A Five Year Sentence by Bernice Rubens Page A

Brian would surely arrive soon. She reached the top of the stairway in time to see his bowed and unasserting ascent to his tardy rendezvous. She suddenly found it difficult to smile and she arranged her features to spell out a welcome. She wondered why she was not more pleased to see him. She half expected a scolding, that she had been bold enough to allow herself to be discovered by his mother, and she decided straightaway to apologise. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, before he reached the top, and she saw him hesitate, gathering quick substitutes for his intended scolding greeting. When he arrived alongside her, she took his arm.
    â€˜I hope it wasn’t embarrassing for you,’ she said. ‘Your mother, I mean.’
    â€˜I said I’d never seen you in my life before,’ he said. He gave what he thought was a conspiratorial smile.
    But Miss Hawkins wanted no part in such a plot. ‘Why should you hide me from her?’ she said.
    â€˜You don’t know my mother.’
    She led him back down the steps, needing time to think of what to say next, or to decide to say nothing at all. They walked down in silence. Each thought the other owed some kind of explanation. But Brian was biding his time, or perhaps, Miss Hawkins thought, he was waiting for a lead.
    â€˜Who died?’ she said.
    â€˜The man in the flat below. He was very old.’
    She waited, but that seemed to be ail he had to say. ‘Who was that old woman?’
    â€˜His wife. I told her I’d help with the tea.’
    â€˜I’m sorry about the tea-pot,’ she said.
    They had reached the street and she was clearly leading him. ‘Shall we walk to the park?’ she said. In her mind she had ticked off half the diary’s order. They had undoubtedly met at the library and the tardiness of the rendezvous in no way diminished the obedience. The biggest hurdle of the kiss was to come, and she thought the park might be an appropriate setting. ‘I wentto your house because you weren’t at the library,’ she said, feeling the need to clarify her behaviour. ‘Imagine my surprise to see a hearse outside. I just stood and looked at it, and then somebody helped me into a car.’ She paused. ‘Oh I’m so glad it wasn’t you, Brian,’ she said, and having established her affection, she felt bold enough to ask, ‘Why are you keeping me away from your mother?’
    â€˜She doesn’t like me to have friends.’
    â€˜But that’s selfish. You can’t spend all your time with her.’
    â€˜She’s not well,’ he said limply, and there was finality in his voice that brooked no further discussion. Nevertheless, the gallant Miss Hawkins pressed on. ‘You should put her in a home,’ she said.
    Brian stopped. ‘That would be criminal,’ he said.
    She pushed him forward. ‘Well it’s none of my business,’ she said, sensing that it was very much her business, diary business, in fact, and her little book would have to deal with it. For the moment she had to cheer him up. They passed a poster advertising a community whist drive. His head was bowed so it was unlikely that he saw it. Miss Hawkins waited a while. ‘D’you play cards?’ she said.
    â€˜I play with my mother sometimes.’
    â€˜There’s a whist drive next week,’ she said.
    â€˜My mother never goes out.’
    â€˜Can’t you ever leave her?’
    â€˜Not in the evenings.’
    â€˜Then I could come and see you,’ she said.
    Her suggestion was so outrageous that he laughed aloud, and it was her cue for sulking, which, from her romantic novel reading, was a sure prelude to a lovers’ quarrel, and consequent make-up. At first, she sulked silently, and then, fearing that he noticed no change in her, she pouted audibly, but it emerged as an apologetic grunt. ‘You’ve upset me,’ she said, since words were the only way to make