Fair Do's (45 page)

‘They admire his go-ahead qualities,' said Lucinda.

‘You mean his dishonesty,' said Elvis.

‘They call it my initiative,' said Simon.

‘They would,' said Elvis. ‘Who are this firm?'

‘I'm not at liberty to say yet.'

‘Well what sort of firm are they?' asked Liz. ‘What do they make?' She sounded as if she feared that it was something she wouldn't be able to reveal to her friends, like refuse sacks or toilet rolls or condoms.

‘They don't make anything,' said Lucinda. ‘They own things.'

‘That figures,' said Elvis, with the savagery of a young man whose cynicism has lain fallow too long.

‘So, Elvis,' said Simon, who seemed to have become a born-again capitalist, unrecognisable as the almost likeable depressive that he had been half an hour ago, ‘thank you for making my career, not breaking it.'

‘Yes, thank you, Elvis,' said Lucinda. She kissed him softly, demurely, on the cheek, and then peered at him through her thick but not unstylish glasses. ‘I've never really seen you properly before. You aren't irredeemably horrendous, are you?' She turned towards her future mother-in-law. ‘Isn't it amazing? Simon thought I'd ditched him. And there I was, digging up
a new career for him, supporting him morally and practically so that he'll be able to support me in the manner to which I could rapidly become accustomed. Oh ye of little faith.'

Lucinda strode off. Simon hurried after her, then returned.

‘I'm only just beginning to realise what a strong personality Lucinda is,' he said. ‘Isn't it terrific?'

He beamed.

‘Terrific,' said Liz drily.

Alone with Liz, Elvis had no idea what to say. She did.

‘Thank you. All obstacles to a beautiful friendship are now removed.'

‘But … I didn't want to …'

‘You really don't like him, do you?'

‘No, I suppose I don't, but it isn't that. Is he the sort of person that gets on in our society?'

‘You'll have to answer that. You're the investigative journalist. Come to dinner on Saturday. I'd like to celebrate Simon's job. I'd like to thank you for making him available to take it.'

Elvis shuddered. ‘I don't think I could face them so soon.'

‘Oh Simon and Lucinda won't be there,' said Liz airily. ‘No one else'll be there.'

Elvis did an impression of a catatonic sardine.

‘We'll dine alone. We may find no spark. We may become friends, even perhaps … don't look so shocked.'

‘But you're …'

‘So much older than you.' Liz smiled sweetly. ‘Congratulations. You've inherited your father's tact. Look at the age difference between Ted and Sandra.'

‘That's different. He's a man.'

‘Oh, Elvis! How provincial you are.' Liz stood very close to him, gazing into his eyes. ‘You and I are unattached. We're nothing to anyone. We're free to … explore the possibilities at whatever pace we choose. What do you say?'

‘Oh heck.'

‘You know I was rather afraid you would.'

She kissed him on the lips. He stood rigid. His belief that it wasn't his day so far as women were concerned was reinforced when, the moment Liz had gone, Carol bore down on him.

‘I meant everything I said earlier, Elvis,' she said. ‘The answer's still no. But I also meant it when I said I want to be friends with everybody. So I feel no bitterness.' She kissed him on the cheek. ‘But there it is.'

Elvis hadn't so much as twitched an eyelid, but Carol had been so intent on what she was saying that she hadn't noticed anything unusual.

Betty noticed immediately.

‘What on earth's wrong with you?' she said.

‘What? Nothing. Just that … women keep kissing me. Lucinda. Liz. Carol. Masses of kisses, and all for the wrong reasons.'

‘Poor Elvis. You look as sad and clapped-out as an old teddy bear that doesn't squeak any more. Aaaah!'

She kissed him, and moved on.

Eric approached with champagne, and noticed Elvis's sour look.

‘Oh dear!' he said. ‘Is there anything I can do for you, sir?'

‘If
you
kiss me, I'll clock you one,' said Elvis.

