Collected Works of E M Delafield

by E M Delafield

  It wasn’t, and Julia pushed a number of things into the back of a drawer, straightened the books and the things on the dressing-table, and stuffed all the dirty handkerchiefs she could find into the clothes-basket. Then, to be on the safe side, she went and did the same things in Terry’s room.

  In the old days, mummie had practically never scolded Terry — only daddy had — but nowadays, one couldn’t feel sure about anything.

  Certainly, Terry was having a rotten time. He hated uncle Tom, and it was evident that uncle Tom couldn’t bear him.

  Once he’d told him that he ought to have been the girl and Julia the boy, and although Julia had often thought exactly the same thing herself she could have killed him for saying it to Terry. To Julia herself, uncle Tom was quite kind and always friendly, although he didn’t notice her much. When he did, it was mostly to tell her how to do things, and as Julia always listened to what he said and usually carried out his instructions correctly, they got on very well.

  It was a queer, muddled life. Often mummie and uncle Tom were out for ages, and Terry and Julia wandered about the garden, and bicycled on the Common, and read or played games in the schoolroom. Julia also spent a good deal of time with Mrs. Strang, eating odds and ends and helping with the toast or the vegetables, and being told several interesting things like the meaning of words that had, recently and inexplicably, come into her head, such as “alimony” and “decree nisi” and “incompatibility.” She also wanted to know the exact meaning of “adultery with a woman unknown” — but felt that it wouldn’t be any good, asking that. She wouldn’t be told, and Mrs. Strang might be shocked.

  One day, to Julia’s surprise, somebody from the old life at Hampstead appeared. It was Peggy Foster, a friend of mummie’s, much younger than mummie. She said she’d come to take them out in her car for the afternoon.

  “How marvellous!” cried Julia.

  They hadn’t really had any proper treats yet, because whenever uncle Tom was in he always wanted mummie and whenever he wasn’t she said she was tired and must try and get rested before he came home.

  Peggy was one of the very few people whom Terry really liked and with whom he talked and laughed just as he did when he and Julia were alone.

  He was silent and shy for the first few minutes — no wonder, when such a lot of things had happened since Peggy had last come to tea and they’d all been living properly at home — but it soon wore off.

  “What shall we do?” said Julia.

  “Whatever you like,” Peggy said. “Whose turn is it to sit in front?”

  It was so long since they’d been asked that, that nobody remembered. So Terry sat beside Peggy to begin with.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Anywhere you like.”

  After much agreeable discussion they decided to go to Woolworth’s in Oxford Street, to Madame Tussaud’s, and to have tea and ices at Fuller’s. Quite a number of good old jokes were revived. Peggy mentioned daddy once or twice, and mummie quite often, and asked if they were going to stay at “Rosslyn” all the holidays.

  “No. Daddy wants us for a bit of the time, and I think we may be going to Chepstow — where Chang is, and grandmama — and besides, I think mummie and uncle Tom want to go to Paris quite soon with some people,” said Julia, surprised to find that she knew this.

  “What’s uncle Tom like?” Peggy asked. “Is he nice, or not?”

  “We both rather loathe him,” said Julia firmly.

  “He has frightfully bad manners,” said Terry. “He swears in front of ladies, and he interrupts, and doesn’t pay attention when other people talk.”

  “He sounds a hog,” said Peggy quite cheerfully.

  Julia was delighted.

  But Terry said, in a very careful way:

  “Although I loathe him personally, I don’t think he means to be as beastly as he is. He simply doesn’t know how to be nice, that’s all.”

  “From the point of view of people who have to live in the house with him, that’s definitely bad,” Peggy replied.

  Terry and Julia agreed that it was.

  They had a glorious afternoon, although Woolworth’s took such ages that Madame Tussaud’s had to be left out.

  Peggy said she’d come again and take them there another day. The best of it was, thought Julia, that Peggy always kept her promises. So they’d have another lovely time.

  At Fuller’s while Terry was washing his hands, Peggy astonished Julia by asking whether he was quite well.

