Bachelor Boys (31 page)

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Authors: Kate Saunders

BOOK: Bachelor Boys
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A couple of dreary weeks later, toward the end of November, I ran into Fritz in Camden Town. It was a Saturday morning. I had been to the wholefood shop, as part of my resolution to lead a healthier life. I saw Fritz running toward me, on the crossing beside the station.
He smiled when he saw me, and gave me a mighty hug that swept me off my feet. “Cassie, how great to see your shrimp-like form. I was just wishing someone congenial would buy me a cup of coffee.”
“Your wish has come true. I'm headed for Costa's.”
“Wonderful. Let me take your shopping—good God, what have you got in here? A brick?” He wrenched the recyclable paper bag out of my hand and pulled out a wholemeal loaf. “Are you supposed to eat this? Or are you building a wall in installments?”
“Stop mauling it about.” I took back my shopping. “What about you? What are you doing here?”
He laughed, a little wryly. “Costume fitting. I've been in a sort of warehouse down a back street, filled with rack upon rack of pantomime ensembles.”
“Oh wow. What do you have to wear?”
“Just the bog-standard Wishee-Washee outfit—Chinese suit, little round hat. Rags for Act One, red satin for after the laundry scene. Please feel free to laugh.”
I laughed. “Red satin?”
“Oh yes. I'll be candid with you, Grimble. When I saw myself in the mirror, I was absolutely mortified.” He spoke lightly, but he was not joking.
I said, “Still, it's money. And nobody will ever see you.”
“Very true. I should even be grateful. The girl who was fitting me got the papers mixed up, and asked me which end of the horse I was doing. It could be worse.”
We sat down at one of the tables in the back of the coffee shop. Fritz spooned froth off his cappuccino, looking at me warily. He said, “I expect you've heard about Felicity.”
“Yes, Annabel told me.”
His color deepened. He had the grace to be embarrassed.
He said, in Peter Lorre's voice, “You despise me, don't you?” (
Casablanca.
)
“It's none of my business,” I said.
“I told you I had no intention of sleeping with her again.”
“Oh, I remember. That's why I was so surprised.”
“You needn't be sarcastic, Grimble. At the time, I wasn't lying. I thought I could resist her. You were right, I'm obviously putty in her hands. She's still a fiend in human form—but what a form.”
He was glowing with health, vivid with energy. Evidently getting back in the sack had been good for him.
I said, “If it makes you happy.”
“I don't know if happy is the right word,” Fritz said. “I'm an orphan, I'm deeply in debt and I have to earn my living dressed in red satin. Great sex only makes these things a shade more bearable.”
I had to say what Phoebe would have said. “Yes, but things can change. After your pantomime, when you've sold the house, you'll be able to find something better.”
“What, for God's sake? Every job I've ever had has been quite amazingly silly. It's a sobering thing, to reach your early thirties and realize that your entire life is useless.” He was calm and conversational, but I didn't doubt that he was serious. Intrigued, I wondered what had suddenly brought Fritz face to face with his uselessness. I'd always assumed he was perfectly well aware of it, and simply didn't mind.
“Earning a living is never useless or silly,” I told him bracingly. “You need the money. Pull yourself together.”
“This is the worst thing,” he said, not smiling. “It hit me in that fitting room. There I was, in front of a mirror, in my Wishee-Washee costume,
despising myself. Then that girl has to ask which end of the horse I was doing. And that's exactly what Dad used to say—don't you remember? He said I'd end up playing a horse's arse. It was his standard objection to my acting career.”
“But Jimmy couldn't see the point of any career that wasn't medicine.”
“God, no—he was on a mission to cure the world.” Fritz frowned into his coffee. “It's a pity both his sons disappointed him.”
I said, “I don't think he ever expected Ben to be a doctor.” Too late, I saw my tactlessness.
“But he expected me to be one,” Fritz said.
“He was wrong about you, that's all.”
“He told me I'd be good at it.”
“Well, you would have been—”
“Cassie,” Fritz interrupted me, “can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“You were on Dad's side, weren't you? You were pissed off when I gave up medicine.”
“No, I—”
“Bullshit. I disappointed both of you, didn't I?”
We had never spoken about this. But if he wanted the truth, he could have it. “All right, I was—surprised. I did agree with Jimmy that it was a bit of a waste. Not because you're not a good actor,” I hastened to add (buffing the awful truth with a small lie), “but because you'd have been such a terrific doctor. Jimmy thought you'd have a career in surgery.”
Fritz groaned softly. “Surgery! The rest of my natural life slicing hernias and replacing hips! He adored it all, and that's why I couldn't make him understand. I needed more challenge, less predictability. I just wasn't ready to be middle-aged. To be brutal, I wasn't ready to turn into a copy of him.”
I didn't know what to say. I hadn't seen his dread of routine before.
He smiled at me. “I know you think I'm a terrible actor. You're absolutely right. I don't have much talent.” He spoke casually, as if barely interested.
I didn't understand. “Fritz, what is this? Are you having some sort of existential crisis?”
“Don't be silly. I'm not saying I mind about it. One of the many depressing things about acting is that lack of talent doesn't really matter.”
“But—are you telling me you want to give it up?”
Fritz was quiet for a long moment. “No,” he said eventually. “Not while it brings in a modicum of money.” He stood up. “Would you like another coffee?”
“Yes, thanks.”
That closed the subject of acting. When Fritz brought our coffees back to the table, the barriers were up again.
He said, “Before I forget, Ruth wants to know when you're coming.”
It was so disconcerting to hear him talking about my mother that I was confused. “Sorry? Coming where?”
“To her house, Grimble. You are coming down for Christmas, I take it?”
“I suppose so.” I hadn't thought about it. I couldn't bear to.
He reached over to squeeze my hand. “You have to come down. I like Ruth, and I like her dotty old Mr. Pastry boyfriend—but Ben and Annabel are going to Scotland, and I don't want to be alone. Not this year.”
I said, “Neither do I.” It was very good to know that Fritz and I had the same hopes for our forlorn festivities. “I've been so out of touch—I didn't know you'd arranged everything with Ruth.”
“Oh, keep up—I did it ages ago. I'm moving into her spare bedroom on Sunday, just in time to start rehearsals on Monday. The show opens on Boxing Day, so you'll be able to witness my shame. I've promised Ruth seats in the circle.”
“But—what about Peason?”
“Oh, fuck no! Do you think I'd let her anywhere near my Wishee-Washee? She'd never want to touch me again, let alone sleep with me.” Fritz was chortling, not very kindly. “She's spending Christmas with her mother.”
This was excellent news. It nerved me to face the prospect of Christmas without Phoebe. “What a pity Ruth won't get to meet her,” I said. “She's fascinated by the workings of the criminal mind.”
Frtiz said, “Thank you, that will do.”
“No it won't. You were always making cracks about Matthew.”
“That's different. I didn't like Matthew.”
“Well, I don't like Peason.”
He was still smiling, but thoughtful. “You made up your mind about her rather a long time ago. Aren't we due for an update?”
“No.”
“Don't be so pig-headed. If she didn't have one or two good points, I wouldn't sleep with her.”
“Yes you would.”
He laughed. “Okay, yes I would. But the thing is, Grimble—” (serious again), “this time, she's showing a much better side of herself. I hope you'll believe me one day.”
I made some sort of throwaway reply, as if I didn't really care. We parted in the high street, casually looking forward to meeting over Christmas.
I went home on the bus, feeling that if my mood fell any further it would drop through the floor.
 
