Pratt a Manger (27 page)

Mrs Hargreaves hurried up to him, kissed him and said, ‘Promise you won’t forget me.’

‘How could I?’ said Henry. ‘You’re my yard-stick.’

‘That doesn’t sound very elegant,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure I want to be a yard-stick. What do you mean by it, exactly?’

‘Whatever I do, I think, “Would Celia approve?” “Would Celia think I’m making a
faux pas
?” “Will Celia think I’m no longer a Northern hick?” ’

‘Oh, Henry. We adored that Northern hick.’ She grimaced and put her hand to her throat. ‘There.
I’ve
made a
faux pas
. I should have said, “Henry! You were never a Northern hick.” ’

‘I wouldn’t want you to lie.’ He touched her arm. She was of a generation that didn’t show their emotions, but he thought that he ought to help her to do so now. ‘How are you really?’

‘I’m sad, of course, and when all this is over I daresay I will miss James most dreadfully, but I’m relieved that his struggle is over. His decline has been remorseless and I’ve hated every second of it. He’s been released and I’ve tried to persuade myself that this means that I’ve been released too. I’m wearing white to remember our wedding, Henry.’

‘You look lovely.’

‘Silly boy. I hate black at funerals. They’re depressing enough without that. Look at Paul and Christobel, Henry. So conventional.’

‘Yes, but a lovely looking couple.’

‘You’re more my son to me than he is.’

He couldn’t hide his shock.

‘That’s awful.’

‘Maybe, but it’s how I feel.’

‘You can’t mean it.’

‘But I do. I love Diana dearly, in a way I have never quite managed to love Paul. I’m so delighted she’s happy with Gunter. I said to James, “I can’t believe I’m happy that she’s married a Swiss dentist, but I am.” He’s so kind, Henry, and I value kindness above all else. But Paul … he’s fine, a fine son, as they say, but … he’s like a theory.
A
theoretical son. I expect to knock on his face and hear a voice say, “Sorry. He’s out today.” ’

‘I don’t think you should be saying these things.’

‘Perhaps not. You amused James on the TV. He said, “I shouldn’t be laughing, but I am.” ’

Much as he didn’t want to discuss his career and his fame that afternoon, Henry couldn’t help feeling a little upset by James’s remark, ‘I shouldn’t be laughing.’ Why shouldn’t he? Was there something not good enough for the James Hargreaveses of this world, something not quite out of the top drawer, about the amusement he gave them?

‘I must circulate,’ said Celia. ‘Promise to come and amuse me frequently.’

‘I promise.’

He found himself talking to Paul and Christobel before he’d had time to digest Celia’s comments. Conversation was a bit of a struggle. It always was with them, nowadays.

Then Paul astounded him.

‘You will keep seeing Mother, won’t you?’ he said. ‘I feel … it’s strange, but I know that I’d get on better with her if she wasn’t my mother, and I wasn’t her son. The fact of the relationship throws us into clichéd situations and responses. She’s livelier with you. She’s always had a soft spot for you, as you for her. I realised that in Brittany.’

Oh, not that again.

Henry looked across the room and met Celia’s eyes, and he could have sworn that she knew what they’d been talking about. He began to blush.

‘He’s blushing!’ said Christobel.

‘Of course I am,’ said Henry. ‘It’s so embarrassing to be reminded.’

‘Sorry,’ said Paul complacently.

Henry went in search of more wine and found Lampo.

‘How are things, Lampo?’ he asked.

‘Fine. Really. Really fine. The system really works. I’m not sure Denzil really believes that it does, but it does.’

He was now coming up to Mrs Hargreaves again. She was talking to Hilary and he stopped for a moment.

‘I’m making Hilary promise to come and amuse me too,’ said Celia Hargreaves. ‘To marry Hilary once showed taste. To marry her twice showed taste, persistence and humility.’

Henry laughed, touched Hilary briefly on the bottom, and moved on.

As he steered his full glass back through the lovely ‘It’s the way he would have wanted it’ throng that filled the elegant, well-proportioned rooms of the Georgian town house, Henry saw Belinda Boyce-Uppingham without Robin. It was a moment to be seized, but his route took him past Denzil, and he had to stop.

‘So, Denzil, how are things?’ he asked, aware that it was becoming his stock question, but unable to think of a better one.

