Fair Do's (11 page)

This touching tableau was ruined before it started, by Jenny hurtling tearfully towards her, trembling with self-disgust, wailing, ‘I shouldn't have. Not today,' and hurrying out into the lobby. Betty turned towards her in amazement, then turned back towards the room, and was embraced by Rodney before she had regained her composure.

‘Betty! You came!' His delight removed all traces of regret for her lost entrance.

‘I'm sorry I missed the service,' she said, ‘but I couldn't leave her while she was hallucinating.'

‘Hallucinating?'

‘She thought she was Joan of Arc. She might have burnt herself.'

‘Oh, Betty.'

Rodney embraced Betty again, even more warmly.

‘Rodney!' she protested. ‘A bit of decorum in public, if you please. As befits joint managing directors of a major new business. I'd have been earlier but I popped home to change because this dress creases if you travel. Rodney, there's a dreadful, soggy, wobbly, smelly mess on the kitchen table. What is it?'

‘Carrot and cashew nut roulade. A treat for tonight, for your homecoming.'

‘Oh, Rodney. I'm sorry.'

‘No. I knew it had gone wrong. I meant to throw it out.'

Neville, Rita and Liz came forward to greet Betty.

‘Hello, Neville,' she said. ‘Hello … Councillor! Congratulations.' Now at last she embraced the whole room in her gaze. ‘Ted! Corinna!
Sandra!.
'

Sandra approached, smiling serenely, ignoring Betty's surprise. ‘Tea, madam, or champagne?'

‘Oh tea first, I think, please.' Betty called out to Eric. ‘Eric? Later I'd like a drink. Do you have any fruit juices?'

‘What?'

‘I do not touch alcohol. It is a poison. Do you have any fruit juices?'

Even Eric Siddall, barman supreme, found it impossible to hide his astonishment entirely.

‘Yes, madam,' he said, recovering. ‘Can do. No problem.'

Betty turned back to Neville, Liz and Rita. ‘Well, she said, ‘I suppose my absence has set you all wondering if Rodney and I'll be splitting up next.'

‘No, Betty. Good Lord, no,' said Rita.

‘You splitting up? That's a good one,' said Neville.

‘That's the best laugh I've had in weeks,' said Liz.

‘Absolutely,' said Rita.

They laughed. It would be hard to decide which of the three laughs was the least unconvincing.

Underneath the hideously romanticised painting of Bolton Abbey, Elvis Simcock, elder son of Ted and Rita Simcock, was questioning Simon Rodenhurst, only son of Liz and the late Laurence Rodenhurst.

‘So, Simon, are you still planning to give up what it would anyway be an exaggeration to call your sex life?'

‘Too right. Today has confirmed that.'

‘What's so special about today?'

‘The other godfather's wife was the woman in question.'

‘The pregnant one?'

‘Precisely.'

‘Oh my God.'

‘Exactly.'

Elvis tried to hide his excitement at this revelation. He assumed a dignified, caring expression as he sought the words that he needed.

‘What exactly went through your mind,' he enquired carefully, ‘when you realised that the woman you'd made pregnant on your one and only foray into the world-renowned delights of sexual intercourse was the wife of your fellow godfather?'

‘What do you think went through it, you steaming berk?' countered Simon angrily. ‘I thought, “I am unfit to undertake the moral welfare of a mature garden slug with psychopathic tendencies, let alone an innocent infant boy. I must tell them I can't do it.”'

‘But you didn't tell them you couldn't do it, did you?'

‘Because what could I say? “I can't go through with this. I'm
the twit who got Andrew's wife preggers”?' He changed the subject. ‘How's things with Carol?'

‘Terrific. Great. Couldn't be better.'

‘Hello,' said Carol, as if she'd been waiting for her cue. ‘You're Elvis Simcock, aren't you?' She held out her hand politely. ‘I'm Carol Fordingbridge, your fiancée. Remember me?'

‘Carol!'

Elvis was all the more furious because he knew that he had no right to be.

