Fair Do's (31 page)

Betty stared at her glass as if amazed to find that there was still wine in it. She said nothing.

‘Don't you believe me?' said Rodney. ‘Hell's bells, Betty.
She's trying to make Neville jealous and she makes you jealous.'

‘Let's hope she's equally successful with Neville,' said Betty.

Liz had also taken her time before rejoining Neville, not in the hope that he would have forgotten her meeting with Rodney, but in the belief that he might become more suspicious if she appeared to be trying to hide its significance from him.

‘There you are,' he said, when she finally returned.

‘Yes. Here I am. Have you missed me?'

‘Well you haven't exactly been crossing the Sahara. I assumed you'd come back when you'd finished your little chat with Rodney.'

‘Ah. You saw.'

‘Well, yes. You were looking at the graphs and things. You seemed … rather intense. As if … which rather surprised me, frankly, because …'

‘As if what, which rather surprised you frankly, because …?'

‘As if you found them interesting, which rather surprised me, frankly, because I don't.'

‘We weren't talking about the graphs and things.' Liz tried to invest her words with a significance beyond their meaning. ‘We were talking about life and things.'

‘Ah.'

‘Rodney's a very interesting man. I like him.'

Liz gave a little private smile at the memory of her conversation with Rodney. It was intended to infuriate Neville without making him suspect that it had been intended to infuriate him. It was a subtle smile, exquisitely judged. It was a total failure.

‘Well, so do I,' said Neville.

‘Oh Neville!'

The senior partner in Badger, Badger, Fox and Badger was puzzled.

‘What did I say?' he said to Liz's departing back. ‘I didn't say anything!'

The light was fading again as Elvis hurried back to Jenny. His interview with Councillor Wendy Bullock had been disappointing. Common sense didn't make for controversy.

‘Sorry about that,' he said. ‘Have you missed me?'

‘I wonder what sort of person he's sharing a cell with,' said Jenny.

‘Jenny!'

‘Well, I can't believe he's got one to himself. Not with all the overcrowding there is. Probably there's three of them.'

‘Jenny!'

‘Three might be better than two, in case the other one was a real psychopathic brute. Unless they were both psychopathic brutes. I mean, I'm not one of those people who think all prisoners are psychopathic brutes, heavens no! Lots of them are just mixed up and misunderstood victims of a cruel society. But I'm not naïve. Some
are
psychopathic brutes. And with Paul's luck …'

‘You seem to be thinking of him almost all the time,' said Elvis.

‘I suppose I am rather, tonight.'

‘I didn't realise you loved me that much!'

‘But I do!'

Jenny kissed him warmly.

The first either of them knew of the approach of Simon and Lucinda was when they heard Simon say, ‘How distasteful!' They sprang apart with a haste that they regretted instantly.

‘What?' said Jenny.

‘Kissing,' said Simon.'

‘Oh yes,' said Elvis. ‘Filthy habit. Glad to hear Simon doesn't do filthy things like that to you, Lucinda.' He wrinkled his face into a parody of puritan disgust. ‘Kiss kiss. Ugh! Horrid! Wet! Messy!'

‘Elvis? Do me a favour. Shut up,' said Lucinda.

‘Well said, darling,' said her fiancé admiringly.

‘Yes. Immensely witty,' said Elvis.

‘Simon didn't mean kissing is distasteful,' explained Lucinda unnecessarily. ‘He meant you two kissing today is distasteful.'

‘Your husband's in prison, Jenny, or had you forgotten?' said Simon with the scorn of an elder brother whose sister expects a relationship based on equality and not on protectiveness.

‘No, she hasn't quite forgotten,' said Elvis.

‘Don't start giving me moral lectures, Simon,' said the ungrateful younger sister, ‘or I'll start to resent you. Are you and Lucinda so morally pure yourselves?'

‘Yes,' said Lucinda.

‘Simon!' said Elvis.

