A Bit of a Do (25 page)

‘What’s all this about?’ said Ted.

‘I’d like to give you my winnings. If you’re a bit short. So you’ve something to bet on. I didn’t want folk to see.’

He held out thirty pounds. Ted’s face went red. ‘I don’t want charity,’ he said. ‘I’m a Yorkshireman.’

‘It isn’t charity, Ted. It’s lifelong friendship. Look, it’s no use pretending you haven’t gone bankrupt.’

‘I haven’t,’ said Ted. ‘I’ve gone into voluntary liquidation. It isn’t bankruptcy, isn’t voluntary liquidation. I mean … it
isn’t. I’m moving sideways into design.’

‘Design? What of?’

‘Fire irons. Toasting forks. Door knockers. The things I know.’

‘All right, but …’

‘I should have gone into voluntary liquidation long ago, instead of waiting till I was forced to,’ said Ted, sinking onto a bench.

‘You’ve got cash problems as of now, though, haven’t you?’ said Rodney, sitting beside him. ‘In that you’re skint. And I know you’d help me if I ever went ba … into voluntary liquidation.’

‘Of course. But you haven’t, have you?’

‘Do you resent my success, such as it is?’ said Rodney. ‘It’s a poor sort of friendship if you do.’

‘No! ‘Course I don’t! What do you mean, “such as it is”?’

Rodney’s hand moved towards Ted’s shoulder, then seemed to think better of the physical contact, hovered there for a moment, and drew away. Ted didn’t appear to have noticed. It was very quiet in the locker room. If a drip had fallen from one of the showers, they would have jumped.

‘I’m on the horns of the same knife edge as you were, Ted. And I can’t move sideways into design. “Hello, Mr Ponsonby. I’ve come up with a rather novel three-legged chicken that I think might be a winner.” It’s not on.’

‘You’re taking on staff. You took on our Elvis.’

‘And you weren’t too pleased either.’

‘Well … I mean … it rubbed it in a bit that I couldn’t. I mean … didn’t it? My boys have asked me for jobs several times. I couldn’t take them on, knowing how things were. It wouldn’t have been fair to keep them from other jobs, would it?’

‘Well, there you are. So you should be glad Elvis has got a job. Which I didn’t give him to rub anything in. I gave it out of family friendship.’

‘Are you saying
you’ll
soon be going … into voluntary liquidation?’

Ted picked up a sock, covered in dust, then dropped it hurriedly when he realized what it was.

‘I’m not saying I will,’ said Rodney. ‘I’m saying I could.’

‘Bit irresponsible to take our Elvis on then, wasn’t it?’

‘I have to take staff on to create the confidence to avert the crisis
that might cause me to have to sack them if I hadn’t taken them on.’

‘How could you sack them if you hadn’t taken them on?’

‘Look, let’s not argue,’ said Rodney. ‘I mean, I’m being friendly.’

‘I can’t take your money if things are that bad.’

‘a) it isn’t my money. It’s only my winnings. b) You said you’d help me if I ever got into trouble. So, I’m just paying you back for your kindness. Tit for tat. Only I’m doing it in advance. Sort of …’

‘… tat for tit.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Well … all right,’ said Ted grudgingly. He realized how ungracious he sounded, and added, ‘Thanks,’ much more warmly.

Just as Rodney was handing Ted the money, Carol Fording-bridge entered. She had nice legs and a good figure, but it was her magnificent long hair that men noticed first. Ted and Rodney sprang apart instinctively, and Ted stuffed the money untidily into his back pocket. Grown men don’t like to be witnessed either offering or receiving charity. But by the time they were standing several feet away from each other, they both realized that this must look infinitely worse. Ted must look like a council official, accepting a bribe for overlooking planning regulations, or a petty crook accepting his share of the sale of a stolen video recorder, or a homosexual prostitute receiving his payment for giving Rodney a happy half hour in the shower room. So they hurried back towards each other, and smiled horrible, falsely innocent smiles, which made them look guilty of all these things, and more besides.

Carol Fordingbridge stared at these two middle-aged men as they lurched back and forth across the locker room.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Am I interrupting something?’

