A Pale View of Hills

“Just bad dreams,” she said, suddenly irritated. “What does it matter what they’re about?”

We fell silent for a moment. Then Niki said without turning:

“I suppose d should have looked after her a bit more, shouldn’t he? He ignored her most of the time. It wasn’t fair really.”

I waited to see if she would say more. Then I said: “Well. it’s understandable enough. He wasn’t her real father, after all.”

‘But it wasn’t fair really.”

Outside, I could see, it was nearly daylight. A lone bird was making its noises somewhere close by the window.

“Your father was rather idealistic at times,’ I said. “In those days, you see, he really believed we could give her a happy life over here.’

Niki shrugged. I watched her for a little longer, then said:

‘But you see, Niki, I knew all along. I knew all along she wouldn’t be happy over here. But I decided to bring her just the same.

My daughter seemed to consider this for a moment. ‘Don’t be silly,” she said, turning to me, “how could you have known? And you did everything you could for her. You’re the last person anyone could blame.”

I remained silent. Her face, devoid of any make-up, looked very young.

Anyway,” she said, “sometimes you’ve got to take risks. You did exactly the right thing. You can’t just watch your life wasting away.”

I put down the coffee cup I had been holding and stared past her, out into the garden. There were no signs of rain and the sky seemed clearer than on previous mornings.

“It would have been so stupid,” Niki went on, “if you’d just accepted everything the way it was and just stayed where you were. At least you made an effort.”

“As you say. Now let’s not discuss it any further.’

“It’s so stupid the way people just waste away their lives.”

“Let’s not discuss it any further” I said, more firmly. ‘There’s no point in going overall that now.”

My daughter turned away again. We sat without talking for a little while, then I rose to my feet and came closer to the window.

“It looks a much better morning today,” I said. “Perhaps the sun will come out. If it does, Niki, we could go for a walk. It would do us a lot of good.”

“I suppose so,” she mumbled.

When I left the living room, my daughter was still sitting astride her chair, her chin supported by a hand, gazing emptily out into the garden.

When the telephone rang, Niki and I were f4iishing breakfast in the kitchen. It had rung for her so frequently during the previous few days that it seemed natural she should be the one to go and answer it. By the time she returned, her coffee had grown cold.

‘Your friends again?” I asked.

She nodded, then went over to switch on the kettle.

“Actually, Mother,” she said, “I’ll have to go back this afternoon. Is that all right?” She was standing with one hand on the handle of the kettle, the other on her hip.

“Of course it’s all right. It’s been very nice having you here, Niki.”

“I’ll come and see you again soon. But I’ve really got to be getting back now.’

“You don’t have to apologize. Its very important you lead your own life now.’

Niki turned away and waited for her kettle. The windows above the sink unit had misted over a little, but outside the sun was shining. Niki poured herself coffee, then sat down at the table.

“Oh, by the way, Mother,” she said. “You know that friend I was telling you about, the one writing the poem about you?”

I smiled. “Oh yes. Your friend.”

“She wanted me to bring back a photo or something. Of Nagasaki. Have you got anything like that? An old postcard or something?”

“I should think I could find something for you. How absurd — I gave a laugh — “Whatever can she be writing about me?”

“She’s a really good poet. She’s been through a lot, you see. That’s why I told her about you.”

“I’m sure she’ll write a marvellous poem, Niki.”

“Just an old postcard, anything like that. Just so she can see what everything was like.” “Well, Niki, I’m not so sure, It has to show what everything was like, does it?”

“You know what I mean.”

I laughed again. ‘I’ll have a look for you later.”

Niki had been buttering a piece of toast, but now she began to scrape some butter off again. My daughter has been thin since childhood, and the idea that she was concerned at becoming (at amused me. I watched her for a moment.

“Still,” I said, eventually, ‘it’s a pity you’re leaving today. I was about to suggest we went to the cinema this evening.”

“The cinema? Why, what’s on?”

“I don’t know what kind of films they show these days.. J was hoping you’d know more about it.”

‘Actually Mother, it’s ages since we went to a film together, isn’t it? Not since I was little.’ Niki smiled, and for a moment her face became childlike. Then she put down her knife and gazed at her coffee cup. “I don’t go to see films much either” she said, “There’s always loads on in London, but we don’t go much.”

“Well, if you prefer, there’s always the theatre. The bus takes you right up to the theatre now. I don’t know what they have on at the moment, but we could find out. Is that the local paper there, just behind you?”