The Happy Prisoner Read Online Free Page B

always having these struggles—stop it, David!” She managed to catch hold of both of his wrists in one hand and they stood breathing heavily at one another, furious. Heather’s right hand looked as if it wanted to smack the child.
    â€œCouldn’t he stay a bit?” suggested Oliver mildly. “It’s early yet, and he hasn’t had any reading.” David looked from oneto the other judicially, wondering who would win, and saw Heather make a face at Oliver.
    â€œOh, Ollie,
really,
” she said. “Why suggest it? I did want to get him settled early. I’ve got Susan to feed, and I must change and do my face. Stanford’s coming to dinner.”
    â€œSurely you don’t have to bother for him. He’d think you marvellous whatever you looked like—even first thing in the morning.”
    â€œDon’t be silly,” she said, rather snappishly. “David, now look; are you coming without a fuss? I’ve had just about enough of you today. You’ve absolutely worn me out. I do think you’re an unkind little boy, when I’ve got so much to do.”
    She made a great mistake, Oliver thought, in appealing to his better nature. It never worked. As David’s face began to go red again, he said: “Why don’t you go up and leave him here to keep me company? I’ll send him up when I get sick of him.”
    â€œIf you’re sure he won’t be a pest. I wouldn’t have said that David was the ideal company for someone with a bad heart.” She picked up the mug and carried the stool and chair back to their place under the wall table where the drinks were. “There’s a piece of apple pie here for Evelyn—if and when she deigns to come in. If she wants anything else, there’s some cake in the big green tin. Tell her not to dare touch the fruit salad; it’s for tonight.”
    As she was going out, she heard David say in what was meant to be a whisper: “Can I look under the sheet
now!
”
    â€œIf you’re going to pester Uncle Oliver, you’ll have to come up with me,” she told him.
    â€œOnce,” he said, ignoring her. “I looked under Evie’s sheet, and there was a little dog in there, and a kitten.”
    â€œHow cosy,” Oliver said.
    â€œRevolting,” said Heather, and went out.
    While he was reading to David, Oliver let his mind stray and thought about his younger sister. What would John think of her when he came home? He had not seen her for more than a year, and before that, only in infrequent snatches since they were married in the first year of the war. Oliver had seldom seen them together. It was an accepted thing that they were very much in love, so he supposed they were. When Heather was touchy, people nodded at each other as much as to say: “We must make allowances for her. She misses John.”
    John had not seen his wife in the full tilt of motherhood. He had never seen this baby that she overdressed, overwashed, overfed and generally overdid. The war had changed everybody,but Heather more than most. She still looked the same: baby-faced, a little too fat, primrose-coloured hair so curly that she pretended she would prefer it straight, always something jingling at her wrists—and now, of course, that little gold crucifix round her neck as well—plump calves and small feet, but she never used to be so reckless and excitable. She was inconsistent too, fickle to her own personality. Sometimes, she was almost liquid with motherly love; at others, she was as shrill and exasperated as a slum mother boxing her child’s ears in the street. David never knew where he was with her. Sometimes she treated him like a grown-up, sometimes like a baby in arms, sometimes like a show-piece, sometimes almost like a juvenile delinquent.
    She seemed permanently wound up, as if she had lost the ability to relax, even after the children were in bed. She would sometimes come