closed the door.
* * *
It took Christie a little less than twenty minutes to wash and dress.
She had not worn make-up for four years. A box of cosmetics given to her by her sister on Christie's last birthday remained unused in the drawer of her dressing-table.
Jenny had not understood the reason for Christie's refusal to revert to the ways of her girlhood. She had thought it was grief for Mike which accounted for Christie's continued lack of interest in current fashions and social activities. The real reason was something which Christie could never confide to anyone, not even her sister. Least of all to her sister who obviously did not suffer from Christie's secret incapacity.
One of the reasons Paul had not liked his sister-in- law was, she knew, that he had thought her a prude. But it wasn't narrow-minded primness which made her tense and uncomfortable when anyone mentioned sex. The explanation was far more complex.
Had Paul but known it, Christie had not disapproved of the fact that he and her sister had lived together for some time before getting married. She had often regretted her own virginity on her wedding day. If she and Mike had emulated Jenny and Paul, the unhappiness of her short marriage could have been avoided, and she would have had fewer harrowing memories to haunt her all the rest of her life.
When, dressed in a pleated grey skirt, white blouse and grey lambswool cardigan, she left her bedroom, she could smell bacon cooking and hear her nephew's piping voice coming from the kitchen.
Before she reached it she heard Ash ask, 'Where does your aunt keep the marmalade?'
In answer, the little boy must have pointed to a cupboard because, when she joined them, her unwelcome house guest was opening the cupboard containing her stores of home-made marmalade and jam.
'Those are unopened jars. The one we're using is in here,' she said, opening another door.
Having put the marmalade on the table, she bent to kiss John's rounded cheek. 'Good morning, my lamb.'
He responded with a vigorous hug. He was an affectionate child who liked to sit on her lap to be read to, and who rushed to clasp her round the legs when she fetched him from Mrs Kelly's flat after returning from school. The thought of losing him, of living alone again, filled her with dread. To spend the rest of her life without anyone on whom to lavish her deep reserves of affection seemed unendurable. But the usual outlet for those feelings was something she had had to renounce. To love and be loved by a child was all that was left to her.
'One egg or two?' Ash asked her, as she straightened after being hugged.
He had gone back to the cooker and was breaking eggs into a pan of hot oil. Tomatoes, cut into halves, were fizzling gently in a second pan, and several days' supply of bacon rashers were visible under the eye-level grill.
'One, please.'
She wouldn't help being impressed by the deft way he rapped the eggs on the edge of the pan and, using only one hand, swung the shells open. Her brother-in-law and her husband had both been useless in the kitchen, prevented from acquiring even the most rudimentary skills by their doting mothers. She wondered how Ash had acquired his competence, and remembered his remark the night before that he didn't depend on women for all his creature comforts.
'Why do you scrape your hair back like that? It looks nicer loose,' he remarked, with a glance in her direction as the last of five eggs plopped into the fat and began to set.
'In my job neatness and hygiene are more important than looks,' she answered stiffly, knowing that she probably sounded priggish, but resenting so personal a comment on such short acquaintance.
'You aren't at work yet,' was his reply, with another glance which took in her clothes and low- heeled black shoes. But if he was critical of them, he didn't say so but left the cooker to draw a chair out from the table for her.
With a murmur of thanks Christie sat down and unrolled her napkin
* * *
It took Christie a little less than twenty minutes to wash and dress.
She had not worn make-up for four years. A box of cosmetics given to her by her sister on Christie's last birthday remained unused in the drawer of her dressing-table.
Jenny had not understood the reason for Christie's refusal to revert to the ways of her girlhood. She had thought it was grief for Mike which accounted for Christie's continued lack of interest in current fashions and social activities. The real reason was something which Christie could never confide to anyone, not even her sister. Least of all to her sister who obviously did not suffer from Christie's secret incapacity.
One of the reasons Paul had not liked his sister-in- law was, she knew, that he had thought her a prude. But it wasn't narrow-minded primness which made her tense and uncomfortable when anyone mentioned sex. The explanation was far more complex.
Had Paul but known it, Christie had not disapproved of the fact that he and her sister had lived together for some time before getting married. She had often regretted her own virginity on her wedding day. If she and Mike had emulated Jenny and Paul, the unhappiness of her short marriage could have been avoided, and she would have had fewer harrowing memories to haunt her all the rest of her life.
When, dressed in a pleated grey skirt, white blouse and grey lambswool cardigan, she left her bedroom, she could smell bacon cooking and hear her nephew's piping voice coming from the kitchen.
Before she reached it she heard Ash ask, 'Where does your aunt keep the marmalade?'
In answer, the little boy must have pointed to a cupboard because, when she joined them, her unwelcome house guest was opening the cupboard containing her stores of home-made marmalade and jam.
'Those are unopened jars. The one we're using is in here,' she said, opening another door.
Having put the marmalade on the table, she bent to kiss John's rounded cheek. 'Good morning, my lamb.'
He responded with a vigorous hug. He was an affectionate child who liked to sit on her lap to be read to, and who rushed to clasp her round the legs when she fetched him from Mrs Kelly's flat after returning from school. The thought of losing him, of living alone again, filled her with dread. To spend the rest of her life without anyone on whom to lavish her deep reserves of affection seemed unendurable. But the usual outlet for those feelings was something she had had to renounce. To love and be loved by a child was all that was left to her.
'One egg or two?' Ash asked her, as she straightened after being hugged.
He had gone back to the cooker and was breaking eggs into a pan of hot oil. Tomatoes, cut into halves, were fizzling gently in a second pan, and several days' supply of bacon rashers were visible under the eye-level grill.
'One, please.'
She wouldn't help being impressed by the deft way he rapped the eggs on the edge of the pan and, using only one hand, swung the shells open. Her brother-in-law and her husband had both been useless in the kitchen, prevented from acquiring even the most rudimentary skills by their doting mothers. She wondered how Ash had acquired his competence, and remembered his remark the night before that he didn't depend on women for all his creature comforts.
'Why do you scrape your hair back like that? It looks nicer loose,' he remarked, with a glance in her direction as the last of five eggs plopped into the fat and began to set.
'In my job neatness and hygiene are more important than looks,' she answered stiffly, knowing that she probably sounded priggish, but resenting so personal a comment on such short acquaintance.
'You aren't at work yet,' was his reply, with another glance which took in her clothes and low- heeled black shoes. But if he was critical of them, he didn't say so but left the cooker to draw a chair out from the table for her.
With a murmur of thanks Christie sat down and unrolled her napkin