by David Nobbs
They lay in silence then. Kate drew a deep breath and pressed her lips against his. Now that the moment had come, she flung herself into it, she took the lead. He responded swiftly, hungrily, desperately. He moaned and groaned and gasped. Kate had been thinking back, trying to recall the noises and movements that she made when aroused. She made them now. She put everything into it. He gasped with pleasure, cried with ecstasy. The timing was perfect. It’s easy to get the timing right when you’re faking it.
He fell asleep very quickly afterwards, which was hardly surprising, he must have been very tired. She was very tired too, having not gone to bed the previous night. But sleep wouldn’t come. She lay on her side listening to his regular breathing, and thought, If that’s as bad as it gets, I can cope. He’s a decent man and a kind man and we can have all sorts of happy times together.
She had once promised her father never to tell a lie. She had told so many lies and she had learnt that sometimes it is good to lie. This night had been the biggest lie of all. She felt no guilt about it. She also felt that, on her first night as an actress, she had given a good performance.
In the morning she wasn’t so sure. She did fall asleep eventually, and, when she awoke, the bed was empty, the bedroom was empty, the house was empty. She found the note on the kitchen table:
I know that you don’t love me any more. Thank you for pretending that you do. I know that, if it is over, it must be over before Elizabeth gets used to me again. I think she looks on Walter as her daddy, and I think perhaps you do too. You have been blameless and so have I. Only history has been an adulterer. I have survived the Dunera. I shall survive this. With deepest love, your ex-husband, Heinz.
Kate’s eyes filled with tears. They streamed down her face, and, since she was paralysed, she could do nothing about them. She was terrified that her tears would reveal how active her mind still was, would blow her cover sky-high.
‘My word!’ said fat Janet with the eating disorder. ‘We have been crying. Why have we been crying? There there. We’ll soon wipe those tears away, and then we’ll be as snug as a bug in a rug again, won’t we?’
9 Doctor Ramgobi
KATE AWOKE, AFTER a long sleep, with a feeling of alarm. She felt surrounded. There were hands, more than one person’s, clutching both her hands. What was going on?
Glenda provided the answer.
‘Are you all her children?’ she asked in her carefully enunciated attempt at a posh voice.
‘Yes. We’re all her children,’ said Nigel.
‘She must be frightfully old. Oh Lord, I didn’t mean . . . did that sound rude? I only meant . . .’
‘ . . . that we’re none of us exactly spring chickens,’ said Timothy.
So they were all there, with their combined age of two hundred and seventy-five, two at each side of her bed, holding her hands, none of them wanting to lose out in the Show of Affection stakes.
Kate felt thoroughly alarmed. If they’d all come together, they must think she was on the way out.
‘You’re right about her being old,’ said Elizabeth. ‘She’ll be a hundred in eight days’ time.’
‘Really? Oh, that’s marvellous.’ This was Hilda. Kate imagined Hilda as small, pasty, podgy, with thick legs. ‘Are we going to have a party?’
‘We hadn’t thought,’ said Maurice. ‘I mean, I’m not sure if it’d be appropriate.’
‘Best not to plan ahead, really,’ said Nigel. ‘Best to take it one day at a time.’
All that expense and I might die before the party! Good old Nigel! The richest are always the most careful with their money. Still, they don’t sound dreadfully upset. Maybe it was a false alarm. It has to be a false alarm.
‘Well, I think we should have a party, if she makes it,’ said Timothy.
‘We should do what she’d have wanted, if she could have told us,’ said Maurice.
‘Well, she’d have wanted a party,’ said Elizabeth. ‘She loved parties.’
Yes, but not parties at which I’m paralysed and unable to speak or eat or drink, thought Kate.
‘Oh yes, I think we must have a party,’ said Hilda. ‘Oh! And there’ll be a card from . . .’ Her voice simpered. ‘ . . . Her Majesty. She sends cards now. So much nicer than tele-messages.’
Oh my God, thought Kate. How deeply embarrassing. I’ve never exactly been a Royalist.
‘I probably won’t be here,’ said Glenda. ‘Doctor Rambogi thinks I’m ready to go home.’
‘I think it’s wonderful of the Queen to remember to send all those messages, when she has such trouble with her own family,’ said Hilda.
