“I think I’ll go and lie down for an hour,” said his father.
“Yes, do, John,” said Aunt Laura encouragingly. “You need it. I’ll go upstairs myself to be handy if the nurse wants anything.”
This was the first that Edwin had heard of a nurse. The idea inspired him with awe. His father sighed and turned to go.
“Father . . . can’t I go up, only for a minute?”
Aunt Laura, who had taken upon herself the role of protectress and manager of the distressed household, intervened,
“Eddie, you mustn’t worry your father. We’re all in trouble, and you mustn’t be a nuisance.” His father went, without speaking.
“Well, when can I see her?” Edwin demanded.
“To-morrow. . . . You must be patient like the rest of us. Now I must go upstairs. You’ll be quiet, won’t you? Mrs. Barrow has your bedroom ready, and if you take your bag over she’ll give you some tea. She promised to look after you. She was most kind. Or, if you like, and will keep very quiet, you can stay here and read.”
“I didn’t come home to sit down here and read. Why did they send for me to come if they won’t let me see her? I want her. . . .”
“Hush . . .” said Aunt Laura, with an air of being scandalised. She left him, closing the door with exaggerated quietness behind her, leaving him alone in the room that had once witnessed so much happiness. He didn’t know what to do. Read? The idea was ridiculous. He looked at the familiar shelves, on which he knew the place and title of every book. A sense of the room’s awful emptiness oppressed him, for everything in it recalled the memory of his darling’s presence; the books that they had read together; the big chair in which he had sat cuddled in her arms; her workbasket on the table by the window; and—terribly pathetic—a shopping list scribbled on the back of an envelope. He couldn’t bear to be alone in the room with so many inanimate reminders; and while he was debating where he should go, a sudden angry jealousy flamed up in his heart towards the other people in the house: his father, Aunt Laura, the doctor, and the unknown nurse who shared the privilege that was denied him and didn’t realise its value. He clenched his hands and cried aloud: “We belong to one another. . . . She’s mine. . . . She’s mine. I hate them.”