She Died Young by Elizabeth Wilson Page B

They’ll not trust me, so it’s pointless anyway.’
    ‘That all sounds rather difficult.’
    ‘If I get to hear of something and he can crack down on them as a result he’ll get the credit. If it all goes wrong, which it will, then I’ll get the blame. But I think I persuaded him that Jarrell would be better suited. And I’ll be going to Oxford next week, so it’s not imminent.’
    ‘Oh, darling – it’s such a difficult job. I sometimes wish …’
    He knew what she wished. She wanted him to retrain as a lawyer. It’s not too late, she would say, you’re only thirty-five.
    Sometimes he felt a hell of a lot older. He couldn’t help resenting the way she didn’t want to talk about his work. But perhaps he was neglectful, insensitive. Hers was important too. He sighed and changed the subject. ‘Mike and Eveline were telling me more about this exhibition you’re planning.’
    ‘Isn’t it exciting? It was Eveline’s idea. An exhibition at the art college. We’ll show our work. Have a grand municipal opening. Show Chelsea and the Royal Academy what the suburbs can do.’
    ‘Sounds like a good idea.’
    ‘Or we might have it at the public library. They don’t really do things like that, but we might get more of the general public in then. It’s the new movement, you know – Pop Art.’
    ‘Pop Art!’
    ‘It’ll shock Bromley! We hope!’
    ‘It does not take much to shock Bromley.’
    ‘Mike and Eveline are very keen. So are the Bradleys.’
    In other words, her little coterie of arty people; there were so few of them, which made them rather too embattled, unnecessarily he felt, for the citizens of Bromley were indifferent to great new movements in the art world rather than actively hostile. It was a live-and-let-live sort of suburb, where people ‘kept themselves to themselves’ – to him an alien and coldly English concept. Yet because of his work, so much of it confidential, it suited him well enough.
    After supper they sat on the sofa and listened to the Third Programme. She curled up comfortably against him and he put his arm round her. He stroked her hair, loving its sweet, clean, shampoo smell. After a while he said what he’d been thinking, off and on, for a long time now.
    ‘We’re not getting any younger. Isn’t it time we started a family? More than time. You’ll be thirty-two next birthday and—’
    But she’d stiffened within the circle of his arm.
    ‘What’s the matter?’
    Her head down: ‘Nothing.’ And after a while: ‘What’s the hurry? There’s plenty of time.’
    ‘Don’t you want to have kids while we’re still young enough to enjoy them?’
    ‘Oh, Jack,’ and she moved a little away. ‘Don’t be tiresome.’
    He was tired and didn’t want an argument, but he couldn’t understand why she wasn’t more enthusiastic, so he persisted obstinately. ‘I know you said when we first moved here, you didn’t want kids yet – we were moving house – you were starting your new job – then your mother was ill …’
    ‘I suppose I’m not as – I mean it’s really you who’s so keen on children, isn’t it?’
    ‘Aren’t you? Don’t all women want bairns?’ In his agitation he’d slipped back into an old way of talking.
    She laughed. ‘What d’you know about all women?’
    He tried to stay calm. ‘Well, I want children. You know that. I always have. I’ve always assumed —’
    ‘Yes. You . You just assume.’
    ‘Jesus Christ, Lily – what are you talking about?’ He could no longer sit still. He stood up, roughly switched off the wireless, looked down at her, angry, baffled. ‘Is it your job? You can go on working, I won’t stop you.’
    ‘I wouldn’t have time. Eveline says children eat up your life.’
    ‘She hasn’t got any. Didn’t you say they couldn’t have children? Envy, that’s what that is. Sour grapes.’
    ‘You hardly know her.’
    ‘You pay far too much attention to them. You’d have more time. You could give up the