Free The Centre of the Green by John Bowen Page A

the trial, prison wouldn’t be so bad. Who could get at him there? Who would know him there? It wasn’t prison itself that he dreaded, but the going in and eventually coming out again. “Could I really go to prison?” he said.
    “Unless you do something pretty quickly.”
    “What can I do? She’s already … I mean, you can’t undo—— An abortion, do you mean?”
    “Maybe. You’ll have to talk to Mr. Monney.”
    “No!”
    “It’s the only thing.”
    “I can’t.” Why did they think he had come home? It was up to
them
to do these things. Wasn’t it embarrassing enough for him, just talking about it? “I can’t go back to all that,” he said. “I’m not well. I only came home for help, and now you want to send me back. It isn’t fair.”
    “Julian, dear——”
    “I’m not well.”
    A voice at the door said, “Milkman!” and Mrs. Baker got her bag from the dresser, and went to pay him. “Two extra today, please,” she said, and the milkman said cheerfully, “Ah, got the family home for a bit, have you, me dear? It’s nice when they’re all down together.”
    Mrs. Baker said, “Yes, isn’t it?” and Charles said, “Hullo, Cyril. How are you keeping?” The milkman said, “Not so bad. How’s yourself?” and Julian said nothing.
    When the milkman had gone, Mrs. Baker said, “You can
see
he isn’t well, Charles.”
    The Colonel opened the back door, and stood in the doorway, uncertain whether to come in or go away. “Hope I’m not barging in on anything,” he said.
    “We were discussing Julian’s trouble, Father.”
    “Oh…. Well, I’ll be buzzing off then.”
    “Come in, Justin, for goodness sake. After all, he’s your son, isn’t he?”
    “Thank you, my dear.” Balancing on one foot, the Colonel began to remove a gumboot. “Round-table conference , eh? Talk it all out. Much better.” He pulled off the second boot, and looked around for his slippers. Not finding them, he padded into the kitchen on stockinged feet, and sat down at the table, resting his elbows on it. Nobody spoke.
    The silence grew. The Colonel took his elbows off the table, and cleared his throat. Mrs. Baker grew red in the face. The Colonel cleared his throat again, “Hrrrm! Hrrrm!” a persistent irritating sound, which was so much a habit of his when nervous that neither he nor his wife any longer noticed it. Charles looked up and saw above him a triple rail on which odd bits of hand-washing were hanging; it could be lowered by a cord secured to adouble hook on the wall. The bits of washing looked like fresh scenery, waiting in the flies above the stage of a theatre. Julian would be happy if the scenery were changed, and a new play were to begin. But one was never off-stage in life until one died. It should have been Julian in that hospital, if that was what he wanted; Julian should have taken the pills. But Julian had never even thought of that. He had come home instead. Was it, Charles wondered, the same thing?
    Julian’s feeling was simple resentment. If something had to be done, why expect him to do it? Let them arrange things as they wanted. It was easy enough for them; they weren’t concerned. Let them do whatever had to be done, but
with him
let them have the decency to pretend that nothing had happened, not be forever talking about it, not drag him into their discussions. He left his seat, and began to fiddle with the cord of the rail, jerking the washing a little up and down above their heads. Then he said, “I’m going down to the village. You’ll be better without me,” and went into the hall. They heard the front door slam behind him.
    Mrs. Baker said, “He needs a rest. He’s been thinking about it too much. No wonder he’s nervy.”
    “But, Teresa——”
    “He’s quite right. If we’re going to discuss his affairs, it would only embarrass him to be here. He’s already told me all about it when I took the tea in this morning.”
    Charles had a sudden vision of his mother