It's Never Over by Callaghan Morley; Snider Norman;

Author:Callaghan, Morley; Snider, Norman;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Exile Editions

Chapter Ten

In the morning Mrs. Errington, getting him his breakfast hardly spoke till he was finished. Reluctantly, she sat down and said: “I wanted to talk to you about the young woman, Miss Thompson, who was here last night.”

“Yes, Mrs. Errington.”

“Well, Mr. Errington told me to tell you that you ought to leave at the end of the week.”

“I will.”

“I’m sorry.”

She was so sorry he would have to go she was ready to explain it was her husband who had urged her to give him notice without even asking for an explanation. It never even occurred to him to try and argue with her. She was a plump, friendly woman, who had been so respectable al her life such an escapade excited her and aroused her sympathy, although it could not be tolerated. So she sat at the end of the table, looking at him a little wistfully, determinedly expressing by her attitude approval of her husband’s opinion. All her good nature and the restraint of the years, so uneventful for her, trying to be interested in her husband’s reform politics, when younger, and sure she would someday encounter a strong lasting excitement, then missing it and thinking of it a little bashfully, without any hope, gave her now a kindly feeling, urging her to comfort him even though her common sense prompted her to hold aloof.

“It really would be better for you to go without talking about it at all, don’t you think?” she said, her voice lifting a little as she leaned forward, half expecting he would be unable to resist telling her something. If he had suddenly started to cry, expressing in some way a fresh and violent emotion, it would have been awkward for both of them, for she would have put her arms around him. Mrs. Errington was about forty-five, her hair still dark, and hardly any lines were in her plump fresh face. They weren’t saying a word to each other, thought they were both sharing the same feeling and perhaps some of the same thoughts.

“You’re quite right, Mrs. Errington,” he said abruptly, standing up.

“What’s that?”

“Mr. Errington is quite right.” Turning before going into the front room to the piano, he said: “Would you mind telling me how you knew the young lady’s name was Thompson?”

“She told us. That’s what makes it worse. It wouldn’t do at all for us, if people got to know about it. We knew you had been a friend of the family.”

In the front room, as though nothing had happened at all, he stood at the piano, sounding notes with one hand, going over the scales three or four times, while Mrs. Errington, moving behind in the other room, cleared the dishes off the table. She had never objected to giving him a late breakfast. Sometimes she had offered to have a cup of tea with him. John was not even thinking of asking her husband for an explanation. Mr. Errington was merely her husband, a social democrat, a

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