Free Somewhere Beyond Reproach by Tim Jeal

almost dark. I decided we might risk looking at the Christmas decorations in Regent Street before returning to Wimbledon. The rush-hour crowd milled on the pavements looking in at the well-lit windows. Both Andrew and I agreed that the decorations were beautiful. Less than a week to Christmas. The nylon shimmering trees, the paper Santa Clauses, the tinsel, all made me feel lonely.My mother was the only person I felt able to give a present to. Andrew’s face was pressed against the window of a jewellers. I would give him a present.
    ‘I’m going to give you something for Christmas,’ I said suddenly. He looked at me with a bewildered expression.
    ‘Would Granny let you?’ he asked doubtfully.
    ‘You don’t have to tell her. I could buy it tomorrow and send it to your home.’
    ‘It won’t arrive in time with the post delay. Mummy posted something last week and it still hasn’t got to the person.’ Andrew looked at me downcast.
    ‘I could bring it round.’
    ‘My mother mightn’t let me keep it.’
    I felt slightly discouraged by all these objections. Nevertheless I felt he might be right. Handsome presents from people hardly known are always treated with suspicion and as a rule rightly. I thought quickly.
    ‘If I bring it round when your mother’s out, you could unwrap it before she comes back, so then nobody would be able to return it.’
    He thought for a moment before agreeing. He thought that she would be out during the afternoon the following day. I could ring up and check so there was no danger of running into her by mistake. I told him he could say who had given it. There was certain to be some kind of response. My standing with the child was already good.
    The time had come for my being able to make this very indirect approach. By that time I should have seen the inside of the flat. I had already learned something about Simpson. Dinah’s response to what was going to be a very handsome present to her son, was going to tell me something about her. When we met the meeting would have a context. We would have a base to work from. My approach would not be the fumbling effort of a hopeless lover returning too late out of the blue and begging to be taken back. I should be the old friend who had forgotten all resentment, who had genuinely liked her, in a relationship that could exist without sex. That would be to start with. She would confide in me,cry on my shoulder and finally realise that she depended on me too much to live without me. My optimism knew no bounds as I drove Andrew back to Wimbledon that evening. On delivering him I was quite spontaneously pleasant to Mrs Lisle. She looked surprised. Andrew looked happy. He winked at me as I left: an acknowledgement of our conspiracy.

Nine
    I had little difficulty in choosing what to give Andrew. My memory of the toy soldiers I had once possessed and the guns I had aimed at them decided me to give much the same to him.
    When I got home to my flat I examined my purchases more carefully: a particularly fine tank and some larger than standard-sized toy soldiers in modern battle dress. I looked at them and, as I did, recaptured exactly the feeling of pride I should have experienced to possess them at Andrew’s age. No; these would not be sent back without a very considerable fuss. The tank was beautifully made, powered by electricity and able to fire small metal dummy shells. I was specially impressed with the spring-loading mechanism. I looked at the construction of the thing. It almost appeared to have been made in sections like the real article; rivet marks were clearly visible. The detail picked out on the soldiers’ firearms was exact. Their toecaps were shinier than the rest of their boots. I had bought a dozen of them.
    My lack of concern for my domestic environment at that time has been reflected in these pages by lack of reference to it. I then lived in a flat just south of Kensington Gardens. The block had probably been put up in the early thirties.