‘Well!' said Eric Siddall, barman supreme. ‘Young people today! I don't know!'

The Sir Leonard Hutton Room was filling up steadily, as people returned after drinking the health of Ted and Sandra. Now Ted and Sandra themselves arrived, accompanied by several of Sandra's friends and relations, including her three burly brothers and her tiny, exuberant nan.

‘Oh Lord,' said Liz, who was watching with Rita and the Sillitoes.

‘You were right,' said Rita. ‘They're not your sort of people. They're friendly to everyone. You're only friendly to “your sort of people”.' She hurried over to them. ‘Hello!' she said. ‘Welcome! It's really good of you to come.'

‘Exaggeratedly effusive to show me up and make me angry,' said Liz. ‘Well, I won't rise to it.'

‘Very wise,' said Betty. ‘Never give people the satisfaction of knowing they've succeeded in annoying you, that's what I always say.'

‘Do you really?' said Liz. ‘How very boring of you.'

Liz slipped off to a far corner of the room, well out of range
of the new arrivals. She was circulating thoroughly, but more because there were so many people to get away from than because there were so many to meet.

‘I'd like to hit that woman,' said Betty.

‘Don't give her the satisfaction of knowing that she's succeeded in annoying you,' said Rodney, slurring his words somewhat.

‘Are you drunk?' said Betty.

‘Oh yes.'

‘Oh Rodney! But you don't need to get drunk any more because you used to get drunk because you had a guilty conscience about your chickens and you don't have a guilty conscience any more because you don't have any chickens any more.'

‘Yes, I do. A guilty conscience, I mean, not chickens. I don't have any chickens. I do have a guilty conscience. But I told you … at that thing with those roads. I'm a sham.'

‘Your love for me isn't a sham.'

‘Oh no, no. That isn't. But how do we know spinach doesn't suffer?'

‘You what? Of course it doesn't. It has no nervous central system.'

‘Nervous spinach. Neurotic leeks. Paranoid parsnips. Because, if they do, why bother not eating meat?'

‘Oh Rodney?'

Betty swayed slightly and clutched him for support.

‘Are
you
drunk?' he asked.

‘As a rat. But that's all right because I get drunk because I'm happy because of my larger than love of life and today I have been to …' she counted carefully, ‘… four wedding receptions, but you get drunk because you're sad and that makes me sad because I love you and because I love you I don't want you to be sad …' Betty was getting extremely sad, ‘… because when you're sad you get all miserable, and that makes me miserable, and being miserable makes me sad.' By this time, she was crying, and her voice was little more than a whisper.

‘Oh Betty!' said Rodney.

They embraced, and shook together with gentle sobs.

‘Well, it's goodbye, Rita.'

Rita, who was resting her feet beneath a photograph of Sir Leonard Hutton being bowled by Graeme Hole for 79 at Melbourne in 1951, said, ‘Yes,' smiled, and indicated that he sit in the empty chair beside her.

He needed no second bidding. ‘Rita?' he said. ‘I … I wish I … oh heck … I failed you. All those years. Wasted years. Well, not entirely wasted. You gave me two sons. But … I let you down.'

‘Well …' After saying it for years, Rita found herself wanting to deny it, when Ted admitted it.

‘But we had some good times, didn't we?'

‘Oh yes, I remember a Thursday.'

‘What?' Ted saw that Rita was joking, and relaxed. ‘No. We did. Didn't we? We did. Happy memories. Some good laughs.'

‘Yes, I suppose we did.'

Ted reflected, and chuckled reflectively, gently, affectionately.

‘Remember that time you slipped on that dog shit in Barnard Castle?' he said.

‘Ted!' Rita was outraged. ‘Is that the humorous highlight of your marital memories?'

‘No. 'Course not.' He chuckled again. ‘It was funny, though.'

‘There's a vicious streak in you.' But Rita was laughing too.

Their other halves stood watching them laughing.

‘Ted and Rita are laughing a lot,' said Sandra.