Kate began to drift back to sleep. Even the thought of this party embarrassed her. Balloons, and a cake, and a banner saying ‘Well done, Kate. 100 not out’. Bad enough without congratulations from the Queen.
She heard snatches of conversation, though. She heard Maurice saying how boring he thought rambling was, and Nigel saying, ‘There’s no need to go on at me. I only do it to keep fit. I go on walks to keep my body fit and I compile crosswords to keep my mind fit.’
‘I thought you’d been replaced by a computer,’ said Elizabeth.
‘You’re missing the point as usual, Elizabeth,’ said Nigel. So he’d noticed it too! ‘I’m not talking about getting paid. I’m not talking about doing a job. Poor old Parsifal was shown the door long ago, but I still do it, for the same reason that I always did it. For fun. Fun, Elizabeth.’
‘And exercise,’ said Elizabeth doggedly.
‘Yes, yes, and exercise,’ said Nigel, brushing Elizabeth off as if she was an irritating gnat.
Kate thought, I didn’t know Nigel compiled crosswords and called himself Parsifal, though that does ring a bell, but I can’t remember which bell. Fancy his not telling me. Knew I wouldn’t approve, of course. He told me he did crosswords and I told him it was a waste of his mental powers. Such a puritan I was, in some ways. Not in others! Oh dearie me! I’m thinking of myself in the past tense now. This won’t do.
‘How’s Carrie?’ she heard Elizabeth ask. Kate found the thought of Carrie exhausting and she gave a low moan which startled her, it was the first time she’d managed to make a noise, and Timothy said, ‘Oh God, she dislikes her even in her sleep.’
‘She doesn’t dislike her,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Mum never dislikes people. She sees through them, because she’s perceptive, but she doesn’t dislike them.’
‘Are you suggesting she sees through Carrie?’
‘Oh, don’t be so touchy. How is she, anyway?’
‘Perfectly all right, as far as I know.’
There was the clank of a trolley. Lunch? Tea? Supper?
‘Tea, Hilda?’
‘Please. Half a spoonful.’
‘There you go.’
Tea-time. Three o’clock. Everything so early in hospitals.
‘Glenda?’
‘Please. No sugar.’
‘No, you’re sweet enough already.’
Hilda laughed at this. She laughed at it every day! Glenda never laughed at it. Kate sensed that she pursed her lips in disapproval of such intimacy from the staff. She wasn’t sweet at all, making the daily joke even more pointless.
‘Mrs Critchley?’
The tea lady’s voice was always cheerful. It was a rich and loud voice. Kate imagined her as big and black and a singer of gospel songs.
‘Oh no, thank you, not today, thank you,’ said Mrs Critchley.
‘Oh go on, have a cup on me,’ said Maurice. Good old Maurice.
‘Oh thank you,’ said Mrs Critchley. ‘You’re a real gent.’
‘Any chance of a cup of tea for us?’ asked Nigel.
‘No, sir. Not for four of you. If I had the tea, I wouldn’t have the cups. Sorry, sir.’
‘But my mother isn’t having a cup. Her cup’s going begging. One of us could have a cup.’
‘Elizabeth,’ said Timothy.
‘That’s sexist,’ said Elizabeth.
‘Oh God,’ said Timothy.
> ‘I was joking,’ said Elizabeth, to Kate’s astonishment.
‘Anyway, there isn’t a cup going begging,’ said the tea lady. ‘The system knows your mother doesn’t have a cup. The computer will come up “Nil by mouth”. So, no cup.’
It was an unpleasant feeling to know that there was no cup for her in the system, that she was in the records as ‘Nil by Mouth’. It sounded depressingly final. She’d show them. She’d get back on tea one day, and where would their fine computer be then?
The tea lady clanked off down the corridor, and Elizabeth resumed the conversation at exactly the point at which it had been broken off. ‘What do you mean, Timothy, “Perfectly all right, as far as I know”?’ Kate found that depressingly thorough of Elizabeth. People said she got her thoroughness from her German side. Perhaps there was some truth in that, though Heinz had never been depressingly thorough.
