The Darling Buds of May (18 page)

‘Never seen her in me life. Somebody said her father was a judge.'

‘Oh?' Ma said. ‘Well, I suppose there's a throw-back in every family.'

Pop cut two six-inch slices of pie. He gave one to Ma, and then started to eat the other in his fingers, at the same time ignoring, much to Ma's surprise, the bottle of ketchup.

‘Don't you want no ketchup?'

‘Gone off ketchup a bit,' Pop said.

‘Oh?' Ma said. ‘How's that?'

‘Makes everything taste the same.'

Ma, who thought this was odd, went on to say what about port?

‘Don't say you've gone-off port as well.'

‘No,' Pop said. ‘Just got some more in. Started to order it in two-gallon jars now.'

He got up, found the jar of port under the stairs and poured out two nice big glasses, inquiring at the same time where Mr Charlton and Mariette were?

‘Having a quiet few minutes in the sitting room.'

Pop said it was very nice about Mr Charlton and Mariette and had Mr Charlton found out about the baby?

‘She's not going to have a baby now,' Ma said. ‘False alarm.'

‘Jolly good,' Pop said. ‘Perfick.'

Ma sat meditatively fingering her turquoise rings, which seemed to be getting tighter every day, while Pop listened to the sound of the first gentle summery feathers of rain on earth and leaves as it came through the open kitchen door.

‘I am though,' Ma said.

Pop looked mildly, though not disagreeably, surprised.

‘How did that happen then?'

‘
How?
What do you mean,
how
?'

Pop said he meant when did it all date back to?

‘That night in the bluebell wood,' Ma said. ‘Just before Mister Charlton came. You said you thought there was a wild duck's nest up there and we went to have a look.'

‘That night?' Pop said. ‘I never even thought –'

‘You don't know your own strength,' Ma said. ‘Have some more apple tart. Pass the ketchup.'

Pop cut himself another biggish slice of apple tart. Ma, he noticed, hadn't quite finished hers. She was always a slow eater. She was still fingering her turquoise rings, as if for some reason she was engaged in thinking, though Pop couldn't imagine what about, unless it was the baby.

The turquoise rings, however, put a thought into his own mind, and he gave a short soft laugh or two, no louder than the summery feathers of rain.

‘If this lark goes on much longer,' he said, ‘you and me'll have to get married as well.'

Ma said she thought it wouldn't be a bad idea perhaps.

‘I've got to have my rings cut off again anyway,' she said. ‘We might as well do it then.'

For some moments Pop sat in complete silence, still listening to the rain and wondering about the baby and if Ma wanted
a boy and what names they would pick for it when it came.

Ma sat wondering too, mostly about what it would be like to be married. She couldn't imagine at all.

Eventually Pop spoke. ‘Thought up any names for it?' he said.

‘It?' Ma said. ‘I've got a funny feeling it might be twins.'

‘Marvellous. Perfick,' Pop said.

Ma, who had in fact thought a very great deal about names, went on to say that if it did turn out to be just a boy, which she hoped it wouldn't, or just a girl, what about Orlando and Rosalind? – out of that play they saw on television the other night? A very nice play.

Pop said he thought they were jolly good names, just the sort of names he liked. And what if it was twins?

‘Well,' Ma said, ‘I've been thinking. If it's girls I thought of Lucinda and Clorinda. I think they're very nice. Or if it's boys I wouldn't say no to Nelson and Rodney. They were admirals.'

‘Not so bad,' Pop said. ‘I like Lucinda.'

The rain was falling a little faster now, though still softly, the dampness bringing out of the air the last lingering smell of firework smoke. At one time the house had seemed full of the strench of gunpowder.

‘Couldn't very well make it a double wedding, I suppose, could we?' Ma said.

‘Might ask Mister Charlton.'

‘Why Mister Charlton?'

‘He knows about things. Look what he knew about the party.'

Pop had just finished his second slice of apple pie and was vaguely wondering about a third – there wasn't so much of it left and it was a pity to let it go begging – when Mr Charlton and Mariette came in from the sitting room. He said how glad he was to see them and how he could congratulate them now it was quieter. He said he and Ma weren't half glad about things and that it didn't seem five minutes since Mister Charlton had arrived.

‘How about a glass of port, you two?'

While he was pouring out two more nice big glasses of port he couldn't help thinking how pretty Mariette looked in her black, semi-fitting cocktail dress with its white cuffs, collar, and belt. He hoped all the girls would take after Ma. He thought too how nice it was about Mariette and the baby – just as well to start with a clean sheet about these things.

