A Woman of Our Times. Rosie Thomas

and I were there, the nurses let us hold him for a minute. It was, oh, I didn’t mean to cry on you, it was very moving, that’s all.’ Her face collapsed, disfigured with pain. Jane bent forward silently until her forehead touched Jenny’s bare forearm. Harriet sat motionless, aware of how much she loved them both. By contrast with the enduring, unemphatic resonance of friendship her concluded marriage seemed over-coloured and dissonant. She saw that Jenny’s face was shiny with tears. Gently she released her hand, took a handkerchief and dried it for her.

      ‘The news sounded all right this morning,’ she ventured.

      ‘It was, to begin with. I’d started to make plans. You know, in a month, taking him home. Not expecting too much, just finding out what he could or couldn’t do. Then they came to tell me that there was a problem with his breathing. They’re ventilating him because his lungs don’t want to work. Then they said there was something wrong with his kidneys. There’s a blockage in his intestine. They’re watching him now, to see if they can operate to clear it.’

      ‘It all happened as quickly as that?’

      ‘He’s very small. They can … they can deteriorate very quickly. But he’s much bigger than some of the babies in there. If he can survive the operation, and it’s successful, he may still be all right.’

      They saw the equal and opposite currents of hope and fear in her, and understood some of the tension that made her arms and fingers seem stiff.

      ‘The doctor said not, not to be too hopeful yet. One day, even one hour is critical.’

      Harriet and Jane said what they could, making little more than small, soothing sounds. They sat quietly for a moment or two when they had come to the end even of that, listening to the hospital noises. There was the metallic rattle of big trolleys, and a smell of boiled vegetables. Early institutional supper was on its way.

      ‘Do you want us to go, Jenny?’ Harriet asked gently.

      ‘Stay just for five more minutes.’ Jenny wearily closed her eyes.

      ‘Where’s Charlie?’ Jane half-mouthed, half-whispered to Harriet.

      But Jenny answered, ‘His editor wanted him to go and do some story. I told him to go, there’s nothing for him to do here. I wish I could do something, other than just lie here. If I could do anything, anything in the world to make him live, I’d do it.’

      They waited, holding on to one another, saying nothing.

      Harriet didn’t know how long it was before a doctor came in in his white coat. All three of them stared frozenly at him.

      ‘Mrs Thimbell, if I could just have a quick word?’

      Harriet and Jane bundled themselves into the corridor. They leaned against the green-painted wall, listening to the sound of babies crying. The doctor came out again, his hands in the pocket of his coat. He nodded encouragingly at them and swept away.

      Jenny’s arms stuck out even more stiffly. She told them, ‘They’re going to operate to clear the blockage this evening. They can’t tell me anything else until it’s been done. Will you wait until Charlie comes? He said he’d be here at seven.’

      They sat down again on either side of the bed. They tried to talk, but the words tailed off into silence again, and Jenny seemed to prefer that. Jane spoke once, in a low, ferocious voice. ‘Come on, James Jonathan. Come on.’

      Charlie came.

      He was normally a noisy, red-faced man who was fond of beer and gossip. He used the saloon-bar manner as a cover for his sharp intelligence. But there was no noise tonight.

      He sat down and put his arms around his wife, resting his head against her pillows. After a moment, Jane and Harriet crept away.

      In the street outside Jane said, ‘Let’s go and have a drink. I really do need to have a drink. Poor Jenny, the poor love.’

      There was a wine bar on the corner, one of the green paint, wicker furniture and weeping greenery variety. They ordered wine without deliberation, and sat down at one of the wicker tables.

      There seemed little to say that would not be a pointless reiteration of anxiety. Harriet watched people arriving, greeting each other. They all seemed to make tidy couples.

      ‘What’s up?’ Jane demanded. ‘It’s not just this, is it?’

      Harriet shook her head. ‘But this makes it seem not particularly tragic. Not even particularly significant. I was thinking that, when we were sitting in there with Jenny.’

      ‘What, Harriet?’

      ‘Leo.’

      Harriet described what had happened. Jane’s thick, fair eyebrows drew together sharply. She had never been particularly fond of Leo, but she was always scrupulously fair.

      Fairness made her ask, ‘Are you sure?’

      ‘Sure? I suppose he might have been doing some calendar shots, and I suppose he might have taken his own clothes off to keep the model company. But then he would have needed a camera, wouldn’t he, and a couple of lights? No, it’s not funny, I know. He admitted it, anyway. It wasn’t the first time, or even the first girl. It’s been going on for quite a long time.’ Harriet paused for a moment and then added, ‘If I was being honest, I suppose I’d have to say that I half-knew. Only I didn’t want to know, so I closed it off.’

      Jane took a mouthful of wine. ‘So what happens?’

      ‘I’m going to leave him.’

      ‘Isn’t that a bit precipitate? You’ve been together for a long time. You’re Leo-and-Harriet, aren’t you? Can’t you work it out, build on what you’ve got, or whatever it is the advice columns tell you to do?’

      Harriet had been thinking about Jenny and Charlie, and wondering how their marriage would survive a handicapped baby, or the death of James Jonathan. A little absently she answered, ‘I don’t think any of us can see into each other’s marriages.’

      ‘No. Especially if you’re not married at all, like me.’

      ‘I didn’t mean that.’

      Jane’s expression softened. ‘I know you didn’t. Don’t be stupid. I just wanted to say something obvious like, Don’t be proud and hasty, or Give each other another chance.’

      Deliberately Harriet told her, ‘No. There isn’t anything to work out or build on, you see. I’m quite sure it’s over, and it would only be weakness to try to hang on. Leo’s kind of weakness, what’s more. There would be more mess, and subterfuge, and undermining one another. I would rather be hard about it now, and then start to get over it.’

      ‘Yes. That’s you.’

      ‘Don’t you agree with me?’

      ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what people promise when they marry each other. I do imagine promises aren’t so easily undone.’

      But they are, Harriet thought miserably. They are undone, and without love or affection there is no reason for them anyway. It would be different if we had children. Had had. She didn’t say that, remembering where they had just been, and remembering that Jane wanted a baby, and could never find anyone to father it for her. She took refuge in asperity.

      ‘I don’t know why you’re defending Leo’s sordid behaviour.’

      ‘I’m not. You know what I think about Leo. I’m just trying to see both sides.’

      ‘And that’s you.’

      That made them both laugh, a little bubble of welcome laughter that grew out of tension. They leaned together so that their shoulders touched.

      ‘What are you going to do?’

      ‘He’s away until the day after tomorrow. I think I’ll go home, for a little while. I’d like to tell Kath, as gently as