slimmer. He looked like a smaller edition of Reggie, portrait of the father as a young man, and Reggie found it curiously disconcerting. ‘What brings you to this neck of the woods?’
‘Just thought I’d pop down and see the old folks.’
Off-stage – and he was off-stage more than on – Mark didn’t look like an actor. He had adopted a cockney accent at the age of fourteen, dressed with a maximum of informality, and only came home when he wanted money.
‘Your mother’s out. She’s gone down to Worthing to see Granny.’
‘Oh.’
‘What are the two sherry glasses for?’ said Mark.
‘What? Oh, for drinking sherry.’
‘Twit.’
‘We had a sherry, your mother and I. Before she went.’
‘Oh.’
Reggie dumped himself down on the settee. He looked around for handbags or other incriminating evidence, but couldn’t find any.
Mark kicked off his shoes and smiled genially. He had holes in his socks again. Elizabeth had once said: ‘Peter Hall won’t want you in the Royal Shakespeare Company if you’ve got holes in your socks,’ but despite remarks of that kind Mark still got on better with her than with Reggie.
Mark saw Reggie’s involuntary glance and put his shoes on again. So he did want money.
‘Why didn’t you go with the old lady, then?’ said Mark.
‘I’ve got some work to do.’
‘I thought you said you were taking a nap.’
‘Just for half an hour. I was tired. I’ve been working all morning. Have you had lunch?’
‘I’m not hungry.’
He never was. No wonder he was only five foot seven. You didn’t get tall without working for it.
‘It’s hot,’ said Reggie.
‘Yeah.’
Reggie couldn’t think of anything except Joan, stuck in the wardrobe. Upstairs there was a new life, a life in which your son didn’t think you a poor sort of fish.
‘Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?’
‘Why bother? If you’d been out I’d have made myself at home.’
Mark made a habit of arriving unannounced so that they couldn’t stiffen their resolution not to lend him any money. He lit a cigarette and began a coughing fit.
‘You smoke too much,’ said Reggie.
‘Rubbitch.’
‘Well I’d better get upstairs and get on with my work, if you don’t mind,’ said Reggie.
‘Upstairs?’
‘Yes, I’ve one or two things to finish off upstairs. Look, old stick, go into the kitchen and have something to eat. Get me something too. There’s cold meat in the fridge, and some salady bits.’
‘In a minute. I just want to go up to my room and look for something.’
‘You can’t. I mean, it’s always in a minute with you, isn’t it? Delay, delay, delay. I’ll have to do it in the end.’
‘Oh all right, then. I’ll go and do the bloody food first. God, I wish I hadn’t come home. Nag, nag, nag. You’re like an old woman.’
‘Don’t slam the door.’
Mark slammed the door. Reggie hurried up to Mark’s bedroom and opened the wardrobe. Joan came out stiffly, clutching her clothes.
‘Sorry about this,’ he whispered. ‘He’s coming up here any minute. Go into Linda’s room, get into bed. I’ll get rid of him as soon as I can.’
They tip-toed along the corridor, he clothed, she naked, carrying her clothes.
Linda’s room had been redecorated now that she was married. It had pale pink flowery wallpaper and the wan neutrality of a guest room.
Joan hopped into bed. Reggie kissed her, blew her another kiss from the door, and hurried downstairs. Mark had laid out pork, salami, a piece of lettuce and a tomato each. Reggie got out a bottle of hock.
They took their plates and glasses into the living room.
‘Sorry I got cross,’ said Mark.
‘That’s all right, old prune.’
Silence. The sun went in behind a thicker, darker cloud.
‘That’s a new picture over the mantelpiece, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Albufeira.’
Reggie knew that Mark looked down on him for buying Mr Snurd’s pictures.
‘I need me Edwards seen to.’
‘Edwards?’
‘Me Edward
‘Just thought I’d pop down and see the old folks.’
Off-stage – and he was off-stage more than on – Mark didn’t look like an actor. He had adopted a cockney accent at the age of fourteen, dressed with a maximum of informality, and only came home when he wanted money.
‘Your mother’s out. She’s gone down to Worthing to see Granny.’
‘Oh.’
‘What are the two sherry glasses for?’ said Mark.
‘What? Oh, for drinking sherry.’
‘Twit.’
‘We had a sherry, your mother and I. Before she went.’
‘Oh.’
Reggie dumped himself down on the settee. He looked around for handbags or other incriminating evidence, but couldn’t find any.
Mark kicked off his shoes and smiled genially. He had holes in his socks again. Elizabeth had once said: ‘Peter Hall won’t want you in the Royal Shakespeare Company if you’ve got holes in your socks,’ but despite remarks of that kind Mark still got on better with her than with Reggie.
Mark saw Reggie’s involuntary glance and put his shoes on again. So he did want money.
‘Why didn’t you go with the old lady, then?’ said Mark.
‘I’ve got some work to do.’
‘I thought you said you were taking a nap.’
‘Just for half an hour. I was tired. I’ve been working all morning. Have you had lunch?’
‘I’m not hungry.’
He never was. No wonder he was only five foot seven. You didn’t get tall without working for it.
‘It’s hot,’ said Reggie.
‘Yeah.’
Reggie couldn’t think of anything except Joan, stuck in the wardrobe. Upstairs there was a new life, a life in which your son didn’t think you a poor sort of fish.
‘Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?’
‘Why bother? If you’d been out I’d have made myself at home.’
Mark made a habit of arriving unannounced so that they couldn’t stiffen their resolution not to lend him any money. He lit a cigarette and began a coughing fit.
‘You smoke too much,’ said Reggie.
‘Rubbitch.’
‘Well I’d better get upstairs and get on with my work, if you don’t mind,’ said Reggie.
‘Upstairs?’
‘Yes, I’ve one or two things to finish off upstairs. Look, old stick, go into the kitchen and have something to eat. Get me something too. There’s cold meat in the fridge, and some salady bits.’
‘In a minute. I just want to go up to my room and look for something.’
‘You can’t. I mean, it’s always in a minute with you, isn’t it? Delay, delay, delay. I’ll have to do it in the end.’
‘Oh all right, then. I’ll go and do the bloody food first. God, I wish I hadn’t come home. Nag, nag, nag. You’re like an old woman.’
‘Don’t slam the door.’
Mark slammed the door. Reggie hurried up to Mark’s bedroom and opened the wardrobe. Joan came out stiffly, clutching her clothes.
‘Sorry about this,’ he whispered. ‘He’s coming up here any minute. Go into Linda’s room, get into bed. I’ll get rid of him as soon as I can.’
They tip-toed along the corridor, he clothed, she naked, carrying her clothes.
Linda’s room had been redecorated now that she was married. It had pale pink flowery wallpaper and the wan neutrality of a guest room.
Joan hopped into bed. Reggie kissed her, blew her another kiss from the door, and hurried downstairs. Mark had laid out pork, salami, a piece of lettuce and a tomato each. Reggie got out a bottle of hock.
They took their plates and glasses into the living room.
‘Sorry I got cross,’ said Mark.
‘That’s all right, old prune.’
Silence. The sun went in behind a thicker, darker cloud.
‘That’s a new picture over the mantelpiece, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Albufeira.’
Reggie knew that Mark looked down on him for buying Mr Snurd’s pictures.
‘I need me Edwards seen to.’
‘Edwards?’
‘Me Edward
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