The Pumpkin Eater by Penelope Mortimer Page A

a car, servants, she’s attractive. Why doesn’t she go abroad, or make some friends or … make a life for herself? That’s what I don’t understand.”
    â€œMaybe she doesn’t want to,” the doctor said.
    Jake stalked away out of sight. “You’re dead right she doesn’t want to. Drink?”
    â€œNo, thanks. I must be going.” I heard the effort of raising himself from the sofa and got up, ready to run. “I see your point, Armitage. But has she ever said to you that she wants another child?”
    â€œNot in so many words. No.”
    â€œShe didn’t say so to me, either. I wonder … if you’re right?”
    â€œI don’t know. I give up.”
    â€œI shouldn’t do that … just at the moment.”
    â€œI get back to the office after a bloody hard day and I’m told my wife’s gone off her nut in Harrods. Harrods, of all places. Well … what do we do?”
    â€œI think she should probably see a psychiatrist, try and get this depression sorted out before it takes root, you understand. I know a very good man … You’d like to pay, of course? You don’t want this on the National Health?”
    â€œI suppose so. I mean, yes. I’ll pay.”
    â€œThere’s a lot you can do in the meanwhile. I hope you will.”
    â€œSuch as?”
    â€œBe kind to her, for a start.”
    â€œI’m always kind to her.”
    â€œTell her … well, you know. Tell her you love her and so forth.”
    â€œI never stop. But it’s not me she wants. I’ve told you. It’s another bloody baby she wants.”
    â€œI should cut down on the drink, if I were you. It doesn’t … it doesn’t help the situation.”
    â€œIt helps me.”
    â€œYes. Well. Your wife loves you, you know.” He was coming towards the door. I ran, two stairs at a time, to the landing. This was the place, hidden by the linen cupboard, where children peered down at parties. My teeth were chattering. I pressed my hands over my mouth. “I’ll come again in the morning. You have the tablets, but don’t give her any more unless she starts weeping.”
    They walked slowly along the hall. Jake’s scalp shone pink through his dark, thin hair; the doctor had grey hair like a mat.
    â€œPerhaps she ought to go away?” Jake said.
    â€œCould you go with her?”
    â€œI’m afraid not. I’m off to North Africa in a couple of weeks and I’ve got a hell of a lot to get through before then.”
    â€œWhy not take her to North Africa?”
    â€œShe wouldn’t want to go.”
    â€œAre you sure of that?”
    â€œI’ve asked her. She hates going on location. You know, there’s nothing for her to do, she just sits about and gets in the — she feels she gets in the way.”
    â€œI see. Well … take care of her. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    â€œI’ve got one or two things I must do, so if I’m not here I’ll ring you. All right? I’ll ring you at lunch time.”
    â€œI should stay here if you can,” the doctor said.
    I drew back quickly. The front door slammed. I turned to race to the bedroom, but Jake wasn’t coming upstairs. He had gone back into the sitting room. The telephone dial whirred deliberately, seven times. He began to speak, but so softly that I couldn’t hear a word. I waited for a few minutes, but it was a long conversation. I got into bed and lay down flat under the bedclothes. At last I heard the sharp ting as he put down the receiver. Now he was having another drink. Now, heavily, he was coming up the stairs. I closed my eyes. He opened the door very cautiously.
    â€œAsleep?”
    â€œNo …” I held out my hand. He took it, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Has he gone?”
    â€œYes. Don’t wake up.”
    â€œWhat did he say?”
    â€œOh … nothing much.” He