Wish Her Safe at Home by Stephen Benatar Read Free Book Online Page A

investment; but there was more to it than that. I actually revelled in the submitting of my notice. I revelled in the looks of dazed astonishment, the disbelief, the hurt, the rocking of foundations. I revelled in the fact that while others clearly thought I should have been at my most uncertain, my most worried, most conservative, I was cheerfully looking at heavy curtaining and carpet swatches and books of wallpaper. I worked out my month’s notice in a state of well-being and dissociation, floating through my days, feeling very slightly contemptuous of my workmates and letting those feelings, very slightly, show. At least half a dozen of my colleagues mentioned how they envied me. One was a pretty little blonde thing of only nineteen. Another was the office boy.
    On my leaving I received a book token for eight pounds fifty and a card that everyone had signed. Though I grew moist-eyed when they presented these two envelopes and felt almost sorry to be going—actually nostalgic already for my long time spent with them, for the little things, the little laughs, the silly accidents and birthday cakes—on the bus home I made the mistake, or took the eminently sensible step, of working out how much on average each had given. It came to thirty-five pence per person, with ten pence added on. As I myself in recent years had seldom contributed less than a pound to such collections—had usually provided twice that sum—I felt for a moment the tears return to my eyes and had to gaze mistily out of the window whilst blinking rapidly and rummaging blindly. But then I shrugged and thought oh what the heck; I didn’t need their liking or appreciation, I knew there were parts of me which meant others well, I knew that I had tried to lead a decent life and that I had a value somewhere, in some great scheme of things, whether people were aware of it or not.
    But after eleven years in the same department surely I was worth more than 35p a head, with an extra 10p to top it up.
    I thought at first I wouldn’t spend their book token. At home I took it from my handbag and twice—impetuosity flooding up warmly—wanted to tear it through. But my fingers wouldn’t let me.
    And I saved the card too... yet purely for the sake of the office boy. If
he
had donated thirty-five pence it might have been the most he could afford. I kept it, hopefully, for the sake of that one name.

10
    All the same I worried lest I might have given too much of myself away—behaved foolishly. I’d felt a little overcome. After the tea-lady had been up and somebody had handed round the cakes and Mr. Danby had presented me with the card and the book token, it was expected I should make a speech.
    “I’m not sure what to say.”
    Cheers. A suggestion of “Please trot this over to Accounts!” More cheers. I hadn’t realized that I had a catchphrase.
    “But I’m so glad you all decided on a token. I already know what book I’m going to buy.”
    “The Kamasutra?”
    “
Oh, shut up, everybody
!” That was Mr. Danby. “Let Rachel have her say.”
    “Actually it’s something very newly published. I was reading the reviews. It’s a book about David.”
    I had forgotten that Mr. Danby’s name was David. I’d never called him by it, any more than—until just now—he had ever called me Rachel. There were screams of amusement and much foot-stamping and ribaldry.
    “
King
David,” I explained.
    “Dear Lord! He’s been promoted.”
    “No, it’s just that it’s official, he’s been using the royal we for years!”
    I laughed. I persevered. I always had this urge to share things with those to whom I felt indebted. “For a long time now King David’s been important in my life.”
    Nobody quite knew what to make of that. Even those who hadn’t been listening sensed that others were intrigued. “What did she say? What did she just say?”
    “Did you know for instance that somebody once called him a man after God’s own heart?”
    “
No
!”
    I