and left the rest unexplained, the words trailing in the chill air behind him. He stared up at a street sign, muttered ‘to get my bearings’ unhappily and came back, pushing hishands into the pockets of his light Burberry. Conscious of a weakness in him no brusqueness could dispel; his voice had lost its edge over the years. He was easily deflected; even when he took a stand, he had a beseeching or a peevish air. ‘We’ll be getting the train then,’ he said, as they stood under a street light, waiting for farewells.
‘I’ll walk you to the subway.’
‘No need, Charles. You’ve done more than enough.’
Amy was almost frantic by this point, sure there was some conspiracy in her thoughts the least word of comfort from anyone around her could unravel. ‘Charles,’ she said, twining her arm around his, ‘why don’t you come back with us for a drink? You can get a car home.’
‘To tell you the truth, I’m a little beat.’ He stopped a cab with a nod of his head; he’d always had that gift. ‘Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.’ And with an air of gallantry she thought had deserted him, he lifted his lips into a half-smile and said, ‘goodnight all. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.’
*
Amy sobbed quietly behind the others on their brisk walk across town. They caught the red line at 24th Street, a packed subway, the early nighters on their way home after dinner, and the four of them only just got seats when the train pulled in. Her father had suddenly taken the lead again; as if he was the one with a home to go to, as if it was his town and he had never left it thirty years ago. As if everyone else was visiting. They sat silently in a row till the standing crowds thinned out after Columbia. Somewhere around 168th Street he turned to her abruptly and said, ‘What is it exactly your Charles does for a living?’
‘I don’t know exactly. He has a lot of things on the go: business ventures, connections to keep up with. He’s always lending a hand here or there. I don’t think they’re short of money.’
‘I expect not. I expect money is one of those words that changes meaning depending on who uses it.’
Joanne cut in. ‘What happened between you two today?’
‘Nothing much. We lost a little money out there, that’s all.’
‘How much?’
‘About twenty thousand dollars. Not much, split two ways.’
Nobody said anything for a minute. The car had mostly emptied by that point, except for a couple of kids horsing round with a balloon at the far end of the carriage. Occasionally, you could hear it squeak; an awful sound, like a thin knife, followed by giggles. ‘Jack,’ her mother sighed, ‘Jack. I suppose this is another conversation we have to have.’
He was sobbing now himself, all bluster gone, his head against his chest, and his shoulders shaking ever so slightly in a terrible way. ‘What’s happening to you?’ she said. ‘What’s happening to you these days?’
‘I didn’t want to say I couldn’t play. They pushed me into it. What you have to understand about these people is that they’re bullies. What you have to understand is they’re better than you because they’ve got more money, and they know it. They know we don’t belong with them. I had my shot at them, I’ll say that much. I had my shot.’
‘Did he offer to pay your half? Jack, did he offer to pay?’
Amy had never felt so cold towards them in her life, these people, for whom money was a moral duty, pleasure was a duty, everything reduced to what was good and responsible and nothing left over. Her mother, prim-faced, purse-lipped, sniffing at bad luck like a dirty word; her father, weak-chested with sobs, giving into her, again and again, her version of events: the sin of the game, the weakness of his will, all that foolish showing off that never proved anything about any man worth his salt, worth his family obligations, worth the name of man; all that winning, that blood-lust for winning,
‘I’ll walk you to the subway.’
‘No need, Charles. You’ve done more than enough.’
Amy was almost frantic by this point, sure there was some conspiracy in her thoughts the least word of comfort from anyone around her could unravel. ‘Charles,’ she said, twining her arm around his, ‘why don’t you come back with us for a drink? You can get a car home.’
‘To tell you the truth, I’m a little beat.’ He stopped a cab with a nod of his head; he’d always had that gift. ‘Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.’ And with an air of gallantry she thought had deserted him, he lifted his lips into a half-smile and said, ‘goodnight all. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.’
*
Amy sobbed quietly behind the others on their brisk walk across town. They caught the red line at 24th Street, a packed subway, the early nighters on their way home after dinner, and the four of them only just got seats when the train pulled in. Her father had suddenly taken the lead again; as if he was the one with a home to go to, as if it was his town and he had never left it thirty years ago. As if everyone else was visiting. They sat silently in a row till the standing crowds thinned out after Columbia. Somewhere around 168th Street he turned to her abruptly and said, ‘What is it exactly your Charles does for a living?’
‘I don’t know exactly. He has a lot of things on the go: business ventures, connections to keep up with. He’s always lending a hand here or there. I don’t think they’re short of money.’
‘I expect not. I expect money is one of those words that changes meaning depending on who uses it.’
Joanne cut in. ‘What happened between you two today?’
‘Nothing much. We lost a little money out there, that’s all.’
‘How much?’
‘About twenty thousand dollars. Not much, split two ways.’
Nobody said anything for a minute. The car had mostly emptied by that point, except for a couple of kids horsing round with a balloon at the far end of the carriage. Occasionally, you could hear it squeak; an awful sound, like a thin knife, followed by giggles. ‘Jack,’ her mother sighed, ‘Jack. I suppose this is another conversation we have to have.’
He was sobbing now himself, all bluster gone, his head against his chest, and his shoulders shaking ever so slightly in a terrible way. ‘What’s happening to you?’ she said. ‘What’s happening to you these days?’
‘I didn’t want to say I couldn’t play. They pushed me into it. What you have to understand about these people is that they’re bullies. What you have to understand is they’re better than you because they’ve got more money, and they know it. They know we don’t belong with them. I had my shot at them, I’ll say that much. I had my shot.’
‘Did he offer to pay your half? Jack, did he offer to pay?’
Amy had never felt so cold towards them in her life, these people, for whom money was a moral duty, pleasure was a duty, everything reduced to what was good and responsible and nothing left over. Her mother, prim-faced, purse-lipped, sniffing at bad luck like a dirty word; her father, weak-chested with sobs, giving into her, again and again, her version of events: the sin of the game, the weakness of his will, all that foolish showing off that never proved anything about any man worth his salt, worth his family obligations, worth the name of man; all that winning, that blood-lust for winning,
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