Free When I Was Otherwise by Stephen Benatar Page B

said Erica, “never knew anyone who talked so fast and so vivaciously as you—not when you’re talking about films or shows or somebody like Fred Astaire.”
    â€œI must grow up,” said Marsha, very slowly, and pausing in her flight towards Dan at the door. “I am very soon about to be a wife and a mother.”
    And then this sudden dignity was shattered when she clapped her hand to her mouth and giggled again and said, “Oh, no, I didn’t mean—”
    Erica said, “Well, don’t grow up too quickly; you’re very charming as you are,” and Marsha darted back to plant a grateful kiss upon her sister-in-law’s cheek.
    It was such a pity, she thought, that she couldn’t feel quite the same about her other sister-in-law. Then they could all have linked arms and sung ‘Three little maids from school are we’ in a very jolly and high-stepping and united trio. (Except that Erica was tone-deaf and Daisy couldn’t stand her—and Erica couldn’t stand Daisy—which somehow reduced the possibilities. It was such a shame. Never having had sisters of her own Marsha hadn’t foreseen that sisters-in-law could be anything but a sheer delight, a sort of extension of one’s schooldays that would go on forever; and she often felt it might be her own fault that she didn’t get on better with Daisy.)
    â€œWhen shall I come, then?” Daisy’s voice rasped unmusically down the telephone in just the same way it rasped unmusically when not down the telephone. Marsha still felt surprised, even now, that distance could do so little to alleviate it. “I don’t suppose you’ll be wanting me for Sunday lunch?”
    She added quickly: “And don’t say, ‘Mmm, yes, braised!’, because no matter how long you cooked me I’d remain tough!”
    Marsha responded feebly. “Oh—er—yes. Sunday? This one?”
    â€œOr arrange it for an evening if you like. I don’t care. Are you free on Saturday? Yes, this Saturday. I hate to make plans about six years in advance. By then you might even have changed your minds about wanting to have me!” The joky laughter succeeding this remark caused Marsha to jerk away the receiver. “I’m assuming you won’t object to feeding me, you see.”
    â€œDaisy, we shall feel utterly delighted and honoured and privileged to be able to feed you!”
    â€œMy, my, that’s a pretty little speech! I don’t believe one word of it.”
    â€œBut I mean it.”
    â€œWell, all the same, you mustn’t put yourself out, dear, not on my account. Any old potluck will do. At home I just live on a sandwich. Now and then, that is, when I remember.”
    â€œOh, Daisy, you’ve got to eat properly!”
    â€œNo, who can be bothered? And I don’t want you to bother, either. Nor your cook. Now—when am I to blight your lives forever? Are you free on Sunday?”
    â€œYes, but…”
    Marsha had been thinking. If Daisy was invited to Sunday lunch she would probably stay on until bedtime. Marsha used her ingenuity.
    â€œI’ve just had a brainwave! Why don’t we say Saturday evening? An evening makes it more of an occasion. Otherwise it’s like going to the cinema in the afternoon and coming out when it’s still daylight. You feel it’s a bit of an anticlimax? I know I do.” Though Marsha went frequently to the cinema in the afternoons.
    â€œAnd I’m an occasion, am I?”
    â€œMost definitely you are!”
    The way she was handling this! Marsha thought someone should really be applauding her. (Perhaps Miss Myers, who had always been her very favourite teacher at Lausanne—such a darling!) Ten out of ten for diplomacy, old thing.
    Daisy chuckled.
    â€œOf course you’re an occasion,” Marsha affirmed. “It’s such a long time since we’ve seen one another. And Andy is simply