The Patrick Melrose Novels: Never Mind, Bad News, Some Hope, and Mother's Milk by Edward St. Aubyn

the terrace. She mentioned them again the next day when the three of us were sitting outside. I saw a cold look come over David’s face. He stuck his lower lip out – always a bad sign, half brutal and half pouting – and said, “Come with me.” It felt like following the headmaster to his study. He marched us towards the fig tree with great long strides, Eleanor and I stumbling along behind. When we got there we saw figs scattered all over the stone paving. Some of them were old and squashed, others had broken open, with wasps dancing around the wound or gnawing at the sticky red and white flesh. It was a huge tree and there were a lot of figs on the ground. And, then David did this amazing thing. He told Eleanor to get on all fours and eat all the figs off the terrace. ’

    ‘What, in front of you?’ said Bridget, round-eyed.

    ‘Quite. Eleanor did look rather confused and I suppose the word is betrayed. She didn’t protest, though, just got on with this rather unappetizing task. David wouldn’t let her leave a single one. She did once look up pleadingly and say, “I’ve had enough now, David,” but he put his foot on her back and said, “Eat them up. We don’t want them going to waste, do we?”’

    ‘Kink-ky,’ said Bridget.

    Nicholas was rather pleased with the effect his story was having on Bridget. A hit, a palpable hit, he thought to himself.

    ‘What did you do?’ asked Bridget.

    ‘I watched,’ said Nicholas. ‘You don’t cross David when he’s in that sort of mood. After a while Eleanor looked a little sick and so then I did suggest we collect the rest of the figs in a basket. “You mustn’t interfere,” said David. “Eleanor can’t bear to see the figs wasted when there are starving people in the world. Can you, darling? And so she’s going to eat them all up on her own.” He grinned at me, and added, “Anyway, she’s far too picky about her food, don’t you think?”’

    ‘Wow!’ said Bridget. ‘And you still go and stay with these people?’

    The taxi drew up outside the terminal and Nicholas was able to avoid the question. A porter in a brown uniform spotted him immediately and hurried to collect the bags. Nicholas stood transfixed for a moment, like a man under a warm shower, between the grateful cabbie and the assiduous porter, both calling him ‘Guv’ simultaneously. He always gave larger tips to people who called him ‘Guv’. He knew it, and they knew it, it was what was called a ‘civilized arrangement’.

    Bridget’s concentration span was enormously improved by the story about the figs. Even when they had boarded the plane and found their seats, she could still remember what it was she’d wanted him to explain.

    ‘Why do you like this guy anyway? I mean, does he sort of make a habit of ritual humiliation or something?’

    ‘Well, I’m told, although I didn’t witness this myself, that he used to make Eleanor take lessons from a prostitute.’

    ‘You’re kidding,’ said Bridget admiringly. She swivelled round in her seat. ‘Kink-ky.’

    An air hostess brought two glasses of champagne, apologizing for the slight delay. She had blue eyes and freckles and smiled ingratiatingly at Nicholas. He preferred these vaguely pretty girls on Air France to the absurd ginger-haired stewards and frumpish nannies on English aeroplanes. He felt another wave of tiredness from the processed air, the slight pressure on his ears and eyelids, the deserts of biscuit-coloured plastic around him and the dry acid taste of the champagne.

    The excitement radiating from Bridget revived him a little, and yet he had still not explained what attracted him to David. Nor was it a question he particularly wanted to look into. David was simply part of the world that counted for Nicholas. One might not like him, but he was impressive. By marrying Eleanor he had obliterated the poverty which constituted his great social weakness. Until recently the Melroses had given some of the