Listening to Colin, as he stood and orated, taking his heavy black-rimmed glasses off, putting them back on, waving his hands about, stamping around, she was hearing what no human being should ever have to hear another person's uncensored thoughts. (No one except Doctor David and his ilk, that is.) They were thoughts not dissimilar probably to many people's, when hot and lava-like. Just as well people were not able to hear what people thought of them, as she now had to, with Colin. The tirade of misery went on for an hour, the time he would have spent with Doctor David. Then he would say, in a quite friendly, normal voice, 'Now I have to go and catch my train.' Or, 'I'll stay the night and catch the first train in the morning.And the Colin she knew was back, even smiling, though in a puzzled, frustrated sort of way. He must be absolutely exhausted after that outpouring.
'You don't have to go to the Maystock,' she reminded him. 'You can say no. Do you want me to tell them you've decided not to?'
But Colin did not want to stop coming to London twice a week, to the Maystock Clinic, to her, she knew, because without the frustration of the hour with the analyst he would not be able to shout and rave at her, to say what he had been thinking so long but had not said, never been able to let out.
After an hour of being shouted at, Frances was so tired that she went off to bed, or sat slumped in a chair. One evening, sitting there in the dark, Julia knocked, opened the door, saw the room was dark, and then that Frances was there. Julia turned on the light. She had heard Colin shouting at his mother, and had been disturbed by it but that was not what had brought her down. Did you know that Sylvia has not come home?'
' It's only ten o ' clock. '
' May I sit down?And Julia sat, her hands demolishing the little handkerchief in her lap. ' She's too young to be out so late, with a bad crowd of people. '
Sylvia sometimes after school went to a certain flat in Camden Town where Jake and his cronies were most afternoons and evenings. They were all fortune tellers, one or two professionally, or wrote horoscopes for newspapers, were initiates of rites, mostly invented by themselves, went in for table-turning, evoked spirits, and drank mysterious substances called Soul Balm, or Mind Mix, or Essence of Truth usually not much more than herbal blends, or spices, and generally lived in a world of meaning and significance far removed from most people's. Sylvia was a great success with them. She was their pet, the neophyte those possessed with knowledge yearn for, and she was duly entrusted with secrets of higher meaning. She liked these people because they liked her, and she was always welcome. She never behaved irresponsibly, always telephoned to say she would be back later than usual, and if she stayed with them longer than she had said, telephoned Julia again.
'If you must be with such people, Sylvia, what can I say?'
Frances did not like it, but knew the girl would grow out of it.
For Julia it was a tragedy, her little lamb lost to her, enticed away by sick lunatics.
' These people are not normal, Frances, she said tonight, distressed and ready to cry.
Frances did not jest, 'Who is?' Julia would have embarked on definitions. Frances knew Julia had come down for more than her anxiety over Sylvia, and waited.
And how is it that a son may talk to his mother as Colin does to you?'
' He has to say it to someone. '
But it is ridiculous, the things he says... I can hear it all, the whole house can hear. '
' He can't say it to Johnny, and so he says it to me. '
' It is so astonishing to me, said Julia, ' that they are allowed to behave like this? Why are they?'
' They' re screwed up, said Frances. ' Isn't it odd, Julia, don't you think it is strange?'
' It is very strange how they behave, said Julia.
No, listen, I think about this. They are all so privileged, they have everything, they have more than any of us ever had well, you might have been different. '
No, I did not have a new dress every week. And I did not steal.' Julia's voice rose. 'That thieves' kitchen of yours, Frances, they are all thieves and they have no morals. If they want something they go and steal it. '
' Andrew doesn't. Colin doesn't. I don't think Sophie ever did.'
' The house is full of... you allow them here, they take advantage of you and they are thieves and liars. This was an honourable house. Our family was honourable, and we were respected by everyone. '
Yes, and I wonder why they are like that. They all have so
much, they have more than any generation ever had, and yet they are all...'
'They are screwed up,' said Julia, getting up to go. Then she stood in front of Frances, hands apart, as if holding there an invisible thing a person? which she was wringing, like a cloth. 'It's a good expression, that: screwed up. I know why they are. Disturbed, did you say Colin was? They' re all war children, that is why. Two terrible wars and this is the result. They are children of war. Do you think there can be wars like that, terrible terrible wars and then you can say, All right, that's over, now back to normal. Nothing's normal now. The children aren't normal. And youtoo... but she stopped herself, and Frances was not to hear what Julia thought of her. 'And now Sylvia, with those spiritualists, they call themselves, did you know they turn out the lights and sit holding hands and some idiot woman pretends to be talking to a ghost?'