Free After Rain by William Trevor Page A

can’t think how I could have been such a fool as to marry her in the first place.’
        ‘Poor thing, it’s not her fault.’
        ‘It’s that that makes it such an awful guilt.’ This came from an old black-and-white film and was used a lot because they liked the sound of it.
        When romance was to the fore they spoke in whispers, making a murmuring sound when they didn’t know what to say. They tried out dance steps in the attic, pretending they were in a dance-hall they called the Ruby Ballroom or a night-club they called the Nitelite, a title they’d seen in neon somewhere. They called a bar the Bee’s Knees, which Rebecca said was a name suitable for a bar, although the original was a stocking shop. They called a hotel the Grand Splendide.
        ‘Some sleazy hotel?’ Gerard’s father had scornfully put it. ‘Some sleazy pay-at-the-door hotel for his sleazy one-night stands ?’
        ‘No, actually,’ the reply had been. ‘It was rather grand.’
        Downstairs they watched a television serial in which the wronged ones made the kind of fuss that both Gerard and Rebecca had witnessed. The erring ones met in car parks, or on waste land in the early morning.
        ‘Gosh!’ Rebecca exclaimed, softly astonished at what was occurring on the screen. ‘He took his tongue out of her mouth. Definitely.’
        ‘She’s chewing his lips actually.’
        ‘But his tongue — ’
        ‘I know.’
        ‘Horrid great thing, it looked.’
        ‘Look, you be Mrs. Edwina, Rebecca.’
        They turned the television off and climbed to the top of the house, not saying anything on the way. They closed the door behind them.
        ‘OK,’ Rebecca said. ‘I’m Mrs. Edwina.’
        Gerard made his bell-ringing sound.
        ‘Oh, go away!’ Staring intently into space, Rebecca went on doing so until the sound occurred again. She sighed, and rose from where she’d been sitting on the floor. Grumbling wordlessly, she ran on the spot, descending stairs.
        ‘Yes, what is it, please?’
        ‘Mrs. Edwina?’
        ‘Sure I’m Mrs. Edwina.’
        ‘I saw your card in the window of that newsagent’s. What’s it called? The Good News, is it?’
        ‘What d’you want, please?’
        ‘It says you have a room to let.’
        ‘What of it? I was watching Dallas.’
        ‘I’m sorry, Mrs. Edwina.’
        ‘D’you want to rent a room?’
        ‘I have a use for a room, yes.’
        ‘You’d best come in.’
        ‘Cold evening, Mrs. Edwina.’
        ‘I hope you’re not planning a love nest. I don’t want no filth in my house.’
        ‘Oh, what a lovely little room!’
        ‘If it’s for a love nest it’ll be ten pounds more per week. Another ten on top of that if you’re into call-girls.’
        ‘I can assure you, Mrs. Edwina — ’
        ‘You read some terrible tales in the papers these days. Beauty Queen a Call-girl! it said the other day. Are you fixing to bring in beauty queens?’
        ‘No, no, nothing like that. A friend and myself have been going to the Grand Splendide but it’s not the same.’
        ‘You’d be a married man?’
        ‘Yes.’
        ‘I get the picture.’
        Rebecca’s mother had demanded to know where the sinning had taken place. Gerard’s mother, questioned similarly, had revealed that the forbidden meetings had taken place in different locations — once or twice in her lover’s office, after hours; over lunch or five-thirty drinks. A hotel was mentioned, and finally a hired room. ‘How sordid!’ Rebecca’s mother cried, then weeping overcame her and Rebecca crept away. But, elsewhere, Gerard remained. He reported that extraordinary exchanges had followed, that great importance was attached to the room that had been specially acquired, great offence taken.
        ‘I’m tired of this