Boys and Girls (42 page)

‘Up again …?'

‘Oh yes. Hauled the bloody woman all the way up again. Weighed a fucking ton, I can tell you. Kicked her down, this time. A good deal less clatter, a lot more of a thump. It struck the right sort of a timbre. Trotted down again, and bingo! Third time lucky.'

‘She was …?'

‘As the doornail, yes. From then on, it was pure formality. Had to do a bit of acting, of course. Went very well, I think: I was weeping, weeping – joy and relief and not a little exhaustion is what it all expressed, but they weren't to know. Everyone bought the story, yes. Except for Tim, of course That's my son – remember I've mentioned him? Yes. Well he – you should have seen the look in his eye. Was convinced I'd murdered his mother. Can you credit it? Your own son, believing you to be capable of such a thing. Why he hates me, you see. Always will. Can't really blame him. Never told anyone any of all this, goes without saying. So anyway, my dear Alan – just to scroll forward to our present predicament,
I think in the first instance we must, the two of us, pay a visit to young Billy …'

‘Harry.'

‘Harry, and flash a little cash. Don't think there'll be any call to put on what I believe are termed the frighteners.'

Alan now was agitated.

‘But what if he won't? What if he spurns us? Spits on the money. Says he, I don't know –
loves
her, or something? What if he just laughs in our faces, the fucking little upstart shit. What if he tells us to go to
hell
 …?'

‘Mm. Well in that case, of course, we'll just have to.'

‘Have to …?'

‘Mm. Kill him.'

‘Joking …'

‘Well in a sense I am. In that nothing I think or say can these days be taken to be anything close to one hundred per cent, um – in earnest. Or even totally sensible. Though equally, I am never given over to flippancy, the glib remark, pure and simple. I think you may take it, Alan, that while the idea of just killing the bastard is by no means a psychotic determination, still though it need not necessarily be out of the question. Circumstances, I daresay, will eventually dictate. There is also the truth, of course, that my knowledge and skills with regard to the despatch of another of our fellow creatures, my first-hand experience, are considerably limited. Specialised, you might say. Basically it comes down to this: if the cunt lives in a bungalow, we're buggered.'

Susan was sucking into her the strong black coffee as if it were a vital elixir, the only thing now that could claw her back from the maw of eternal damnation. As she asked the waitress for
another plate of croissants, Maria could barely fail to notice the light of energy, an unnatural awareness, aglow and fidgety in both of her eyes.

‘It was good of you, Maria, to just drop everything and come. I know you're very busy.'

‘You are a complete and utter liar, Susan. You know perfectly well that from one day's end to the other there is not a single little thing in the world that I have to attend to. When you rang, I simply told Lolita that she would have to attend to the flowers herself this morning – although she never does them very well, always makes them appear really quite funereal, or else so very, I don't know …
plebeian
. There's a word you don't much hear any more. And then I simply put forward my hair appointment. A life of ease, dear Susan – and one that you are finally enjoying for yourself. Best thing you've ever done, the importing of wealth – you look positively radiant, so very young and vibrant. New lease of life, my dear. I shouldn't have a croissant, but I shall.'

‘Is she really called that, your woman? Lolita?'

‘Mm. But cast from your mind any vision of pre-pubescent loveliness. Husbands, they really don't need that kind of distraction. Something you learn along the way. No, my Lolita is large and strong – flat at the front and rather broad of beam. Like a Routemaster, really – though lacking the colouring.'

‘Oh Maria! You really are so awful.'

‘I know – but you love me anyway. Now listen to me, Susan – I have been most dreadfully patient with you, but there is a limit. You did not ask me here to watch me grow obscenely fat on croissants and nor to discuss my dear Latino treasure. I do hope there is something delicious you have to tell me. If it's less than spectacular, I shall be sorely disappointed.'

Susan needed no encouragement: she had been carrying within her this, oh – damn great
thing
for so bloody long that if she didn't very soon and rushingly unload a good deal of it she felt she must then just atomise into a zillion dazzling stars and pinpoints (for in such girlish terms she found herself more and more compelled to couch her sensations). She replaced her cup, hunkered down her shoulders and extended her neck and hands across the table, Maria unthinkingly mirroring her actions. Exclusive intimacy was therefore established, the bright and buzzy hubbub of the rest of the coffee shop blurred and muted, pushed out far to the periphery.

