It Had to Be You by David Nobbs Page B

that he would ring at eight. He hoped he would. He would ask him to come and help. He couldn’t face everything that had to be done without some form of support. And Philip was easy, reliable, calm, methodical. In his adoration and admiration of Charles he sometimes forgot how much he liked Philip.
    He took a shower, and washed his hair, removing any traces of tomato soup and sardine oil that he might have picked up when he’d fallen asleep on his list.
    If only he could just leave, just pack a suitcase and go to Helen’s.
    He looked out of the window. It was another stunning Wimbledon and barbecue day, so beautiful even in Islington, so inappropriate. A faint residue of mist softened the sunlight.
    He shaved, cleaned his teeth; his gums were bleeding, it was the tension, but he must check to see if he’d remembered to make another appointment at the hygienist’s.
    He dressed for work, remembered that he wasn’t going to work, took off his suit and put on jeans and a denim shirt, decided they weren’t respectable enough or sad enough, took them off and was naked except for his purple pants when Philip rang.
    ‘How are you?’
    ‘Fine. Well, you know.’
    ‘I can imagine. James, would you like me to come over?’
    ‘Do you know, Philip, I really would. Can you? Is it all right?’
    ‘No problem. My statistics will all still be there tomorrow, and I’m pretty much my own boss, you know.’
    ‘There’s such a lot to do and I think I’m still in shock.’
    ‘You will be. You must be.’
    Yes, I must, thought James. Even if I’m not, and I’m not sure if I am, I must seem to be. God, this is going to be hard.
    He selected a pair of black trousers and a dark blue shirt. With a black belt and black shoes he would look sad and dignified without actually looking as though he was in mourning.
    It dawned on him that Helen might ring while Philip was there. For years she had been unable to ring him at his home. It had upset her occasionally, although most of the time she had accepted it as sensible and inevitable. Today she would feel that she could ring, and so she would. It would be a defining moment for her. How awful it would be if she did.
    He started to put on his shirt and then stopped. He was almost naked, it was early morning, it wouldn’t be so terrible, this morning, to phone her in the altogether.
    He took off his shirt and his purple pants, picked up the cordless phone, and went into the spare bedroom, far from prying photographs. He sat on the bed and dialled.
    Her voice was sleepy.
    ‘You’ve woken me up.’
    It was a rebuke.
    ‘You know I don’t work Thursday mornings.’
    Helen and her friend Fiona ran a smart little dress shop in Chelsea. It was quiet enough for them to take it in turns to attend, except on Saturdays. James thought they were playing at it, and had been unwise enough to say so once. It was not a thing you would say twice.
    ‘Sorry, darling, but I needed to speak to you.’ He amended the sentence hurriedly. ‘I wanted to speak to you.’
    ‘That’s nice.’
    She was mollified. He breathed a sigh of relief. He began to be glad that he had taken his pants off. Things would have been tight.
    ‘Are you naked?’ he asked.
    ‘Of course. Are you?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Oh, James. Oh, James, my darling. Are you…?’
    ‘Very. Oh, Helen.’
    Her pouty mouth. Her pert breasts. Her slim arms. Her disturbingly neat bottom. Her pale soft skin. Her wide green eyes.
    ‘Oh, Helen. Oh, my God.’
    It was so quick. Absurdly quick. Fierce, painful, glorious, uncontrollable yet perfectly synchronised.
    ‘God, that was good. Oh, Helen darling, you are so unbelievably lovely, my darling. Um …’ The gear change was going to be difficult, very difficult. ‘Um … well, I’d better get dressed, I suppose. My brother Philip’s coming round to help. There’s such a lot to do.’
    ‘Poor you. I wish I could be with you.’
    ‘I know. So do I. Um … the … um … the thing is, Helen … oh,