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almost desperately, about to break his knuckles on the particle board.
But, in the dream, she was sleeping so deeply that she could not move,
in spite of feeling as if she was standing on both sides of the door. How
strange to be locked up inside in my sleep and seeing the number outside
on my door at the same time! Split personality, some would say. Fred was
shaving in the bathroom, the familiar humming of the electric machine
was reassuring. He liked his coffee very dark and hot, continental style.
She always had Twining’s Indian or Ceylon Breakfast with her healthy
muesli. This was reassuring too. Maybe she just felt guilty that she had
not accepted an invitation to a former student’s birthday party, this
afternoon in Randwick. That girl, Muriel, adored her, but it was out
of the question, with La to care for and the Simpsons’ party the night
before. She had sent the girl a book on the mountains of France, with
impressive black and white photographs, and a card she had designed
herself, with these words : “Happy birthday, Muriel! I am sure nobody
was ever a sweeter sixteen than you. Love, Carol.” Her world had been
so drastically redesigned in the last few months. Hailing from where she
was now did not make much sense, did it? Where she was now, everything
was centred around Fred and La and the nursery, she concluded.
Except, maybe, that she was holding herself intact in this strong
blond body of hers, a stranger sometimes to the secretly delicate touch
of her own strong hands, and seldom had she had the opportunity of
abating that resistance to life that had already destroyed her once in the
past... But it sounds as if you wanted to talk, my baby!
The phone rang. It was the man from the Waterboard. My name
is Smith, Bob Smith, he recited, as if he had learnt it in an English course
for migrants. He was sorry to call on a Sunday, so early in the morning,
but he had been unable to reach them yesterday and he knew it was so
very important for the nursery. The main piping had been checked on
their street, the obstruction found and repaired. There should be no
more trouble. Call me any time if there is a problem. Thank you very
much, Mr Smith. Bob Smith, he repeated. This was good news. “Fred,”
she called, “you know what?”
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