‘I think, Maria … the reason I look as I do, if what you just said is … if I do look like that, radiant, alive, all the rest of the stuff you – well it's not to do with the money. I mean, don't get me wrong about the money – it's been a total godsend, I just can't tell you. And the house, the garden, it's all so heavenly. Particularly the garden. Just heavenly. And this is why I feel so, oh God – guilty, I suppose. Because the atmosphere at home, it's all been rather wonderful. Everyone's been getting on so terribly well – mm, that is if you discount Miss Amanda, of course. She, oh – I can't go into it. Another story altogether.'

‘She's a teenager, Susan. The constant column inches in the press concerning teenagers? Can't have passed you by, surely. Everything disgusting they're really quite famous for. Sloth, rudeness, drugs, promiscuity, grunted-out monosyllables – no sense whatever of personal hygiene. Boys, that is – they're the worst by far, apparently.'

‘You wouldn't say that if you had a daughter, believe me. But listen, Maria – never mind that. Forget Amanda. It's not Amanda I want to talk about. It's … someone else.'

Maria's eyes narrowed, and then they were dawningly glowing as the slyest smile crept on to her face.

‘Oh my
God
, Susan – you've got another one! My goodness – this is becoming quite a collection. It's really just you and Elizabeth Taylor, isn't it? Do you label them all so you don't forget their names? Oh but how perfectly
delicious
 …!'

‘God's sake, Maria – it's not like that. And it wasn't intended, or anything. It just, well – it just sort of came out of the blue, really.'

‘Mm. As such things will. Well go on – don't stop now, God's sake.
Tell
me, Susan. Tell me all about it. Does Alan know? Does the other one know? Can't remember his …'

‘Black. It's Black. No, he doesn't know. Neither of them does. Got to tell them. Haven't yet. Got to, though – got to tell them soon. Last night, God – I made such a bloody fool of myself. Had this terrible sort of, I don't know – insight. Realisation. Had to rush away from him. God knows what he thought. And Alan, when I got in – I must have looked a bit mad, I think. Sorry, Maria – rambling. But all this, it's why I wanted to talk to you … you see – it's really quite serious.'

‘Oh dear. Serious. Serious isn't too good. Serious can rather take the fun out of it, you know Susan. And isn't fun the whole idea? Isn't that, after all, why we do these things?'

‘I didn't start it as fun. I didn't start it as serious. I wasn't really aware of … starting anything at all, really. It just …'

‘Happened, yes. Sort of out of the blue. You said. Well who is he? Don't tell me – Alan's best friend! The classic story. Who is Alan's best friend actually, Susan? Does he have them? Friends? I've never known.'

‘No – he's never really had one, a best friend as such. Not to my knowledge. Or even a
friend
, really … But men, they're
different. Not like us. They don't seem to need them as much as we do. But now … Black is. His best friend, yes. Sometimes I feel rather … and actually, this is maybe a part of it. I've got these two husbands, and I don't really … I haven't actually thought of this before, but what I feel is, a bit, um – well, excluded. Really. They're together, the two of them, and yet they're apart from me. Which I didn't intend. Why I maybe, I don't know – let this new thing happen to me.'

‘Right then – can't be Alan's best friend, I see that now. Because you've already got him, haven't you? In your portfolio. So who is it, then? Where did you meet him?'

‘I didn't really – meet him in the normal way. He just sort of … fell into my life.'

‘I see. And I'm guessing now, Susan – but he's young, yes? Good-looking brute, is he? This man who fell to earth. Oh do say yes.'

