In Pursuit of the English - Doris Lessing [32]
‘Don’t notice the mess,’ Rose whispered. ‘It’s the war. The war damage people is coming in. They’ll fix it. But it’s a nice room, and Dan’ll paint it for you. He’s in the trade, and he’s good at those things, whatever else you can say about him. And if you’re clever with Flo, you’ll get it cheap because of the cracks and all. If you don’t mind me telling you, you don’t treat Flo right at all. I watched you. You’ve got to stand up to her. If you don’t, she’ll treat you bad.’
‘Tell me what to do?’ I asked.
At this direct appeal, she hesitated. ‘I do feel bad,’ she said apologetically. ‘I’m Flo’s friend. But I’ll just give you advice in general. She’ll come and see you tomorrow. Don’t just say yes, and thank you. You must bargain with her. I know it’s not nice, how she is, but I put it down to her Italian blood. She likes to bargain.’
‘All right.’ I said. ‘I will. And thank you.’
We crept back to her door, and she said: ‘Tomorrow night, when your kid’s asleep, we’ll go for a walk. It’ll be real nice to have company.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘I’d like it.’
‘And I’ll show you some ropes around here. You don’t mind me saying it, dear, but you don’t know how to look after yourself. You don’t really.’
‘I know.’
‘Well, never mind, Rome wasn’t built in a day, that’s what I always say. Sleep tight.’
When I got back to my room from taking my son to nursery school next morning. Flo was standing there, with a guilty look. ‘I’ve just put away some things for you,’ she said. ‘To show you how comfortable it is. It is really.’
I said involuntarily. ‘It’s very kind of you, Flo,’ and, as involuntarily she gave a little smile of victory, and said in a cheerful voice: ‘I told you you’d like it up here.’
I summoned the spirit of Rose to my aid, and said: ‘But I don’t want to unpack. Because if I get somewhere with more room. I’ll move.’
All the life went out of her, and she sat despondently on my bed. She sighed. She looked at a pack of cigarettes lying on the bed and said: ‘You’ve got so many lovely cigarettes, darling, aren’t you lucky.’ The sense of guilt which accompanied all colonials to England, in 1949, overcame me and I said: ‘Help yourself.’ Instantly she became happy again. She picked up the box and handled it, looking at me. Then she carelessly took out a handful, but dropping some in her anxiety lest I might be angry, and pushed them into her apron pockets. She understood that guilt very well by instinct, because later, when I learned to understand the role cigarettes played in that house she would say automatically: ‘We had such a hard time during the war, dear, you wouldn’t believe it.’
‘I’ve put your things where you can find them,’ she said. I looked at the top drawer, unable to discover any logic in her arrangement of it, until she said: ‘You’ve got some lovely things, dear.’ She had put the more expensive things on top, in a layer over the cheap ones. In the second drawer she had laid out six pairs of nylons, side by side, as if in a showcase. I began rolling them up and stacking them in a corner. She said quickly, over and over again, ‘Sweetheart, darling. I’m sorry I didn’t do them nice for you.’ She was sitting on my bed, full of innocent concern; while one hand kept touching her apron pocket, to reassure her of the existence of the cigarettes. She looked like a child who has done its best to please and now expects a reprimand. ‘I was only trying to help you, darling.’ I said nothing, and she said: ‘Please, please, darling, give your Flo some nylons.’ With an enormous effort, invoking Rose again, I said: ‘Now why should I give you my nylons?’ Her face puckered with discouragement. Then she laughed with frank good-humour, and having lost that round of the game, she said, ‘I’ll go down and get my old man’s dinner.’ At the door she remarked innocently: ‘I’m glad you’re so happy up here.’
‘Flo. I told you, I must move when I find something better.’
In a wail of despair, she cried out: ‘But you wouldn’t like the other rooms we’ve got …