  “Perfectly,” said Julia, much surprised. “Why?”

  “I thought he looked rather tall and pale. I expect he’s just growing.”

  “So am I,” said Julia. “Would you say I was at all less fat?”

  “I think perhaps you are. Anyway, you look very nice.”

  “My hair wants washing, though,” Julia modestly replied, anxious not to seem conceited.

  It occurred to her vaguely that mummie hadn’t even remembered to wash her hair, these holidays — although this was usually done almost as soon as she arrived. Julia, who hated having her hair washed, decided not to remind her.

  They had tomato sandwiches, orangeade, and banana-splits.

  “Is it all right?” Terry asked Peggy. “I mean, it isn’t going to cost too much, is it?”

  “No, that’s absolutely okay. It’s my treat. I sold a short story the other day and the editor has just sent me a cheque.”

  “Oh, good!” said Terry. “What are you writing now:

  He and Peggy talked about Peggy’s work in a very grown-up way, and Julia listened respectfully. She had herself tried to read some of Peggy’s stories, but had been quite unable to make sense out of them. Terry, however, understood them quite, and liked them.

  In what seemed like a very short time, Peggy said she was very sorry, but it was nearly six o’clock and they’d have to be going.

  As they went through the shop she told them to choose some sweets to take home.

  “Up to two shillings each,” she added tactfully.

  Choosing the sweets was difficult — there were so many kinds and all of them lovely — but very interesting. Laden with the sweets and the Woolworth parcels they went out into the street, and it felt quite cold and smelt rather like the country, after the hot tea-room.

  I wish Chang was here, thought Julia passionately — but she didn’t say it out loud, for fear of making Terry feel sad.

  It was fun sitting next Peggy and Julia told her that a baby-Austin seemed like a pram, after uncle Tom’s huge car that could do eighty miles an hour.

  Terry, from the back, remarked that he wouldn’t want any supper after that tea.

  “I bet Julia won’t let it make any difference,” Peggy said, which made them all laugh, and Julia said wittily that it would depend on what sort of a supper it was.

  Peggy stopped outside the gate, and said she wasn’t coming in. Terry and Julia each thanked her for a lovely afternoon, and she kissed them and drove away.

  They walked up to the house, carrying all their parcels.

  “Won’t it be fun, looking at all the Woolworth things?” Terry said, his voice sounding eager and pleased.

  “Marvellous. I’ve completely forgotten what I bought,” Julia replied.

  Norah opened the door and told them that everybody was out.

  “I’ve put your suppers in the dining-room,” she said. “They won’t be in for dinner tonight.”

  In the dining-room they unpacked the parcels, strewing the paper about the floor and turning on all the lights in the happy certainty of having the whole place to themselves.

  The Woolworth things were even nicer and more amusing than they’d seemed when they were on the crowded, brightly-coloured stalls.

  Julia had bought an electric torch and some red candles and a pencil-box and two china dogs and a pair of scissors. She laid them out in a row, and thought how lovely they were.

  Then she looked at Terry’s purchases.

  A little blue cellu
loid ball, and a whole collection of china rabbits, and a fascinating wooden toy — a little man turning over a wooden bar.

  “How twee!” shrieked Julia.

  They began to play with the things.

  Terry made a house for his rabbits on a corner of the table and then decided what each one should be called. It took a long while, because he was so very particular about the names. He had to feel perfectly certain that each name really suited each rabbit.

  When that was at last settled he made them talk, and they all had different characters. Most of them were naughty and funny.

  Julia laughed and laughed, and in her turn made the little wooden man — kindly lent to her by Terry — come and talk to the rabbits, and ask them questions which they answered.

  The game grew more and more amusing and exciting. Julia only realized how noisy it had all been when the noise suddenly stopped.

  She’d never heard the door open.

  The first thing she heard was her own voice breaking into a kind of high squeak, and then uncle Tom saying:

  “My God, is this house a bloody nursery?”

  Julia and Terry both stood up.