‘He is young. Yes. Very. That's the point, I suppose. Attractive, I'd say. Quite strong physically. “Fit” is the expression, isn't it? But certainly not a brute. Didn't like him at all at first. By no means an instant thing. But his hands … and his hair. His eyes …'

‘And no doubt other parts as well. So let's get this straight then, shall we Susan? Alan is there because … well I suppose because Alan always
has
been there really, hasn't he? Since time began. And this Black person you got because of the money …'

‘Not wholly. Not just for the money …'

‘This Black person you got for the
money
 – don't interrupt me, Susan, and don't, please, attempt to be naïve. Not at this stage of the game. And now, to complete the triumvirate, as it were, you have a handsome young buck – no doubt more than
competent in the area in which your other two, um –
beaux
, are sadly lacking?'

‘That's crude, Maria.'

‘Mm, though broadly accurate I would guess. Well once more I feel congratulations are in order. I salute you. I'm also beginning to hate you just a bit. My own little life now is suddenly seeming so terribly
dull
.'

‘I used to envy you, Maria. Your life, rich husband, lovely home …'

‘
Three
lovely homes, if we're counting, Susan. Don't forget Spain and Aspen. And what on earth do you mean you
used
to envy me? You mean you don't any more? I'm not sure I can actually live with that. I make it a golden rule to only know people who envy me to
death
. How else is one expected to survive? To maintain that all-important
edge
 …?'

‘Oh Maria. I never know if you're joking or not.'

‘Well you can probably tell by my face. What's it doing now, my face?'

‘Beaming malevolently, I'd say.'

‘Mm. Well I'm probably joking, in that case. Botox, you see – I am seldom in charge of it. But otherwise I think I'd look like thunder. Are you having more coffee? I might just have another tea and get the girl to remove from my sight these perfectly scrumptious croissants. But listen, Susan – why, please enlighten me, why in God's name are you going to
tell
them? Your two old fogies. Do you imagine they'll be
pleased
? What if this Black person takes it into his head to withdraw all funding? Chuck you out into the cold? Why don't you just go on hugging it to you? Your thrilling naughty sexy little secret.'

‘I don't know. I just feel … I should, that's all. It's a household, after all. Ménage, if you want. My idea, getting
us all together. And the thing is, we're all meant to
share
 … No – I don't want any more coffee. It's not actually that I feel I should. It's because I have to. I just must. It's … complicated.'

‘Mm. Well this is one part I think they'll both want no piece of. And the new boy. Is he rich too? Or just one of life's quite gorgeous and penniless playthings?'

‘Oh God no – not rich. In fact if it weren't for Chelsea, we'd have nowhere to, you know – go. I was meant to let it out, the old house. Rather pleased I didn't, now …'

‘Goodness me, Susan – you're a strategist as well. How the need for furtiveness does so bring out the best in you. Susan – this has all been most perfectly
delicious
, but I really must now fly to André and get him to attend to my roots. He's already indulged me today, and if I'm late for this new appointment I could become, oh God – horror of horrors – persona non grata to the finest colourist in London. And without my highlights, I might begin to resemble someone rather too close to my own age, a thing a woman can never dream of. We'll do all this again when you acquire number four, shall we? And you, Susan – what are you up to now? Is this enough for the tip, do you think …? I never quite know. I wish they'd just add it in and be done with it. Maybe they do: I never look.'

It's not, Susan was thinking, that I have to talk to her, Maria. It's not that she has anything for me; I just need to hear what it is I am thinking.

‘Me?' she smiled. ‘Oh – I've got an appointment too. I'm going now to see my lover.'

So adored that, saying it to Maria, adored the flavour of the word in my mouth. And later, it was him I was tasting, the youth, who touches me like a girl and then is so excitingly boyish and eager in his efforts to be manly. We made love on
the floor of what used to be my bedroom in the old house in Chelsea, the very room in which I had so often wondered if ever again I would have such a thing – countlessly, for it seemed like years. The carpet is quite new and fluffy there, where the bed used to stand, and still there are the flattened indentations from its feet (my elbows scorch, there is such friction). After, he caressed me with a feather: where on earth did you get that from, I asked him. Do you know what he said to me? From a Bird of Paradise. Believe it? So poetic. Once I tried to write a poem for him, but I couldn't. Alan, had he ever done such a thing (inconceivable, really) he would have told me that the feather was one of many, the result of a burst-open duvet – and as for Black, well.