American of an oriental city in the making. It was raining a little and the skies were grey; in one or two places the street drains were choked, and great pools stood across the road.
He came to the mews and to the open garage door. John Osborne was working with two others, and Peter Holmes was there, his uniform coat off, washing strange, nameless parts of the Ferrari in a bath of kerosene, more valuable at that time than mercury. There was an atmosphere of cheerful activity in the garage that warmed his heart.
'I thought we might see you,' said the scientist. 'Come for a job?'
'Sure,' said Dwight. 'This city gives me a pain. You got anything I can do?'
'Yes. Help Bill Adams fit new tires on every wheel you can find.' He indicated a stack of brand-new racing tires; there seemed to be wire wheels everywhere.
Dwight took his coat off thankfully. 'You've got a lot of wheels.'
'Eleven, I think. We got the ones off the Maserati -they're the same as ours. I want a new tire on every wheel we've got. Bill works for Goodyear and he knows the way they go, but he needs somebody to help.'
The American, rolling up his sleeves, turned to Peter. 'He got you working, too?'
The naval officer nodded. 'I'll have to go before very long. Jennifer's teething, and been crying for two bloody days. I told Mary I was sorry I'd got to go on board today, but I'd be back by five.'
Dwight smiled. 'Left her to hold the baby.'
Peter nodded. 'I got her a garden rake and a bottle of dillwater. But I must be back by five.'
He left half an hour later, and got into his little car, and drove off down the road to Falmouth. He got back to his flat on time, and found Mary in the lounge, the house miraculously quiet. 'How's Jennifer?' he asked.
She put her finger to her lips. 'She's sleeping,' she whispered. 'She went off after dinner, and she hasn't woken up since.'
He went towards the bedroom, and she followed him. 'Don't wake her,' she whispered.
'Not on your life,' he whispered back. He stood looking down at the child, sleeping quietly. 'I don't think she's got cancer,' he remarked.
They went back into the lounge, closing the door quietly behind them, and he gave her his presents. 'I've got dillwater,' she said, '-masses of it, and anyway she doesn't have it now. You're about three months out of date. The rake's lovely. It's just what we want for getting all the leaves and twigs up off the lawn. I was trying to pick them up by hand yesterday, but it breaks your back.'
They got short drinks, and presently she said, 'Peter, now that we've got petrol, couldn't we have a motor mower?'
'They cost quite a bit,' he objected, almost automatically.
'That doesn't matter so much now, does it? And with the summer coming on, it would be a help. I know we've not got very much lawn to mow, but it's an awful chore with the hand mower, and you may be away at sea again. If we had a very little motor mower that I could start myself. Or an electric one. Doris Haynes has an electric one, and it's no trouble to start at all.'
'She's cut its cord in two at least three times, and each time she does that she darn nearly electrocutes herself.'
'You don't have to do that if you're careful. I think it would be a lovely thing to have.'
She lived in the dream world of unreality, or else she would not admit reality; he did not know. In any case, he loved her as she was. It might never be used, but it would give her pleasure to have it. 'I'll see if I can find one next time I go up to town,' he said. 'I know there are plenty of motor mowers, but I'm not just sure about an electric one.' He thought for a moment. 'I'm afraid the electric ones may all be gone. People would have bought them when there wasn't any petrol.'
She said, 'A little motor one would do, Peter. I mean, you could show me how to start it.'
He nodded. 'They're not much trouble, really.'
'Another thing we ought to have,' she said, 'is a garden seat. You know-one that you can leave outside all winter, and sit on whenever it's a nice fine day. I was thinking, how nice it would be if we had a garden seat in that sheltered corner just by the arbutus. I think we'd use it an awful lot next summer. Probably use it all the year round, too.'
He nodded. 'Not a bad idea.' It would never be used next summer, but let that go. Transport would be a difficulty; the only way he could transport a garden seat with the Morris Minor would be by putting it on the roof, and that might scratch the enamel unless he padded it very well. 'We'll get the motor mower first, and then see what the bank looks like.'
He drove her up to Melbourne the next day to look for a motor mower; they went with Jennifer in her carrying basket on the back seat. It was some weeks since she had been in the city, and its aspect startled and distressed her. 'Peter,' she said, 'what's the matter with everything? It's all so dirty, and it smells horrid.'
'I suppose the street cleaners have stopped working,' he observed.
'But why should they do that? Why aren't they working? Is there a strike or something?'
'Everything's just slowing down,' he said. 'After all, I'm not working.'
'That's different,' she said. 'You're in the navy.' He laughed. 'No, what I mean is, you go to sea for months and months, and then you go on leave. Street cleaners don't do that. They go on all the time. At least, they ought to.'
He could not elucidate it any further for her, and they drove on to the big hardware store. It had only a few customers, and very few assistants. They left the baby in the car and went through to the gardening department, and searched some time for an assistant. 'Motor mowers?' he said. 'You'll find a few in the next hall, through that archway. Look them over and see if what you want is there.'
They did so, and picked a little twelve-inch mower. Peter looked at the price tag, picked up the mower, and went to find the assistant. 'I'll take this one,' he said.
'Okay,' said the man. 'Good little mower, that.' He grinned sardonically. 'Last you a lifetime.'
'Forty-seven pounds ten,' said Peter. 'Can I pay by cheque?'
'Pay by orange peel for all I care,' the man said. 'We're closing down tonight.'
The naval officer went over to a table and wrote his cheque; Mary was left talking to the salesman. 'Why are you closing down?' she asked. 'Aren't people buying things?'
He laughed shortly. 'Oh-they come in and they buy. Not much to sell them now. But I'm not going on right up till the end, same with all the staff. We had a meeting yesterday, and then we told the management. After all, there's only about a fortnight left to go. They're closing down tonight.'
Peter came back and handed his cheque to the salesman. 'Okeydoke,' the man said. 'I don't know if they'll ever pay it in without a staff up in the office. Maybe I'd better give you a receipt in case they get on to your tail next year…' He scribbled a receipt and turned to another customer.
Mary shivered. 'Peter, let's get out of this and go home. It's horrid here, and everything smells.'
'Don't you want to stay up here for lunch?' He had thought she would enjoy the little outing.
She shook her head. 'I'd rather go home now, and have lunch there.'
They drove in silence out of the city and down to the bright little seaside town that was their home. Back in their apartment on the hill she regained a little of her poise; here were the familiar things she was accustomed to, the cleanness that was her pride, the carefully tended little garden, the clean wide view out over the bay. Here was security.
After lunch, smoking before they did the washing up, she said, 'I don't think I want to go to Melbourne again, Peter.'
He smiled. 'Getting a bit piggy, isn't it?'
'It's horrible,' she said vehemently. 'Everything shut up, and dirty, and stinking. It's as if the end of the world had come already.'
'It's pretty close, you know,' he said.
She was silent for a moment. 'I know; that's what you've been telling me all along.' She raised her eyes to his. 'How far off is it, Peter?'
'About a fortnight,' he said. 'It doesn't happen with a click, you know. People start getting ill, but not all on the same day, of course. Some people are more resistant than others.'
'But everybody gets it, don't they?' she asked in a low tone. 'I mean, in the end.'
He nodded. 'Everybody gets it, in the end.'