‘Apart from Simon's isolated lapse, which he's told me all about and I've forgiven,' said Lucinda smugly.

‘No lapses at all in your past, Lucinda?' said Jenny.

‘Unfashionably for this day and age, no. In fifty-seven days Simon will become the first person in the world to know my body.'

‘We were planning to invite you both,' said Simon hastily.

‘I'll watch with interest,' said Elvis. ‘I may even be able to give you a tip or two.'

A person who has suddenly seen the light needs disciples. A person who has made a painful climb towards maturity and fulfilment hunts, more modestly, for a protégé. Councillor Rita Simcock, former housewife and grey smudge, hadn't realised that she had been hunting for a protégé and hadn't realised that she had found one. She began to realise it now in the surge of warm affection which she felt as she approached Carol Fordingbridge, former beauty queen.

‘Enjoying the exhibition?' Rita asked.

‘Well … roads. They aren't really me. But thank you for inviting me on your great … on what would have been your great …'

‘Well, I –'

Rita broke off as she saw Liz making a rather strange exit on the far side of the room. Liz gave Rodney a meaningful look. Rodney pretended to ignore it. Betty didn't. Neville, watching, frowned. Rita, watching Neville watching and frowning, frowned.

‘Good Lord!' she said. ‘What's …?' She stopped.

‘Liz up to?' said Carol.

‘No. Well, none of my … How
are
you, Carol?' It was a meaningful question. The unspoken sub-text was, ‘After your typically disgusting treatment at the hands of a man, my son.' Carol understood the sub-text and said, ‘I'm fine, Mrs Simcock. Honestly.'

Mrs Simcock! Didn't Carol realise that she was Rita's protégé? ‘Mrs Simcock!' reproved Rita. ‘I'm not your boy-friend's mother any more. Call me Rita.'

‘Are you so much more friendly to me now because I'm not your son's fiancée?' asked Carol.

‘I suppose I became sympathetic to you because of how he treated you. And then I realised how much I … how much I …'

Rita broke off again as she saw Rodney attempt to make an unobtrusively obtrusive exit. He made his way to the door with painfully studied nonchalance, walking with slow soft steps, as if hoping to sound as if he was hoping not to be heard, and with hunched shoulders, as if hoping to look as if he was hoping not to be seen. Neville, watching, frowned again. Rita caught Betty's eye and didn't know how to respond. She turned back to Carol.

‘Sorry,' she said. ‘Where was I?'

‘I'm not quite sure. You said you realised how much you … and then you went into a kind of trance.'

‘Sorry. I just wondered what …'

‘Rodney's up to.'

‘No. Well, none of my … No, I realised how much more there is to you than my wretched boy realised. Look, I'd love to have a chat with you about life and things. Why don't you come to supper one night?'

Elvis, scurrying past them in the hope of beating Jane Turnbull to his next interviewee, said, ‘What are you two plotting?'

‘My exciting future without you,' said Carol.

‘Oh God!' said Elvis, hurtling onwards to nab his man.

‘I will,' Carol told Rita. ‘He's talked me into it.'

‘Sandra!' said Ted. ‘Can I have a word? Please.'

‘I can't just drop everything,' said Sandra, who was carrying a plate of water biscuits spread with cream cheese.'

‘Why not? You usually do.' Ted winced. ‘Sorry. Tasteless joke, bitterly regretted. No, I … er … what are you doing here, anyroad?'

‘Unlike some people, your ex-wife is loyal to her friends.'

Ted winced again.

‘She asked me if I'd be free if she recommended me, and I said, “Yes, I can always change with Antonio. He's terrific about things like that. Well, having no ties over here it doesn't make much difference to him.”'

Ted found himself having unpleasant thoughts about other things about which Antonio with no ties might be terrific.

‘Please, Sandra,' he said. ‘I must talk to you.'

‘Can't live without me?'

‘Something of the sort.'