‘I've got to sit down,' said Rodney Sillitoe, and, as though to prove that he hadn't been lying, he sat down.

Betty looked round for another chair. Morris Wigmore leapt to his feet and handed her his chair, smiling. When Betty said that he shouldn't have, he pooh-poohed the idea that he had made any sort of sacrifice. He smiled confidently, frankly at Betty, little knowing that she was thinking, ‘Why don't I trust this man? Why does he send goose-pimples up my spine? If only his son hadn't come to a sticky end in Brisbane, so that I could loathe him without feeing a heel.'

‘Last night I strayed,' confessed Rodney in a near-whisper, when Betty had settled herself in her Restoration chair.

‘Strayed? How do you mean, “strayed”?'

‘What do you think I mean?'

‘Well, not a woman. You wouldn't.'

‘Aaaah!'

‘So it must have been either alcohol or meat. The way you look, I'd say …' Betty examined his rough, red, battered face lovingly, ‘… meat.'

‘Steak. Rump. Rare.'

‘Oh, Rodney, you're hopeless on your own.'

‘Because I love you.'

‘I know.'

They kissed, then looked up to see Rita beaming at them.

‘It
is
good to see you back, Betty,' said Rita. ‘You two are rocks on our shifting sands.'

‘Rodney and I were talking the other day, Rita,' said Betty. ‘Weren't we, Rodney?'

‘Yes. Yes, we were.'

‘You tell her.'

‘Right. Tell her what?'

‘What we were talking about.'

‘Oh! Right!' Rodney thought hard. ‘What were we talking about?'

‘Offering her a job in our new health food complex and vegetarian restaurant.'

‘Ah. Yes. Absolutely. Rita, will you come and work for me?'

‘For us!'

‘Us. Yes. Quite. Absolutely. What I meant. Us.'

‘I'd love to!'

‘Rita!' Betty leapt up and embraced Rita. The two women hugged each other. A golden, organic future stretched before them.

Even in the midst of so much happiness, Neville managed to find a mission of mercy.

‘Carol looks lost,' he said.

‘Neville!'

‘I want this to be a great day, Liz. For everyone.'

Neville scurried off to Carol's conversational rescue.

Liz sighed.

‘Carol, hello,' said Neville.

‘Hello.'

Carol did indeed look lost. Her eyes were suspiciously moist.

‘You look marvellous.' Neville beamed.

‘Well, thank you very much.'

‘No, you really do.'

‘Well, you just said so.'

‘No, what I mean is, sometimes one says these things without meaning them, but I do mean it. You really are … very lovely. Elvis is a lucky young man.'

‘Isn't he?' Carol's eyes belied her smile. ‘Isn't he just? Incredibly lucky.'

The edge in her voice escaped Neville completely. ‘Named the day yet?' he asked innocently, pleasantly.

‘No we sodding well haven't named the sodding day.' Carol stalked off, then returned almost immediately. She wasn't far from tears. ‘I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Not today. No scenes today. All smiles today. Happy day today.'

Neville looked deeply puzzled.

‘Er … jolly good,' he said.

Rodney and Betty smiled at Ted and Corinna rather cautiously from their chairs.

‘No doubt Rodney has told you, Betty. I can't imagine him overlooking anything so momentous and so gratifying to our many friends.' There was an irritatingly smug tone in Ted's voice. He knew that Rodney hadn't told Betty. ‘Corinna and I are engaged.'

‘No, Ted, he didn't.' Betty flashed Rodney the look of rebuke that Ted had hoped for. ‘Congratulations! But what about …?' Betty stopped in mid-sentence.

‘More tea, anybody,' interrupted Sandra.

‘Not for me, thanks,' said Ted.

‘No, thank you,' said Rodney. ‘Time to move on to something …'

‘Weaker,' interrupted Betty hastily.

‘Thank you, Sandra,' said Corinna, her composure utterly unruffled. ‘I'll stick to champagne.'

