Victoria Line, Central Line by Maeve Binchy Read Free Book Online Page A

Perhaps later when he and Heather were so sure of each other and of their happiness that a weekend like this wouldn’t matter. Perhaps later when he didn’t seem like a small boy wet behind the ears to the Mummy and the Sister and the Old Retainer . . . perhaps then Adam’s Bohemian lifestyle and friendswould be much more acceptable. Perhaps when he was more of a man.
    He knew he had to act in the next minute if he was going to stop the disastrous visit. A quick phone call . . . he was most most dreadfully sorry but he had just come down with this dreadful flu, and Heather had sent her regrets and would so look forward to meeting Mother and Louise and everyone another time. Yes, yes he could do it now quickly. And to Heather? Well imagine how funny life is! He had just phoned home to explain that they were going to be late and, fancy, Mother had come down with this dreadful flu and had been trying to contact him, could they possibly put off the visit? Then he and Heather had only to cross the platform, jump on a London bound train. In an hour or two they would get off at their tube station, and, hand in hand, clutching their weekend bags and the geranium, they would go home . . . there would be no hurts, no confrontations. Love would remain separate and self-contained. He could be a loving son every second weekend until he was mature and manly enough not to care.
    With one hand on his ear to cut out the noise of the trains he told the tale first to Elsie and, gritting his teeth trying to put out of his mind her tones of disappointment, he agreed to tell it all again to Mother.
    ‘We had everything so nice,’ Elsie said, ‘We evenhad a fire in Miss Heather’s bedroom. Your mother had the chimney swept during the week.’
    Mother was concerned about his imaginary flu, but he had the strangest feeling she didn’t entirely believe him. She gave the merest of hints that she thought something more exciting and glittering had turned up for Adam and Heather.
    ‘Don’t go out to any parties or occasions now, if you have flu.’
    There was something about the way his mother used the work ‘occasions’ that brought a prickle of tears to Adam’s eyes. It was as moving as Elsie being disappointed not to see Miss Heather’s pleasure at the fire in her bedroom. Mother thought that bank clerks and shopgirls were good worthy people in service industries . . . but she thought of her son Adam as being ‘in banking’ and she assumed that his nice friend Heather was a young lady who would indeed be invited to glittering functions.
    ‘I’m sorry, Mother,’ he said.
    ‘Adam my dear, you can’t help having influenza,’ said Mother, and he could hear Louise in the background saying: ‘Oh no, you don’t mean after all this they’re not coming. It’s too bad.’
    Fiercely he told himself that it was better this small hurt than two days of misunderstanding and misery. Then Heather came swinging easily along the platform.
    ‘Any news on the train?’ she asked.
    He told her about his sudden call, his mother’s flu, her deep regrets, he added that there had been a fire in her bedroom. Heather looked at him levelly.
    ‘Yes, really, a fire in your bedroom, Mother had got the sweep to come in and do the chimney specially during the week,’ he said, desperate that she should understand how much welcome had been prepared. After Elsie and Mother’s pain he couldn’t bear it if Heather were flippant.
    ‘I see,’ she said at last.
    ‘So, we can just go back, back to London, we can cross the footbridge there,’ he said reading the sign aloud.
    ‘Yeah, that’s right,’ said Heather.
    ‘And we’re really only losing the cost of the ticket,’ he said eagerly looking at her. ‘That’s all we’re losing.’
    ‘Sure Adam,’ she said, but he knew from her voice that he was losing a great deal more. He had known that from Mother’s voice too. For once in his life, Adam wondered if there were a danger that he might
never
grow