Mummy, it transpired, had told her more than a bit about it; I found myself seeing Sybil, fat, harassed shrewish Sybil, with the spectacles always steamed up, in quite a new light.
When Susan had finished, I whistled. “Gay is the word,” I said. “Gay is the word.” Then I had a mental picture of the Sybil of twenty years ago, of the drunken faces hanging over her, of her inevitable posture, of the inevitable actions; gay wasn’t the word.
“It’s disgraceful really,” Susan said. “I mean, we shouldn’t drag up these things. It’s all over and done with now, anyway.”
“Dead and buried,” I said. “Dead and buried.” I lit a cigarette. “By the way—” I stopped.
“Go on,” she said. “I know something unpleasant’s coming up.”
“I’m going to London tomorrow.”
“You might have told me before,” she said angrily. “You know perfectly well we’re having Bob and Eva to dinner on Thursday.”
“I’ll probably be back by then.”
“Probably is good. You’re well aware you won’t be. You’ll be having too nice a time in London. You’re absolutely selfish, Joe.”
“Goddam it, it isn’t my fault. Complain to your father, not me.”
“I’ve a good mind to,” she said. “He doesn’t push anyone else around like that. I’m always being left alone with just Gerda for company and this week I haven’t even got Gerda. You’re mean and horrid and I hate you!” She began to cry. I knelt down beside her and put my arm round her shoulders. “Don’t be upset, love, Joe doesn’t want to go, but Joe has to earn pennies. Joe’ll bring you something booty back, you’ll see. Don’t cry, precious, don’t cry, there’s a good girl. . . .”
I put my hand on her knee; suddenly the tears stopped.
“Bolt the door,” she said, suddenly.
“Mark—”
“They won’t come for half an hour yet. Bolt the door, Joe, bolt the door.” Her hands were at my body then at her own, feverishly. Bolting the door and switching off the main light, I heard something rustle to the floor; I walked over slowly to the sofa.
“Hurry,” she said. “Hurry. You do, too, you know you do, you know you love it—” Gay, I thought, gay is not the word; then I cried out in pain as she bit my hand. “The big pretend,” she said, as I shook her by the shoulders. “The big pretend, the hurting pretend – I can’t stop you, you must, you must—” and I emerged after what seemed a long time later to hear the front door bell.
“Damn them,” she said. “Help me up, darling.” I pulled her up by her hands, noticing that it wasn’t as easy as it used to be. The bell rang again.
“You’d better let them in,” she said. “I’ll tidy myself.” Her smile broadened. “You’re all undone. And your hair—”
I made myself decent hurriedly on the way to the door; but under Mark’s and Sybil’s eyes I felt a curious embarrassment. It was a night too when I could have done without callers, particularly Sybil whose voice that night seemed to be at its shrillest; they had, she breathlessly explained, just been to a disastrous management meeting, and she’d had the hell of a day, the children had been fiends –