Boys and Girls (6 page)

Anyway, it's dinner time now. That's the other thing my mum always says: it's important that we all of us sit down
together around the table as a
family
. Dad cooks, usually – well always, really, unless we get like a takeaway: Chinese, because Mum says that Indian always stinks the house out. And she sets the table because she says my dad couldn't set a table if his life depended on it, and she makes the napkins like stars and ponced-up like angels and stuff. Anyway, that's now. (And this evening, I suppose, will be pretty much the same as all the others.)

‘Mm. Shepherd's pie. Oh yes of
course
it's shepherd's pie, how very foolish you must think me, Alan. It's Tuesday, isn't it? So of
course
it's shepherd's pie. Tuck in your napkin Amanda, there's a good girl. Why have you opened two bottles of wine tonight, Alan?'

‘Well actually, my cherished one, I have opened four. But two are now empty, you see, and so the two you see before you are all that remain. Cottage.'

‘Is there any Coke, Dad?'

‘What did you say, Alan? There's Coke in the fridge, Amanda. You know where the Coke is – just get it, can't you?'

‘I said cottage. It's cottage pie, not shepherd's. I know what a stickler you are for having things just so, Susan, so I thought we might really as well get the whole meal off and away on the proper footing, so to say. Beef, you see: not lamb. It's as well to know.'

‘The top looks a bit burned … Pass the Evian, would you Amanda?'

‘People at school, they all say bottled water is like just one big rip-off.'

‘
Browned
it is, Susan. Not burned, no – just rather nicely
browned
, you see. And be careful of your tongue, Amanda – it'll be awfully hot.'

‘More than last night's was then, Alan my sweet. If you knew where tap water came from, Amanda, you wouldn't say such things. It's been through
people
, that's what I read. Can you imagine such a thing? Through
people
. This isn't the usual wine, is it Alan? It seems a bit, I don't know …'

‘Well spotted, Susan – well done indeed. It is a different label from the usual – and as a matter of simple fact, now I come to regard it afresh, I see that it is also a different
colour
, well well well. So yes, I commend your perspicacity. But do you
like
it? That's the thing.'

‘Can I taste it, Dad?'

‘If you like. It's nothing special.'

‘Amanda! Put down that glass at once. What are you
thinking
of, Alan? She's a child. You can't have a child drinking
wine
 … And anyway, it's not very nice, not very nice at all. It was cheap, was it? I expect it was cheap. I do so hope it was cheap, Alan. Or did they maybe start rubbing their hands when they saw you coming? My sweet.'

‘They do in France, Mum. And like Italy? Drink wine. Young people.'

‘This is surely the moment, Amanda, when your mother says to you quite solemnly and defiantly that while that may well be the case, we are not
in
France, are we Amanda? Or Italy. And of course, you could hardly fault her logic …'

‘I was going to say nothing of the kind. I was not even intending to bestow upon so very crass a non-sequitur the merest response. Is there anything else we could drink? To go with this oh-so-luscious pie of yours.'

‘Hear that, Amanda? You are the author of a very crass non-sequitur. It's an education, isn't it? Living here. More peas?'

‘They're bigger than usual, aren't they Dad?'

‘My my. The powers of observation in the two of you tonight come close to overwhelming. Yes – these are what Messrs Birds Eye are pleased to call “garden peas”, no doubt in order to distinguish them from, say, “railway peas” or “drawing-room peas”, it's quite hard to fathom. We can only assume that Messrs Birds Eye have a jolly big garden. I have hitherto always patronised the “petit pois”, it is true, but I was told by a very great man in the pea world that the garden variety is possessed of considerably more flavour – as would seem to be the case, if my palate is any judge. Though they are, of course, “
moins petit
”. Or “
plus grand
”, if you prefer. Do they mean the same, those two? Hard to say. There is some very good Chablis under the stairs, if you can run to opening it, Susan. You may or may not think it will go with the meal.'

‘Well I hardly think we have to be
too
sensitive, do we Alan? Matching a wine with a rather burned shepherd's pie. My sugar.'

