after
hour.’ So Chris Rabinowitz had not come up with the offer or prospect he had
been supposed to. Without looking at me Nowell went on, ‘Get him out of here,
Stanley, please, and leave me in peace. I’ve had about all I can take.’
Before
I could say anything he shouted, ‘You poor fools! You’re in terrible danger!’
He looked wildly round the room as though he needed a place to take cover.
I tried
to get him to look at me. ‘What danger, Steve? What from?’
‘You
have to trust me, dad.’
‘How do
you mean?’
‘You’ve
got to put your whole trust in me, completely. Swear you’ll trust me whatever
happens.’
‘Of
course I trust you, lad, we all do, but what do you mean, whatever happens?
What’s going to happen? Who —’
‘No,
swear — you have to swear. Mum, you swear first — come and stand over here by
me.’
‘Don’t be
ridiculous, Steve,’ said Nowell, but she said it without any conviction at all.
And incidentally she looked like the way she had looked one time years before,
I remembered, when she had wanted a holiday in Morocco and I had said Majorca
was far enough.
Steve
was shouting again. ‘Will you listen! It’s going to happen any minute now!’
I said,
‘What is? For Christ’s sake, what’s supposed to happen?’
‘I can’t
explain, you have to trust me.
Silence
fell, but from the way Steve looked it was not going to last long. He was
trembling in a jerky way and wincing as though he was cold, and his expression
and even the set of his shoulders showed total bewilderment, though the word
was not strong enough for a feeling that in this case was obviously as painful
as extreme fear. At that point I knew what I had known on his first appearance
the previous night, or rather I was forced to admit it to myself. On the other
hand I was stumped for what to do. It seemed Nowell was not. She put her arm
round his shoulders and talked to him with a loving sort of indignation, taking
his part against the world.
‘You’ve
had about enough, you poor little thing, haven’t you? It really is too bad. You’ve
been under the most terrible pressure. I’m not surprised you’re upset. Anybody
would be. It must have been absolutely awful,’ she said, and more in the same
strain.
In a
minute or so she had him sitting on the couch and not trembling in the same
way. I knew and cared nothing about why she was doing it or what she was saying
to herself about it. Bert had no way of understanding what was happening but
that bothered him not in the least. His offspring was more up with things,
staring while resting her cheek on her shoulder like a kid watching a couple of
sweet little baa-lambs. I went over and asked for a phone.
He
decided not to trust himself to speak, which I thought showed sound judgement.
Kicking over on the carpet his fortunately empty glass he made a last-straw
face and noise and pointed at the ceiling as earlier, then flew into a temper and
shook his head a lot and pointed at the floor. I found what I was looking for
in the next room, which set me wondering rather where Bert thought he was for
the moment.
‘May I
speak to Dr Wainwright? It’s Stanley Duke.’
‘I’m
sorry, Mr Duke, I’m afraid — one moment.’
After a
short pause Cliff Wainwright’s mellow voice suddenly spoke. He came from one
station up the Clapham Junction line from me but he had done a thorough job on
his accent, only letting out an unreconstructed SW16 vowel about every other visit.
‘You’re in luck, Stan,’ he said. ‘I was literally going out of the door. What
can I do for you?’
‘It’s
about my son, young Steve. I’m afraid he’s very sick. I’m afraid he’s mad.’
‘Really?
I shouldn’t have thought that was on the cards. What’s he been up to?’
I did
some explaining.
‘Oh,
yes, well, m’m, slightly hopped up is about what it sounds like to me. Unless
he’s having fun, of course. No. Ever done anything like it before? You sure?
Ah. And I assume
hour.’ So Chris Rabinowitz had not come up with the offer or prospect he had
been supposed to. Without looking at me Nowell went on, ‘Get him out of here,
Stanley, please, and leave me in peace. I’ve had about all I can take.’
Before
I could say anything he shouted, ‘You poor fools! You’re in terrible danger!’
He looked wildly round the room as though he needed a place to take cover.
I tried
to get him to look at me. ‘What danger, Steve? What from?’
‘You
have to trust me, dad.’
‘How do
you mean?’
‘You’ve
got to put your whole trust in me, completely. Swear you’ll trust me whatever
happens.’
‘Of
course I trust you, lad, we all do, but what do you mean, whatever happens?
What’s going to happen? Who —’
‘No,
swear — you have to swear. Mum, you swear first — come and stand over here by
me.’
‘Don’t be
ridiculous, Steve,’ said Nowell, but she said it without any conviction at all.
And incidentally she looked like the way she had looked one time years before,
I remembered, when she had wanted a holiday in Morocco and I had said Majorca
was far enough.
Steve
was shouting again. ‘Will you listen! It’s going to happen any minute now!’
I said,
‘What is? For Christ’s sake, what’s supposed to happen?’
‘I can’t
explain, you have to trust me.
Silence
fell, but from the way Steve looked it was not going to last long. He was
trembling in a jerky way and wincing as though he was cold, and his expression
and even the set of his shoulders showed total bewilderment, though the word
was not strong enough for a feeling that in this case was obviously as painful
as extreme fear. At that point I knew what I had known on his first appearance
the previous night, or rather I was forced to admit it to myself. On the other
hand I was stumped for what to do. It seemed Nowell was not. She put her arm
round his shoulders and talked to him with a loving sort of indignation, taking
his part against the world.
‘You’ve
had about enough, you poor little thing, haven’t you? It really is too bad. You’ve
been under the most terrible pressure. I’m not surprised you’re upset. Anybody
would be. It must have been absolutely awful,’ she said, and more in the same
strain.
In a
minute or so she had him sitting on the couch and not trembling in the same
way. I knew and cared nothing about why she was doing it or what she was saying
to herself about it. Bert had no way of understanding what was happening but
that bothered him not in the least. His offspring was more up with things,
staring while resting her cheek on her shoulder like a kid watching a couple of
sweet little baa-lambs. I went over and asked for a phone.
He
decided not to trust himself to speak, which I thought showed sound judgement.
Kicking over on the carpet his fortunately empty glass he made a last-straw
face and noise and pointed at the ceiling as earlier, then flew into a temper and
shook his head a lot and pointed at the floor. I found what I was looking for
in the next room, which set me wondering rather where Bert thought he was for
the moment.
‘May I
speak to Dr Wainwright? It’s Stanley Duke.’
‘I’m
sorry, Mr Duke, I’m afraid — one moment.’
After a
short pause Cliff Wainwright’s mellow voice suddenly spoke. He came from one
station up the Clapham Junction line from me but he had done a thorough job on
his accent, only letting out an unreconstructed SW16 vowel about every other visit.
‘You’re in luck, Stan,’ he said. ‘I was literally going out of the door. What
can I do for you?’
‘It’s
about my son, young Steve. I’m afraid he’s very sick. I’m afraid he’s mad.’
‘Really?
I shouldn’t have thought that was on the cards. What’s he been up to?’
I did
some explaining.
‘Oh,
yes, well, m’m, slightly hopped up is about what it sounds like to me. Unless
he’s having fun, of course. No. Ever done anything like it before? You sure?
Ah. And I assume
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