‘She hasn’t phoned,’ said Timothy, ‘and she isn’t answering the phone. I rang one of the restaurants in Deya and told them I thought our phone was out of order and they got a bit embarrassed and said they thought she’d gone away.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘What do you mean, “I’m sorry”? Nothing to be sorry for. I’m not there. She goes away. I go back. She’ll be back. Why assume the worst?’
Nobody replied. Nobody said, ‘Because it so often happens, Timothy.’ But the remark was there, in the air, and all the more potent because nobody had said it.
Timothy broke the silence himself.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’m off to the loo. Perfect chance to discuss me behind my back.’
When Timothy had gone there was another silence for a moment, but Kate knew, with a feeling of weary dread, that they would discuss him behind his back. She just hadn’t expected Maurice to start. Oh dear, she was thoroughly awake again now.
‘Poor Timothy,’ he said. ‘I do try, but I can’t get more than about ten pages into his books.’
‘Oh God, can’t you?’ Nigel sounded horrified.
‘Why does that horrify you?’ asked Maurice, echoing Kate’s thought, as so often.
‘He’s our brother,’ said Nigel. ‘I’d like to think we all admired him. I like his books.’
‘They appeal to your crossword mind,’ said Elizabeth. Typically, she didn’t say whether she liked the books or not.
‘I don’t like their kind,’ said Maurice, ‘and I don’t even think they’re very good of their kind. They’re technically inept. Most of the clues are just slightly wrong.’
‘You seem to know a surprising amount about them if you’ve only read the first ten pages,’ said Nigel.
‘I did finish one of them,’ admitted Maurice.
‘Which one?’
‘Trouble at the Double. Why?’
‘Well, that’s his worst. If you’ve only read Trouble at the Double you must try at least one more.’
‘I don’t like his prose style,’ said Maurice. ‘People keep going very silent. How much more silent than silent can silent be?’
Kate wanted to cheer, which was disloyal to poor Timothy.
‘His people are anatomically unusual,’ continued Maurice. ‘Their jaws keep dropping open. Their sinews keep stiffening.’
‘S’sh! Here he comes,’ warned Elizabeth anxiously.
‘So, what have you been saying about me?’ asked Timothy.
‘Haven’t mentioned you once,’ said Maurice. ‘We have more important things to talk about.’
‘Children!’ implored Elizabeth.
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Doctor Ramgobi.
‘Ah! We have the full team in today,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Nigel. ‘We were given to understand that . . .’ He lowered his voice. ‘ . . . something might happen.’
‘Your mother was unusually distressed this morning. She was crying. Her temperature was up. Her pulse rate was up. The nurse thought it safest to inform you.’ She felt the doctor’s slightly podgy hand lift her arm and take her pulse. ‘I believe that, if there was a crisis, and I’m not saying there was, it has passed.’
‘She moaned a few minutes ago,’ said Nigel.
‘Did she indeed? Maybe she’s getting a little more active. Maybe her distress was a sign of recovery, not relapse.’
‘Waiter!’ called out Mrs Critchley.
‘Excuse me,’ said Doctor Ramgobi.
‘Bring me some coffee and biscuits,’ commanded Mrs Critchley.
‘What’s the magic word?’ asked Doctor Ramgobi.
‘Young man,’ said Mrs Critchley, ‘I have been coming to this hotel for twenty-seven years and no member of staff has ever spoken to me like that.’
‘They can’t get the staff these days,’ said Doctor Ramgobi.
‘I demand to see the manager.’
‘I am the manager. That’s how bad things are. Coffee and biscuits will be served in the lounge after luncheon.’ He must have moved on then, because the next time he spoke it was to say, ‘Now then, Hilda. I’m sending you home.’
‘Doctor,’ wailed Hilda, ‘you can’t. I feel terrible today. I have such pain.’
‘You are better, Hilda. There’s nothing wrong with you any more. It’s time to go home.’
‘Oh but, doctor, I’ll miss the party.’
‘The party?’
‘Mrs Whatsit’s hundredth birthday party. We’re having a cake and there’ll be a birthday card from . . .’ Hilda’s voice curtseyed.‘ . . . Her Majesty.’
