Sing Like You Know the Words (23 page)

Work was another comfort, as
well as an entertainment. Richard and Ralph had strong opinions
about the most surprising things and it seemed that they could not
stop themselves delivering their views to the world in general.
Most days one or other of them would find something to set him off,
though neither considered himself opinionated. On slow days,
Matthew would dedicate research to topics of conversation that he
guessed might provoke one of Richard’s terse expressions or a
tirade from Ralph’s that might stretch intermittently from one
coffee break to the next.

Ralph was unable to tolerate any
kind of journalism that allowed the personality or activities of
the writer to intrude upon the story. Any text which Matthew
submitted that offended this sensibility was ruthlessly
excised.

-Just the facts lad. No-one is
interested in how you came by them or how difficult it all was.
This is not the Washington Post. You don’t go to the circus to hear
the lion tamer lecture about the hours he spent persuading the lion
not to bite his head off, do you?

-I don’t go to circuses. I don’t
like them.

-Well then, don’t try and make a
circus of this office. If our readers wanted to be dazzled by
writers who have to explain how clever they are, they would buy one
of the nationals. Just the facts.

-I don’t see what you have
against editorial.

-Our readers aren’t eager to
look under the surface of things, or to have it suggested that
their preconceptions may be wrong. They are satisfied to have the
surface of things described to them succinctly. From this they are
able to deduce that the world is precisely as they have always
imagined it to be.

-We only offer them bland
reassurance then?

-You say that as if it was a bad
thing.

Another thing Ralph could not
stand was the media self consciously discussing itself; newspapers
and television programmes about what the other newspapers and
television programmes were reporting. There seemed to be more of it
all the time. Richard was malicious enough to set him off,
reminding Ralph of the quote about the media being the message.

-Some ignorant people may have
said that, replied Ralph, but if you analyse what they intend to
signify by their words, you will find that they are only making
noises with their mouths that are literally meaningless except to
make a pattern of sound. It is the sort of language I hear from
business manager´s, calculated to impress rather than communicate,
and I know that you, Richard, have only mentioned it to wind me
up.

Matthew thought that perhaps the
rant could be extended.

-You don’t like managers much do
you Ralph?

-I prefer to converse with those
who have some idea of what they are talking about, which a
professional manager, by definition, does not, since his supposed
skill is to manage the efforts of others. As Shaw said, those who
can, do.

-I really feel that you need to
explain this to me more fully.

-An editorial conference?

-Indeed.

Invariably the lunchtime
conferences occurred in Ralph´s favourite pub and were lubricated
by enthusiastic sampling of the local brewer´s chief product.

It was almost a happy time for
Matthew. He left Carol with the house and moved into a small flat
in the centre of town, overlooking the river. It was a new
development, put up at the time when builders were just beginning
to think about riverside apartments as an alternative to starter
homes in the suburbs. Matthew was one of the first buyers, on
David’s advice.

Financially, it turned out to be
the best thing he ever did. Prices climbed so quickly that by the
end of the first year he would not have been able to afford the
place. There were drawbacks, however. Being close to the town
centre meant that it was easy for friends to visit.

Late one night, he received an
unexpected call from Ralph. Matthew had never had a work colleague
call him before. All the journalists shared telephone numbers, but
their kind of news was not normally made outside office hours. It
was surprising to him that Ralph had been able to find his
number.

A moment listening to Ralph´s
voice made it clear that he was drunk; hopelessly and helplessly
so. The level of his voice on the line kept changing, as he
struggled to keep the phone at a steady distance from his face. His
speech was slurred. There was a lot of noise in the background,
including a bass heavy beat. Matthew closed his eyes and tried to
imagine Ralph in a music bar.

-You have to come and get me,
Ralph told him.

-Get a taxi Ralph, it’s
late.

-Not possible. You have to come.
Need some assistance.

-Are you OK? You’re not
hurt?

-Little bit drunk, I think.

-It’s one thirty in the morning.
I … oh, all right. Where are you?

