Staring at the Sun by Julian Barnes Read Free Book Online Page B

wrong with suitors. Were they called suitors because they were always pressing their suits? She liked men smart, but she didn’t like them spivvy.
    In her head she lined up for comparison the men she knew. Perhaps men could be divided into suitors and husbands. Leslie and Tommy Prosser were probably good at being suitors, but it might be a mistake to marry them. They were a bit raffish, and their explanations of the world might not be reliable. Whereas Father and Michael were probably good at being husbands; they didn’t look spivvy and kept their feet on the ground. Yes, that was another way of looking at it: men either had their feet on the ground or their heads in the air. Michael, the first time she had met him, had drawn attention to his feet; they were pointing the wrong way, but they were firmly on the ground.
    Judged by this new criterion, the four men she knew still divided up in the same way. Suddenly, she pictured herself kissing Tommy Prosser, and the thought of his moustache made her shudder: she had practised once on a toothbrush, and it had confirmed her vividest fears. Michael was taller than any of them and had Prospects of Promotion, a phrase to which her mother always awarded capital letters. He was, Jean admitted, a little shabby beneath his engulfing overcoat, but after the war she could smarten him up. That was what women did in marriage, wasn’t it? They rescued men from their failings and vices. Yes, she thought, smiling: I shall press his suit.
    And that seemed to be it. If this wasn’t love, what was? Anddid he love her? Of course. He said so every time they kissed good night. Father said you can always trust a policeman.
    There was one subject on which Michael got ratty: that of Tommy Prosser. Perhaps it was her fault. She did rather go on about Tommy, but that was natural, wasn’t it? She was at home all day; Tommy was around some of the time; and when Michael came to collect her and asked what she’d been doing, well, it wasn’t very interesting to go on about blacking the grate and hanging out the washing, was it? So Jean would tell him what Tommy Prosser had said. Once she asked him if he knew what an All Clear sandwich was.
    “You’re always asking me about sandwiches,” said Michael. “ Sandwiches .”
    “It’s got dandelions in it.”
    “Sounds utterly disgusting.”
    “It wasn’t very nice.”
    “He’s shifty, that’s what I don’t like about him. Doesn’t look you in the eye. Always turning his head away. I like a man who looks you in the eye.”
    “He’s not as tall as you.”
    “What’s that got to do with it, stupid?”
    “Well, maybe that’s why he doesn’t look you in the eye.”
    “That’s got nothing to do with it.”
    Oh well. Probably it was a good idea not to tell Michael that Prosser was grounded, even though you shouldn’t have any secrets from your husband. She didn’t say that he was called Sun-Up either.
    Prosser didn’t get ratty when she talked about Michael, though he didn’t always join in her enthusiasm.
    “He’ll do all right,” was his standard reply.
    “You do think it’s a good idea, don’t you, Tommy?”
    “Good enough, lass. I’ll tell you this, he’s got a good bargain.”
    “But you’re married? And you’re happy?”
    “Haven’t been home enough to notice.”
    “No, I suppose not. But you do like Michael?”
    “He’ll do all right. It’s not me that’s marrying him.”
    “Isn’t he tall?”
    “He’s tall enough.”
    “But you do think he’ll make a wonderful husband?”
    “You’ve got to get burnt once. Just try not to get burnt twice.” She didn’t really understand this remark, but she was rather cross with Tommy Prosser about it anyway.
    Mrs. Barrett, one of the brisker, more modern wives of the village, called on Jean when everyone was out of the house and gave her a small parcel. “ I don’t need it any longer, my dear,” was all she said. Later, in bed, Jean unwrapped a maroon cloth-bound book