“You made me nervous from the first time that I met you. You’re so completely the opposite of what I’d want in a man. I feel it’s unfair of me to be against anyone so much—”

“Go on,” I said. “Build me up. Say some more nice things.”

“I’m tired of talking,” she said. “If we talk all day you’ll be just as awful at the end of it.” She took my hand and kissed it.

“I won’t wash it again,” I said. “Why did you do it?”

“I like your hands. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Now we had passed the Warley boundary; but there was no change. I had no responsibilities except to myself, there was noth­ing that mattered except to extract from her the answer that I wanted.

“It does to you,” I said.

Suddenly I thought of Mark with Susan; but now it had ceased to hurt, I had for them both a contemptuous tolerance. I threw away my cigarette and then put my left hand briefly on Norah’s thigh. I felt her shiver.

“I wish you weren’t so awful,” she said. “Not that anything can be done about that. I wish just that you weren’t married—”

“Oh God,” I said. “Can’t we stop the car?”

“There isn’t anywhere to stop it. And this isn’t the time.” She put her hand in my breast pocket and took out a Biro. “I’ll give you my phone number.”

I looked at the fields beside the Ring Road. There were no wind­ing lanes, no high walls, no hollows, only a great open flat­ness in the rain.

“When will the time be?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Perhaps never. When are you going on holiday?”

“Next Monday for three weeks.”

I put my arm around her shoulder.

“No,” she said. “People will see us.”

“All right. But touch me for a moment. I only want to feel your hand.”

She squeezed my knee. “Ah God, you’re terrible. No good will come of this.”

“You can keep the pen.”

“I intend to,” she said.

17

17

“We saw Auntie Sybil this afternoon,” Harry said at tea the next day. “She asked when you and Mummy were coming over to see them.”

“You’ll have to ask your father that,” Susan said. She frowned at Barbara. “Barbara, for goodness’ sake do eat your bun and not mess about with it.”

“I don’t like Auntie Sybil,” Barbara said. “She’s scowly-faced. And she smells, she does.”

I suppressed a smile. “That’s very naughty, Barbara.”

“Why for does she have to be my auntie?”

“She isn’t really,” Harry said. He smeared his sausage with tomato sauce. “Grandma says it’s vulgar to call people your aunts and uncles when they’re not.”