‘Amanda – would you be so good as to fetch the Chablis from under the stairs? It will not be chilled, of course, but it doesn't do to be over-sensitive, does it? When matching a wine to a quite perfectly browned cottage pie.'

‘Don't trouble, Amanda. I've eaten all of this that I'm going to anyway. And listen – I've something to tell you.'

‘Oh
man
 …'

‘Why did you say that? Oh
man
 … What's oh
man
 …? What meaning does it have? Did you hear her, Alan? Oh
man
 …!'

‘I expect, Susan, that it was intended to convey a spirit of foreboding – of impending doom. Something along the lines of, Oh Christ – what's she going to come out with this time?
And the creeping certainty that whatever it is, it will hardly be fun. Broadly correct, Amanda?'

‘Yeh.'

‘See? Yeh. As for myself, I can barely wait. I am agog. Do tell, Susan. We are in your thrall. Teasing out the moment would be simply too cruel.'

‘Oh
do
shut up, Alan, there's a good and gentle idiot. Anyway – you already know, don't you? I've already told you. About our new little forthcoming arrangement. It's Amanda I have to tell now.'

‘Tell me what? What arrangement?'

‘Oh now steady on, Susan. This isn't … the time, surely? You can't just … No no Susan: this just isn't the time.'

‘And when would be? You – you'd put it off for just ever, wouldn't you Alan? Till doomsday. As you do with everything. Amanda – could you take my plate away please? I just can't bear
looking
at it any more … Now listen to me, Amanda. We're all going to have a grown-up talk.'

‘Susan …!'

‘Quiet, Alan. If you do not wish to be a party to this, you are excused from table and have my full permission to scuttle away to your secret little, oh God –
study
, and play with your trains and soldiers or whatever it is you get up to in there. On the other hand, I want no accusations later of any bias or pressure on my part, and so I really do believe it to be in the interests of all concerned if you could bring yourself to remain seated. Yes? Good Alan: good, my sweet. Now then, Amanda—'

‘Oh
man
 …'

‘
Now
then, Amanda—'

‘Be careful, Susan … be very careful …'

‘Oh for goodness sake will you just please shut
up
, the pair of you, and just let me say what it is I have to say! Do me, please, the
goodness
. Thank you. Now, Amanda, as you know, for quite some time now Mummy has been going off to work in the mornings, and Daddy hasn't. Now I've never complained about what is after all a … well, rather unjust, I should have said, um – situation, but now it's become frankly rather tiresome, and it's time for a change. I might go on working part-time, I haven't finally decided. I rather think I will, you know – don't really want to be at home all day, do I? With your father. I don't know how he sticks it, quite candidly – I don't Alan, I really don't. I just fail to comprehend how you stick it, just being here all the time. Day in day out. Still – not your fault, I suppose. Is it? If no one will give you a job, well then that's rather that, isn't it really? Anyway Amanda, my darling – the point is money, you see. I have had to put my thinking cap on. And what I have decided is—'

‘Susan. I really don't think—'

‘
Alan
. I shan't tell you again. And so, Amanda, what I have decided is, I have to have a new husband.'

‘
Christ
 …!'

‘Saying “Christ”, Alan, doesn't really help now, does it? One way or the other. All right, Amanda?'

‘Ex-
cuse
me?! All
right
? What do you mean all
right
? You're like telling me you and Daddy are getting divorced like Jennifer's parents, right?'

‘No no. Quite wrong. Silly girl. What ideas you have. No no. We would never do that – would we Alan? To you. No no – what I'll be doing is having another husband as a sort of, um – little
extra
, if you like. And you – well you, Amanda, you'll be in a perfectly lovely position really, because instead
of having just the one old Daddy knocking around the house like normal people do, well – you'll have two! Won't you? Hm? Be nice. Won't it? Hm? It's not instead of, you see? It's as
well
as. Tell her, Alan. Say something. No? Apparently no. Silence from Alan. Well there. Is there a pudding at all, my sweet? My sugar? To round off this utterly delightful little snackette of yours?'

