Listening in the Dusk by Celia Fremlin Read Free Book Online Page B

you?”
    Alice no longer felt apologetic. Annoyance mounted under this ludicrous inquisition.
    “Nothing,” she snapped. “Just that you were Mary, and someone called Brian was Brian, and someone else was Miss Dorinda. I haven’t even met any of these people, and so I don’t see what she could possibly …”
    “No, of course not. I … I’m sorry, Alice,” the girl was half-heartedly trying to make amends for her rudeness. “I’m sorry, but it was kind of a shock finding you up here, and I thought for a moment that Hetty must have …”
    She stopped; then continued, at something of a tangent: “You’ll like Hetty, Alice, she’s as kind as can be, as I expect you’ve discovered. She just loves people with problems. Do you have a problem, Alice? A real, juicy humdinger of a disaster? If so, you’re in !No wonder she’s letting you have the bloody room! You’ll be Landlady’s Pet, and the rest of us will have our noses out of joint, even Brian!”
    She gave a short, hard laugh, and turned to leave the room; then paused, and turning back continued, more gently: “I’m sorry, Alice, don’t take too much notice of me, I’m in a bad mood. I shouldn’t be saying nasty things about poor Hetty, she really is terribly good natured. It’s just that … Well, it’s not so much that she pokes her nose into other people’s business, it’s that she takes for granted that everything is her business. She’s a marvellous person if you ever need help with your troubles, but a right pain in the neck if you don’t!”
    With which double-edged tribute Mary whisked around and clattered off down the wooden stairs. Alice heard a door on the third-floor landing slam shut, and then there was silence; broken only by a faint gurgle of water-pipes from somewhere across the landing. By now, it seemed like the voice of an old friend.

Chapter 6
    The gurgle of the water-pipes was in Mary’s ears, too, as she lay face-down on her bed, cursing herself for being every kind of a fool.
    She had made another enemy. No, enemy was an exaggeration ; all she had done, actually, was to discourage a possible friend, to slap down Alice’s kindly overtures before they became any kind of a threat.
    Why did she keep doing this? With everyone? Surely she, with her star record as a psychology student, should be able to analyse it? Should have sufficient insight to diagnose her own case and suggest a cure?
    The diagnosis was easy; but all the psychology textbooks in the world weren’t going to come up with a cure. Advice on how to win friends — in books, articles and Agony Columns — must run into millions and millions of words by now, but of what use are all these words when, in your particular case, friends are more dangerous than enemies? When kindness, concern and sympathy present a bigger threat than the most virulent hostility?
    The fog was thickening outside her window, and she was getting cold, very cold. She did not bother to go across the room and switch on her electric fire; only one bar of it was working, and it made scarcely any difference to this big draughty room with its ill-fitting door and windows. Instead, she slipped off her shoes and crawled back into the bed, properly under the bedclothes this time, and with the shabby eiderdown pulled up to her chin. This way, with her eyes closed, and with the slow build-up of warmth generated by her own body inside its cocoon of bedclothes, she would be able to withdraw from the wintry chill of this room, this house, this street, and travel back,back to the place where it was always summer, and the soft, sweet air was always warm. Flittermouse Hill.
    It had been a wonderful place for children, for anyone, really, but not many people came, because the rutted tracks that led to it were almost impossible for cars. But to Mary and Julian it had been a sort of Paradise during their growing years. A short cycle ride from their home in Medley Green, it was their favourite haunt during school