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“Mummy,” she said, with breathy intensity. “Mummy, you must come and tell Golly not to. He will talk with his mouth full.”

“Er” said Frances, out of the sudden stranglehold. “I... er... you, I mean”

“Oh, do come along, Mummy,” she said. “He’s “veloping bad habits.”

Dazedly, Frances allowed herself to be led across the lawn to the tea-party. The little girl improved the dissolute-looking golliwog by propping him into a sitting position.

“There,” she told him. “Now Mummy’s here you’ll have to behave. Tell him, Mummy.” She looked at Frances expectantly.

“I... er... urn you” Frances began, confusedly.

The child looked up at her, puzzled.

“What’s the matter, Mummy?” she asked Frances stared back at her, recollecting photographs of herself at about the same age. A peculiar feeling began to come over her. The small earnest face seemed to swim slightly as she looked at it. Its expression grew concerned.

“Aren’t you feeling well, Mummy?”

Frances pulled herself together.

“I’mI’m all right... er... darling,” she said, unsteadily. “Then do tell Golly he mustn’t. It’s awfly rude.”

Frances went down on her knees. She was glad to: the ground felt more solid that way. She leaned towards the offending golliwog who promptly fell flat on his face and was hastily propped up again by his mistress.

“Er... Golly,” Frances told him. “Golly, I’m very shocked indeed to hear this about you. People who are invited to parties…”

So real..! All of it..!

Now that the lump in her chest which wasn’t quite panic or scare, but a bit like both, had subsided, Frances found herself able to regard the situation a little more calmly. The classic certificate was to be obtained by pinching oneself; she had done that, sharply, but without changing any of it a bit. She looked at her hand, flexed it; it was her perfectly familiar hand. She plucked a little grass from the lawn beside her; real grass, beyond doubt. She listened to the sounds about her; they had an authentic quality difficult to deny. She picked up the nearest teddybear, and examined it; no dream ever finished anything with that amount of detail. She sat back on her heels, looking up at the house, noticing the striped chairs on the porch, the patterns of the curtains, the recent painting… One had always thought that hallucinations must be vague, misty experiences… All this had a solidity that was rather frightening…

“Mummy,” said the little girl, turning away from her tea-party, and standing up.

Frances” heart jumped slightly.

“Yes, dear?” she said.

“ÔMportant business. Will you see that Golly behaves himself?”

“II think he understands now, dear,” Frances told her.

The small face in its frame of fair hair looked doubtful.

“P’raps. He’s rather wicked, though. Back soon. “Mportant.”

Frances watched the blue frock vanish as the child scampered away round the corner of the house on her mysterious errand. She felt suddenly forlorn. For some moments she remained on her knees, returning the boot-button stare of the teddybear in her hands. Then the absurdity of the whole thing flooded over her. She dropped the bear, and got to her feet. At just that moment a man emerged from the front of the house on to the porch.

And he wasn’t Edward… He wasn’t a bit like him… He wasn’t anybody she’d ever seen before in her life.

He was tall, rather thin, but broad in the shoulders. His dark hair curled a little, and there were slight flecks of grey over his ears. He had been making towards the car, but at the sight of her he stopped. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and seemed to light up.

“Back so early!” he said. “New frock, too! And looking like a schoolgirl in it. How do you manage it?”

“Uh!” gasped Frances, caught in a strong, and entirely unexpected embrace.

“Look, darling,” he continued, without loosening his hold. “I simply must tear off now and see old Fanshawe. I won’t be more than an hour.”

His hug brought the rest of Frances” breath out in another involuntary “Uh!” He kissed her soundly, slapped her behind affectionately, and dashed for the car. A moment later it carried him out of her sight.

Frances stood getting her breath back, and staring after him. She found that she was shaking, and filled with a most odd sensation of weakness, particularly in the knees. She staggered over to one of the chairs on the porch, and subsided there. For a space she sat motionless, her eyes set glazedly on nothing. Then, not quite accountably, she burst into tears.

When emotion had declined to a sniff-and-dab stage, it was succeeded by misgivings about the orthodoxy of her situation. In whatever peculiar way it had come about, the fact remained that she had been “Mummy” to someone else’s child, warmly embraced by someone else’s husband, and now was sitting snivelling on someone else’s porch. A convincing explanation of all this to the someone else looked like being so difficult that the best way out would be to get clear as soon as possible, and avoid it.

Frances gave a final dab, and got up with decision. She retrieved her bag from the medley of teddybears and teacups, and glanced at the mirror in the flap. She frowned at it, and burrowed for her compact. In the act of a preparatory scrub on the sieve, the sound of a step caused her to look up. A woman was coming in through the gateway. A moderately tall, nicely built woman, dressed in a light-green linen suit, and carrying it well; a woman who was a few years older than herself but still… At that moment the woman turned so that Frances could see her face, and all coherent thought expired. Frances” jaw sagged. She gaped…

The other woman noticed her. She looked hard at her, but showed no great surprise. She turned off the path and approached across the grass. There was nothing alarming about her; indeed, she was wearing the trace of a smile.

“Hullo!” she said. “I was just thinking this morning that you must be due somewhere about now.”

Frances” bag slipped out of her fingers, and split at her feet, but her eyes never left the other’s face.

The woman’s eyes were a little deeper and wiser than those she was wont to see in the mirror. There were the very faintest touches of shadows at their corners, and at the corners of the mouth. The lips favoured a shade of colour just a trace darker… Something as indescribable as the touch of dew had been exchanged for a breath of sophistication. But otherwise… otherwise…

Frances tried to speak, but all that came was a croak, strangled in rising panic.

“It’s all right,” said the other. “Nothing to be scared about.” She linked her arm into Frances’, and led her back to the porch. “Now sit down there and just relax. You don’t need to worry a bit.”

Frances sank unresistingly into the chair, and stared dumbly at her. Presently, the other opened her bag.

“Cigarette?” she suggested. “Oh, no. Of course. I didn’t then.” She took one for herself, and lit it. For what seemed a long time they surveyed one another through the smoke. It was the other who broke the silence. She said: “How pretty and charming! If I had only understood more still, I suppose one could scarcely have had innocence and experience.” She sighed, with a touch of wistfulness. Then she shook her head. “But no. No. Being young is very exhausting and unsatisfactory, really although it looks so nice.”

“Er” said Frances. She swallowed with difficulty. “Er... I think I must be going mad.”

The other shook her head. “Oh, no you’re not. Nothing like it. Just take it easy, and try to relax.”

“But this? I mean, you meas if oh, I am going mad! I must be. It’s... it’s impossible!” Frances protested wildly. “Nobody can possibly be in two places at once. I mean, nobody can be twice in the same place at once. I mean, one person can’t be two people, not at the same”