Making Things Better Read Free Page B

despair at their present circumstances. Freed at last by the arrival of the bus, he would wait and wave for as long as she remained in view. It was her last sweet smile that went part way to reconciling him to the further duties that awaited him at home.
    Bijou Frank was a good friend to his mother, and he hoped that his mother was as good a friend to Bijou, who seemed, and was, devoted. He was spared much of their conversation, which he supposed consisted of Bijou’s marital experiences and his mother’s hypochondria. Each listened eagerly to the other, while waiting her turn to speak. Yet these occasions revived something of his mother’s assertiveness, before the advent of Freddy’s mysterious opposition to his destiny, or rather to the destiny she had decreed for him, had dealt her such a cruel blow. She would dress more carefully than usual, would prepare a dish of small delicacies, would retrieve, for a brief interval, the manners of a Berlin hostess, would in fact rise above her circumstances in a way she was never able to manage in the intervals between Bijou’s visits. She was greedy for Bijou’s company, but would never allow this to show. Nevertheless it was a friendship of some weight, though had they still been in Berlin they might not have seen each other more than a couple of times a year. The tea-table, like Bijou’s hat, which was never removed, reassured them both that standards were being maintained, that worldliness had not entirely deserted them. This reassurance was perhaps their last link with their former lives. They knew this too, and treasured the knowledge.
    â€˜And how is our dear friend this evening?’ his father would enquire after his return from the shop, gallantly professing friendship on his own behalf while silently longing for a restorative glass of schnapps. This he was not allowed, for a further ceremony had to be enacted, a thimbleful of cherry brandy in which he joined the ladies. This was the signal that the visit was about to be concluded, that he, Julius, was soon to usher out again with Bijou on his arm.
    â€˜Well, thank you, Willy, and yourself? Your work?’
    â€˜Fine. Perfectly fine.’
    â€˜What news from over there?’
    â€˜What do you expect? Best not to think about it.’
    â€˜I try not to. But it’s not easy.’
    â€˜It will not be easy for a long time.’
    Here his mother would break in, saying that they must all try to live in the present. This she managed to do in a somewhat uncanny fashion, disguising her resentments and anxieties by concentrating on her physical condition, which she allowed to overshadow the physical condition of her husband, her younger son, and Freddy, in whose rehabilitation she appeared to place exaggerated faith. That her faith was misplaced Julius had had reason to reflect once more that afternoon, while sitting with Freddy in his barely furnished room in what he privately thought of as the hostel in Brighton which Freddy showed no disposition to leave. Both Julius and his father knew that when Bijou Frank took her leave Mrs Herz would revert to her former self, would remove her necklace and her earrings, and as like as not change into a dressing-gown. The inquest on Freddy’s health would take place later that evening, when they were all exhausted, and would be exhaustive. What did they know of those bleak Saturday afternoons? What did he allow them to know? Making things better was his task, his obligation, and eventually, after another glass of cherry brandy, his mother would allow herself to be encouraged to go to bed. Their supper would consist of the smoked salmon canapés and the little macaroons that had been laid out for the guest. The guest, as if suspecting, had eaten sparingly. In some ways she was a delicate-minded woman. They were all careful of the friendship, for it was almost the only one they had.
    But even those exhausted Saturday evenings were a relief