– ‘We’ve won, Julia, yes, we really have.’ Frances was gratified: she actually had tears in her eyes. Andrew put his arm around Sylvia and, smiling at his mother, said, ‘Yes, it is. But Julia prefers to be up there by herself.’
Having unwittingly created a picture of what must be loneliness, it struck him, and he jumped up and said, ‘I’ll go and ask her again.’ This was partly to relieve him of the burden and the challenge of his still scarcely touched plate. As he went out and up the stairs, Sylvia put down her spoon.
In a moment Andrew returned, and sat down with, ‘She says perhaps she’ll drop in later.’
This caused a moment not far from panic. In spite of Andrew’s efforts on his grandmother’s behalf, they all tended to see Julia as a kind of old witch, to be laughed at. The St Joseph’s contingent could not know how Julia had wrestled for a week, two, with Sylvia’s illness, sitting with her, bathing her, making her take mouthfuls of this and sips of that. Julia had hardly slept. And here was her reward, Sylvia, picking up her spoon again, watching Andrew lift his, as if she had forgotten how to use one.
The difficult moment passed, the kids appeased their teenage appetites, and Frances ate more than she usually would, to be an example to the two on her left. It was a wonderful evening, with an undertone of tenderness because of Sylvia and their concern for her. It was as if they were collectively putting their arms around her, while she got down one mouthful after another. Andrew too.
And then they saw she had gone white and was shaking. ‘My father …’ she whispered. ‘I mean, it’s my stepfather …’
‘Oh, no,’ said Colin, ‘it’s all right, he’s gone to Cuba.’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Andrew, and leaped up to intercept Johnny, who was in the hall outside the kitchen. Andrew shut the door, but everyone could hear Johnny’s bluff, reasonable, confident voice, and Andrew: ‘No, father, no, you can’t come in, I’ll explain later.’
Voices loud, then low, and Andrew returned, leaving the door open, and slid down again beside Sylvia. He was red and angry, and he clutched his fork like a weapon.
‘But why isn’t he in Cuba?’ asked Colin, petulantly, like a child.
The brothers looked at each other, suddenly as one, exchanging understandings.
Andrew said, ‘He hasn’t left, but I expect he will.’ He added, still angry, ‘Actually, I think he’s going to Zanzibar – or Kenya.’ A pause, while the brothers communed, with their eyes and angry smiles. ‘He’s not alone, he’s got a black man … a man from there … an African comrade.’ These adjustments to the spirit of the times were followed carefully by the company. They had taken Africa into their hearts and consciences, the progressive schools had seen to that, and even Rose at a far from progressive school chose her words with, ‘We’ve got to be nice to dark-skinned people, that’s what I think.’
Sylvia had not recovered. Her spoon hung listless in her thin hand.
And now James, who was understandably at a loss, said, ‘Why is he going to Africa instead of Cuba?’
At this the brothers laughed, together, and it was not pleasant, while Frances prevented herself from joining in, though she would have liked to. She had always tried never to criticise Johnny in public.
Colin said, like an orator, ‘Keep them guessing,’ and Frances, hearing the quote, had to laugh. ‘That’s it,’ said Andrew, ‘keep them guessing.’
‘Why are you laughing?’ asked Sylvia, ‘what’s funny?’
Andrew at once stopped his mockery, and picked up his spoon again. But it was over, their meal, his and Sylvia’s. ‘Johnny’s coming,’ he said to her. ‘He’s just getting something from the car. If you want to get out of the way …’
‘Oh, yes, I do, yes, please,’ said Johnny’s stepdaughter, and up she got, supported by Andrew’s arm. The two went out. At least they had both eaten something.
Frances called after them, ‘Tell Julia not to come down, otherwise they’ll quarrel again.’
The meal continued, subdued.
The St Joseph contingent were talking about a book Daniel had stolen from a secondhand bookstall, The Ordeal of Richard Feverel. He had read it, said it was groovy, and the tyrannical father was just like his. He recommended it to Geoffrey who pleased him by saying it was great, and then the novel migrated to Sophie who said it was the best book she had ever read, it made her cry. Now Colin was reading it. Rose said, ‘Why can’t I read it? It isn’t fair.’
‘It’s not the only copy in the world,’ said Colin.
‘I’ve got a copy, I’ll lend it to you,’ said Frances.
‘Oh, Frances, thank you, you’re so sweet to me.’
This meant, as everyone knew, I hope you are going to go on being sweet to me.
Frances said, ‘I’ll get it,’ to have an excuse to go out of that room which so soon would swirl with discordant currents. And everything had been so nice until now … She went up to the room just over the kitchen, the sitting-room, found The Ordeal of Richard Feverel in a wall of books, turned and saw that Julia was sitting there alone in the half dark. Not since Frances had taken over the lower part of the house had she found Julia in this room. Now, ideally, she should sit down and try to make friends with Julia, but as always, she was in a hurry.
‘I was on my way down to you all,’ said Julia, ‘but I hear Johnny has arrived.’
‘I don’t see how I can stop him coming,’ said Frances. She was listening downwards, to the kitchen – were they all right there, no quarrels? Upwards … was Sylvia all right?
Julia said, ‘He has a home. It seems to me that he is not often in it.’
‘Well,’ said Frances, ‘if Phyllida is in it, who can blame him?’
She had hoped that this might make Julia at least smile, but instead she was going on, ‘I must say this …’ And Frances waited for what she was sure would be a dose of disapproval. ‘You are so weak with Johnny. He has treated you abominably.’
Frances was thinking, Then why give him the key to the house? – though she knew the mother could hardly say to the son that he couldn’t have a key to a house he thought of as his own. Besides, what about the boys? She said, trying to joke a little, ‘Perhaps we could have the locks changed?’
But Julia took it seriously with, ‘I would see to it if I did not think you would at once give him a new key.’ She got up, and Frances, who had been planning to sit down, saw another opportunity slide away.
‘Julia,’ said Frances, ‘you always criticise me, but you don’t support me.’ And what did she mean by that, except that Julia made her feel like a schoolgirl deficient in everything.
‘What are you saying?’ said Julia. ‘I do not understand.’ She was furious, and hurt.
‘I don’t mean … you have been so good … you are always so generous … no, all I meant was …’
‘I do not believe that I have been lacking in my responsibilities to the family,’