‘Fine, Henry. Absolutely fine. The system works perfectly. I’m not sure Lampo really believes it does, but it does.’

Belinda was still without Robin.

‘Excuse me, Denzil.’

‘Dear boy. Move on. I’m not fun any more.’

‘Denzil! It’s just that I need to speak to Belinda Boyce-Uppingham. We go back even further than I do with you.’

He approached her determinedly, avoiding all possible further delays by not looking at anybody else.

‘Henry! You look wonderful.’

‘Well, so do you, Belinda. How’s things?’

‘Fine. Tessa and Vanessa and Clarissa are married. Marina never will be. She’s plain, poor girl. Vanessa can’t have children but the others have seven between them. Vanessa’s an interior designer, the other two don’t work. Tessa’s anti-hunt which has shattered Robin. Davina’s divorced which has shattered Robin. Petunia’s gay which has shattered Robin.’

‘He seems easily shattered.’

‘He is. People think he’s so strong. Like a tree. I’m the strong one, Henry, and even I am swaying in the gale. Davina’s the arty one. God knows where she gets it from. She plays in an orchestra. Viola, would you believe? Oh, by the way, we were sorry to hear you and Di had split up.’

‘Well, it was painful, but we’ve landed on our feet. I’ve married my wonderful first wife again …’

‘Yes, but poor Di’s ended up with some Swiss dentist.’

‘He’s lovely.’

‘Possibly, but he’s a dentist.’

‘What’s wrong with that? They’re practically doctors.’

‘ “Practically”. Precisely. That speaks volumes. Would you like to marry somebody who stares into people’s mouths all day? Exactly. You wouldn’t. Besides, he’s Swiss.’

‘He’s a lovely man, Belinda. Lots of Swiss people are lovely.’

‘Ah, well. Robin feels that their farmers get unfair subsidies because the EU thinks they all live on top of an
Alp,
so probably we’re biased. So, what are you up to these days?’

‘I … I have a little café in Soho.’

‘Really?’

‘The Café Henry.’

‘Sweet.’

‘And I appear on TV.’

‘You do??’

‘On cookery programmes. You … you may have seen me.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t watch cookery programmes. I’m a very plain cook.’

Belinda said this proudly, as Englishwomen so often do.

‘So, what are the programmes?’

‘Well, there’s a quiz called
A Question of Salt
and a cookery programme called
Here’s One I Made Earlier
and now I have my own series called
Hooray, It’s Henry
.’

‘No, not heard of them. We’re probably very out of touch in our rural retreat. Well, good for you.’

She moved on, and Henry realised how vain he had been even to consider that there could be a moment when he wasn’t patronised by the Boyce-Uppinghams of this world. That had been decided when he was born, and nothing he could do in his mere life could change it.

He realised, to his horror, that despite his dislike of all the inappropriate references to his fame, he was decidedly miffed that Belinda of all people hadn’t heard of it.

The sixteen-year-old great-great-nephew of one of James’s old colleagues came up to him and asked him for his autograph.

What should he do?

It was so inappropriate.

It was in such bad taste.

It would give the lad such pleasure.

Sometimes one just has to be unselfish. He signed with pleasure, and he saw Belinda looking across the room with an astonishment that was almost comical. He wondered if, until that moment, she had believed a word he had said.

Despite all his successes, Henry still felt surprised at every new expression of interest in him. He was astounded when Ammonia Productions asked if they could film him for a new series called
A Month in Their Life
.

They didn’t propose to film every single minute. No cameras would follow him to the lavatory. No cameras would intrude into his bedroom. They would not film any particular portion of his life every day, but, over a month, they would cover a representative selection of his activities, and he would be bound by his contract to inform them of all these activities and give them access, should they desire it.

He was very doubtful about agreeing to this, flattering though it was. He said that he would have to ask his family and friends.

Greg and Michelle in the Café were all for it. It would be good publicity for the business, and for them.

Kate unashamedly suggested that if he visited the Umbrella Theatre it would help her put bums on seats.

Ben was now helping in the kitchen when he was fit enough, because he was no longer strong enough to hold down a proper job. He felt that it would give him another
great
platform on which to warn young people of the dangers of drugs.

Everyone, except Hilary, agreed that in the twenty-first century there was no such thing as bad publicity.

Nigel Clinton was very anxious for Hilary to agree. He said that the sales department might take a dim view if she turned down what might be a great opportunity to publicise her books.

