Janet and Donald listened to her retreating steps down the passage towards the kitchen. Desperately they both tried to think of something to say, for their silence must seem to Gladys highly suspicious. They both found words at the same moment.

“Very warm evening, isn’t it?” from Donald.

Janet said:

“Quite chilly tonight.”

They began to giggle, hopeless, painful giggling. Janet managed to pull herself together first. She spoke in a whisper.

“Don’t offer to see me home.”

“I can’t let you go alone.”

“It’ll only make for awkwardness. Please.”

“But . . .”

“Please.”

Very unwillingly Donald agreed, then raised his voice.

“Tell me what the doctor said about your mother.”

Gladys, waiting for the kettle to boil, came to the end of the passage. “He’s told her it’s her spine,” she heard Janet say, and Donald answer, “He’s a clever fellow.” Puzzled, she went back to the kitchen. Had she been mistaken? Surely not! There was something different in the atmosphere between the two. She set the cups on a tray and then stood with the three teaspoons forgotten in her hand. “I must get things settled. He’s got over Anna; he wouldn’t face running this place without me. Perhaps her coming is just what I needed to give me a push. It’s silly to let things drift. I must think of a way to give him a push, it’s all he needs.”

It was rather an awkward tea-drinking, all three making painful, forced conversation. Janet was thankful when she had swallowed hers. She got up.

“Well, I must be off.” She nodded to them both. “Don’t get up. Good night.”

Donald, feeling an ill-mannered lout, passed his cup to Gladys for some more tea. Gladys filled it in silence, but her heart was beating at double its normal speed. “There is something. I know it. They’d arranged he shouldn’t see her home because of making me suspicious. He’s never rude like that; he’d never let her go alone across those dark fields.”

Donald felt uneasy.

“You’re looking very serious.”

She passed him his cup and smiled.

“Looking after you is enough to make any woman serious. Why, you can’t be out of my sight one afternoon without smashing your car. You don’t know what a lot of bothering goes on in my head.”

Section 11

If Janet had kept a diary the entries during the next weeks would have read, “Talked to Donald while I had Iris out for her walk.”