So yeh – I was just so like totally wrong: wasn't the same as every other evening, was it? No it fucking wasn't. Except for the dumb way they're always talking. I had a gun when I was little that shot out all these like ping-pong balls? And that's the way they're always talking. So right – what exactly's been dumped on me here? What have I got to get my head around? Mum, she went on a lot after about this mad and stupid idea – I think she's even more nuts than Dad is now. He wouldn't say anything to me – he just like went off, the way he does. He said we'd have a proper talk later – tomorrow, maybe; at the weekend, possibly. Yeh – as if. We've never had a proper talk in the whole of our lives, so like – why now? And she went on and on about how so cool it's going to be with this new shit who she's presumably fucking, oh God what a totally gross idea! She's old and she's my
mother
: I feel sick. And she kept on saying that he's going to be a proper
husband
and I said but listen he
can't
be, how can he be? It's illegal unless you're a Moron or something. And do you know what she said? Tell you. She said they'd make it as legal as they could. Mad talk, right? Like, it's either legal or it isn't – there's nothing in between. It's like when she told me she was being ‘very honest' with me – it's crap, isn't it? It's just so totally crap. You can't be
slightly
honest, can you? Or very honest either: you're either like straight, or else you're not. And how can you
be straight, right, if you're a complete fucking lunatic? And I'll tell you what else she said: she said that all this, she was doing it out of love. Out of love. Yeh right. And then when I walked past my dad's little hideaway, the room he always keeps like locked, I thought of knocking, maybe see he wasn't too upset or anything. But he was singing. He was singing Oh I Do Like to Be Beside the Seaside at the top of his fucking voice. God. So you can see now, can't you? I think now you must be able to see it. Why it is I like worry? About them? It's like that movie was called:
Secrets and Lies
? Well I've got secrets too – yes I bloody well have. And lies? I've been lying to them for ages now. And the only good thing is I feel better about it all, because now I think they deserve it. And I'm not even sure now I will. Worry any more – not about them, no way. I'll just go back to worrying about me. Because I like have to now, a bit.

Harry – he's a poet. He wrote for me in my special book: ‘You can seek out softness, even in the hardest of places.' Beautiful, isn't it? He's like a real and proper poet, Harry is, I think – the only good thing that's around me now. And I haven't told anyone – not even like Jennifer or Tara, about him – how totally cool he is. And. I love him.

Well certainly – it's perfectly obvious, that little Susie, she's in this solely for the ride, that's what I've decided. It's just the good things she's after – and well, who can actually blame her? Wasn't it just the same for me when I was thirty, forty years younger? An eye on the main chance. That what they say? Because this, all this, it was clear to me from the outset – from the very day when we first took her on. Publicity Cyril was the one who had initially interviewed her – she'll do well, Black, I reckon, is what he afterwards said to me: she doesn't know too much – out of the loop, I have to say – but by Christ she does look good … half the battle, isn't it really? And also, he said to me, there's a, she's got a … I don't know: presence, maybe; determination about her, you know? Well I wouldn't even have bothered giving her the onceover had it not been for that, or anyway some of it. I usually, if it's a junior position we're talking about, just let the department heads get on with it – hire who you think you can work with, basically. But this one, she sounded interesting. I asked Jane to set up an appointment with her – tell her she's on the longlist, shortlist, I said … tell her it's all very informal: tell her I'd just like to have a little chat, will you? Good, Jane: good.

‘Cyril, he tells me he's just slightly concerned about the level of your, er – computer skills, Susan. It says here. Do you mind if I smoke? Will you have one?'

Susan adjusted her posture in the too-low chair across from this Mr Leather's great cliff of a desk – which, she was not at all surprised to observe, he very much enjoyed being safe and smugly the other side of (sprawling a bit, tip-tapping up and down the odd little thing on its quite clear surface, suddenly hunching forward in his too-tall chair, his face assuming a spurious interest, and then relaxing to emphasise a thrust in the direction of light-heartedness – or even, she noted with a lowering calm, the throwaway quip). She placed her large handbag on to the floor beside her (a rucked-up and quite good rug over a flattened, grey and ancient carpet) and prepared her cocked and elegant hand for the flick-back of the hair at just the moment – this moment – when it fell across her eyes.