The Fifth Child Read Online Free PDF

from their play to demand her attention, and she was suddenly irritable, and snapped, “Why don’t you go and play upstairs in the attic?” This was unlike her—again glances were exchanged among the adults, who took over the job of getting the children’s noise out of her way. In the end, it was Angela who went with them.
    Harriet was distressed because she had been bad-tempered. “I was up all night,” she began, and William interrupted her, taking command—expressing what they all felt, and Harriet knew it; even if she knew why it had to be William, the delinquent husband and father.
    “And now that’s got to be it, sister-in-law Harriet,” he announced, leaning forward from his wall, hand raised, like a band-leader. “How old are you? No, don’t tell me, I know, and you’ve had four children in six years.…” Here he looked around to make sure they were all with him: they were, and Harriet could see it. She smiled ironically.
    “A criminal,” she said, “that’s what I am.”
    “Give it a rest, Harriet. That’s all we ask of you,” he went on, sounding more and more facetious, histrionic—as was his way.
    “The father of four children speaks,” said Sarah, passionately cuddling her poor Amy, defying them to say aloud what they must be thinking: that she was going out of her way to support him, her unsatisfactory husband, in front of them all. He gave her a grateful look while his eyes avoided the pathetic bundle she protected.
    “Yes, but at least we spread it out over ten years,” he said.
    “We are going to give it a rest,” announced Harriet. She added, sounding defiant, “For at least three years.”
    Everyone exchanged looks: she thought them condemning.
    “I told you so,” said William. “These madmen are going to go on.”
    “These madmen certainly are,” said David.
    “ I told you so,” said Dorothy. “When Harriet’s got an idea into her head, then you can save your breath.”
    “Just like her mother,” said Sarah forlornly: this referred to Dorothy’s decision that Harriet needed her more than Sarah did, the defective child notwithstanding. “You’re much tougher than she is, Sarah,” Dorothy had pronounced. “The trouble with Harriet is that her eyes have always been bigger than her stomach.”
    Dorothy was near Harriet, with little Jane, listless from the bad night, dozing in her arms. She sat erect, solid; her lips were set firm, her eyes missed nothing.
    “Why not?” said Harriet. She smiled at her mother: “How could I do better?”
    “They are going to have four more children,” Dorothy said, appealing to the others.
    “Good God,” said James, admiring but awed. “Well, it’s just as well I make so much money.”
    David did not like this: he flushed and would not look at anyone.
    “Oh don’t be like that, David,” said Sarah, trying not to sound bitter: she needed money, badly, but it was David, who was in a good job, who got so much extra.
    “You aren’t really going to have four more children?” enquired Sarah, sighing—and they all knew she was saying, four more challenges to destiny. She gently put her hand over the sleeping Amy’s head, covered in a shawl, holding it safe from the world.
    “Yes, we are,” said David.
    “Yes, we certainly are,” said Harriet. “This is what everyone wants, really, but we’ve been brainwashed out of it. People want to live like this, really.”
    “Happy families,” said Molly critically: she was standing up for a life where domesticity was kept in its place, a background to what was important.
    “We are the centre of this family,” said David. “We are—Harriet and me. Not you, Mother.”
    “God forbid,” said Molly, her large face, always highly coloured, even more flushed: she was annoyed.
    “Oh all right,” said her son. “It’s never been your style.”
    “It’s certainly never been mine,” said James, “and I’m not going to apologise for it.”
    “But you’ve been a marvellous