Friend of My Youth

“We never had visitors. We were too far o the beaten track,” Miss Dobie said rmly.
“I lived at home with Mother and Father and then I lived with Mother and then I lived
alone. I gave up on the sheep and went to work in town. I worked at the post office.”
“That’s right, she did,” Antoinette said thoughtfully, handing round the wine.
“But I never lived in town,” Miss Dobie said, with an obscure, vengeful-sounding
pride. “No. I rode in every day, all that way on the motorbike.”
“Jack mentioned your motorbike,” Hazel said, to encourage her.
“I lived in the old house then. Terrible people live there now.”
She held out her glass for more wine.
“Jack used to borrow your motorbike,” Hazel said. “And he went fishing with you, and
when you cleaned the fish, the dogs ate the fish heads.”
“Ugh,” Antoinette said.
“I’m thankful I can’t see it from here,” Miss Dobie said.
“The house,” Antoinette explained, in a regretful undertone. “The couple that live in it
are not married. They have xed it up but they are not married.” And, as if naturally
reminded, she said to Judy, “How is Tania”
“She’s ne,” said Judy, who was not having any wine. She lifted the plate of fruitcake
and set it down. “She goes to kindergarten now.”
“She goes on the bus,” Miss Dobie said. “The bus comes and picks her up right at the
door.”
“Isn’t that nice,” Antoinette said.
“And it brings her back,” Miss Dobie continued impressively. “It brings her back right
to the door.”
“Jack said you had a dog that ate porridge,” Hazel said. “And that one time he
borrowed your shoes. I mean Jack did. My husband.”
Miss Dobie seemed to brood over this for a little while. Then she said, “Tania has the
red hair.”
“She has her mother’s hair,” Antoinette said. “And her mother’s brown eyes. She is
Judy all over again.”
“She is illegitimate,” Miss Dobie said, with the air of somebody sweeping aside a good
deal of nonsense. “But Judy brings her up well. Judy is a good worker. I am glad to see
that they have a home. It is the innocent ones, anyway, that get caught.”
Hazel thought that this would nish Judy o completely, send her running to the
kitchen. Instead, she seemed to come to a decision. She got up and handed around the
cake. The ush had never left her face or her neck or the part of her chest left bare by
the party dress. Her skin was burning as if she had been slapped, and her expression, as
she bent to each of them with the plate, was that of a child who was furiously, bitterly,
contemptuously holding back a howl. Miss Dobie spoke to Hazel. She said, “Can you say
any recitations”
Hazel had to think for a moment to remember what a recitation was. Then she said
that she could not.
“I will say one, if you like,” Miss Dobie said.
She put down her empty glass and straightened her shoulders and placed her feet