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Flying Under Bridges

Page 14

by Sandi Toksvig


  ‘Scandinavian design. We can’t look back. It’s the future. William says so.

  ‘It looks nice.’

  ‘He’s arranged the insurance cover direct in the City. Too big a job for me, he says.’

  ‘Oh Adam, I’m so sorry,’ Eve said. Adam squeezed Eve’s hand. She was touched. He needed her. That was when John strode over to Adam. When he was just about to need her.

  ‘Mr Marshall, Mrs Marshall. John Antrobus, Hogart, Hoddle and…’

  ‘Hooper,’ Adam concluded. ‘Of course, John, how are you?’

  ‘I’ll tell you, Adam. May I call you Adam? I am excited. I was listening to you this morning on the radio about that terrible incident at the bus depot here in town and I really think you are on to something. I was wondering—’

  William called Eve before she had a chance to hear what John wondered. Her brother with the Scandinavian stream-line and big things in the City wanted to talk to his two sisters in his study. He sat smoking a huge cigar while Eve slipped on and then off his leather sofa. She knew it was expensive but she couldn’t see the attraction of leather furniture. You slide off it in the winter and stick to it in the summer.

  ‘We need to talk about Mother,’ William announced, as if it were another development project. ‘When is she released, Eve?’

  ‘It’s not a prison… Soon, but there’s nowhere for—’

  Martha paced up and down. ‘I want to move into the house permanently.’

  ‘What house?’ Eve asked.

  ‘Mum and Dad’s.’

  ‘Permanently? What happened to living in Bangkok- or Hong Kong or whatever? What happened to living a long way away?’

  William stood up. ‘Great. Then you can have her, Martha.’

  Martha shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. I have work to do. I need to get on with my writing. I can’t be distracted. Besides, I shall be teaching women’s study classes. I can’t be disturbed.’

  ‘Martha, it’s not your house,’ Eve managed.

  ‘Listen, Eve, you have a house. William has a house. I have nothing. I have never had anything.’

  ‘You never wanted anything. You didn’t want… what was it … any “capitalist shackles”.’

  ‘Oh, bring that up.’

  ‘But where is Mum going to live? It’s her house.’

  William shuffled his feet uncomfortably. ‘Actually, it isn’t. Dad quite distinctly—’

  Eve interrupted. ‘Well, I don’t understand that. Why would he leave her out of the will? It doesn’t make sense. Anyway, we don’t have to follow it. Mum can stay there if she wants.’

  William was getting irritated. He had guests to gloat over. Martha looked at the hem of her top while her brother dealt with the matter.

  ‘No, Eve, we can’t. As my father’s eldest son I am not about to see his wishes ridden roughshod over. I don’t know why he decided what he did, but I for one intend to honour his last request. That leaves us with the problem of what to do with Mother. Now, obviously, Pe Pe and I can’t have her. We’re far too busy. So, Eve, she’ll have to come to you.’

  Martha and William both looked at Eve as if it were settled. ‘No. No. I can’t. I won’t.’

  ‘Why ever not? What is the matter with you? She’s your mother. What else do you have to do?’

  Eve looked at her brother and sister and knew even then that she would lose. ‘I’m starting my own business,’ she muttered.

  William smirked at Martha. ‘Your own business. Doing what?’

  ‘I’m going to organise people’s cupboards. Adam says I’m very good at…’

  Martha and William exchanged a look and Eve knew it was the end. Mother was as good as moved into her house. She didn’t want her. No one wanted her. Why her?

  When Eve came out of the study Pe Pe was half sitting, half lounging on the sitting-room sofa with Inge, Adam was repeating his radio interview to a small group and John Antrobus was deep in conversation with Shirley.

  Pe Pe, heady with her success, had perhaps gone a drink too far in her celebration. For one night at least, her concern with sperm and egg production had abated. Her words were even less distinct than usual but she had the intensity of conversation that only alcohol can fuel.

  ‘I feel I can talk to you, Inge. You’re very sympathetic.’

  ‘You’re very kind. I’m afraid I really must head off—’

  ‘You see, you and I, Inge, are in the same boat. Both attractive, both in the public eye and what do people expect? Cheerfulness! Bloody cheerfulness.’

  Inge smiled. ‘Well, you do it very well. It’s been lovely but I really must—’

  Pe Pe leant forward and held firmly on to Inge’s arm. ‘Do you know how I do it?’