‘Well, cheers,' he said. ‘God bless,' and with a sudden affectionate impulse got up and kissed Mariette. ‘Couldn't be more perfick.'

Ma, who said she wasn't going to be left out, then got up and kissed both Mariette and Mr Charlton; and then Mr Charlton and Pop shook hands.

‘Got a bit of news of our own now,' Pop said. ‘Shall we tell them, Ma?'

‘You tell them.'

‘Well,' Pop said, ‘we thought we'd get married too. Ma's going to have another baby.'

Mr Charlton, who only a month before would have been more than startled by this announcement, didn't turn a hair. Nor did Mariette seem unduly perturbed. The only thing that suddenly occurred to Mr Charlton was that this was a time when it was essential, if ever, to use his loaf.

‘Now wait a minute,' he said, ‘this wants thinking about.'

‘There you are, Ma,' Pop said. ‘I told you.'

‘Why does it want thinking about?' Ma said.

Mr Charlton took a thoughtful sip of port.

‘I was thinking of the tax situation,' he said. ‘You see, it actually doesn't pay to get married. It actually pays to live in –'

He was about to say ‘sin' but abruptly checked himself, too late to prevent Ma, however, from being a little upset.

‘Don't use that word,' she said severely. ‘I know what you were going to say.'

Mr Charlton apologized and said what he really meant was that if he were them he'd keep the
status quo
. This was the first time Pop had ever heard such astonishing un-English words used
under his own roof, but it meant more marks for Mr Charlton. Ma, forgetting that she had been very nearly outraged a moment before, could only look on in silent, fervent admiration.

‘Quite happy as we are, I suppose, eh, Ma?' Pop said. ‘Nothing to worry about?'

Not that she could think of, Ma said.

‘All right. Let's go on in the old sweet way.'

Mr Charlton agreed.

‘By keeping to the old way,' Mr Charlton said, ‘you'll be better off when the time comes.'

‘When what time comes?' Pop said. ‘For what?'

‘To pay your tax,' Mr Charlton said. ‘It's bound to catch up some day.'

‘That's what you think!' Pop said.

‘I'm afraid they'll take notice of the Rolls. They're bound to say –'

‘That old thing?' Pop said. ‘Never. Took it for a debt!'

Suddenly Pop started laughing as heartily as Ma had done when the girl in the yellow dress had blown him off the chair with the Roman Candle.

Ma laughed piercingly too and said: ‘Oh! that reminds me. Are you going back to that office?'

‘That's right, Charley,' Pop said. ‘Are you ever going back to that lark?'

Mr Charlton, thoughtful again, said he supposed if he didn't go back he'd lose his pension.

The word pension made Pop laugh even more than the idea of the tax lark. ‘You mean sit on your backside for forty years and then collect four pounds a week that's worth only two and'll only buy half as much anyway?' He urged Mr Charlton to use his loaf. Mr Charlton could not help thinking that it was high time he did. ‘I tell you what,' Pop said. ‘I'll be doing a nice little demolition job very soon. Some very good stuff. Big mansion. What say we pick the best out and build you and Mariette a bungalow in the medder, near the bluebell wood?'

‘Oh! wonderful, wonderful, Pop!' Mariette said and, with eyes impulsively dancing, came to kiss his face and lips and hair, so that Mr Charlton knew that there was, really, nothing more to say.

‘Well, that's it then,' Pop said. ‘Perfick. Now who says one more glass o' port? And then we go to bed.'

He was intensely looking forward to going to bed. It would top it all up to have a cigar and watch Ma get into the transparent nylon nightgown.

‘Yes: time to get a little beauty sleep,' Ma said.

Pop poured four more nice big glasses of port, saying at the same time how glad he was about the rain. They could do with the rain. It was just what the cherries, the plums, and the apples wanted now.

‘Shall you come cherry picking too?' Mariette said to Mr Charlton, but in answer he could only look at her olive skin, the dark shining eyes, the kittenish hair, and the firm young breasts with silent fascination.

Some moments later Pop took his glass of port to the kitchen door, staring out at the summer darkness and the rain. Mr Charlton felt an impulse to join him and stood there staring too, thinking of how spring had passed, how quickly the buds of May had gone, and how everything, now, had blossomed into full, high summer.

‘Listen,' Pop said. ‘Perfick.'

Everybody listened; and in the dark air there was the sound of nightingales.