Making Things Better by Anita Brookner Page A

inevitably was a part of it, but as death’s assistant, marked out from an early age to be present at rites of passage which contained no illusions of rebirth. That was why he was half contented with his present solitude, recognizing it as something merited, something that was his due, and moreover something that would not fail him. On his own he could manage better than he had ever managed in company of any sort.
    He saw her glance at her watch, as she had done once or twice throughout the meal, and bestirred himself to bring matters to a close. He signalled the waiter for the bill, scrutinized it, and added a large tip. They must end on a pleasant note, though both were aware that it might be some time before the occasion repeated itself. He asked her what her holiday plans were, aware that this was a low point in the conversation, in any conversation. They were going to Greece, he learned, though only for ten days; it was so difficult to leave the garden centre to others, and she did not altogether trust the assistant manager. He tried to imagine Tom, whom he had met, exposing his already crimson face to the Greek sun, saw Josie’s undisciplined hair unravelling even more completely in the heat, was momentarily glad that he was in the centre of London and likely to remain so.
    â€˜I wonder you don’t travel any more, Julius, now that you’ve no longer got the shop to worry about.’
    He was grateful for this show of interest, although he recognized it as a familiar counter, one which she could offer without compromising her own independence or indeed departing from her half-reproachful encouragements. Do not tell me of your loneliness, was the subtext of her reproach. No one need be lonely! There are tours you could go on; you could even take a cruise! She did not need to say this out loud since she had said it all before, but he could see, from the combative light in her eye, that she would go on saying it for as long as she thought it necessary.
    â€˜I’ve done all that,’ he said mildly. ‘I quite enjoyed it, though not in the way you would. I have never sat on a beach in my life.’
    â€˜No, well, you wouldn’t, would you? What did you do, then?’
    â€˜I went to cities. At first I went to all the glamorous ones: Venice, Rome. But I did in fact feel rather lonely there. Then I realized that I didn’t have to go to these places, that I was happier in small towns of no particular interest. So I picked the ones in which I could please myself, without witnesses. France, mostly. I was more or less contented when I could just amble round a church, and then sit down and drink coffee and read the local paper, half-hear other people’s conversations.’
    â€˜Sounds hilarious.’
    â€˜Oh, you’d hate it. But carrying on like this seemed to satisfy me. And the places I chose had a certain charm, though not of the sort that would appeal to you.’
    â€˜Did you ever think of moving somewhere abroad?’
    He smiled at her. ‘I feel as if I am abroad already. London is still strange to me, though I have lived here since I was fourteen years old. Somehow it still doesn’t feel entirely like home. And now that I don’t travel any more . . .’
    â€˜That’s a mistake, Julius. You’ll just turn in on yourself.’ She paused. ‘I take it you live alone?’
    He smiled again. ‘Of course I live alone. I’m an old man. Who would have me now?’
    She cast around her, picked up her bag, having done her best to rally him once more.
    â€˜You were a good-looking man,’ she said. ‘Women could still find you attractive.’
    â€˜I don’t hanker for female company.’
    â€˜I was enough for you, I suppose?’ Her tone was mocking, but there was a wistfulness behind it.
    â€˜You were enough for me. I was very happy with you. I’m only sorry that you weren’t happy with me.’
    â€˜It was