Fell went to the sideboard and took out a bottle of whisky which had been produced only at Christmas and poured himself a generous measure. He sat sipping it, looking around the living room, at the dark cheap furniture, at the old horsehair-horse- hair!-sofa and the brown paint on the doors and skirting and the dull, faded wallpaper. He felt trapped in these familiar surroundings. What did his inheritance matter? He would never have the courage to do anything with it. He roused himself to find the address book which held the numbers of the few surviving relatives and phoned them, telling them he would let them know the day and time of the funeral. Then the undertaker's rang. Fell agreed on the price of a coffin, and that the body should be buried in the town cemetery in three days' time at ten in the morning. The undertaker asked if Mrs. Dolphin had been Jewish, Catholic or Protestant. Fell told him, 'Church of England,' and the efficient undertaker said he would contact the vicar of St. Peter's to conduct the service. Fell replaced the receiver. He suddenly wanted his mother back, so that he could ask her why they had skimped and saved all those years. He wanted to ask her what she had thought about during her long days in the house alone. But it was now too late.
He rang the relatives again and informed them of the time of the funeral and the date. Things like that he could do. He had always been dutiful.
The next day, the doorbell rang and he went to answer it. The ancient and unlovely figure of his mother's sister, Aunt Agnes, stood on the doorstep.
'Come in, Aunt,' said Fell. 'Have you come all the way down from Wales?'
'Yes, but I'm staying with my friend, Nancy, in Worcester until after the funeral.' Her eyes ranged round the living room. 'There are some nice pieces here. You'll need someone to look after you. Doris always said'-Doris was the late Mrs. Dol- phin-'`I don't know who's going to take care of my boy when I'm gone and give him his hot milk.' So I've decided to sacrifice myself. I'll move in with you.'
Terror gripped Fell. His aunt looked remarkably like his late mother. Whiskery face, small weak eyes, round figure in a tightly buttoned jacket.
'How kind of you,' he said. 'But I am surprised my mother didn't tell you. I'm engaged. This tragic business, of course, puts off the wedding.'
Aunt Agnes sat down suddenly and goggled at him. 'Who is she?'
Desperation lending his fantasy wings, Fell said, 'Maggie Partlett.'
There was a waitress at the hotel in which he worked called Maggie Partlett. She was extremely plain with thick glasses, lank hair and a lumpy figure.
'What does she do?'
'She works as a waitress, same hotel as me.'
'Well, I never. And you've got the house and all this lovely furniture.'
It seemed as if something had broken loose in Fell. 'Maggie doesn't like the stuff,' he said. 'Tell you what, after the funeral, I'll put it all in a delivery van and send it up to you in Wales.'
Aunt Agnes said, 'That's awfully good of you. All this lovely stuff. I 'member when they bought it. Oh, my. You are a good boy. And that's what I'll tell this Maggie of yours when I meet her at the funeral.'
'She won't be there. Her mother in Bedford isn't well, so she's over there at the moment.'
'Sad. But I'll come back in a few months and you can introduce me then. I must be on my way.'
'Let me get you a taxi and pay for it.'
'What! All the way to Worcester.'
'I've got a bit saved up.'
'I must say, it would be better than waiting in this heat for a bus. It's going to be a scorcher of a summer. It's the dandelions, you see.'
'Dandelions?'
'Yes, dandelions. You'll have seen masses of them all along the roads on the verges. Country people always said when you saw a lot of dandelions, it was going to be a hot summer.'
'Dandelion summer,' said Fell and laughed.
'You must forgive me laughing,' he said quickly. 'Grief takes me that way.' And God forgive me, he said silently to himself, because I am not grieving at all.
When his aunt had left, he wondered why he had not told her about the legacy. Most of his other relatives were dead. But there was Cousin Barbara, and Cousin Tom. He should maybe see the lawyer and share it out. No, cried a voice in his head. I earned it with every bit of my youth. It was then he began to cry because he had not loved his mother and he was glad she was dead.
After some time, he dried his eyes and began to look through his home with new eyes. There were two bedrooms up stairs, a living room and sitting room downstairs and a small kitchen. The sitting room was kept for 'best,' in the old country way: three-piece suite with the plastic covers still over the uncut moquette upholstery, a fringed standard lamp, the shade covered in plastic, a display cabinet with bits of china, a fitted mushroom carpet, and a glass coffee table on white wrought-iron legs. He mentally cleared it all out and stripped the heavy flock wallpaper from the walls, tore up the carpet to find what was underneath. What if, once he had cleared everything out just what if he turned the living room into a large kitchen, with modern appliances, with long counters, shiny copper pans and bunches of herbs? His eyes filled with tears of guilt again. Something dark was telling him that his days of living would never come. Better leave things as they were. Go home every night to the dark, lonely house and hear the ghost of his mother's complaining voice.
He had to get out again, into the sunlight, take action, any action. He walked to a driving school and booked in for a course of lessons, he ordered a television set to be delivered that very day, then he went to the hotel and handed in his notice.
He was just leaving the hotel when with a guilty start he saw Maggie arriving for the evening shift.
'Oh, Fell,' she said, blinking at him through her thick glasses, 'I am so very sorry about your mother.'
'Thank you, Maggie. I've resigned.'
'It won't be the same place without you,' she said shyly. They were both book readers and talked a lot about their favourite authors.
'Look here, Maggie, I did a silly thing. My aunt was threatening to move in with me and I told a lie on the spur of the moment. I said I was engaged to you.'
If I were pretty, you wouldn't find it so silly, thought Mag gie. Aloud she said, 'What will you do when she finds out it isn't true?'
'I'll cope with that later,' said Fell, suddenly weary.
'I don't mind pretending,' said Maggie quickly. 'I mean, we could always break it off after the funeral.'
Fell looked down at her as if seeing her for the first time. Her lank hair could do with cutting and shaping, and her clothes were a ragbag of shapelessness, and the thick glasses were ugly, but her mouth was well shaped and her eyes were kind.
'That's good of you,' he said.
'Do you want me to go to the funeral?'
Fell laughed and Maggie blinked up at him, thinking that she had never heard Fell laugh before. 'I told Auntie that you were nursing your sick mother in Bedford.'
'I think you'll need some support at the funeral,' said Maggie practically. 'You'll need to have some drinks and eats for them at the house.'
'I didn't think of that.'
'You can tell Auntie she misheard. My mother is home in bed, not Bedford. I think she'd buy that one and then you can leave the catering to me. It can be expensive.'
'As far as expense is concerned, Maggie, I think maybe we'd better meet for lunch tomorrow if you're free. I've got something to tell you I don't want anyone to know.'
'I'd love that. Where?'
'That French restaurant down by the river-at one o'clock?'
'All right. I'll pay my share.'
'That's what I want to talk to you about. I'll pay. But don't tell anyone.'
'That's not hard,' said Maggie ruefully. 'No one talks to me except that wretched Italian barman who's always jeering at me.'
'I'll see you then.'
