Fair Do's (32 page)

‘Nice time?' enquired Betty sharply.

‘No. Let's just hope it works.'

‘Oh yes.
Awful
if you had to do it again.'

‘Yes. Yes! It would be, Betty. Betty!'

‘Sorry. I trust you.' She tried to smile. ‘I don't trust her. And I don't quite trust you … not to be defeated by her.'

‘I think I'd better go and have a word with Neville,' said Rodney. ‘I don't want this dragging on.'

He hurried over to Neville, who excused himself from a numbing conversation with the anaesthetist. Neville's face, usually so eager to please, was a state archive. ‘Hello, Rodney,' he said. ‘Been outside?'

‘Yes. I fancied a bit of …'

‘A bit of what?'

‘Air. A bit of air.'

‘Ah. Air. See anybody else out there, fancying a bit of air?'

‘Yes. Funnily enough. Liz. Funnily enough.'

‘Ah.'

‘I think I can claim a bit of insight into psychology, Neville, and it seems to me that Liz is – how can I put it? – trying to cement your marriage by having a little flirtatious chat with me, to make you fume with jealousy.'

‘Ah.'

‘To make you commit yourself. As I see it, Liz knows what Laurence would have done – ignored it. She just has to know that history isn't repeating itself. She can't let her life go down the lines it did with Laurence. She's hoping that you'll make a scene, sweep her off her feet, take her home and make mad, passionate love to her.'

‘What, tonight?'

‘Yes.'

‘What, make a scene tonight, in front of everyone here tonight, tonight?'

‘Yes.'

‘Oh Lord.'

Ted was flattered to be spoken to with such interest by the Labour leader, even though the conversation was about his ex-wife. Councillor Mirfield had the knack of seeming to be interested in you alone, so that it was only afterwards you realised that he had been using you. A self-important man, an ambitious man, but not an evil man. A man genuinely dedicated to helping the weak against the strong, but flawed by vanity and dislike of women.

‘You were married to Councillor Simcock, our rising new star, for quite a while, weren't you?' he asked.

‘Quarter of a century.'

‘Rita must have been devastated when you …' Councillor Mirfield stopped, as if sparing Ted from the need to feel guilty.

‘Well … yes. She's put a brave face on it. Got a job. Gone into politics. Got engaged.'

‘Failed to turn up at the wedding.'

‘That's right.'

‘And now she's … er … I believe.'

‘That's right. She is.

‘With Liz Badger's brother?'

‘Not running her down,' said Ted, ‘but the reason she's throwing herself on unsuitable men is to fill the chasm caused by our bust-up. It's sad. I'm very sad for her.'

‘Will there be wedding bells there, do you think?'

‘I doubt it.' Ted, so close to being a social outcast, felt a man of the world again, being asked his views on matters of such delicacy by such a worldly man. ‘I think Rita feels she can get what she wants without marriage.'

‘What does she want?'

‘You know. Companionship. Happiness. Intellectual and emotional fulfilment. Nooky.'

‘They sleep together?'

‘Conversations I've had recently with Geoffrey and Rita render
that conclusion unavoidable.' Ted was pleased with the dignified sentence. Then it struck him that he might be painting himself in rather a prying light, so he added hastily, ‘I mean, not that I care. Why should I?'

‘Quite,' said Councillor Mirfield. ‘Thank you, Ted.'

Councillor Mirfield moved on, leaving Ted rather puzzled.

‘Thank you?' he said to himself. ‘What for?'

Elvis approached, carrying a beer and a glass of white wine.

‘Dad?' he said. ‘Will you do an in-depth interview with me? The torment of the father.'

Ted was outraged. ‘You mean you intend to use your brother's misfortune to further your career?' he said. ‘You selfish unprincipled swine.'

‘I just thought, as a prominent ex-foundry owner, given a public platform – 'cos a lot of people listen – if they heard you making an impressive defence of the values you believe in, a moving analysis of the clash between your parental love and your respect for law and order … you never know … it might further
your
career.'

‘Eleven o'clock tomorrow suit you?'

‘Right.'

Elvis took Jenny her glass of wine.

‘Thanks,' she said. ‘Do you think he'll have “facilities”? It must be awful having to slop out.'

‘Stop thinking about him,' said Elvis. ‘I'm not worthy of such constant love.' Rita was approaching, smiling. ‘Please, Jenny,' he implored hurriedly. ‘If thinking about Paul could get him out of prison, I'd think about him all night.' He turned to Rita. ‘Mum! You look cheerful.'

‘Don't I?' said Rita. ‘I'm doing my best.'

‘It's a very interesting exhibition,' said Jenny. ‘And all because you got elected. This really is your great night.'

‘If one more person calls it my great night, I'll scream. My son, your children's father, is in prison. Or had you forgotten?'

Elvis hurried after his mother, leaving Jenny staring with her mouth open, like a trout that has heard bad news.

‘Mum!' Elvis's cloak of cynicism was ripped from him by the tide of events. ‘Jenny's been talking about nothing but Paul all night and I begged her to stop and that's the only reason she wasn't and you shouldn't have said that. Not today.'

‘Oh Lord.' Rita returned to Jenny, full of contrition. ‘Jenny! I'm sorry. I'm all on edge.'

‘Me too.' Jenny managed one of her watery little smiles. ‘You see, Elvis, it just isn't any use trying not to think about Paul tonight.'

‘As we are thinking about him,' said Elvis, ‘how about doing an in-depth interview with me tomorrow, Mum? The torment of the mother.'

‘Elvis!'

‘Your mother doesn't want to exploit Paul's predicament for your career, Elvis,' said Jenny.