‘No. Nothing. Absolutely nothing,’ said Rodney Sillitoe. ‘We were just … er …’

‘… leaving,’ said Ted. ‘We were just leaving.’

‘That’s right,’ said Rodney. ‘We were just leaving.’

‘I’m just … you know … waiting for somebody,’ said Carol Fordingbridge. ‘Speak of the devil,’ she added, as Paul entered.

‘Paul!’ said Ted.

‘Ah, there you are, Dad,’ said Paul. ‘I’ve been looking for you
everywhere. I’ve spoken to Mum, and she’s authorized me to guarantee that she won’t snub you.’

This was a rare piece of quick thinking on Paul’s part. It deserved a better fate than to make his meeting with Carol seem even more clandestine than it was.

‘Thanks,’ said Liz, as Neville Badger handed her her drink at the crowded bar. ‘So you at least are still prepared to talk to me.’

‘My dear Liz!’ said Neville.

‘I’m not wildly popular just now. The same people who were furious with me for going to live with Ted are even more furious with me for leaving him.’

Neville shook his head slowly several times in sorrowful amazement at the pettiness of humankind.

‘My dear Liz!’ he repeated. ‘It’s always a joy to talk to you. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must take Rita her drink.’

‘You seem to be being very attentive to her.’ Liz tried to sound casual.

‘I’ve had her on my conscience.’

‘What?’

‘It’s awfully embarrassing. She keeps trying to cheer me up. Tells me I’ll get over it. Time is a great healer. All that rot. She doesn’t seem to realize that I don’t want to get over it. I want to hang onto my grief, Liz. It’s all of Jane I have left. I’ve been inexcusably rude to Rita several times. Jane was very upset.’

‘Neville!’

‘Oh, I’m not going mad,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I know she’s dead. But she comes to me in dreams, and she seems so real. Last week she ticked me off for being so rude to Rita. Jane lays great store … laid great store … by manners. I’m being very charming to Rita, for Jane’s sake.’

‘Rita does have a point,’ said Liz.

‘What?’

‘You must try to live in the present.’

‘Why don’t you shut up?’ said Neville. ‘What do you know about what it’s like?’

As he stormed towards the restaurant area with Rita’s drink, Neville met Harvey Wedgewood, the actor, wandering expansively towards the bar.

‘Hello, I’m Harvey Wedgewood, the actor,’ said Harvey Wedgewood, the actor.

‘Really? I’m Neville Badger, the lawyer,’ said Neville, and he continued on his way, leaving Harvey Wedgewood stranded.

All Neville’s anger left him immediately, and he hurried back to Liz. ‘My dear Liz. I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what I’m saying these days.’ He gazed into her eyes, remembering suddenly how vulnerable she must feel tonight, hoping he hadn’t hurt her. He squeezed her hand and kissed her. ‘Dear Liz,’ he said. ‘We must have dinner one day. I’ll phone you.’

Liz watched him as he made his way towards Rita, giving Harvey Wedgewood a wide berth. She saw him smile. She saw Rita’s answering smile. She wouldn’t have believed, if somebody had told her at Jenny’s wedding, that, less than eight months later, she’d look across a crowded golf club, heavily pregnant, and feel jealous of Rita.

Harvey Wedgewood couldn’t have looked more staggered after his encounter with Neville if he’d been the Duke of Edinburgh opening a traditional knitwear centre, and a tourist had approached him and said, ‘Don’t I know you?’ and he’d said, ‘I’m the Duke of Edinburgh’ and the tourist had said, ‘Oh yeah? And I’m the Archbishop of sodding Canterbury.’ But no man who has toured Egypt in a British Council production of
Titus Andronicus
is at a loss for long, and by the time he’d bought his drink his public persona was back in place. He even felt able to smile at that idiot who thought he ran an off licence. After all, the incident would be worth a self-deprecating chuckle in his local in Princes Risborough.

Ted was looking round rather anxiously. He wanted to avoid Liz, but catch Rita on her own. He found himself staring at the man whom he now knew to be Harvey Wedgewood, the actor. He’d better apologize.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said, ‘but you’re so familiar to us in our lounge that I couldn’t believe I hadn’t met you.’

‘Please! The incident is closed,’ said Harvey Wedgewood, mollified by Ted’s explanation. ‘Now, tell me about yourself. I want to meet everybody. You are?’

