Going Loco (9 page)

Viv watched sympathetically as he retrieved the books and showed them to her, one by one. He was almost in tears. ‘Look at this. “Winner of the Easy-peasy Book Prize”,’ he pretended to read from the cover of one. ‘“Best popular science book of 1995, a million copies sold to babes in arms”,’ he snarled. ‘Pah! Look. “I couldn’t put it down – Sooty”.’

Viv wondered whether he was going to confide his theory about Stefan, but it looked as if he wasn’t. Since she could hardly explain how she happened to know already, she would just have to wait until he told her, and then act surprised.

‘Why don’t you phone Stefan if you want to know about genetics?’ she said, therefore. ‘He knows all about it.’

‘Oh yeah, very funny,’ snapped Jago.

‘Why?’

Caught out, Jago bit his lip and thought fast. ‘Someone from the letters desk said Richard Branson is the Antichrist today. Can you believe that? The things people will say.’

‘Mm,’ said Viv. As they made their way to the kitchen, she hoped she was better at lying than her husband was. Jago was not only sweaty and jumpy but an obituary of Stefan was sticking out of his pocket, and he’d brought home a copy of a sensational American weekly paper, opened at the page ‘Ten Ways to Tell if Your Grandparent is a Clone’.

‘I think Linda’s defected,’ said Viv.

‘Shame,’ said Jago, who didn’t care. He had poured himself a drink. ‘Listen to this,’ he said. ‘“Ten ways to tell if your
grandparent is a clone. One. Sleeps fewer hours than you do. Two. Sometimes gets confused about things that happened relatively recently, yet claims to have personal memories of the Second World War. Three—” Do you think this is on the level?’

‘I was talking about Linda,’ insisted Viv. ‘She said she’d still come on Thursday, but I feel she’s gone. So you need to know the consequences.’

Jago nodded. He wasn’t listening.

‘Ten ways to tell that your wife is inconsolably upset,’ Viv persisted. ‘One. She doesn’t speak to her oldest friend Belinda ever again. Two. She resigns her job at the hospital.’

‘Three?’ he said automatically, then looked up. ‘What?’ he said. ‘You resigned your job?’

‘I rang them today. I’ve resigned. I’m not going back.’

‘Don’t you think that’s a little extreme? We could replace Linda, for heaven’s sake.’

Viv laughed. ‘I doubt it.’

Jago put down his weekly paper and coughed. ‘Viv, I’ve got something to tell you,’ he said. ‘I came home one day when Linda was supposed to be here, and I saw you putting the washing out when you should have been at work.’

‘So?’

‘So, I never thought Linda really did much, and I’m glad she’s gone. I think she had some kind of a hold over you.’

Viv was stricken. It was true. Life had been much simpler before Linda came along and streamlined it. But she felt no duty to tell Jago the full story, because Jago had cheerfully never absorbed a full story in his life. Even at undergraduate level, he was only really interested in headlines. ‘Blind Puritan Pens Mega Poem’ was his level, mostly. ‘Queen Is Faerie Shock.’ When she’d first needed to tell him she was pregnant, she’d left him a note with ‘Wife Up Duff Blunder’ on it. And when Stefan announced his engagement to Belinda, she’d wrestled
for hours with variants of ‘Norwegian Wooed’ before admitting to herself it would never quite come right.

‘“Char In Mystery Job Whammy”,’ she said, for his benefit, now. ‘“‘I Never Knew,’ Says Husband.”’

At ten thirty, as Belinda and Stefan snuggled on the sofa, the phone rang. It was Virginia. Stefan answered it and came back.

‘Your mother wanted to let us know she’d had a rattling good time at the opera with Linda,’ he reported, pouring his wife the last of the wine. ‘She said Linda was very appreciative and attentive and didn’t keep telling her what to think of it, like some people she could mention.’

‘Oh,’ said Belinda. ‘Well, that’s good.’

‘She also said it was nice to go out with someone who didn’t keep squirming in their seat.’

‘That’s my mother.’

Stefan looked at her. ‘You don’t mind?’

Belinda laughed. ‘Mind what?’

‘Being compared like that? Are you sure? As sure as eggs is eggs?’

‘Why would I want to spend an evening with Mother when I could be here with you? Thank you very much, Linda. That’s what I say. What a star.’

They snuggled together again.

‘Some people would be jealous, that’s all. Ingrid was a jealous person. And you are jealous of Viv sometimes, I think.’

‘I’ll tell you the only time I feel really jealous,’ said Belinda, putting her hand under Stefan’s shirt and stroking his skin. ‘It’s when I think of Ingrid. Or when you look at Maggie, or Maggie looks at you. I saw her whisper to you last night and I
got hot and raw and murderous, and I felt sick. That’s when I feel jealous.’

