in. ‘You heard, you … Out, ha, bastard.’
‘Look,
old chap,’ I said, ‘I don’t want to find I’ve got to put a bit of weight on
you, do I? And I’m very nearly doing it already, you know,’ which was really
not much at all but it soothed our Bert’s feelings in no time.
Nowell
had taken a few steps nearer the smashed set and quite likely it looked worse
from there. She certainly seemed more furious on her way back.
‘It’s
ruined.’ She was starting to shout again. ‘Completely ruined!’
‘That’s
right,’ I said, and did what I should have done straight away and pulled the
plug out of the wall.
‘I’m
not putting up with that kind of behaviour in my house. If he’s not out of here
in one minute flat I’ll call the police and ask them to remove him. I won’t
have it, do you hear me?’
All of
a sudden I remembered exactly what it had been like being married to her, a
large piece of it anyway — her saying something quite short and uncomplicated
that gave me a couple of hundred things to say back, all of them urgent and
necessary and with a bearing and all completely hopeless, all pointless. I
remembered too how it had felt to start saying them regardless, rather dashing
and plucky, like knocking back the drink that you know will put you over the
top. The present set were at least as urgent and the rest of it as any, mostly
to do with Steve and her being his mother, but with a few here and there about
the police and how they might react to the idea of evicting a son from a parental
home, plus how serious was she about that, etc. This time I refrained from
starting, not actually out of concern for Steve but because I could see clearly
what I would only have got as far as dimly suspecting in the old days, that she
wanted me to start. And that was because she could be sure of dominating a
scene with me whereas she could not with Steve as he was or might be at the
moment. After all these years. But that never made any odds.
Some of
this I worked out later. I answered her quite quickly. ‘Cliff Wainwright’ll be
here any minute. I’ll take Steve then.’
‘You
take him now. You can wait outside. It’s not raining.’ She was certainly
putting on a wonderful demonstration of somebody having to stand up for what
they thought was right.
‘Sorry
about the telly,’ said Steve briskly. ‘Only thing to do.’ There was nothing
brisk about his looks. He was breathing unsteadily and his mouth was trembling.
The
cracked chime sounded from the front of the house. ‘That one’s yours, Bert,’ I
told him. ‘Soon as you like.’ With almost no interval he picked up a visual
okay from Nowell and went off, followed by little girlie looking over her
shoulder and pouting till she was through the door. I put my hand on Steve’s
arm but he shook it off and turned his face away. ‘Nowell, do see what you can
do,’ I said. ‘You were so marvellous with him before.’
I
watched her hesitate. Meanwhile I wondered whether perhaps she was taking her
current line because Steve had scared her, before deciding that all that scared
her was the prospect of everybody not looking at her for five seconds. That was
just as she plumped for being distracted rather than marvellous and began
blinking a lot and making small sudden movements. By the time Cliff appeared,
looking more ridiculously handsome and like a Harley Street doctor than ever,
she was well into it, also starting to talk about thank God he was here and so
forth. But it cut no ice with him — of course he was used to all that, and not
only from her. In some way that was too smooth for me to catch he had her on
one side in a flash and after a nod to me was strolling over towards Steve and
giving him the kind of casual but wide-awake look-over I knew from visits to
his consulting room. Steve backed off a pace or two.
‘This
doesn’t concern you in any way, Dr Wainwright,’ he said. ‘You’re not wanted
here.’
‘Oh, I
don’t know,’ said
‘Look,
old chap,’ I said, ‘I don’t want to find I’ve got to put a bit of weight on
you, do I? And I’m very nearly doing it already, you know,’ which was really
not much at all but it soothed our Bert’s feelings in no time.
Nowell
had taken a few steps nearer the smashed set and quite likely it looked worse
from there. She certainly seemed more furious on her way back.
‘It’s
ruined.’ She was starting to shout again. ‘Completely ruined!’
‘That’s
right,’ I said, and did what I should have done straight away and pulled the
plug out of the wall.
‘I’m
not putting up with that kind of behaviour in my house. If he’s not out of here
in one minute flat I’ll call the police and ask them to remove him. I won’t
have it, do you hear me?’
All of
a sudden I remembered exactly what it had been like being married to her, a
large piece of it anyway — her saying something quite short and uncomplicated
that gave me a couple of hundred things to say back, all of them urgent and
necessary and with a bearing and all completely hopeless, all pointless. I
remembered too how it had felt to start saying them regardless, rather dashing
and plucky, like knocking back the drink that you know will put you over the
top. The present set were at least as urgent and the rest of it as any, mostly
to do with Steve and her being his mother, but with a few here and there about
the police and how they might react to the idea of evicting a son from a parental
home, plus how serious was she about that, etc. This time I refrained from
starting, not actually out of concern for Steve but because I could see clearly
what I would only have got as far as dimly suspecting in the old days, that she
wanted me to start. And that was because she could be sure of dominating a
scene with me whereas she could not with Steve as he was or might be at the
moment. After all these years. But that never made any odds.
Some of
this I worked out later. I answered her quite quickly. ‘Cliff Wainwright’ll be
here any minute. I’ll take Steve then.’
‘You
take him now. You can wait outside. It’s not raining.’ She was certainly
putting on a wonderful demonstration of somebody having to stand up for what
they thought was right.
‘Sorry
about the telly,’ said Steve briskly. ‘Only thing to do.’ There was nothing
brisk about his looks. He was breathing unsteadily and his mouth was trembling.
The
cracked chime sounded from the front of the house. ‘That one’s yours, Bert,’ I
told him. ‘Soon as you like.’ With almost no interval he picked up a visual
okay from Nowell and went off, followed by little girlie looking over her
shoulder and pouting till she was through the door. I put my hand on Steve’s
arm but he shook it off and turned his face away. ‘Nowell, do see what you can
do,’ I said. ‘You were so marvellous with him before.’
I
watched her hesitate. Meanwhile I wondered whether perhaps she was taking her
current line because Steve had scared her, before deciding that all that scared
her was the prospect of everybody not looking at her for five seconds. That was
just as she plumped for being distracted rather than marvellous and began
blinking a lot and making small sudden movements. By the time Cliff appeared,
looking more ridiculously handsome and like a Harley Street doctor than ever,
she was well into it, also starting to talk about thank God he was here and so
forth. But it cut no ice with him — of course he was used to all that, and not
only from her. In some way that was too smooth for me to catch he had her on
one side in a flash and after a nod to me was strolling over towards Steve and
giving him the kind of casual but wide-awake look-over I knew from visits to
his consulting room. Steve backed off a pace or two.
‘This
doesn’t concern you in any way, Dr Wainwright,’ he said. ‘You’re not wanted
here.’
‘Oh, I
don’t know,’ said
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