  “Norah oughtn’t to have put them in here,” said mummie. “Infants, do you know what time it is? Run upstairs, quickly. I’ll come and say good-night.”

  “You won’t,” said uncle Tom. “We’re going to be late enough without that.”

  “Tiger, don’t bully me!”

  “Now then, kids, clear out! Pick up that mess first.”

  Julia had already swept up her belongings. Terry’s were untouched.

  He was grovelling for the pieces of paper on the floor. For every piece he picked up, he seemed to drop two.

  Julia hastily went to his help.

  “Buck up,” said uncle Tom. “And take your rubbish off the table, Julia. Haven’t you got a schoolroom?”

  Julia for a second hesitated. The law was a strict one by which she and Terry each tidied up their own belongings.

  “They’re not Julia’s, they’re mine,” said Terry, loyally supporting this unwritten convention.

  Without the slightest warning, the Captain burst into a roar of laughter, making Julia feel as if something had hit her.

  “A boy of twelve years old and still plays with toys like a baby! Well I’m damned!”

  Julia, furious, looked at mummie.

  She’d have to say something, to stop him somehow.

  “Terry dear — take them away for Heaven’s sake,” said mummie crossly. “It’s all right, Tiger — you don’t understand.”

  “I tell you what I do understand, my woman,” said the Captain forcibly, “that that boy of yours is going to get his bottom kicked good and proper if he doesn’t learn to behave like a normal lad instead of a mummy’s baby.”

  Julia, inexpressibly shocked, felt herself crimsoning to the roots of her hair.

  Without glancing to right or left, she marched to the door, saw that Terry was following her, and went out.

  She could hear Terry sobbing under his breath.

  At the top of the landing, he stopped by the open window. Julia didn’t know what he was going to do.

  He raised his hand and flung all the new toys — the wooden man and the china rabbits with which they’d had such fun — out into the darkness.

  Julia dared not move, or say anything.

  “I wish I was dead,” sobbed Terry, and he pushed past her and went into his room and slammed the door.

  IV

  IN the night, Terry was sick.

  Julia, awakened by the sounds next door, heard him plainly and wondered what she ought to do. If she went in to him he might be angry. At home in the old days, she would have gone straightway to fetch mummie. Now, she hesitated.

  Uncle Tom, she supposed, would be there — in mummie’s new, fine room with the two beds — and the thought of seeing him in bed made her feel extremely shy.

  But poor Terry! He was being sick!

  That was the worst of going out to tea in a shop, thought Julia sadly.

  Presently the sounds ceased and Julia, who had been sitting bolt upright, relaxed and lay down again.

  She felt terribly wide-awake, and found herself, much against her will, thinking angrily how changed and horrible things were, and what a miserable ending the nice afternoon with Peggy had had. Poor Terry! Just when for once he’d been enjoying himself.

  Julia bounced up and down on the mattress, partly as an outlet for indignation, and partly in order to distract her mind.

  It wasn’t any use.

  I wish I had something to eat, she thought disconsolately.

  Perhaps there might be some biscuits in the dining-room sideboard. Norah wasn’t a bit particular about putting things away. Anyway, it would be worth looking, and if anybody heard her she could always say she was looking for a drink of water. It should be true, too, added Julia, hastily pouring away the contents of her bedroom water-bottle.

  She took her new electric torch, delighted to see how well it worked, and crept out. The house was quite dark and quiet — evidently it was the middle of the night. With an agreeable consciousness of intrepid courage mingled with guilt, Julia went down the stairs, her bare feet making no noise on the carpet, her torch shining bravely.

  The dining-room door was shut.

  As she very carefully turned the handle, Julia suddenly and quite against her own wishes, remembered the horrible thing that had happened there earlier in the evening. Her face flamed at the recollection, and she clenched her teeth, hating uncle Tom.

  He couldn’t be allowed to go on ruining the holidays like this. Something would have to be done about it.

