A Friend of the Family

by Marcia Willett

  When she got in there was a postcard from David on the doormat. She read it as she walked slowly through to the kitchen. He would be down at Broadhayes next weekend for Easter and would love to see her. Love, David. She turned the card. It was a reproduction of one of his own paintings. He had sent her several now, begging her not to think that he was showing off but that he wanted to share them with her. Share. She had noticed that David used that word a lot. The picture was of an old dresser with blue china on the shelves. There were other things, too. David’s love of minutiae showed in the myriad tiny objects that had been lovingly put there. As usual he had printed his telephone number carefully in the top left-hand corner just above ‘My Dear Kate’. Kate stared at the card for some time and presently she went to the telephone and dialled.

  The receiver was lifted at once. ‘Porteous.’

  The cool clipped word confused Kate and she hesitated and almost slammed the receiver down.

  ‘Hello?’ His voice was still impersonal. Not quite impatient.

  ‘David.’ Kate could hardly bring the name out.

  ‘Yes?’ The voice was different now. Questioning, hardly daring to believe. ‘Kate? Is that you, Kate?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it is.’ Kate felt that she might be crying. Or was it laughing? It seemed to be both. There was a complete silence from the other end and she swallowed, wondering how to go on.

  ‘Just in case,’ David’s voice spoke suddenly in her ear. ‘In case it helps you to say whatever it is you want to say, I love you. I love you, Kate. Just in case, d’you see?’

  Kate nodded. Yes. It helped. But she still seemed tongue-tied. Her gaze strayed round the kitchen and came to rest on Felicity’s painting. She gulped and swallowed and suddenly it was easy and she could find the words.

  ‘David!’ she cried and, at the other end, David clutched the receiver, his whole being concentrated on what she might say. ‘Oh, David. Could you come?’ She was trembling violently. ‘Could you come at once? I’ve taken my shoes off. Oh, David. I’m going to need so much help to walk barefoot!’

  ‘I MUST SAY,’ SAID George, dealing with a cork with an experienced hand, ‘that it’s nice being just the two of us.’

  ‘You mean with the children in bed and everything quiet and peaceful?’ Thea was fiddling with saucepans at the Rayburn. ‘Yes, it is nice.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t mean the girls.’ George stood the wine on the kitchen table and sat down next to it. ‘They’re us really, aren’t they? I meant that it was nice not to have other people around. You know. Polly or Tim or Maggie. Just us.’ He poured the wine and sipped contentedly. ‘Nice wine.’

  ‘Look not upon the wine when it is red,’ advised Percy in Hermione’s voice and George laughed.

  ‘Sounds like your G.A. was keeping old Edward under strict control,’ he said.

  ‘Percy’s been in a biblical mood today,’ said Thea, stirring things. ‘We’ve had various collects and one or two verses from the Psalms, interspersed with some of Polly’s blasphemies. Sounds very odd.’

  ‘Here.’ George filled a glass and took it to her. ‘Something for the cook.’ He put it into her hand and kissed her. ‘Bless you.’

  ‘Oh, George.’ She took it and slipped her arm around him. ‘I’m so happy, it’s terrifying. We’re so lucky.’

  ‘We are indeed, my darling. Drink your wine. We’ll have a toast to us.’

  ‘Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging.’ Percy stuck to his guns.

  ‘He must know the Bible by heart.’ Thea smiled a little. ‘I’ve got some news actually. I’m pleased you said that about the girls, George. I’m so glad that’s how you feel. Because we’re going to have another baby. Isn’t it wonderful? Maybe it’ll be a boy, this time.’

  Oh, Thea!’

  ‘I know. Oh, careful, George! Mind! Let me go. The dinner will burn.’

  ‘Better is a dinner of herbs where love is than a stalled ox and hatred therewith,’ observed Percy, continuing to work his way through the Book of Proverbs.

  ‘Blow the dinner. Put that glass down and come here. Oh, darling, what wonderful news.’

  ‘Isn’t it? Oh, George, I think I’m going to cry. Isn’t that silly? I’m so happy really.’

  George took her into his arms and began to kiss her whilst Percy eyed them contemptuously. Remembering Polly’s habit of quoting from St John’s Gospel in moments of duress, he abandoned the Old Testament.

  ‘Jesus wept!’ said the parrot.