I don’t want a birthday party, thought Kate, and if I have one I don’t want a card from the Queen, and if I do have a birthday party and I do get a card from the Queen, I don’t want Hilda Mandrake to be there.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Doctor Ramgobi. Kate heard him ask her children, in a low voice, ‘Would it be possible to invite this lady to the hundredth birthday party, if there is one?’
‘Well, I think it would be a family occasion, actually,’ said Timothy.
‘Yes, of course. I think it very unlikely that she’d come, but . . . well, she doesn’t want to go home because she prefers it here. I think that says it all, don’t you? She probably wouldn’t come, but an invitation would be a highlight.’
‘I think we can agree to that, personally,’ said Nigel. ‘I don’t think it would be much of a hardship to any of us. If we have a party. Always that proviso.’
‘Of course. Thank you. Thank you very much.’ The next time Doctor Ramgobi spoke it was to Hilda. ‘You won’t be left out, if there’s a party.’
‘Thank you, doctor.’ She called out her thanks to the family and then she spoke to the doctor again. ‘But I still don’t think I’m fit to go home.’
‘No, well, unfortunately I do, and I’m the doctor, and I need the bed.’
‘Doctor Rambogi!’ called out Glenda urgently.
‘Ramgobi. What is it, Glenda?’
‘You missed me out. You went straight from Mrs Critchley to Hilda.’
‘I had some news for Hilda. I didn’t have anything I needed to say to you.’
‘Well, this is what I want to speak to you about, doctor. You say you need Hilda’s bed. What about my bed? I can go home.’
‘Glenda, you are not yet ready to go home.’
‘But it’s the house, doctor. Douglas can’t manage.’
‘I had the impression he’s managing pretty well, Glenda.’
‘He thinks he is. You mustn’t listen to him. He won’t ewbank under the beds. Oh listen to me, ewbank, that dates me. Hoover, I mean. He won’t . . .’
‘Glenda, I am rather busy.’
‘He won’t take the knick-knacks off the whatnot to clean under them. He’ll dust round them.’
‘Glenda . . .’
‘I’m sorry, but his family just don’t have our standards, and that’s all there is to it.’
‘Glenda, I am not sending you home.’
‘But I want to go, and she doesn’t, so what do you do? You send her and not me. You’re pe
rverse.’
‘Glenda, whether a person is discharged from hospital or not is not a matter of the preference of the patient. Nor do you get remission for good behaviour. In my judgement, Hilda is fit to go home, and you are not, and I am the doctor.’
‘Doctor!’ quivered Mrs Critchley. ‘Doctor! A few minutes ago you told me you were the manager.’
‘You’re not writing all this down, Timothy!’ said Maurice in a low voice.
‘I want to see the manager,’ said Mrs Critchley. ‘I remember the days when we had a palm court orchestra. Deirdre Pinkerton and the Palm Court Players. The muffins were legendary. Now the tea comes on a trolley, there’s no music except through headphones and we have bogus doctors running around the bedrooms. It’s a disgrace.’
‘I’ll fetch the manager,’ said Doctor Ramgobi wearily.
When Mrs Critchley spoke again it was towards Kate’s bed. ‘I don’t want you to think I’m putting you on the spot, not when you’ve a baby,’ she said. ‘How’s the little mite doing?’
‘He’s very well, thank you,’ said Elizabeth.
‘ “He”. And there was I thinking it was a girl! Silly me. I’ll be forgetting my own name next.’
She began to laugh, and stopped so abruptly that Kate was convinced that she had forgotten her own name.
‘I can’t believe you intend to exploit all this human misery, Timothy!’ hissed Nigel.
‘I won’t be exploiting it,’ said Timothy. ‘I’ll handle it with tact and sympathy. And I don’t need lectures on morality from a man who gives wombats nervous breakdowns in the interest of medical science.’
‘I have never experimented on animals,’ said Nigel.
‘You use the results of experiments, though, and knowingly,’ said Maurice.
‘Please, children, this is hardly the time,’ said Elizabeth.
‘You never like discussing major issues, do you?’ said Maurice.
‘Well, I’m sorry,’ said Elizabeth. ‘But is it? Is it the time?’
‘No,’ said Timothy, ‘but if it was, you still wouldn’t want to discuss it.’
‘Come on,’ said Nigel. ‘Don’t let’s let our tensions get the better of us.’
