The Best of Friends Read Online Free Page B

said, quite gently, that she had to get to the bank before it shut.
    It wasn’t only the fantasies of the beaches of New South Wales and a Ford Mustang that caused Laurence to hesitate. It was Hilary, too. He knew, although he hadn’t yet asked her, that he badly wanted to marry her, and he also knew that, as the daughter and granddaughter of doctors, she was serious about medicine. He was also in slight awe of some of herviews which she did not express loudly but with a quiet certainty that was alarmingly impressive. One of these views (and this made his courage falter just a little about proposing marriage) was about motherhood.
    â€˜We ought,’ Hilary had said one day, turning her characterful, bespectacled face on its long neck to look past him, ‘as a society, to admit that motherhood isn’t
everything
. It’s something, for some people, but it isn’t everything for everyone. It’s a lifelong relationship but then, so is having brothers or real friends. Mothers shouldn’t have a monopoly on human wonderfulness. After all, babies are only what the machinery is designed for.’
    â€˜Gulp,’ said Laurence. Briefly, he imagined Hilary pregnant by him and felt a little faint.
    â€˜I don’t want,’ continued Hilary, retrieving her gaze from the distance and bestowing it on Laurence, ‘to be either some sacred Madonna or some exhausted freak who can’t be expected to think a single coherent thought beyond the nappy bucket. Do you see?’
    â€˜Yes,’ said Laurence.
    â€˜Some of us should have babies and some shouldn’t and those that don’t should then be free to get on with something else.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜And not be told all the time that they are inadequate or incomplete women because of childlessness.’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜If you’re a child, you see, it’s awful to be mothered all your life. Mothers should know when to stop.’
    â€˜Yes. Why are you telling me all this?’
    â€˜Because it’s in my mind.’
    I can’t, Laurence thought later while roaming yet again through the musty, lopsided rooms of The Bee House, ask someone like that to marry me. I want herdesperately but I also rather want normal things, like a baby. Some time, anyway. Perhaps I’d better just flog this old heap and go and be a jackaroo for a while and see whether, when I come back, she’s missed me.
    â€˜I’d miss you, if you went to Australia,’ Hilary said, two days later.
    â€˜Would you?’
    â€˜And it’s a pretty corny thing to do anyway, going to Australia.’
    He took her hand and examined it closely as if reading her palm.
    â€˜What wouldn’t be corny?’
    â€˜Doing something that wasn’t just an easy adventure. Like – making something of The Bee House.’
    He pushed his face almost into hers.
    â€˜Like what?’
    â€˜Like – making a hotel of it? A little hotel?’
    He closed his eyes.
    â€˜You could do a hotel management course. We – both could.’
    â€˜But you’re going to be a doctor!’
    â€˜I was—’
    She was smiling, a wide huge smile, and behind her glasses, her eyes were like lamps. Laurence, who hadn’t cried for years and thought he had forgotten how, burst into tears. Much, much later, when they were quite bruised with kissing, Laurence said, ‘But what about babies?’
    She looked up at the sky. He’d taken her glasses off without protest this time and without them, her gaze was vulnerable.
    â€˜I wouldn’t mind,’ she said, ‘at least, not one or two. As long as they’re yours.’
    That was 1970: six years before George, eight years before Adam, ten years before Gus. It was also before Laurence told Hilary about Gina.
    â€˜Who’s Gina?’
    They were in the garden of The Bee House, raking up rubbish for a bonfire.
    Laurence said, openly and seriously, ‘My