In the end, Henry persuaded Ammonia to incorporate in the contract that the final cut of the programme would include scenes of him discussing Hilary’s new book with her and a scene at the Umbrella Theatre. They were reluctant, but he was adamant, and in the end they had to agree.

Most of the month went very smoothly. Greg and Michelle in particular played up to the cameras.

The very fact of the filming caused changes to their plans. Jack and Flick brought the family down so that the children could be seen on television. A weekend visit to the Old Manor House was cancelled because Henry didn’t want the viewers to be able to identify it. Hilary broke off her work to prepare snacks for Henry more frequently than normal.

But one major problem cropped up during the month. Henry received a rather shattering phone call.

‘It’s Ginny, Henry.’

For just a moment, a tiny, awful moment, she caught him on the hop.

‘Ginny Fenwick,
Thurmarsh Evening Argus
.’

‘I realise that, Ginny,’ he lied. ‘I was just taken by surprise. It’s been so long – and, yes, I know it’s partly my fault. I should have kept in touch more than I have.’

‘Why should you? You escaped. Why should you revisit the zoo?’

‘Ginny! I don’t feel like that. Surely you know I’m not like that?’

‘Henry, there’s some news. I thought you ought to know. It’s not good, I’m afraid. Helen’s dead.’

The shock pierced his heart. He gasped.

‘No! She can’t be. Not Helen.’

‘I know. I think we all feel a bit like that.’

Images of Helen Plunkett, née Cornish, whipped through Henry’s mind.

‘I didn’t even know she was ill.’

Helen at the
Thurmarsh Evening Argus
, exciting even when writing about what women wore next to their skin. Helen, playing games, pressing thighs, teasing pricks.

‘I think Ted wanted to keep her to himself towards the end. He’d found it so difficult to do so during the rest of their life.’

‘I can understand.’

Helen inviting him back home, getting him all excited, and there was Ted all the time. Games. Bitch. Dead? No!

‘When’s the funeral?’

The image that he couldn’t recall, because he had been too drunk to remember anything, but he’d heard it so often that he almost felt he did remember it. Rather like some of Ben’s ‘memories’, probably.

‘Sorry. I was just checking the time. Monday. Thurmarsh Crematorium. Eleven thirty.’

Helen, naked beneath him on the green baize. His biggest ever break, it had seemed at the time. He had told
her
that she had the most beautiful legs he had ever seen. He couldn’t remember them.

‘We’ll be there.’

Poor Ginny. She only had two ambitions.

‘How are things with Hilary?’

To find a good man and to become a war correspondent.

‘Fine. Things are great.’

She never fulfilled either of them.

‘Good. I’m glad.’

The editorial team at Ammonia Productions grew very excited when they heard about the funeral.

‘That’s great news. That’ll give the programme some real bite,’ said one.

‘A real focus,’ added another

‘Absolutely. A real focus,’ agreed a third.

‘Wait a minute,’ Henry told them. ‘There’s Helen’s family to consider. There’s her friends. There’s my friends. We’ll have to ask them.’

‘It’s in your contract. Sorry.’

‘Well, I won’t go, then. The contract says you have to be able to go where I go. It doesn’t say I have to agree to go where you want me to go.’

He rang Ginny and told her that, devastated though he was not to be able to pay his last respects to Helen, he wasn’t going. He told her why.

She rang back and told him that she had spoken to all the relevant people and they were all happy to have the cameras there.

‘They lead dull lives, Henry. It’ll be an excitement, and Helen would be thrilled. You know that.’

Reluctantly, he agreed.

It was strange to return to Thurmarsh, the town of their birth, the uncompromising, undistinguished town of their childhood, the town which formed them and which held so many memories, good and bad.

Hilary snuggled beside him as the early morning train snaked through the shires.

‘Thank you, darling, for something I’ve never mentioned,’ she said. ‘Thank you for never mentioning it.’

‘What’s that?’

But he knew. Amazingly, before she mentioned it, he knew.

‘I walked out, after you had suspected me of having an affair with Nigel.’

‘I deserved it.’

‘I’m not speaking of that, and you know it.’ She looked out of the window. They were passing a field with several horses prancing about, made frisky by the train. Behind them was a huge tyre dump. They were approaching a town. ‘I left my children.’