Fair Do's (46 page)

‘Oh, he is.' Jenny sprang to life. ‘When I visited him, the last time, before he got out, he said, “I'm missing them.” I knew, then.'

‘He must have. Their little minds, grasping new words. Their little bodies, learning new achievements. Never ever to be repeated moments. I sometimes think I'd have made a wonderful father, if I … oh well. Stick to it, Jenny. There aren't many of us left.'

Jenny gave Eric a great big kiss, because he'd talked about Paul.

Rita and Geoffrey began to prepare for the departure that Jenny craved. They advanced upon Liz.

‘We'll be off in a minute,' said Rita.

‘Ah,' said Liz neutrally.

‘One good thing about getting married in middle age,' said Rita, ‘you don't have to have a disco in the evening.'

‘No,' said Liz.

‘Liz …?' said Geoffrey.

‘If this is going to be yet another appeal for me to treat your home as my own, forget it,' said Liz. ‘Go on. Get off. I'll be all right. I'll stick my claws into some poor, unsuspecting …'

She saw Elvis and hesitated.

Elvis saw her and veered away.

‘Some poor unsuspecting …?' prompted Rita.

‘Some poor unsuspecting unmarried man.'

‘Unmarried?'

‘I broke up your marriage. I don't want a repeat of that disaster.'

‘Disaster?' said Geoffrey. ‘You put in chain a series of events which ended in Rita's marrying me.'

‘Precisely,' said his sister.

Ted and Sandra were also preparing for departure. Liz found no escape from them.

‘So this is goodbye,' she said.

‘Not goodbye,' said Sandra. ‘We'd be dead chuffed if you ever dropped in for a cuppa.'

Liz gave a thin smile. ‘Sadly, I fear you're going to have to remain dead unchuffed,' she said.

‘It'll be right hygienic,' said Sandra. ‘Not like posh restaurants where you get all the chefs spittle in the soup. Our soup'll be tinned.'

‘Sandra!' Ted tried to smile at Liz.

But Sandra wasn't to be diverted from her course that easily. ‘If you're embarrassed 'cos you once had a bit of a ding-dong with Ted, there's no need,' she told Liz.

‘Thank you, Sandra,' replied Liz. ‘You're making this a perfect farewell.'

‘You what, Liz?' said Ted.

‘Reminding one why one is so pleased that one will never again see the people one will never again see.'

Ted scurried after her.

‘But, Liz, one will see one,' he said. ‘One has forgotten, hasn't one, that one will be coming to see one's son'.

‘No, Ted.'

‘You what?'

‘You can't offer him a parent's love. It's already too late. You'll drift apart. Long, awkward silences in zoos and burger bars. You'll be an embarrassment to him.'

‘You what, Liz? Me, an embarrassment to my son?'

‘When he's at boarding school, Ted, a dead lawyer to whom I was married will be less embarrassing than the live owner of a snack bar in a lay-by with whom I once had what your wife so charmingly described as “a bit of a ding-dong”.'

‘You mean … I never see him again?'

‘I honestly do think it would be best, Ted.' The finality of it chilled him all the more because she spoke so gently, almost affectionately. He stood rooted to the spot after she'd gone. All right, he hardly deserved … he hadn't exactly … he could fight for his … but.

Sandra was at his side, squeezing his arm.

‘Tiny social point, Sandra,' he said. ‘Hardly worth mentioning … but one doesn't refer to people like Liz having “a bit of a ding-dong”.'

‘Sorry.'

‘No. It was great! Sandra, you're … no, you are. I mean it. You really are.'

Simon Rodenhurst, of Projects International plc, and Lucinda Snellmarsh, of Peacock, Tester and Devine, approached the cynical Elvis Simcock, of Radio Gadd.

‘We're leaving in a jiffy,' said Simon.

‘Good move. Sounds much more up-market than a car.'

‘We just wanted to say that we have no hard feelings,' said Lucinda, with a smile that was only fractionally patronising.

‘I have no hard feelings at all,' said Simon.

‘Several replies spring to mind,' said Elvis. ‘I'll settle for “why should you?”'

‘Precisely.' Lucinda gave a smile that was only fractionally self-satisfied. ‘It all looks like working out really well for us. If only we could get Simon's mother fixed up with some suitable man, life would be perfect.'

‘Yes, I suppose if she's lonely she might intrude rather embarrassingly on your yuppie bliss,' said Elvis.

‘You're determined to be unpleasant, aren't you?' said Simon.

‘He doesn't need determination,' said his fiancée. ‘It comes easily to him.'

‘Some suitable man?' Elvis looked as if a thought had struck him. ‘What sort of suitable man?'

‘I don't know,' said Simon. ‘Just somebody I'd be happy seeing Mother with, I suppose.'

‘It's almost worth it,' mused Elvis, ‘to see your face.'

‘You've someone in mind?' Simon was intrigued. Elvis didn't muse very often.

‘No,' said Elvis, as if he really meant “yes”. ‘No!' he added, as if he definitely meant “no”. ‘Not even … no.'

