Dead Water

“Alors, c’est entendu,” said Miss Emily.

Patrick and Je

“It made me feel terribly inadequate,” he said. “As if somehow I must have failed her. And yet, you know, I thought we got on awfully well together, always. I’m fond of my mama.”

“Of course you are. And she adores you. I expect it’s just that she wants to be by herself until — well, until the first ghastly shock’s over.”

“By herself? With him there?”

“He’s not behaving badly, Patrick. Is he?”

“No. Oddly enough, no.” He looked thoughtfully at Je

“I won’t say it, then.”

“The thing is, I suppose one doesn’t like one’s mama being a femme fatale. And she is, a bit, you know. I’m so sorry for her,” he said violently, “that it makes me angry. Why should that be? I really don’t understand it at all.”

“Do you know, I think it’s impossible for us to take the idea of older people being in love. It’s all wrong, I expect, and I daresay it’s the arrogance of youth, or something.”

“You may be right…Je

“I don’t see anything against it,” said Je

After a longish interval, Je

“Well — if you like.”

“Come on.”

They strolled along the seafront, holding hands. A boy was sitting on the edge of the terrace, idly throwing pebbles into the cha

It was Wally.

As they came up he turned and, when he saw them, held out his hands.

“All gone,” he said.

The End