime, don't you?"
He climbed to his feet. "Night-night, Mary. I like you, I like you better than anyone except Pop and Mum, and I like you the same as I like Pop and Mum."
"Oh, Tim! What about poor Dawnie?"
"Oh, I like my Dawnie too, but I like you better than I like her, I like you better than anyone except Pop and Mum. I'm going to call you my Mary, but I'm not going to call Dawnie my Dawnie any more."
"Tim, don't be unforgiving! Oh, that's so cruel and thoughtless! Please don't make Dawnie feel that I've taken her place in your affections. It would make her very unhappy."
"But I like you, Mary, I like you better than I like Dawnie! I can't help it, I just do!"
"I like you too, Tim, and really better than anyone else in the whole world, because I don't have a Pop and a Mum."
Twelve
It transpired that Dawnie wanted to marry Michael Harrington-Smythe at the end of May, which left little time for preparations.
She took his chin in her hand and looked into the clouded eyes. "Now I know you're good and strong and kind, Tim, so I want you to be all of those things about your Dawnie, and about all the things that will happen to make you sad, because you mustn't be sad a minute longer than you can help. Promise?"
He nodded gravely. "I promise, Mary."
"Then let's go back to the house. I'm cold."
Mary turned on the big space-heater in the living room to warm it up, and put on some music she knew would make him light-heartedly happy. The treatment worked, and he was soon laughing and talking as if nothing had ever happened to threaten his world. He demanded a reading lesson, which she gave him gladly, then declined another form of amusement, curling up on the floor at her feet instead and sitting with his head resting against the arm of her chair.
"Mary?" he asked after a long while, and just before she opened her mouth to tell him it was time to go to bed.
"Yes?"
He twisted around so that he could see her face. "When I cried and you hugged me, what's that called?"
She smiled, patting his shoulder. "I don't know that it's called anything very much. Comforting, I suppose. Yes, I think it's called comforting. Why?"
"I liked it. Mum used to do it sometimes a real long time ago when I was just a little shaver, but then she told me I was too big and never did it again. Why didn't you think I was too big?"
One hand went up to shield her eyes and stayed there a moment before she dropped it onto her lap and clenched it tightly around her other hand. "I suppose I didn't think of you as big at all, I thought of you as a little shaver. But I don't think how big you are is very important, I think how big your trouble is is much more important. You might be a big man now, but your trouble was much bigger, wasn't it? Did it help, to be comforted?"
He turned away, satisfied. "Oh, yes, it helped a lot. It was real nice. I'd like to be comforted every day."
She laughed. "You might like to be comforted every day, but it isn't going to happen. When something is done too often it loses its attraction, don't you think? If you were comforted every day whether you needed it or not, you'd soon get a wee bit tired of it. It wouldn't be nearly as nice any more."
"But I need comforting all the time, Mary, I need to be comforted every day!"
"Pooh! Fiddle! You're a conniver, my friend, that's what you are! Now I think it's bedtime, don't you?"
He climbed to his feet. "Night-night, Mary. I like you, I like you better than anyone except Pop and Mum, and I like you the same as I like Pop and Mum."
"Oh, Tim! What about poor Dawnie?"
"Oh, I like my Dawnie too, but I like you better than I like her, I like you better than anyone except Pop and Mum. I'm going to call you my Mary, but I'm not going to call Dawnie my Dawnie any more."
"Tim, don't be unforgiving! Oh, that's so cruel and thoughtless! Please don't make Dawnie feel that I've taken her place in your affections. It would make her very unhappy."
"But I like you, Mary, I like you better than I like Dawnie! I can't help it, I just do!"
"I like you too, Tim, and really better than anyone else in the whole world, because I don't have a Pop and a Mum."
Twelve
It transpired that Dawnie wanted to marry Michael Harrington-Smythe at the end of May, which left little time for preparations.
Similar Books