‘Right.' Sandra set off with her tea pot and milk jug, then stopped, between Ted and Corinna. ‘Happy day, i'n't it? I love children, me.' She flashed an almost subliminal look at Ted. ‘I'd like to have some of me own one day.' She moved off. An awkward silence followed, proving that, although she had found no takers for tea, Sandra's mission had not been in vain.

‘So, how's Chez Edouard coming on?' asked Rodney eventually.

‘Very well indeed.' Ted's face lit up. ‘We chose the shade of dralon only yesterday. And what about you? What are you calling your great vegetarian emporium?'

‘It's difficult,' said the former big wheel behind Cock-A-Doodle Chickens. ‘We thought of amusing names like “Absolutely Nuts” and “Bags of Beans”.'

‘“Loadsalentils”,' chortled Betty. ‘“Finger on the Pulses”.'

Rodney and Betty chuckled.

Ted and Corinna didn't.

‘Abandoning humour, we tried plain factual ones,' said Rodney. ‘“The Arbitration Road Natural Food Centre” etcetera. In the end we settled on just plain “Sillitoe's”.'

‘We think it has a ring to it,' said Betty.

‘Arbitration Road?' said Ted. ‘You're in Arbitration Road? What number?'

‘182 to 184, if it's of any significance,' said Rodney.

‘It is of some significance,' said Ted. ‘Chez Edouard is at 186. We're going to be neighbours.'

‘Well …' It was unusual to find Betty lost for words.

‘Sell up now,' said Ted.

‘You what?' said Rodney.

‘Next door to Chez Edouard. Wholefood vegetarian. In Yorkshire? You stand no chance. Do they, my petal?'

‘No chance.' Corinna smiled lovingly at her fiancé. He basked in her agreement.

‘Good luck, anyway,' said Ted.

As they walked away, Ted raised his eyebrows to Corinna. ‘Poor deluded fools, I really am extremely sorry for them,' said Ted's thick, unkempt eyebrows.

‘He called her “my petal”,' said Betty.

‘I'm going to have to lie down,' said Rodney, as if Ted's calling Corinna ‘my petal' had been the final straw.

But before Rodney could lie down, he would have to stand up, and before he could stand up, the dapper, ageless Eric Siddall arrived.

‘Sir, madam, your juices,' he announced.

‘Thank you, Eric.' Betty Sillitoe, over-solicitous as usual, smiled warmly at Eric, for fear that he could see that his arrival was unwelcome to Rodney.

‘You're surprised to see me here and not in my usual haunt,' began Eric, taking Betty's smile as an invitation to open his heart. ‘I had … problems.'

Betty looked at Rodney, wondering whether to cut Eric short. But Rodney's curiosity overcame his discomfort.

‘Problems?' he said.

‘My … er …' Eric lowered his voice. ‘My proclivities … such as they are these days, but we won't go into … are not towards people of the opposite sex. Do you catch my drift?'

‘We catch your drift,' said Betty.

‘No one could ever say I've not been discreet. I've never advertised my … proclivities. But … well, let's say they were …known. A bookmaker who'd known me from my sea-going
days passed a rather unfortunate remark after a mixed foursome. Mr Wintergreen made it clear that my continued presence, after years of good service, was no longer welcome. “Take any golfer you like,” he said. “Nick Faldo, Bernhardt Langer, Jose-Maria Olafabal. Not a poofter among the whole caboosh.” That's what he said. “Poofter”. No thought for my feelings. “Go somewhere more suitable,” he said. “A theatre bar. The Conservative Club. Start afresh, with a clean sheet. As it were.” Well! I thought of going for unfair dismissal, but … my name in the papers, that just isn't me, I'm afraid, and with the climate we're moving back into … so, well, anyway, the manager here snapped me up. I think I know why, and I dread the day when … I'm sorry. I didn't mean to burden you with my …'

‘Not at all,' said Betty. ‘It was riveting. Well, not riveting exactly. More … sad.'