‘Come on, Simon.' Lucinda was growing impatient. There was no longer time, in her eager young life, for musing. ‘There are some people I want you to meet. They could be useful to you.'

She strode off. Simon scurried after her, then returned.

‘She's so dynamic and strong and organised,' he said. ‘It's wonderful.'

‘Hello, Mum,' said Jenny cautiously.

‘Don't say anything.'

‘What about?'

‘Anything. Today. The past. The future. Me. You. Paul. Elvis. Neville. The shanty towns of El Salvador. Anything. I couldn't stand it. Just … don't go away.'

‘Mum!'

They put their arms round each other and held each other tight. All around them, on that October afternoon, people circulated, groups formed and broke up, plans were made, jokes were told, champagne was poured, butt ends were stuck in the remains of trifle. Mother and daughter stood still and silent, as if they were the eye of a social hurricane.

Councillor Mirfield tried to look thrilled as he listened to encomia on Rita's political abilities. Councillor Morris Wigmore smiled and smiled and smiled, as if, the moment he stopped smiling, he would start to think about his son's sticky end in Brisbane. Rita's Auntie Edie from Normanton smiled fixedly at Madge Longbottom and felt pity for any girl who was so constantly praised by her mother. And Ted Simcock, in his smart grey suit and yellow buttonhole, stopped dead in his tracks. A thought had struck him.

He'd become so involved in his contrasting farewells to Rita and Liz that he had entirely forgotten that he was at Rita's reception, not his!

‘We must get back,' he told Sandra.

‘Hell's bells, yes.'

They went to say goodbye to Rita and Geoffrey.

‘We'd better be getting back to our do,' said Ted. ‘Folk'll wonder where we've got to.'

‘Oh Lord, yes. I'd forgotten,' said Rita.

‘Well … er …' said Ted, ‘if you … er … should ever find yourselves in the vicinity of the A64 … you can't miss us, you'll see the sign, “Ted's Snax”, on the beech tree or the horse chestnut, according to which …'

‘Well, yes, if we ever do,' said Geoffrey, ‘we'll stop by for a
cuppa and a slice of Sandra's homemade cake.' Sandra smiled modestly, disclaiming special merit for her baking. ‘Won't we, darling?'

‘No.'

‘Rita!' said Ted.

‘I'm not sure I could bear to.'

‘Rita!' said Geoffrey.

‘In case we found they weren't happy.'

‘Rita! We will be!' said Ted. ‘I mean … we will. Won't we love?'

‘ 'Course we will!' said Sandra, with the utter certainty that a young woman should feel at her wedding reception.

‘There!' said Ted. ‘Straight from the horse's … well, perhaps that isn't the …' He gave a slightly embarrassed little laugh. They all gave slightly embarrassed little laughs. ‘Well, Rita, this is it.'

‘Yes.'

Rita kissed Ted and Sandra. Sandra kissed Geoffrey. Ted and Geoffrey shook hands. Rodney and Betty lurched towards the platform.

‘It has to be said, Rodney,' said Betty, as she clambered breathlessly onto the platform.

‘Oh, I quite agree,' said Rodney. ‘I quite agree.'

The joint big wheels behind Sillitoe's turned to face the gathering.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,' shouted Rodney. People began to turn towards him. ‘Ladies and gentlemen!' he shouted.

‘Oh Lord,' said Rita.

‘We have an announcement to announce,' announced Betty.

‘Oh heck,' said Ted.

The Sillitoes looked down on rows of alarmed, yet slightly excited faces.

‘Don't look so alarmed,' slurred Rodney. ‘All right, in the past we've let the cat out of the bag, and the cat's killed a few pigeons coming home to roost, when we've had a many too few. No, that's wrong. A few too many.'

‘That's wrong too,' said Betty. ‘A many too many.' She laughed strangely.

‘Oh Lord,' said the dapper, ageless Eric Siddall. ‘Just when for once everything seemed … how can I put it …?'

‘Tickety-boo,' said Rita.

‘Yes. Incredible. You're both psychic!'

‘Have you two finished?' said Rodney. Eric nodded frantically, anxious not to inflame. ‘Good. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a message for you all!'

Tension held everybody. A few people shut their eyes, like fans unable to watch their team taking a penalty.

The Sillitoes spoke slowly, carefully, in perfect unison.

‘We hope. you'll all live happily ever after.'

There was a hiss of escaping tension. Applause broke out throughout the room. Rodney and Betty swayed and smiled.

‘Aaaah!' said Ted and Sandra, and they kissed each other.

‘Aaaah!' said Rita and Geoffrey, and they kissed each other.

As the applause died down, Betty leant towards Rodney and hissed loudly into his right ear, ‘But we're not taking bets on it.'

‘Betty!' said Rodney.

A scruffy racing pigeon, a hopeless straggler in a race from Gateshead to Leek, shuffled across the streaked mauve and orange of a late autumn evening, looked down on a huddled jumble of roofs and yards and unkempt gardens, and saw two vehicles depart from the front of what it did not recognise as a hotel. One of the vehicles was a hired Rolls-Royce. It slid smoothly towards the West. The other vehicle was a mobile caravanette. It chugged noisily towards the East.