‘Thanks, Jenny,' said Rita, with just a slight edge to her voice. She didn't quite feel that it had been necessary for Jenny to spell this out.

‘Hell's bells,' said Elvis. ‘Women!'

‘I know,' said Carol, passing by with withering timing. ‘They do get in the way of your meteoric rise to fame, don't they?'

Elvis looked at his ex-fiancée, and then at his mother, and then at his lover, and felt hard done by.

The last of those who had made unobtrusive exits made her obtrusively unobtrusive entrance. Liz Badger, a woman not known for her unobtrusiveness, approached her husband with a carefully casual air.

Neville greeted her with a carefully neutral smile.

‘You look better after your spot of air,' he said. ‘There's a touch of colour in your cheeks. Almost one could mistake it for … a flush of excitement.'

‘The wind, I expect. I walked across those little gardens that lead down to the river. Rather pleasant. Lots of salvia and roses. Everything steaming after the rain. And a gash of colour in the Western sky.'

‘Very picturesque. And the Gadd, was it romantic?'

‘It was muddy and swollen.'

‘Did you see … Rodney out there … at all?'

‘Rodney?' Liz widened her eyes in simulated amazement. ‘Why on earth should I have?'

‘Well … he popped out just after you popped out, and he popped back in just before you popped back in, and he looked as if he … had a flush of excitement.'

‘The wind, I expect,' they said in unison.

‘I did see a shadowy figure,' said Liz reflectively. ‘I heard … grunts. I thought it was either an escaped pig, or two people being passionate.'

‘Rodney and someone?'

‘It's possible, I suppose.'

‘Wouldn't they have got rather damp?'

‘They might have had a rug.'

‘They might, mightn't they?' Neville paused. He hoped it was a dramatic pause. ‘So you didn't yourself actually see Rodney yourself … at all?'

‘Neville!' Liz sounded as if the thought had just crossed her mind for the first time. What a leading lady the Gadd Players had lost, because she was too snobbish to join an amateur group. ‘You don't think Rodney and I … Neville!'

‘Liz?' said Neville decisively.

‘Yes?' Liz was excited by his decisiveness.

‘I … would you like another drink?'

Liz's head sank onto Neville's shoulder in disappointment.

Neville looked puzzled.

Ted approached Rodney diffidently, regretting the extent of his earlier rudeness. He noticed that Rodney was swaying slightly. Perhaps he'd have forgotten.

‘Hello, Rodney,' he said. ‘You seem to be chatting to Liz a lot tonight. I mean … not that I've … but you can't help …'

‘I dream about it every night.'

‘With Liz? Rodney!'

‘Meat.'

‘Meat?'

‘Pork chops. Steak. Even saveloys. Last night I dreamt it was Christmas. We didn't have paper chains. We decorated the house with chains of black puddings. We didn't have an angel on top of the tree. We had a rissole. No fairy lights. Illuminated faggots.'

‘But I thought you were totally committed to vegetarianism.'

‘Betty is. And I didn't like all that factory farming. But things that aren't factory farmed, and game, and fish, and … more fish. All my employees, and specially Rita and Jenny – and my Betty – they all think I'm a born-again vegetarian. A
fundalentilist.' Rodney paused briefly, to admire his incredible cleverness. ‘I'm not. I'm a businessman. It's profitable. I identified a gap in the market. I filled it.'

Ted hesitated. Was Rodney in the right state to be receptive? But the cue was too good to miss.

‘Is that offer of a job still open?'

Rodney was amazed, if rather slowly. ‘But you were very offensive.'

‘Only in fun,' said Ted hastily. ‘Well … I mean … I thought you were on a moral crusade. Shrewd business venture, that's more my line.'

‘You were very rude, Ted. So I suggest you stuff yourself up your own backside, boil yourself for two hours over a moderate heat, and serve yourself with noodles and a tossed salad.' He laughed, loudly, slowly, several times, with deep, rich satisfaction at his immense wit.

He moved on, still laughing, put his empty glass on Eric's table, took a full glass and lurched towards Carol.

‘Carol!' he said. ‘You look lovely.' He attempted a gracious smile. It came out as a bit of a leer.

‘Thank you,' said Carol.

‘I'm very happily sliced …' Rodney looked puzzled. ‘No, not sliced, that's meat … honey-roasted ham, juicy rare beef, glistening with blood … happily spliced. If I was younger, I'd – and unspliced – I'd … but other, younger people are, and I hope one of them will.'

‘Thank you very much,' said Carol drily.

Sandra was serving coffee, that gesture of apparent hospitality which is actually a hint that it's almost time to leave.

Councillor Mirfield sprang into action. He approached Rita with a sense of urgency.

‘High time I made a little speech, Rita,' he said. ‘Nothing formal. Er, it has been suggested that since this is, er … in a way … your …'

‘Great night?' It wasn't quite as painful saying it as listening to it.

‘Well … yes.' Councillor Mirfield was put out. He didn't like being interrupted. ‘That you should make a little speech. You don't want to make a speech, do you?'

‘Heavens, no.'

‘Good. That's settled.'

‘I will, though.'

‘You what?'

‘You wouldn't want me to disappoint my public, would you?' Rita smiled. Councillor Mirfield tried not to look too obviously sour. ‘Right, then. That's settled. I'll just have a word with Geoffrey. I'd like to give him the chance of escaping before I make my speech, in case it embarrasses him.'

‘He can't be much of a …' Councillor Mirfield realised that his annoyance with Rita was making him indiscreet.

‘Of a what?'

Councillor Mirfield found himself forced to explain, against his wishes, despite all his experience.

‘Well, whatever he is to you,' he said. ‘Lover, as I'm led to believe.”

‘I see. And who's led you to believe that?'