every evening.’
‘She?’
‘Annette, leave off! I can feel my blood-pressure rising already. Half the human race is female.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Try not to make me choleric,’ said Spicer. ‘It’ll kill me.’
‘Choleric’s a funny word,’ said Annette. ‘Where did you get it from? I suppose it’s a homeopathic term. Kind of medieval. Are the drops working?’
‘My blood-pressure is down, yes, though scenes like this don’t help.’
‘It isn’t a scene. It’s just me reacting. What sort of drops? What’s in them?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Spicer. ‘All I know is you have to make sure they get to the tongue without first coming in contact with any other part of the body, or they don’t work so well.’
‘Like sex without foreplay,’ said Annette. ‘A shock to the system.’
‘Quite so,’ said Spicer.
‘Could be good, could be bad,’ said Annette.
‘Let’s go to bed and find out,’ said Spicer. ‘I’m glad that’s out in the open. I’m glad I’ve got it over. Now let’s get back to normal.’
‘Is making love good for blood-pressure?’ asked Annette.
‘Best possible thing,’ said Spicer.
‘I suppose it will give me time to let all this sink in,’ said Annette.
‘Think things through.’
‘The important thing for you, Annette,’ said Spicer, ‘is not to think too much. Just accept. Come upstairs.’
The phone rang.
‘Don’t answer that,’ said Spicer.
‘I won’t,’ said Annette.
‘Pay attention to me,’ said Spicer.
‘I will,’ said Annette, and they went upstairs to the bedroom, and the phone went on ringing.
‘Wait till I take my drops,’ said Spicer.
‘I will,’ said Annette. ‘Spicer, I suppose the therapist and the homeopath aren’t the same person?’
‘Let’s say they’re part of the same gestalt,’ said Spicer. ‘Annette, will you help me? My eyes cross if I try to do it myself. Thank you.’
‘What’s a gestalt?’ asked Annette.
‘A German word for a whole made up of parts which you could separate out but on the whole would be better not to,’ Spicer said.
‘So they could be the same?’
‘Actually, yes they are. She is both healer and astrologer. Now don’t make a fuss.’
‘She’s not making a lot of money out of you?’
‘My God,’ said Spicer, ‘a man’s health is not to be measured in monetary terms.’
‘Of course not,’ said Annette.
‘Nor is his mind, or his soul.’
‘Sweetheart,’ said Annette, ‘I love your tongue, I love your teeth, I love your mouth, I love all of you. How often do you see her?’
‘Four times a week at the moment,’ said Spicer, ‘while the crisis lasts.’
‘Oh,’ said Annette.
‘The nicer you are to me the sooner the crisis will be over,’ Spicer said.
‘Of course,’ said Annette. ‘I wish you’d tell me her name.’
‘Let it be, Annette,’ said Spicer.
‘I can always sleep in the spare room,’ said Annette.
‘I wouldn’t put it past you,’ said Spicer. ‘You are inconsistent enough. I can’t rely on you for anything.’
‘Other people find me perfectly consistent and reliable,’ said Annette.
‘Other people, other people!’ said Spicer. ‘I don’t like your habit of appealing to these convenient witnesses. What other people?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Annette.
‘Your apologies are accepted,’ said Spicer. ‘Rest assured my therapist/astrologer/homeopath has conventional medical qualifications and I am in excellent hands; it’s just that at the moment I’d rather be in yours. The great thing about you being pregnant is that your breasts are finally a proper size.’
‘Yes, but there’s this bump beneath them,’ said Annette.
‘I’ll forget it,’ said Spicer, ‘if you will. Put on your white pleated silk nightgown. I like so to take it off. You are so beautiful, even with your bump.’
‘I’m not sure the white nightie will fit over the bump,’ said Annette. ‘But I’m willing to try.’
‘Don’t talk
‘She?’
‘Annette, leave off! I can feel my blood-pressure rising already. Half the human race is female.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Try not to make me choleric,’ said Spicer. ‘It’ll kill me.’
‘Choleric’s a funny word,’ said Annette. ‘Where did you get it from? I suppose it’s a homeopathic term. Kind of medieval. Are the drops working?’
‘My blood-pressure is down, yes, though scenes like this don’t help.’
‘It isn’t a scene. It’s just me reacting. What sort of drops? What’s in them?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Spicer. ‘All I know is you have to make sure they get to the tongue without first coming in contact with any other part of the body, or they don’t work so well.’
‘Like sex without foreplay,’ said Annette. ‘A shock to the system.’
‘Quite so,’ said Spicer.
‘Could be good, could be bad,’ said Annette.
‘Let’s go to bed and find out,’ said Spicer. ‘I’m glad that’s out in the open. I’m glad I’ve got it over. Now let’s get back to normal.’
‘Is making love good for blood-pressure?’ asked Annette.
‘Best possible thing,’ said Spicer.
‘I suppose it will give me time to let all this sink in,’ said Annette.
‘Think things through.’
‘The important thing for you, Annette,’ said Spicer, ‘is not to think too much. Just accept. Come upstairs.’
The phone rang.
‘Don’t answer that,’ said Spicer.
‘I won’t,’ said Annette.
‘Pay attention to me,’ said Spicer.
‘I will,’ said Annette, and they went upstairs to the bedroom, and the phone went on ringing.
‘Wait till I take my drops,’ said Spicer.
‘I will,’ said Annette. ‘Spicer, I suppose the therapist and the homeopath aren’t the same person?’
‘Let’s say they’re part of the same gestalt,’ said Spicer. ‘Annette, will you help me? My eyes cross if I try to do it myself. Thank you.’
‘What’s a gestalt?’ asked Annette.
‘A German word for a whole made up of parts which you could separate out but on the whole would be better not to,’ Spicer said.
‘So they could be the same?’
‘Actually, yes they are. She is both healer and astrologer. Now don’t make a fuss.’
‘She’s not making a lot of money out of you?’
‘My God,’ said Spicer, ‘a man’s health is not to be measured in monetary terms.’
‘Of course not,’ said Annette.
‘Nor is his mind, or his soul.’
‘Sweetheart,’ said Annette, ‘I love your tongue, I love your teeth, I love your mouth, I love all of you. How often do you see her?’
‘Four times a week at the moment,’ said Spicer, ‘while the crisis lasts.’
‘Oh,’ said Annette.
‘The nicer you are to me the sooner the crisis will be over,’ Spicer said.
‘Of course,’ said Annette. ‘I wish you’d tell me her name.’
‘Let it be, Annette,’ said Spicer.
‘I can always sleep in the spare room,’ said Annette.
‘I wouldn’t put it past you,’ said Spicer. ‘You are inconsistent enough. I can’t rely on you for anything.’
‘Other people find me perfectly consistent and reliable,’ said Annette.
‘Other people, other people!’ said Spicer. ‘I don’t like your habit of appealing to these convenient witnesses. What other people?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Annette.
‘Your apologies are accepted,’ said Spicer. ‘Rest assured my therapist/astrologer/homeopath has conventional medical qualifications and I am in excellent hands; it’s just that at the moment I’d rather be in yours. The great thing about you being pregnant is that your breasts are finally a proper size.’
‘Yes, but there’s this bump beneath them,’ said Annette.
‘I’ll forget it,’ said Spicer, ‘if you will. Put on your white pleated silk nightgown. I like so to take it off. You are so beautiful, even with your bump.’
‘I’m not sure the white nightie will fit over the bump,’ said Annette. ‘But I’m willing to try.’
‘Don’t talk
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