Like most people, Stefan was both pleased and apprehensive at the idea that his loving partner would kill to keep him true.

‘That was a dandy meal Linda made. Sea bass. It’s a crying shame you couldn’t have it. You will have to tell her you think fish is strictly for the birds.’

‘Yes. But anyone who does what she does – well, you’ve got to make a few allowances. Did you hear about next door’s cat?’

‘I did.’

‘She’s going to be amazing. She’s having lunch with Jorkin for me tomorrow.’

‘You know about that?’

‘I overheard.’

‘You don’t mind about that either?’

‘Oh, Stefan, why should I mind? I loathe Jorkin, he never has any decent ideas, and the extra time not having lunch with him means I can get on with the masterwork. I think it’s marvellous.’

‘I would lay down the law, if it were me. And stop the rot.’

‘Mm.’ Belinda shrugged.

‘I mean, who is this Linda? Was she born under a gooseberry bush? You entrust her to run our lives, and bake my dressing-gown in the airing cupboard, and question me about my moose-hat, and make sea bass without asking – and all I know is that she tell me she’s like Nature, she abhors a vacuum.’

‘Is that what she said?’ said Belinda, evidently pleased by the idea. ‘Honestly, Stefan, don’t take it so seriously. It’s all in a good cause. The way I see it, if she really does abhor a vacuum, that’s marvellous news.’

‘And she can always use a dustpan and brush,’ said Stefan,
solemnly, before breaking into a proud grin. ‘Which is a good yoke, I think.’

Belinda kissed him. ‘What is it you used to call me?’ she asked, teasingly.

‘I used to call you, um, “Come to bed, Miss Patch”.’

‘I can’t believe I let you get away with that.’

‘No. Sometimes neither can I.’

Life without Neville turned out to be exhilarating for Belinda. For yes, as she soon recognized with a pang, the rats had taken one look at Linda, packed their trapeze equipment and gone. Only a whiff of sawdust remained, and the echo of a drum-rolled ‘Hup!’ Belinda wondered whether she should break the good news to Stefan; but since he’d never subscribed to the Flying Vermin Brothers in the first place, decided to let this important Linda achievement pass unmarked.

Besides, banishing imaginary rats from her employer’s alimentary canal was only one of Linda’s more rudimentary accomplishments. For, returning next day from lunch with Jorkin, she bit her lip for a minute and then admitted that she’d sacked him.

‘I’m so sorry, but the thing is, he had no ideas and no belief,’ she told an astonished Belinda, as she tied an apron over a rather smart, pale pink skirt she’d worn for the meeting. She climbed a little set of steps and started methodically sorting a kitchen cupboard and, without the least fuss or bother, slipping most of its appalling contents into an open bin-liner.

‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she asked, disposing of an ancient lolly-making set. ‘Sacking your agent?’

‘Not at all,’ said Belinda, almost choking with bewildered
excitement. Linda had worked here for less than twenty-four hours and had already jettisoned Jorkin!

‘I just felt that the book should come first. I mean, that’s right, isn’t it? So all I said to him was that we needed an income from the Patsy Sullivan stories that wasn’t dependent on so many new titles. In other words, a push on merchandising, serialization and foreign sales. I thought that’s what you’d have said if you’d been there. I mean, it’s obvious to anybody.’

Belinda, who had never had such a smart idea in her life, agreed readily. ‘Merchandising. Obvious. Anybody.’

‘Well, that’s what I thought you’d think.’ Linda tossed a bag of old paper napkins, a cracked wooden tray and some baby-blue birthday candles into the sack. A lot of this stuff had come with the house, and Belinda had never even looked at it.

‘So you don’t mind?’

‘Far from it. I just—’

‘He didn’t see it at all. He was very obstructive. But it seems obvious to me. Verity dolls, Verity bedspreads, tiny mucking-out sets, little bales of straw at ten pounds each, curry-combs the size of your fingernail. I read a couple of the Verity books last night, just to get the feel of them, and I have to say, I think they’re very good.’

‘Do you?’ Belinda, who loved praise, wanted to ask which ones her new friend had read, but stopped herself. Despite her high-flown literary pretensions, she was exceptionally proud of the second book,
A Big Day for Verity.

‘It just makes me mad that your agent can’t see we’re sitting on a gold mine.’

‘He’s quite literary,’ Belinda apologized. ‘More of a Faber poets kind of chap. There’s not much call for Christopher Isherwood mucking-out sets. I don’t suppose Jorkin has ever met anyone like you before. Who did you tell him you were, by the way?’