-Don’t know. Come as quick as
you can.

Matthew managed to talk Ralph
through the process of discovering which bar he was patronising.
Fortunately it was a place Matthew knew. By the time he had walked
there and persuaded the doorman to let him in, the crowd inside was
thinning. Ralph was conspicuous at the bar by virtue of being
double the age of anyone else and because he was still wearing his
office suit.

-Hope I haven’t caused too much
trouble.

He could still barely speak and
there seemed to be a real danger of him falling off the stool.
Matthew helped him to stand. He started to move, but stooped
down.

-Mustn’t forget my
briefcase.

-Have you been drinking since
five thirty?

-Well, no. Left the office early
today. So, little bit longer than that. Think it’s time to go home
now though. Where’s your car?

-I didn’t bring the car. I had
some wine earlier. Let’s get you home. A walk to the taxi rank will
do you good.

Matthew had assumed that some
disaster must have happened to Ralph to put him in such a state.
Had he finally pushed Elliot too far, and been sacked? But, it
seemed that there was no reason for the self destructive urge
taking hold; none that Ralph could explain anyway.

Matthew had intended only to
make sure that Ralph reached the taxi, but as they walked together,
he began to worry that Ralph would not be capable of getting from
the car into his house, even if the driver found his place. He
could barely walk with Matthew’s support. Since Ralph lived alone,
anything might happen to him.

-Listen. We’ll stop in at mine.
It’s on the way. I’ll make you a coffee, only no throwing up,
okay.

-Don’t ever throw up sadly. Feel
better if I did. Knew I could rely on you. Told Richard. Sound
chap.

The stairs were difficult.
Eventually, Matthew got Ralph settled onto the sofa, if settled was
the right word. He was sitting bolt upright with his hands in his
lap, swaying slightly; an expression of utmost concentration on his
face. Although his motor functions seemed all but extinct, Ralph’s
speech was rational, if slurred. Matthew decided that his colleague
wasn’t in any physical danger, but he went to the kitchen to make
coffee, expecting that when he came back, Ralph would be toppled
back on the sofa with his mouth open, unconscious.

In fact, Ralph seemed to rally a
little.

-Thanks, coffee. Good idea. No
milk lots of sugar. That’s the way. Said to Richard could rely on
you, sound chap.

Matthew sat opposite. He saw
that there was an ugly bruise beginning to develop on Ralph’s jaw,
which he had not noticed before.

-Did you have a fall?

-No, of course not. Don’t fall
over. What do you take me for? Oh, you mean this. No this was
something different.

-What happened?

-Nothing important. Was in the
bar, minding my own business, a bit unsteady. Place was crowded,
you had to stand. Some young chap, never seen him before. Little
fellow, came running at me from nowhere. Launched himself at me.
Gave me this and ran off. Didn’t see where he went. Was on the
floor I’m afraid. Not so bad if you’re making a nuisance of
yourself. I’ve had worse when I deserved it. But a bit thick when
you’re behaving.

-Did you complain?

-Don’t be silly.

-You must have done something to
annoy him.

-I suppose I didn’t fit. The
suit you know; and I don’t look so young as I used to. Sometimes
it’s enough if you seem just a bit different.

Matthew had a closer look, but
there did not seem to be any serious injury.

-What’s in the bag?

-Oh, that. My column for evening
edition tomorrow. Wrote it while I was drinking. Not in that bar:
earlier. Here, you’d better read it through. Check it makes
sense.

Matthew took the notes. Ralph
wrote longhand with an elaborate but very clear style. The article
was perfectly legible, spare and elegant prose. The content didn’t
seem like anything that would induce serious drinking in the
writer.

-Nothing wrong with it.

-Good. Oh, there’s this as well.
Your piece on the new floral gardens. I had to pull it.

-Why?

-It’s shit. But don’t worry you
can redo it tomorrow. Won’t spoil for a day.

-What do you mean, it’s
shit?

The question seemed to sober
Ralph up, at least temporarily.

