The Fruit of the Tree Read Online Free Page B

for what it was.
    However, we were not unhappy there. We had made it a home, albeit an unglamorous one, and it was only when I looked at it with the critical eyes of an outsider that I found real dissatisfaction with it.
    While Robert was a baby, we were still fairly mobile. Visiting our friends, our parents in London and the in-laws was a major part of our social life.
    When money became tight, we ceased to run the Wolseley and drove to our visits in one of the vans, installing pram, high chair, and other baby paraphernalia in its convenient empty back.
    Once we returned from a trip to see Ruth and Roger, after Michael’s company had installed heating in their home, in an undignified ‘pick-up’ lorry, in order to bring back spare copper pipe, only to run out of petrol a hundred yards from home. We made a pretty picture, no doubt, marching up the hill with copper pipe on our shoulders, and carrycot being ferried along too, Michael striding along at the front and I scurrying along behind, with expressions respectively of amusement and irritation.
    There was often an element of ridiculousness in our travels, like the time when we hired a car to attend a function and found ourselves resplendent in dinner jacket and long evening dress faced with a puncture with no jack. Michael dealt with the situation by borrowing some marble stone from a funeral director opposite and driving the car up on to it, to change the wheel.
    I used to rely upon Michael’s ingenuity, just as he came eventually to rely upon my attention to detail. Other people too would call on him. Ruth’s sister, Rita, rang for help when we were in London one weekend, saying she was stranded at Euston Station with all the acquisitions and leftovers from a term at University, and since I had always regarded her with a mixture of the somewhat patronising superiority and affection of an older sister, we went to her rescue and delivered her and her accumulated possessions to her home.
    Early in 1968, Michael’s youngest sister, Philippa, followed her brothers and sister into matrimony. We left Robert with my two closest aunts for the occasion, since my parents were with us at the wedding. The Aunties were delighted to look after the baby, whom they adored, but their pleasure was tinged with sadness, for in an adjoining room, my uncle lay seriously ill.
    A few weeks later my uncle died, leaving unfulfilled his dream of spending his retirement at his favourite resort.
    My aunts sadly packed up and moved into the already purchased house in Hove, near Brighton. Not long after, my parents, lonely without their close family, followed suit. My last link with the home of my childhood was severed.

4. Housey-Housey
    Three winters had passed since we first stood by the swaying grasses at the site of our future home, and we were still ‘living above the shop’. The bungalow was still incomplete, but considerable progress had been made. The roof was on, the garage was complete with doors, but a large amount of work still remained on the inside. The plastering, glazing and what is known as ‘second fixing’ (when pipes are linked to basins, wires connected to switches and cupboards inserted) still had to be carried out.
    Except for the plumbing and central heating, all the other tradesman, with such quaint names as the Sparks, the Chippie and the Spread, were called in from the outside, and the length of time between each trade depended upon the amount of money presently in the kitty, for needless to say, we were constantly short of money; the business was subsidising the bungalow. The bridging loan (for use in building the house) was supporting the business. The Bank Manager was frequently lecturing, but Peter often had to be robbed to pay Paul.
    Our business had expanded rapidly, but we did not have sufficient capital to finance the large contracts we had taken on. Payment from our main contractors was so slow that we could not afford the large weekly wage bills. On many