‘It’s only thunder, darling,’ she said taking him in her arms. He was such a reserved child that it took several minutes before she discovered it wasn’t the storm that was upsetting him. He was sick with misery about Noel and Cory.
‘I know it’s beastly,’ said Harriet. ‘Of course, it doesn’t matter a scrap about crying. Everyone cries about things like this, and you’ve been terribly brave up till now.’
Jonah gave a sniff. ‘You think so?’
‘Yes, I do. You’re like your father. He’s very brave, too.’
‘Then why does my mother want to marry that awful man? What’s my father done wrong that my mother doesn’t like him any more?’
‘He hasn’t done anything wrong. People just stop loving people sometimes. Like you cooling off people you’ve been very friendly with the term before at school, and now you can’t see what you saw in them.’
Jonah looked dubious. ‘Is it the same?’
‘In a way. It happened to me with William’s father. I loved him so much, but he still stopped loving me. But not because I’d done anything wrong.’
‘You won’t go away, will you?’ said Jonah.
Harriet shook her head.
‘Perhaps you could marry Daddy, like Chattie suggested,’ he added hopefully.
‘He doesn’t want to, and the same thing would probably happen all over again. People should only marry people they love.’
A shadow fell across the bed. Harriet looked up in embarrassment to see Cory standing there.
‘Hullo,’ said Jonah.
‘I’ll go and get some hot chocolate to make you sleep,’ said Harriet, fleeing from the room. When she got back upstairs, Jonah was nearly asleep.
‘Don’t go,’ he muttered drowsily. ‘Both stay, Harriet’s not very happy either, Daddy. I think you should look after her.’
Harriet suddenly felt the tears trickling down her cheeks. She sat down on the bed, and turned her face away so Jonah shouldn’t see her. Then she felt Cory’s hand, warm and dry, over hers.
She didn’t move, breathlessly aware of how close he was to her. And she was filled with a brazen, shameless longing to be closer still. She looked away, dumb and stricken, afraid that he might read the lust in her eyes.
‘He’s asleep,’ said Cory.
Harriet got clumsily to her feet and, without speaking, went out of the room. Cory caught up with her outside his bedroom, put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her round to face him. The light from the bedroom lit up his face, and Harriet noticed how old and tired he looked suddenly.
Oh, poor, poor Cory, she thought.
‘It’s so bloody for you,’ she said in a choked voice.
‘And for you, too,’ he said gently and, quite naturally he pulled her into his arms.
‘Don’t cry, little Harriet.’
She melted.
‘Don’t cry,’ he went on. ‘It’s crazy to go on like this, when we both need each other. Come on, little one. You’ll see, I’ll make everything all right for you.’
And Harriet knew with a sudden, blinding intensity of grief how much she loved him.
But I can’t take it again, she told herself in panic. It’s no good falling again for a man who doesn’t love me, who this time, is absolutely mad about someone else.
For a second she trembled violently in his arms, then she moved away.
‘It’s no good,’ she gasped, ‘you can’t just take me like aspirin to deaden your pain for a few hours. It’ll come back worse than ever afterwards.’
‘Not always. Sometimes you wake up and find the pain’s gone altogether.’
But she bolted down the passage to her room, and cried until dawn, because she realized she’d failed him when he needed her most, and that being Cory he’d never lower his guard again.
Chapter Twenty
The atmosphere in the house was so highly charged that it was almost a relief when Cory got a cable next day from MGM to fly out to the States at once. Tadpole drooped when he saw the suitcases coming out, and went and sat in one of them looking utterly miserable. Harriet knew how he felt. At least Cory was unlikely to be gone more than a fortnight, as he wanted to get back in time to ride Python in the point-to-point.
Once he’d gone, Harriet missed him terribly. She had got so used to having him around, to turn to for help and advice; she felt completely lost. For the millionth time, she kicked herself for rejecting him.
Chattie soon cheered up after Noel had left. Cory had finally relented and bought her a bicycle, and all her energies were employed in learning to ride it. Jonah on the other hand seemed very pulled down; he refused to eat, and complained of headaches.
The day after he left was Mrs Bottomley’s day off.
‘I must put something in the Craven Herald,’ she said, walking into the kitchen in her purple turban and musquash coat.
‘Whatever for?’ said Harriet listlessly.
‘It’s ten years now since Mr Bottomley passed on,’ said Mrs Bottomley solemnly. ‘I always put something in the In Memoriam column. It seems fitting.’
‘Of course,’ thought Harriet. ‘Loving remembrances to dear Gran, who certainly wasn’t an also ran, from Dad and Mum and all the family.’
‘Mr Cory usually writes it for me,’ grumbled Mrs Bottomley, ‘but he went off in such a hurry.’
‘Is Mr Bottomley staying in God’s spare room now?’ inquired Chattie, who was very interested in death.
‘I expect so,’ said Harriet hastily.
‘Lucky thing. He’ll have biscuits in a tin by his bed. Do you think one has to clean one’s teeth in heaven?’
‘Perhaps you could put in the same verse you used last year,’ said Harriet.
‘Folk would notice,’ said Mrs Bottomley, ‘I’ll have to think up something myself. Cheerio everyone,’ and, humming Rock of Ages, she set out for the bus stop.
Harriet picked up a pile of ironing and went upstairs. She’d have to get William up in a minute. Suddenly she heard a terrible moaning from Jonah’s room. Dropping the ironing and rushing in, she found him lying on the bed, white faced, clutching his head.
‘I’ve got these terrible, terrible pains,’ he moaned.
Harriet took his temperature. It was 103, he was pouring with sweat.
The doctor came at lunchtime and said there was a lot of ’flu about, and prescribed antibiotics.
‘Sponge him down if he gets too hot. He should be better tomorrow.’
Jonah, in fact, seemed better by the afternoon. His headache had gone and he was hungry. He wolfed all the boiled chicken, mashed potato and ice-cream Harriet brought him.
‘You wouldn’t, no I’m sure you wouldn’t,’ he said as she took the tray away.
‘What?’ said Harriet.
‘Play a game of Monopoly.’
‘Sevenoaks has eaten Old Kent Road and Mayfair.’
‘I’ll make some new cards,’ said Jonah. ‘Can we play for 10p?’
Then, just as they were about to start playing, Jonah was violently sick. By the time Harriet had cleaned up and changed the sheets, he was much worse; his temperature had shot up to 106, he was burning hot and screaming about the pain in his head.
At that moment William chose to wake up from his afternoon rest, and Chattie, as usual wandering round without shoes, stubbed her toe on the corner of Jonah’s bed, and burst into noisy sobs.
‘Oh please be quiet, all of you,’ screamed Harriet, her nerves already in shreds.
She rushed downstairs to ring the doctor. Dr Burnett was on his rounds, said the recording machine; if she left a message they would get in touch with her as soon as possible. She tried Dr Rowbotham and got the same answer. It was such a lovely day, they were probably both out playing golf.