-Not good enough. You can do
better. Here look, take it. I’ve ringed the worst bits. You’ll see
what I mean. It’s all Wordsworth this and Shakespeare that. It
won’t do. You’ve actually typed “in the words of the Immortal Bard”
there. We can’t have something that bad in the Examiner.

-But it’s only a few hundred
words to support all the advertising we’ve been chasing from them.
Who cares? Besides, you use quotations all the time.

-It’s the Examiner Matthew, so I
care. Don’t sulk. Quotation is permissible if the words express a
complex idea succinctly or in a way that makes the reader think.
Otherwise only when your reader or interlocutor is someone who will
catch your reference. Then it can be a kind of shorthand that saves
a longer explanation. Language is about signifiers. An author’s
name might stand for, say, a particular outlook, between
individuals who understand that language. But mostly, such
individuals do not read our reports of flower shows.

Ralph was suddenly and
temporarily lucid.

-You throw references at me
every day that I hardly ever catch, Matthew objected.

-Because I am doing you the
compliment of preferring to think of you as half-educated rather
than fully ignorant.

-And what about that theatre
review you had in last week? Hedda Gabler. That was full of
fragments of quotes and references that no one would make head or
tail of.

-Ibsen, you idiot. It was a
theatre review. The people who read that would have been
disappointed if they could understand it. They read about the
flowers to see whether it would be worth a trip over to the show in
the motor on Sunday. They scan a review of Ibsen to be reassured
that culture is going on somewhere in the city. Heaven forbid they
should have to sit through it.

-In any case, my sin is no
justification for yours. Let he who is without sin cast the first
stone? That’s nonsense: if we believed that, there would be no
literary criticism whatsoever. Hypocrisy is ubiquitous, thank god.
Without it the world wouldn’t turn at all.

Finally, the conversation
appeared to have exhausted Ralph entirely. He fell asleep almost at
the moment that these final words were out of his mouth, sitting
where he was on the couch.

***

Matthew realised that he had an
unhealthy relationship with alcohol, like almost everyone else he
knew. In fact, all his relationships with people other than his
family revolved around alcohol. He suspected that alcohol was
destroying them all; whether it was the quick spiral to oblivion
that seemed to have taken Tim away from them, or the binge drinking
that rendered Ralph helpless from time to time. On the other hand
it was impossible for him to imagine his world without drink. The
only way to change would be to move to a new place and start
everything again.

And on reflection, he decided
that he probably wouldn’t be like Tim or Ralph: more likely he
would just become so soaked through with regular drinking that he
no longer knew or cared what was happening to him.

The next morning, he had no
sooner got Ralph out the door and started to prepare for work, than
he remembered that he was invited to David’s house in the
evening.

There was some mystery about it
too. David had made a point of saying that he needed to be there.
But when Matthew arrived, later than usual and a little tired from
his dealings with Ralph, he only saw the usual crowd. The one
person who looked out of place was a plump little Asian in a
business suit, bald on top, looking a little bit middle aged for
this company. He looked to be engrossed in conversation with some
people at the far end of the room and Matthew had no particular
urge to hear what they might have to say. He assumed that this man
was a new client of David’s.

Matthew then considered what he
should have to drink. Perhaps if he went in for a night without
alcohol, once a week say, he would not feel so run down all the
time. The difficulty was; what to choose. He thought about
lemonade, a juice, maybe water. In the end he settled for a bottled
beer. It felt like a reasonable compromise.

From nowhere David appeared at
his shoulder, with the new client in tow.

-Say hello to someone you
already know, Matt.

Annoying David. It was so easy
for him. He was able to recall not only the names but important
life details of everyone he met. It was part of his charm armour.
He claimed there was just a trick to it and that you didn’t need a
fantastic memory. He’d even offered to teach Matthew the trick, but
Matthew had told him no thanks. So why was David embarrassing him
now, hanging him out to dry with this Indian businessman, who he’d
probably met once before at some civic function and forgotten
instantly.