The Hours Before Dawn by Celia Fremlin Page B

herself. Bent double like this, with Margery’s arms locked tight about her neck she too was in that underwater world; she too could scarcely feel the ripples.
    And perhaps I’m there all the time, really, she thought confusedly as she hurried home through the rain-spattered streets. ‘At least,’ she amended, ‘three quarters of me is – all the part that needs to deal with the children – really deal with them. It’s just my head that’s above the surface, worrying at it intellectually—’
    ‘Mrs Henderson, excuse me, I don’t want to make trouble. Anyone will tell you that I’m not one to make trouble, but really, there are some things that no one could be expected to stand.’
    Louise looked up. If only she hadn’t been staring at the pavement all the way up the road she would have seen Mrs Philips coming out, and would certainly have managed not to be turning in at her own gate at exactly the moment when Mrs Philips was coming out of hers. Unless, of course, Mrs Philips had engineered it deliberately; in that case, no amount of dawdling, hurrying or plunging into the tobacconist’s at the corner would have been any help. Louise knew when she was out-manoeuvred; and she stopped, looking as puzzled as she could at such short notice, and with Michael’s yells already resounding in her ears through the open bedroom window.
    ‘It’s that baby of yours,’ continued Mrs Philips. ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with him, I’m sure, and of course it’s not mybusiness. Though, of course, if a complaint was to be made in some official quarter, and if they were to ask me the circumstances , me being the nearest neighbour, you understand, well, I wouldn’t feel it was right to hold anything back. I’m telling you frankly, Mrs Henderson, I wouldn’t feel it was right.’
    ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Philips—’ began Louise, and then stopped helplessly. How could Mrs Philips, in her leisurely, well-ordered solitude, be made to understand the kind of rush and scramble that had made it necessary to leave Michael at home alone?
    ‘And it isn’t just this morning,’ continued Mrs Philips inexorably . ‘Though, of course, he’s been screaming ever since breakfast time. Hasn’t stopped for a moment. It’s given me a bad head, Mrs Henderson, a real bad head.’
    ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Philips—’ Louise wished she could ever think of any other answer. So far as she could remember, ever since she had lived here, these five words were the only ones she had ever managed to contribute to a conversation with Mrs Philips. Even their very first introduction of all, on the day when the Hendersons had moved in, had been over the question of the children’s footsteps on the uncarpeted stairs.
    She hurried indoors and up to Michael’s room. Through the window she could see Mrs Philips still standing attentively by the gate. And though she couldn’t see them, Louise was aware that the lace curtains at her other neighbour’s window were stirring a little as Mrs Morgan peeped out, all agog. Praying, no doubt, that the Henderson baby would go on crying louder than ever, and that Mrs Philips really would make a Complaint. Mrs Morgan knew all about the possibilities opened up by a Complaint. Shouted insults – the police – furniture on the street – even the throwing of bricks. Why, some of the happiest days of Mrs Morgan’s life had been ushered in by nothing more than a Complaint.
    Understanding all this, Louise was not surprised that MrsMorgan should seem a little down-hearted as she greeted her over the garden wall a couple of hours later. For Michael had been as good as gold for those whole two hours, and was still sleeping peacefully; and Mrs Philips had been heard actually humming as she weeded her rockery in the front. The morning that had begun with such belligerent promise looked as if it was going to peter out quite amicably, and so Mrs Morgan beckoned to Louise with something less than her usual