Christmas is hell for the bereaved. That horrible year declined in a welter of tinsel, booze and constant festivity. I observed it all through my glass wall. Doggedly, I spent a couple of Saturdays buying gifts. There was little relish in it. I worked my way through the merry throng of shoppers, snapping at children and snarling at beggars.
Annabel got silver earrings. Ben got new headphones. Ruth got a jersey (burgundy lambswool). George got a book token, plus my office copy of the new Browning biography. Betsy, Shay and Puffin all got Fortnum's chocolates. Fritz, in equal measure the most important and the most difficult, got a plain silver frame in which I put a photo of Phoebe. I sent Hazel and Jonah a bottle of champagne, via Betsy.
Angelic Betsy, she was overflowing with happiness because Jonah was bringing Hazel to lunch on Christmas Day, but not for a second did she forget that I was in mourning. She was determined to create a happy atmosphere. I nearly disappeared under a mountain of cakes, biscuits and mince pies. She stuck holly on our computers and draped the filing cabinets with tinsel. She warbled carols as she subbed the crossword, and was always looking for excuses to pull crackers. I spent hours sitting gravely at my desk with a tissue paper crown hanging over one eye.
'Twas the season to be jolly, and I tried very hard. But Phoebe was not
here, and Fritz seemed to be falling in love with Peason. I was very unhappy. I was the unhappiest I'd ever been in my life.
Fritz was at my mother's house beside the sea. Ruth said she liked having a lodger.
“I hardly see him—he's either rehearsing, or pelting back to London to his girlfriend,” she told me, over the phone. “If he sits down to supper here, I'm curiously honored. I catch myself in the very act of being charmed. I find that I'm enjoying having him around. And I used to think he was such a lout.”
We had arranged that I would drive down to Ruth's on the day before Christmas Eve. The night before that, we had our office party—cheap and cheerful, at a curry place in Drummond Street. More crackers were pulled. Betsy got uncharacteristically hammered, and Puffin and I had to bundle her (and her hundreds of shopping bags) into a taxi.
Puffin was driving up to the country. He kindly took a small detour to drive me home (I spent a painful twenty minutes squashed against his luggage, which seemed mainly to consist of rods and guns). I kissed him affectionately and wished him a merry Christmas. We said we'd meet “next year,” not really believing it.
Then I was alone, and I felt the city closing down around me. London was a mass of snails, retreating into cozy shells. I threw a few clothes into my suitcase, then got bored and went to bed. I didn't think it mattered what I wore at Ruth's.
 
I had a little more shopping to do the next morning. Ruth entirely lacked Phoebe's genius for hospitality, and I knew that her house was likely to be short of seasonal luxuries. Phoebe, as a matter of course, had provided puddings and chutneys, amazing cheeses that stank out the fridge and chocolate of silken grain and melting texture. I didn't want Fritz to miss things like this on his first Christmas without her.
As Phoebe had always done, I went to the big delicatessen on Rosslyn Hill. It was warm and noisy, thronged with people. A stout security man in a blue uniform guarded the doors. I hadn't bothered with breakfast, and the delicious smells made my light head spin. I filled my basket with the things Phoebe would have bought. I knew exactly what these were. A
year ago, I had driven her up here, to help with the carrying. Nothing had changed. It was easy to imagine she was still beside me, laughing over the pictures on the jars of sauerkraut.
“Which shall we take—the fat man in leather shorts, or the fat lady with the mad smile?”
Last year, she had been extravagant. We had heaped our baskets with liqueurs and fine French pates, and a flask of (in Phoebe's words) “the rarest balsamic vinegar ever to come out of Modena.” She had been very tired, but she had planned weeks of fabulous cooking. I hadn't wanted to think it then, but it occurred to me now that Phoebe had known it would be her last Christmas on earth.

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