The Sweetest Dream

From some of the houses she had passed, the music pounded and beat, as loud as an angry heart, but Julia had said she would not tolerate loud music, she could not bear it, so while music was played, it was soft. From Andrew's room usually came the muted tones of Palestrina or Vivaldi, from Colin's traditional jazz, from the sitting-room where the television was, broken music and voices, from the basement, the throb, throb, throb, that 'the kids' needed.

The whole big house was lit up, not a dark window, and it seemed to shed light from walls as well as windows: it exuded light and music.

Frances saw Joh

Over her shoulder she said, ' President Ke

' The television,’ said Geoffrey Bone, and as one ' the kids' rose from the table and went out of the room and up the stairs to the sitting-room.

Andrew said, calling after them, ' Careful, Tilly's watching. ' Then he ran after them.

Frances and Joh

'I take it you came to enquire after your stepdaughter?’ she asked.

Joh

'Yes?'

' She's not well. '

' So I heard from Andrew. '

'I'm going to Cuba in a couple of days.'

' Best if you take her with you, then. '

‘I am afraid the funds wouldn't run to it and...’

‘Who is paying?'

Here appeared the irritated what-can-you-expect look from which she was always able to judge her degree of stupidity.

‘You should know better than to ask, comrade. '

Once she would have collapsed into a morass of inadequacy and guilt – how easily, then, he had been able to make her feel an idiot.

‘I am asking. You seem to forget, I've got reason to be interested in your finances.'

‘And how much are you being paid in this new job of yours?'

She smiled at him. ‘Not enough to support your sons and now your stepdaughter as well. '

‘And feed Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and anyone who turns up expecting a free meal. '

‘What? You wouldn't have me turn away potential material for the Revolution?'

'They're layabouts and junkies,' he said. 'Riff-raff.’But he decided not to go on, and changed his tune to a comradely appeal to her better nature. ' Phyllida really isn't well. '

‘And what am I expected to do about it?'

‘I want you to keep an eye on her. '

‘No, Joh

‘Oh... fuck it,’ said Comrade Joh

' She's ill. She's really ill. And how long are you going for?'

He looked down, frowned. ‘I said I’d go for six weeks. But with this new crisis...' Reminded of the crisis, he said, 'I'm going to catch the news.’And he ran out of the kitchen.

Frances heated soup, a chicken stew, garlic bread, made a salad, piled fruit on a dish, arranged cheeses. She was thinking about the poor child, Tilly. The day after the girl had arrived, Andrew had come to where she was working in her study, and said, ' Mother, can I put Tilly into the spare room? She really can't sleep in my room, even though that's what I think she' d like. '

Frances had been expecting this: her floor really had four rooms, her bedroom, her study, a sitting-room, and a small room which, when Julia ran the house, had been a spare room. Frances felt that this floor was hers, a safe place, where she was free from all the pressures, all the people. Now Tilly and her illness would be across a small landing. And the bathroom...’ Very well, Andrew. But I can't look after her. Not the way she needs. '

‘No. I'll look after her. I'll clear the room for her. ' Then, as he turned to run up the stairs, he said quietly, urgently, ' She really is in a bad way. '

‘Yes, I know she is. '

' She's afraid we are going to put her in a loony bin. ' ‘But of course not, she's not crazy. '

‘No, ' he said, with a twisted smile, more of an appeal than he knew, ‘But perhaps I am?' ‘I don't think so. '

She heard Andrew bring the girl down from his room, and the two went into the spare room. Silence. She knew what was happening. The girl was lying curled on the bed, or on the floor, and Andrew was cradling her, soothing her, even singing to her – she had heard him do that.

And that morning, she had observed this scene. She was preparing food for this evening, while Andrew sat at the table with Tilly, who was wrapped in a baby's shawl, which she had found in a chest, and appropriated. In front of her was a bowl of milk and cornflakes, and another was before Andrew. He was playing the nursery game. 'One for Andrew... now one for Tilly... one for Andrew...’

At ' one for Tilly'she opened her mouth, while the great anguished blue eyes stared at Andrew. It seemed she did not know how to blink. Andrew tilted in the spoon, and she sat with her lips closed, but not swallowing. Andrew made himself swallow his mouthful, and started again. ' One for Tilly... one for Andrew...’ Minute amounts of food arrived in Tilly's mouth, but at least Andrew was getting something down him.

Andrew said to her, ' Tilly doesn't eat. No, no, it's much worse than me. She doesn't eat at all. '

That was before anorexia was a household word, like sex, and AIDS.

‘Why doesn't she? Do you know?' Meaning, please tell me why you find it so hard to eat.

' In her case I would say it's her mother. ' ‘Not in your case, then?'

‘No, I would say that in my case it's my father. ' The humorous deprecation, the wi

‘What are we going to do?’ said Frances, as desperate as he was.

' Just wait, wait a bit, that's all, it'll be all right. ‘When ' the kids'-she really must stop using the phrase -came crowding down to sit around the table, waiting for food,

Joh

Andrew said, 'He wants Julia to go and live in his flat and look after Phyllida while he is in Cuba.'

They looked at her, to see her reaction. She was laughing. ‘Oh, my God,’ she said. ' He's really not possible. '

Now they glanced at each other – disapproval. All, that is, except Andrew. They admired him, and thought Frances bitter. Andrew said to them, seriously, ' It simply isn't on. It's not fair to ask Julia. '