Free The Birdcage by Marcia Willett

feels anxious. He leans back against Monty, who stirs in his sleep, whining a little, his paws twitching as if he were running. Piers leans over him tenderly, smoothing the soft coat, murmuring reassurances.
    David Frayn turns away from the window and Marina glances up from her book.
    â€˜To be honest with you, it doesn’t really appeal in weather like this,’ she answers. ‘It was quite fun, last autumn, but the days are rather long all alone in a poky flat and you can’t spend all day walking about. I don’t see much of Felix, you know, Father. He has to fit quite a lot in during those two days each month. Perhaps in the spring I’ll go.’
    â€˜Is it snowing again?’ asks Piers eagerly. The village school has closed early because of the weather and he has built a splendid snowman in the garth: his grandfather has lent a shabby old felt hat and a long woollen scarf, and Piers can hardly wait to show his father.
    â€˜I hope not,’ answers Marina. She glances at her watch. ‘I hoped Felix would be home early, before it begins to freeze again.’
    Even as she speaks they hear a door slam and suddenly here is Felix, ruddy-cheeked, rubbing his hands together, smiling at his family all happily together in this warm, comfortable room.
    â€˜There’s a strange person in the garth,’ he says solemnly. ‘A very cold person. I introduced myself and tried to shake hands with him but he refused.’
    Piers flings himself at his father’s legs, roaring with laughter. ‘That’s my snowman,’ he cries, his face bunched up with mirth. ‘He hasn’t got any hands.’
    Felix bends to touch his lips to Marina’s brow, smiles at his father-in-law and sits down by the fire with Piers in his lap.
    â€˜He has a very smart hat,’ he says to Piers. ‘What’s his name?’
    Marina watches them with her familiar half-frowning, half-smiling expression, as if she cannot understand how Felix can be so undignified, so natural with the child. He lies back in the chair with Piers kneeling astride him, almost shouting into his face with excitement, as relaxed and interested as if he too were six years old. What can it matter whether a snowman has a name? She gives a little disdainful shake of the head and, out of the corner of her eye, catches her father’s look. He watches Felix almost narrowly, as if trying to detect something, and she feels an odd pang of fear.
    â€˜I was just saying to Marina,’ he says to Felix, ‘that she should have another trip to Bristol with you when you go on Sunday.’
    Accidentally, or otherwise, Piers moves suddenly, so it is impossible to see Felix’s expression and when he speaks his voice is muffled by the child’s embracing arms.
    â€˜Why not?’ he says, emerging from the tussle. ‘Good idea.’ He looks at Marina questioningly. ‘Would you like to?’
    David Frayn notices that he makes no attempt to discourage her – he even sounds quite keen – and wonders if he is misjudging Felix. Lately his son-in-law seems calmer, more able to deal with the silences, the unspoken criticism, those accusations that occasionally he cannot help but overhear. There is something detached about Felix, some external power is giving him the ability to be patient, cheerful: more, there is an ill-concealed happiness, a smile that lingers on his lips when he is caught unawares. If he were asked to define it he’d say that here is a man who’s fallen wildly in love with someone who loves him just as much in return. Unfortunately there is no such change in Marina – which is why he feels anxious.
    â€˜I was explaining that I find it rather bleak,’ Marina is saying. ‘The flat has that unused feel, doesn’t it? It’s not so bad in the summer when you can be outside for most of the time but it’s not much fun in this kind of weather.’
    David watches