Free Alfred and Emily by Doris Lessing

‘And didn’t the doctor tell you the same?’
    Bert stopped drinking, or nearly, until there was a bad night when he fell down and was concussed.
    â€˜And now that’s it, Bert,’ said Betsy.
    Alfred did help, as well as he could, but it was Betsy who cured Bert.
    Two years passed and then there was this conversation. It was in Alfred and Betsy’s sitting-room, in their new house.
    â€˜Bert, who is this girl you go about with?’
    She knew, of course.
    â€˜That is Phyllis Merton and she wants to marry me.’
    â€˜Yes, but do you want to marry her, Bert?’
    â€˜Now that is the question. You know who I want to marry. I want to marry you.’
    â€˜Oh, Bert, you are so silly sometimes.’
    Bert, sober, had kept some of his bumbling, foolish-old-dog ways, partly because he was rather like that, but also because when he was drinking it had been hard always to tell when he was drunk and when not.
    Did that mean he planned to return to drink one of these days? Betsy did wonder, and then asked him. ‘Bert, you put on all these foolish ways, and they are funny. I’m not saying they aren’t, but sometimes I wonder if you are serious about never drinking again.’
    â€˜Clever Betsy. Sometimes I wonder myself. To give up for ever – have you thought of that? Longer than a lifetime.’
    â€˜But when you marry, Bert, you mustn’t ever drink, not ever.’
    â€˜That’s the trouble, you see, Betsy.’
    â€˜Do you like her, Bert?’
    â€˜But do you like her? I’d never marry a girl you didn’t approve of.’
    â€˜I hope she is a real little termagant, like me,’ said Betsy.
    That was what Alfred sometimes called her.
    â€˜Well, then, Alfred. Have I stopped him drinking or haven’t I?
    â€˜Because you see, Bert, being married, sometimes things are quite difficult. And you’ll be tempted to start off again.’
    â€˜I’ll marry her if you approve,’ said Bert.
    Phyllis was a farmer’s daughter from Ipswich way, and she had been thoroughly looked over by everyone concerned. It was generally agreed that she was after not just Bert, a nice enough chap now he was sober, but the Redway farm. Now, that was not something to be turned down.
    On the whole people approved. She was a thin, dark, clever girl, always on the watch, observing, noticing. It was these last qualities that Betsy approved.
    â€˜She’ll be good for you, Bert. She’ll keep you on the straight. And I must say I’ll be so pleased to have her take over. You’ve sometimes worn me out, Bert. Many a time I’ve gone to bed crying because of you, worrying so much over you.’
    â€˜Then to please you I’ll marry Phyllis,’ said Bert, in his foolish-old-dog mode.
    The Redways approved. Rather, Mr. Redway did. Mrs. Redway did not find much in life to agree with her these days. There was a big wedding. Betsy was matron of honour. There were bridesmaids, ten of them, and the little church at Longerfield was full. Alfred’s father played the organ.
    Alfred was best man.
    It went on well enough until Phyllis got pregnant, and there were difficulties. Bert came often to Betsy for counsel and advice.
    The baby, a girl, was born, was healthy, but Bert had a relapse. Phyllis being busy with the baby, Betsy dealt with the relapse. ‘Never again, Bert. You promised, didn’t you?’
    After quite a time Phyllis got pregnant again and it was then Mary Lane had stepped in to help with the little girl.Phyllis had a mother, but she didn’t live only a short lane away, like Mary.
    Mary adored the little girl, who adored her.
    â€˜It looks to me as if this is as near as I’ll get to being a grandmother,’ she mourned, ‘so I shall make the most of it.’
    Emily woke not knowing where she was or, indeed, who she was. Then, the lowing of cattle, not too far away, told her that this was not London. It was