‘Well, well, I think I am doing well enough. My life is simple since my wife died, but there is little I complain of.’
‘Loneliness is a thing that sometimes strikes at us. I find one must regard it as the toothache or similar ailment, and seek a cure.’
‘Ah yes. I’m often a trifle alone.’
‘I babysit, you know. Have you ever thought of it? Do not shy off because you are a man. A responsible person is all that is required.’
‘I haven’t thought of babysitting. Not ever, I think. Though I like babies and always have done.’
‘I used to do quite a lot. Now I have only the Dutts, but I go there very often. I enjoy my evenings. I like to see the TV now and again and other people’s houses are interesting.’
‘I know the Dutts,’ said Mr Summerfield. ‘You mean the Dutts in Raeburn Road? A small, weedy couple?’
‘They live in Raeburn Road, certainly. They are small too, but you are unkind to call them weedy.’
‘I don’t particularly mean it unkindly. I have known Dutt a long time. One takes liberties, I suppose, in describing people.’
‘Mr Dutt is an interesting person. He holds some responsible position of intriguing secrecy.’
‘Dutt? 25 Raeburn Road? The man is a chartered accountant.’
‘I feel sure you are mistaken –’
‘I cannot be mistaken. The man was once my colleague. In a very junior capacity.’
‘Oh, well… then I must be mistaken.’
‘What surprises me is that you say you babysit for the Dutts. I think you must be mistaken about that too.’
‘Oh no, I am completely certain about that. It is for that reason that I know them at all.’
‘I cannot help being surprised. Because, Miss Efoss – and of this I am certain – the Dutts have no children.’
Miss Efoss had heard of the fantasy world with which people, as they grow old, surround themselves. Yet she could not have entirely invented the Dutts in this way because Mr Summerfield had readily agreed about their existence. Was it, then, for some other reason that she visited them? Did she, as soon as she entered their house, become so confused in her mind that she afterwards forgot the real purpose of her presence? Had they hired her in some other capacity altogether? A capacity she was so ashamed of that she had invented, even for herself, the euphemism of babysitting? Had she, she wondered, become some kind of servant to these people – imagining the warm comfortable room, the sherry, the chocolates, the brandy?
‘We should be back by eleven, Miss Efoss. Here is the telephone number.’ Mrs Dutt smiled at her and a moment later the front door banged gently behind her.
It is all quite real, Miss Efoss thought. There is the sherry. There is the television set. In the kitchen on a tray I shall find my supper. It is all quite reaclass="underline" it is old Mr Summerfield who is wandering in his mind. It was only when she had finished her supper that she had the idea of establishing her role beyond question. All she had to do was to go upstairs and peep at the child. She knew how to be quiet: there was no danger of waking him.
The first room she entered was full of suitcases and cardboard boxes. In the second she heard breathing and knew she was right. She snapped on the light and looked around her. It was brightly painted, with a wallpaper with elves on it. There was a rocking horse and a great pile of coloured bricks. In one of the far corners there was a large cot. It was very large and very high and it contained the sleeping figure of a very old man.
When the Dutts returned Miss Efoss said nothing. She was frightened and she didn’t quite know why she was frightened. She was glad when she was back in her flat. The next day she telephoned her niece in Devon and asked if she might come down and stay for a bit.
Miss Efoss spoke to nobody about the Dutts. She gathered her strength in the country and returned to London at the end of a fortnight feeling refreshed and rational. She wrote a note to the Dutts saying she had decided to babysit no more. She gave no reason, but she said she hoped they would understand. Then, as best she could, she tried to forget all about them.
A year passed and then, one grey cold Sunday afternoon, Miss Efoss saw the Dutts in a local park. They were sitting on a bench, huddled close together and seeming miserable. For a reason that she was afterwards unable to fathom Miss Efoss approached them.
‘Good afternoon.’
The Dutts looked up at her, their thin, pale faces unsmiling and unhappy.
‘Hullo, Miss Efoss,’ Mr Dutt said. ‘We haven’t seen you for a long time, have we? How are you this nasty weather?’
‘Quite well, thank you. And you? And Mrs Dutt?’
Mr Dutt rose and drew Miss Efoss a few yards away from his wife. ‘Beryl has taken it badly,’ he said. ‘Mickey died. Beryl has not been herself since. You understand how it is?’
‘Oh, I am sorry.’
‘I try to cheer her up, but I’m afraid my efforts are all in vain. I have taken it hard myself too. Which doesn’t make anything any easier.’
‘I don’t know what to say, Mr Dutt. It’s a great sadness for both of you.’
Mr Dutt took Miss Efoss’s arm and led her back to the seat. ‘I have told Miss Efoss,’ he said to his wife. Mrs Dutt nodded.
‘I’m very sorry,’ Miss Efoss said again.
The Dutts looked at her, their sad, intent eyes filled with a pathetic desire for comfort. There was something almost hypnotic about them.
‘I must go,’ Miss Efoss said. ‘Goodbye.’
‘They have all died, Miss Efoss,’ Mr Dutt said. ‘One by one they have all died.’
Miss Efoss paused in her retreat. She could think of nothing to say except that she was sorry.
‘We are childless again,’ Mr Dutt went on. ‘It is almost unbearable to be childless again. We are so fond of them and here we are, not knowing what to do on a Sunday afternoon because we are a childless couple. The human frame, Miss Efoss, is not built to carry such misfortunes.’
‘It is callous of me to say so, Mr Dutt, but the human frame is pretty resilient. It does not seem so at times like this I know, but you will find it is so in retrospect.’
‘You are a wise woman, Miss Efoss, but, as you say, it is hard to accept wisdom at a moment like this. We have lost so many over the years. They are given to us and then abruptly they are taken away. It is difficult to understand God’s infinite cruelty.’
‘Goodbye, Mr Dutt. Goodbye, Mrs Dutt.’
They did not reply, and Miss Efoss walked quickly away.
Miss Efoss began to feel older. She walked with a stick; she found the cinema tired her eyes; she read less and discovered that she was bored by the effort of sustaining long conversations. She accepted each change quite philosophically, pleased that she could do so. She found, too, that there were compensations; she enjoyed, more and more, thinking about the past. Quite vividly, she relived the parts she wished to relive. Unlike life itself, it was pleasant to be able to pick and choose.
Again by accident, she met Mr Dutt. She was having tea one afternoon in a quiet, old-fashioned teashop, not at all the kind of place she would have associated with Mr Dutt. Yet there he was, standing in front of her. ‘Hullo, Miss Efoss,’ he said.
‘Why, Mr Dutt. How are you? How is your wife? It is some time since we met.’
Mr Dutt sat down. He ordered some tea and then he leaned forward and stared at Miss Efoss. She wondered what he was thinking about: he had the air of someone who, through politeness, makes the most of a moment but whose mind is busily occupied elsewhere. As he looked at her, his face suddenly cleared. He smiled, and when he spoke he seemed to be entirely present.
‘I have great news, Miss Efoss. We are both so happy about it. Miss Efoss, Beryl is expecting a child.’
Miss Efoss blinked a little. She spread some jam on her toast and said:
‘Oh, I’m so glad. How delightful for you both! Mrs Dutt will be pleased. When is it – when is it due?’