‘Oh, well, I hope you don’t mind,’ Linda said, ‘I sort of implied I was you.’

The shock made Belinda blink and swallow for a couple of seconds, but she managed to keep smiling. A silver cake-stand she’d received as a wedding present was tipped into the bag.

‘Didn’t Jorkin remember what I looked like?’ she ventured, at last.

‘I suppose he can’t have done.’ Linda was now mopping and dusting in the empty cupboard, turning her back. ‘Although he did say he was expecting someone in blue stockings, and was pleasantly surprised. You don’t wear blue stockings, surely, Mrs Johansson?’

‘I expect he was being unpleasantly metaphorical.’

‘Oh, I see. Anyway, what do you think?’

Belinda looked up to see the effect of Linda’s work. She felt gooey with admiration.

‘Actually, there’s something else,’ Linda continued. ‘On the subject of real stockings, he tried to put his hand on my knee, so I’m afraid to say I struck him.’

Belinda yelped. ‘You struck him?’

‘Just on the head. Only enough to knock him down. He was able to get up again and finish his spotted dick.’

‘Where were you?’

‘The club he belongs to. Begins with a G.’

‘The Garrick?’

‘That’s it.’

‘Jesus,’ said Belinda, with feeling. ‘Any people around?’

‘Yes. The place was quite full.’

‘And you said you were me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh my God.’

Neatly, Linda stepped off her little ladder, which Belinda now realized she’d never seen before. More of a surprise,
however, was that the cleaning lady appeared to have tears in her eyes. What was happening?

‘I only did what I thought you’d do, Mrs Johansson,’ she protested. ‘It was all for you. But if I was wrong—’ She dabbed her eyes with a tissue, and gave Belinda a soulful look reminiscent of a chastened puppy on a biscuit-tin lid. She slumped as if her backbone had been removed.

Belinda felt stricken. Had she really sounded so disapproving? She’d only said, ‘Oh my God,’ and suddenly Linda had turned from a white tornado into a tepid drizzle.

‘You’ve already been so nice to me,’ Linda faltered. ‘So have your husband and your mother. If you want me to leave—’

As Linda sank to a chair, Belinda suddenly remembered in a wave of panic what Viv had told her: that Linda needed reassurance. Was this what she meant?

‘Don’t upset yourself, please,’ interrupted Belinda. ‘I think you’re wonderful. I’ve been thinking about how to put this without sounding drippy, but I can’t. Basically, if you were a girl at school and I were a girl at school, I’d worship you.’

‘You’re not just saying that?’ Linda’s eyes, sparkling with tears, were of the purest indigo.

‘No. Absolutely not. The fact is, I wish more than anything that I’d struck Jorkin in the Garrick. Absolutely the next best thing is you doing it for me without asking.’

‘I know I get carried away a bit,’ Linda sniffed. ‘But what sometimes people don’t realize is that I’m—’ She struggled now against her feelings, fielding the tears that suddenly rolled down her cheeks. ‘I’m completely on their side.’ She wiped her eyes and adjusted her apron. ‘So you will tell me if I do anything you’re not happy about, won’t you? Because I’ll just go. I won’t make a fuss.’

Belinda smiled reassuringly and patted Linda’s hand. She wanted to mention the expensive cake-stand; she wanted to mention that she really, really didn’t like fish. But now she
knew how feeble Linda’s confidence was, now she knew how easy it was to hurt her feelings, she simply couldn’t bear to do it.

Over the next few days Jago’s genetics research led him nowhere, especially after Laurie Spink assured him personally that despite the journalistic dash and verve of the article ‘Ten Ways to Tell if Your Grandparent is a Clone’, scientifically it was less than watertight. Thus, even if Stefan exhibited all ten of the detailed tendencies, such as incontinence, deafness and a greedy appetite for cakes and puddings, the signs could not be wholly relied on.

But if the muddied waters of clone technology might take a while to clear, Jago was sure at least that Stefan was not teaching at Imperial. That lie at least was uncovered. For, over a period of three days, Stefan was observed to board a bus each morning, cross the river in approximately the right spot, but then hide away in Habitat in the King’s Road, drinking coffee and reading English-language reference books, whose pages he would mark with sticky tabs. Sometimes he had a cookie; sometimes a Danish pastry. Then he would stroll to the college in the afternoon to do part-time work as a lab assistant. And that was it, save for the bus home, and more reading. The dossier presented after a week by young Tanner, a rather supercilious graduate trainee in Features, was depressingly slim. Double-spaced, and on one side of the paper only, it still amounted to just one page.