‘Yes,' said Geoffrey. ‘Expiating the past, so that they can live with us without regret.' He smiled. ‘Ted Simcock, the Edith Piaf of the A64.'

Sandra looked at him blankly. ‘No, but … it's great, i'n't it?' she said.

‘Very touching.'

‘Remember that very cocky feller with the flash yacht leaning against that big bollard in San Tropez?' said Ted.

‘In those very short shorts. That very pretty girl went by. He leant nonchalantly back and missed his bollard.'

‘Went base over apex into the harbour.'

‘I was nearly ill with laughing.'

‘How we laughed!'

How they were laughing now, as they remembered how they'd laughed.

Betty and Rodney were also riveted by their laughter.

‘Oh, Rodney!' said Betty, over-specific as usual. ‘You don't think … they wouldn't, would they? They couldn't.'

‘Of course they couldn't. Not on their … could they?'

‘Well I mean I suppose they could.'

‘Well, yes, they could. Of course they could. But they wouldn't. Would they?'

‘And that canal holiday, when we took the boys for that bar snack.'

‘And that pompous couple came in behind us and she said … what did she say?'

Rita made a brave stab at the woman's cut-glass accent. ‘“Oh my God, Lionel. It's ebsolutely crawling with children.”'

‘Poor Paul. He nearly died. Are there still people like that around, do you think?'

‘Yes, I very much fear there very probably are.'

Ted also made an attempt at the cut-glass accent. ‘How ebsolutely appalling.'

‘Ebsolutely appalling.'

‘They're laughing a hell of a lot.'

‘It really is an extremely touching scene.'

‘I'd have thought that by now …'

‘They'd have expiated vast areas of the past. Yes, so should I.' Geoffrey smiled, a trifle wryly. ‘I must say I'd have expected a little farewell peck on the cheek to be coming up by now.'

‘What a life we could have led, Rita. If … I'd had more sense.'

‘Oh me too, Ted. Needing to be liked. Worrying what folk thought morning, noon and night. Me too, Ted.'

‘What a couple we'd have made, if we'd known what we know now.'

‘What a couple we'd have made.'

They gazed solemnly into each other's eyes. They began to kiss.

‘There it is.'

‘I wouldn't exactly describe it as a little peck on the cheek, though.'

‘Ruddy hell, no!'

‘Oh, I say, Rodney.'

‘Better not, Betty.'

‘Oh, I wouldn't, Betty.'

It was a long kiss. It was an affectionate kiss. At last, it was over.

‘No regrets, though,' said Rita.

‘You what?'

‘About today. We aren't going for second best.'

‘Oh no. No, no, no. Oh no, no. In no way. No. I mean … we aren't.'

‘Good luck, Ted.'

‘Good luck, Rita.'

They kissed again, a brief farewell touching of the lips.

Ted stood up, slowly. The watchers weren't sure whether the slowness was due to reluctance or to the effects of his recent injury.

On his way towards Sandra, Ted passed Geoffrey, who was trying to look cool as he approached Rita. The two men's eyes met. Neither was sure what the other was thinking.

‘Were you worried?' asked Ted.

‘Daft chuff!' said his bride.

‘Were you worried?' asked Rita.

‘No. No!' said her groom. ‘I said “no”, Rita.'

Jenny willed Rita and Geoffrey to leave, so that she could go back to Paul and the children without seeming rude. She could hardly bring herself to listen to Madge Longbottom, who was saying, ‘I'm amazed you've never heard of her. I mean, you're obviously into ethnic, and Emmylou is very ethnic indeed.' She
found it difficult to make the right noises as Eric told her why he'd left the Clissold Lodge. ‘He said to me, “Why not? I know you're … ” I had to be frank. I said, “Just because I'm … and so are you … doesn't mean I have to find you attractive.” Well, rub the manager up the wrong way … as it were … life isn't worth living. The manager here's married. But enough of my … how about Paul? He must be thrilled to be with the children again.'