Last Things by C. P. Snow Page B

father, back to the evening drink. Once out of the hospital, it was all serene, and there was nothing to disturb us. As for our acquaintances, we heard that Muriel was moving into Azik Schiff’s house to have her baby – Eaton Square, Azik laying on doctors and nurses, that suited him appropriately enough. Margaret kept up her visits to her, as soon as she was installed, which was towards the end of January, with the baby due in a couple of weeks.
    About six o’clock one evening, the birth expected any day now, there was a ring at our hall door. As I opened it, Pat was standing on the threshold. There wasn’t likely to be a more uninvited guest. I knew there couldn’t be any news, for Margaret had not long returned from Eaton Square. He entered with his shameless smile, ingratiating and also defiant.
    ‘As a matter of fact, Uncle Lewis,’ he said, explaining himself, ‘I would rather like a word with Aunt Meg.’
    He followed me into the drawing-room, where Margaret was sitting. She said good evening in a tone that he couldn’t have thought indulgent (it was the first time she had seen him since the Christmas dinner), but he went and kissed her cheek.
    ‘Do you mind’, he said, bright-faced, ‘if I help myself to a drink?’
    He poured himself a whisky and soda, and then sat on a chair near to her.
    ‘Aunt Meg,’ he said, ‘I’ve come to ask you a favour.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘I want you to let us call this child after you.’
    For once Margaret was utterly astonished, her face wide open with surprise, and yes, for an instant, with pleasure.
    Her first response was uncollected. ‘Why, you don’t know whether it’s going to be a girl.’
    ‘I’m sure it will be.’
    ‘You can’t be sure–’
    ‘I want a girl. I want to call it after you.’
    His tone was masterful and wooing. Watching with a certain amusement from the other side of the room (I had not often seen anyone try this kind of blandishment on her), I saw her eyes sharpen.
    ‘Whose idea was this?’
    ‘Mine, of course, what do you think?’
    Margaret’s voice was firm.
    ‘What does Muriel say?’
    ‘Oh, she’s in favour. You’d expect her to be in favour, wouldn’t you?’
    ‘I don’t know, she might be.’ Margaret hadn’t altered her expression. ‘But she hasn’t quite your reasons, after all.’
    ‘Oh come, Aunt Meg, I just want to show how much I feel for you–’ For the first time he was protesting – as though he had just recognised that he was no longer in control.
    ‘When did you think this up?’
    ‘A long time ago, months ago, you know how you think about names.’
    ‘How long ago did you hear that Muriel had told me?’
    ‘Oh that–’
    ‘You don’t like being unpopular, do you?’
    ‘Come on, Aunt Meg, you’re making too much of it.’
    ‘Am I?’
    He threw his head back, spread his arms, gave a wide penitential grimace, and said: ‘You know what I’m like!’
    She looked at him with a frown, some sort of affection there: ‘Is that genuine?’
    ‘You know what I’m like, I’ve never pretended much.’
    ‘But, when you say that, it means you’re really satisfied with yourself, don’t you see? Of course, you want to make promises, you want us all to be fond of you again, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? But really you don’t feel there’s anything gone wrong–’
    ‘Now you’re being unfair.’
    Even then, he wasn’t ready to be totally put down. Apologetic, yes – but, still, people did things, didn’t they? People did things that hurt her and perhaps they couldn’t help themselves. Like her father. There were others who didn’t feel as she did. Somehow Pat had discovered, it must have been from Davidson himself, that once he had applied to us for drugs. Still, he found someone else, didn’t he, said Pat, not brashly but with meaning. ‘It’s no use expecting us to be all the same.’
    Margaret told him that he was making things too comfortable for himself. For a time