‘We
had
better talk then.'

‘We don't want tongues wagging,' said Ted. ‘I'll go first. You follow. Meet you in the store cupboard opposite the top of the stairs.'

Ted hurried off before Sandra could ask him how he knew about the store cupboard. He didn't want to admit that not an hour earlier he had steeled himself to face a crowded room of local bigwigs, and found himself smiling at rows of cheap, folding chairs.

‘Would you like to come to my yoga class some time?' said Carol eagerly.

‘Sorry. I missed that,' admitted Rita. ‘I was just wondering what …' She stopped.

‘Ted was doing.'

‘No. Well, it's none of my …'

It was Sandra's turn to attempt an unobtrusive exit.

‘Now we know,' said Carol.

‘You don't miss much, do you?' said Rita.

‘Not a lot. Nor do you.'

‘I miss nothing. It's awful.'

In the store cupboard, which was lit by one bare bulb, there were rows of folding chairs, two tea urns that had known better days, a selection of environmentally unsound cleaning fluids, banished now that the council had gone green, a bronze griffin presented by the City of Namur at a twinning ceremony, and a series of cruel framed cartoons lampooning councillors long forgotten and, to judge from the lampoons, deservedly so.

In this unlikely setting, Ted Simcock faced the unemployed bakery assistant he had met at the DHSS, and with whom he had fallen so rapidly in and out of love. He looked embarrassed. The cake-loving Sandra Pickersgill looked almost serene as she waited, plate of water biscuits in hand, for Ted to speak.

‘Sandra?' he began without confidence. ‘I just wanted to say …'

‘There's no point,' said Sandra firmly.

‘All right. All right. But I want to say it anyway. All right?'

‘Yeah, but make it quick.'

‘Right. I'll make it quick.' He searched for the words. ‘Oh heck.'

‘Was that it – “Oh heck”?'

‘You know it wasn't. Would I get you in here just to say “Oh heck”. I mean … would I?'

‘Well hurry up. I've work to do.'

‘Right. Right.' Ted tried to smile. Sandra waited impatiently. ‘Sandra?' Words failed him again. ‘Oh heck.' Sandra looked at her watch. ‘Sandra? I …' Ted couldn't meet her eye. He looked away, met the griffin's eye, and looked back hurriedly. ‘I treated you very badly over … that woman, and everything, because … I had false values. I worshipped false shibboleths. I abased myself before empty icons.'

‘You what?'

‘I craved for success, money, respect among my peers, fame.'

‘Fame?' Sandra sounded incredulous.

‘In my small pond. I wanted to be a big fish. I was seduced by glamour, charm, elegance, sophistication.'

‘All the things I haven't got.'

‘Yes. No! Yes. All the things you don't need, because … you're Sandra. You're yourself. You're honest … you're fun … you're beautiful. Yes, Sandra. Beautiful.'

‘I didn't argue.'

‘No. Why should you? Because you are. No, I mean it.' Ted gulped. He was absurdly aware of the griffin. ‘I love you. I did before, and I didn't realise it, and I've treated you right badly, and it'll serve me right if you ignore me, but I don't care about any of those things any more – fame and image and credit rating and the latest car registration and all that cobblers. If you have me back, which I won't blame you if you won't, but if you will, I'll love you for the rest of your life … my life.'

Ted's words echoed into silence. Sandra stood as still as the folding chairs, as unyielding as the tea urns, as fierce as the griffin.

‘Thanks,' she said. ‘Can I go now?'

‘What?' said Ted. ‘Oh. Yes. Yes. There's no … no pressure. No, go. Go. Right.'

Sandra went.

‘Oh heck,' said Ted.

More than half an hour had passed since Rodney's unobtrusively obtrusive exit. The sky had no colour left in it. Sandra had returned, followed by Ted. The deputy housing officer had choked on a water biscuit. Rodney made an unobtrusively obtrusive entrance, dripping with innocence.