Page 21 of Someone Like You

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‘I’m just a friend of hers.’

‘You don’t have to shout at me,’ he said. ‘What’s all the excitement?’

‘I simply want you to know I’m not Edna.’

The man considered this a moment, then he said, ‘How did you know my name?’

‘Edna told me.’

Again he paused, studying her closely, still slightly puzzled, but much calmer now, his eyes calm, perhaps even a little amused the way they looked at her.

‘I think I prefer Edna.’

In the silence that followed they neither of them moved. The woman was very tense, sitting up straight with her arms tense on either side of her and slightly bent at the elbows, the hands pressing palms downward on the mattress.

‘I love Edna, you know. Did she ever tell you I love her?’

The woman didn’t answer.

‘I think she’s a bitch. But it’s a funny thing I love her just the same.’

The woman was not looking at the man’s face; she was watching his right hand.

‘Awful cruel little bitch, Edna.’

And a long silence now, the man standing erect, motionless, the woman sitting motionless in the bed, and it was so quiet suddenly that through the open window they could hear the water in the millstream going over the dam far down the valley on the next farm.

Then the man again, speaking calmly, slowly, quite impersonally:

‘As a matter of fact, I don’t think she even likes me any more.’

The woman shifted closer to the edge of the bed. ‘Put that knife down,’ she said, ‘before you cut yourself.’

‘Don’t shout, please. Can’t you talk nicely?’ Now, suddenly, the man leaned forward, staring intently into the woman’s face, and he raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s strange,’ he said. ‘That’s very strange.’

He took a step forward, his knees touching the bed.

‘You look a bit like Edna yourself.’

‘Edna’s gone out. I told you that.’

He continued to stare at her and the woman kept quite still, the palms of her hands pressing deep into the mattress.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘I wonder.’

‘I told you Edna’s gone out. I’m a friend of hers. My name is Mary.’

‘My wife,’ the man said, ‘has a funny little brown mole just behind her left ear. You don’t have that, do you?’

‘I certainly don’t.’

‘Turn your head and let me look.’

‘I told you I didn’t have it.’

‘Just the same, I’d like to make sure.’

The man came slowly around the end of the bed. ‘Stay where you are,’ he said. ‘Please don’t move.’ And he came towards her slowly, watching her all the time, a little smile touching the corners of his mouth.


Tags: Roald Dahl Fiction