‘Ted Simcock.’

‘And what do you do for a crust, Ted Simcock?’

Ted found that he was on the verge of concealing the truth. That wouldn’t do. His only hope was to face it head-on.

‘I had a small foundry,’ he said. ‘I’ve just gone into voluntary liquidation.’

‘I
played
a bankrupt once,’ said Harvey Wedgewood. ‘The critics said I was too cheerful. They always do. They said my Lear looked about as tragic as a man who’s just discovered that the spare wheel’s flat. But I believe in looking on the bright side. What’s wrong with that? They’ve paid good money. They don’t want to go home feeling depressed.’

Liz was almost upon them before she saw Ted. She attempted to veer away, but Harvey Wedgewood shot out a firm but friendly arm with an agility that would have been surprising to anybody who didn’t know that in his palmier days he had played in goal for Equity, and drew the captured Liz slowly towards Ted.

‘Ted!’ he said. ‘I’d like you to meet a lady I’ve been lucky enough to be introduced to tonight. Liz Rodenhurst. Ted Simcock.’

‘How do you do?’ said Ted, grasping Liz’s hand in a painful grip.

‘Ow!’ said Liz. ‘You’re hurting.’

‘Oh good,’ said Ted. ‘Now you know what it feels like to be squeezed through a mangle.’

‘I have the impression that you two know each other,’ said Harvey Wedgewood.

‘Inside out,’ said Ted.

Far away, on the peripheries of the world, the social hubbub could be heard as if through water. Here, between Ted and Liz and the watching Harvey Wedgewood there was a silence that was like the ice age must have sounded, if there had ever been a brief lull in the screaming of the wind.

‘Er … excuse me,’ improvised Harvey Wedgewood. ‘Uncle Harvey must go and place his bet on the next race.’

He scampered away, as if he’d seen three critics approaching.

Eyes were straining on the edges of their sockets as people studiously avoided looking as if they were watching Ted and Liz. They stood just far enough away to be socially respectable, but near enough to hear if things should really hot up. Ted and Liz were left facing each other like stags in a clearing. Liz was amazed at how coarse Ted’s features were. Ted noticed that she was
beginning to develop a double chin. Neither of them could believe that not many weeks ago they had found each other deeply attractive.

‘What’s it like back in the upper middle classes?’ asked Ted.

‘You didn’t exactly make it easy for me to stay,’ said Liz.

‘You didn’t exactly make it easy for me to make it easy for you to stay. How’s Laurence looking forward to bringing up my baby?’

‘I haven’t seen him. I must say, Ted, I admire your courage in coming.’

‘Not as much as I admire yours. They’re saying far worse things about you than they are about me.’

Anger had given Ted an eloquence to which he rarely aspired. For a few seconds, as he strode away, he felt like a successful matador. But instead of a cheering crowd of Spaniards exalted by their vicarious courage there was a gathering of middle-class Anglo-Saxons pretending that they hadn’t even noticed him. Already, by the time he found himself face to face with his daughter-in-law, his triumph had been eroded, and when she said, ‘Have you seen Paul?’ the most eloquent and elegant reply that he could manage was, ‘Oh! Er … yes. Yes. He’s … er … he’s gone for a walk. He’s got a headache.’

Paul and the long-haired Carol Fordingbridge sat with their feet dangling in one of three particularly vicious bunkers which guarded the tight, awkward green of the short thirteenth. It was a mild, soft, still spring night, but Paul could take no pleasure from its velvet charms.

‘So what do you want to talk about?’ said Carol Fordingbridge.

‘Well … you know … what happened. As we’d met, I thought … well … it’d be nicer to talk than just … not talk. Pretend it hasn’t happened. I didn’t want to arouse suspicions so …’

‘… you suggested meeting in the men’s locker room.’

‘I didn’t know my dad would be there.’

‘And now outside.’

‘No one’ll notice we’re missing. It needn’t take long. I just … didn’t want it to … er … end messily. You know. And … er … my wife doesn’t know anything about it, Carol. And I’m a happily married man and I don’t want to destroy that.’

‘Perhaps you should have thought of that before you …’

‘I know. I know.’