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requests to play backgammon or chess. Ruth treated him intermittently with conscientious interest and neglect. George had found her interest especially irksome: inane questions about what David had done at school, receiving the expected bored answers.
    ‘You don’t have to treat him as though he’s three,’ said George after one of these attempts.
    ‘But darling, I can hardly talk to him about the tin-mining industry or homosexuality.’ Her tone was sincere rather than sarcastic.
    ‘I think you might try and make him feel a bit older, that’s all.’
    ‘I know, I know only too well. But all he ever does is play with his trains and he’s far too old for that. I have asked you to buy him some suitable books when you go into Truro. Yet all you get him is the Marilyn Monroe calendar … Why, darling? It’ll only remind him of Victoria and that’s the last thing we want. What the eye doesn’t see …’
    George winced as he looked at her expression. She stared at him with upturned face: reason murdered by the barbarians .George winced. David was nearly fifteen now. Three years ago Steven and he had stripped their little cousin Victoria behind the bamboos at the back of the house. An experience that had left her unperturbed until she told her parents. The seriousness of this affront to her young maidenhood had been so severely pointed out to her that she had quite forgotten her cousins’ dumb embarrassment , as they gazed with guilty eyes on her naked eight-year-old’s body. She forgot that, far from touching her, they had turned away while she dressed and had barely assisted with her undressing.
    ‘I think enough has been said about that already,’ said George.
    ‘I don’t remember you being very active at the time,’ was her reply.
     *
    Dinner was the worst time for George, for then Ruth would ask Steven’s friend, Robert, with mock slyness, about what her son had been up to at Oxford.
    ‘I’m sure he’s found a girl; Robert, do tell me, he has, hasn’t he?’ she smiled intimately, leaning forward her face between her hands. Steven cringed, not for himself, but for Robert.
    ‘What about that little girl at Boots, Steven …’ said Robert attempting to make a joke of the conversation. To his surprise Ruth took it seriously and changed the subject.
    George reassured her afterwards.
    ‘No, darling, of course he wasn’t being serious, the young will have their jokes.’
    ‘I don’t like Robert. I think he may be a bad influence.’
    ‘Seems harmless enough to me.’
    Nevertheless George felt no inclination to drink and Ruth herself remained sober. One had to be thankful for small mercies, thought George sanctimoniously.
     *
    Christmas Day started well. They were drunk before lunch and sleepy by tea. At six o’clock Ruth started the drinks circulating again and George dutifully played some old 78s: My Ideal, She’s Wonderful and of more recent vintage, Everything’s up to date in Kansas City. This was a great success. Steven, though, suggested that his mother and George gave an exhibition dance. George, who had just drunk three whiskies too close together for stability, declined .
    ‘All right then,’ said Steven, smirking at Robert, ‘this is a “ladies excuse me dance”. Come on, Mumsie, get the old man on his feet.’
    George looked at him with uncompromising disgust.
    ‘Oh come on, George, darling, we’ll show the younger ones.’
    ‘Come on, George, don’t spoil the fun. Play the game,’ said Steven in a simpering voice.
    Ruth was already on her feet. There was no going back now. George wondered how many gins she’d had. They put on My Ideal again and tried to fox-trot. George held her firmly, trying to avoid seeing Steven over her shoulder. The dance ended without Ruth catching her high heels in the edge of the carpet. George sat down again relieved. Everybody laughed and they all had another drink.
    David had been given two new engines and a great many rails and didn’t appear