  Julia registered this resolution in her mind, and then walked into the dining-room and turned on the light. Goodness! nobody had cleared away. The supper things were still there, and some extra glasses and a decanter as well. Julia prowled about, sniffed at the contents of the decanter and made a face, ate a few fragments left on Terry’s plate, and looked into the sideboard-cupboard. There were no biscuits, but she discovered a very stale piece of sponge-cake at the bottom of the biscuit barrel and ate it without hesitation.

  Well, there didn’t seem to be anything else, and it was rather chilly with nothing on but one’s pyjamas.

  Julia cast a last curious glance all round her, thinking how different everything looked at night, and went quietly out again, turning out the light and shutting the door behind her.

  Just as she was going to turn on her electric torch she heard a door opening upstairs.

  Gosh!

  There wasn’t time to hide, or do anything. The light on the landing went up, and Julia, pressed against the wall at the foot of the stairs saw mummie, and knew that mummie had seen her.

  So there wasn’t anything for it but to go straight on, and this Julia did, clutching her torch rather hard and looking straight up at mummie, to show that she wasn’t feeling ashamed of herself.

  Rather to her surprise, mummie laid a finger on her lips and when Julia reached the top of the stairs she put out her hand, squeezed Julia’s and whispered:

  “Go back to bed. I’ll come to you.”

  Relieved and astonished, Julia obeyed.

  Mummie was still in her evening frock. So it couldn’t be so frightfully late after all.

  When she came in Julia asked at once:

  “Have you come back from your party, or not yet gone to it?”

  “We’ve been back about half an hour. I’m just going to bed. What on earth were you doing?”

  “I was hungry,” said Julia, seeing that it would be quite safe and that mummie wasn’t going to scold her, and wasn’t even, in fact, paying very much attention to what she said.

  “Listen, darling, was Terry frightfully upset because uncle Tom spoke to him like that in the dining-room?”

  “I don’t know,” said Julia with reserve. She wasn’t going to tell about poor Terry having cried like that.

  “I don’t know what to do,” mumm
ie said in a wild, impatient kind of voice. “You see, Terry has got to be a lot more like other boys before he goes to his Public School, and that’s what uncle Tom feels, and he really wants to do his best for him, but perhaps he doesn’t quite understand Terry yet. It makes it all frightfully difficult for me.”

  Julia felt rather sorry for her.

  “Couldn’t you ask him to leave Terry alone?” she suggested.

  “I have. But you see, he’s got this idea that all mothers spoil their sons, and that it’s up to him to knock Terry into shape — and of course, in a way it is. Look here, Julia, do you think you could make Terry understand that uncle Tom really doesn’t mean it unkindly — it’s only because he wants to see Terry more like other boys?”

  “But why?” said Julia coldly. “Terry isn’t anything to him.”

  “No, but I am,” mummie answered quickly. “He’s taking on you and Terry absolutely for my sake. Julia, you like him, don’t you?”

  “In some ways,” Julia said guardedly.

  “He likes you quite a lot. He’s terribly nice about you, always. But I don’t know what to do about Terry. I do hate to see him looking miserable, and if I try and talk to him it only upsets him.”

  Well, naturally, thought Julia. What else could one expect? If Terry hated uncle Tom, and mummie didn’t hate him at all but liked him enough to have married him, of course they couldn’t talk about it.

  “Julia, when you’re older you’ll understand much better about my having married Tom — I swear you will,” mummie said, as if she’d seen what Julia was thinking. “When two people are utterly miserable without each other, can’t you see that it’s much better that they should be brave, and not mind about what other people are going to say or think, but just start fresh and make a new life together?”

  “Yes,” said Julia, not understanding, but sure that this was what mummie wanted her to say.

  “It wasn’t because I was selfish, or didn’t care about you and Terry, that I did any of it. Daddy had gone away because he wanted to go away, and he and I both agreed that it would be the best thing to do. And then I found that Tom was fearfully fond of me, and I knew I could make him happy and be happy myself, and I thought you and Terry were quite old enough to understand. After all, this is a much nicer house than you’ve ever lived in before.”