  Inge shook her head. ‘Something about telling yourself a happy story?’

  ‘Bollocks. No.’ Pe Pe took a large, sustaining gulp of Soave and whispered one word. ‘Operation.’

  Inge didn’t think she’d heard properly. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Dr Habib, Harley Street. He’s a marvel. Botox. That’s what they call it. It’s the same toxin as botchi… batchili… food poisoning. They inject it in your forehead and you stop frowning and then some kind of glue in your cheeks to keep you smiling. Lasts for six weeks. Marvellous. He could help you.’

  Pe Pe produced a pamphlet from a small drawer in the coffee table. Inge began to protest but Pe Pe stuffed the leaflet into Inge’s handbag. Inge looked at Pe Pe’s expensive smile and felt sick. She couldn’t think what she was doing here. Raising money for rich kids who didn’t bloody need it. She couldn’t think why she wasn’t with Kate. She couldn’t think. The guests were gradually making a move to leave. Eve passed by the sofa and gave Inge a chance to extract herself. Everyone began to engage in the mini goodbyes that precede an actual departure from such a distinguished event.

  Mr Hoddle cornered Eve in the hall. Horace Hoddle was not Eve’s favourite person in town. He was so proper, she could never think of anything to say to him. His consonants spat at you and his vowels came out as if they had spent a short time on an oral rack. But you had to be nice to Horace Hoddle. Everyone had to be nice to Horace — captain of the golf club, chairman of the local Rotarians, chief fundraiser for the Edenford Conservative party and general demigod at Hogart, Hoddle and Hooper on the High Street. Not a handsome man, but he always made the best of himself. Neat little moustache, neat little hair and neat little sentences.

  ‘Ah, Mrs Marshall.’ He looked her up and down like a potential purchase. ‘Interesting ensemble.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I see your Adam has made a bit of a name for himself today on the radio.’ His face pinched as he spoke. ‘Good, very good. Tell you the truth, never thought he had the right stuff. I’m afraid your son Tom has done nothing at all for Adam’s profile, but after today… maybe, maybe…’

  They left the rightness of Adam’s stuff in the air and made their final farewells. Pe Pe had risen unsteadily from the sofa and was handing out free copies of some book as everyone left so Eve took one. Eve couldn’t tell what Adam’s mood was. He was silent as she drove them home, balloons and ribbons streaming behind.

  As soon as they got in, Adam went straight into the garage and turned Shirley Bassey up loud even though he was still wearing his suit. Something was up but Eve couldn’t chase him to find out what. Mother was coming. Eve just knew Mother was coming.

  Kate was in bed when Inge got back. The old chessboard Inge and her father had often played on was set up in the conservatory, with a note scrawled from Kate. ‘Don’t touch! Patrick and I are in a marathon game!’

  Inge wandered out into the garden. The boy, Patrick, had done a nice job on the lawn. Everything smelt fresh and good but Inge knew it wasn’t. She knew she couldn’t live here.

  Chapter Twelve

  Eve’s mother was due to arrive the next day, a Sunday, two weeks after the party. Shirley was back from her trip to France and asked if she could come to dinner with John. They had a present for Ev
e, and Shirley had some good news. Eve didn’t want it all on the same day but she didn’t want to turn Shirley down. At first, when Shirley had moved into her little flat, she had dropped in every night for a quick chat, but lately she’d been too busy. Which was good. Eve was pleased. Of course she knew what the news was. At least she thought she did. Some kind of scholarship at the university.

  Eve was making a cake to look like a graduation diploma when John Antrobus appeared at the back door.

  ‘Morning, Eve, fabulous day.’ He bounced in like a newly washed Tigger. ‘You’re looking lovely.’ Eve thought for one nerve-racking moment that he was going to kiss her hand but he slapped his fist down on the counter instead. ‘What have you done to that Swiss roll?’ It was a good question. It didn’t look like a diploma. More like a dinosaur turd with white icing. Bloody Jane Asher. John picked a piece of icing off the cake and smiled, as he licked it off his finger.

  ‘Supper’s not for ages,’ Eve managed.

  ‘No, I know. Come to see Adam first. Where are you hiding the old man then?’

  He should have been at the office. There were no days of rest for divisional managers, but just then Adam pulled into the drive. ‘Hello John, good of you to come. Eve, darling, any coffee?’

  ‘In the pot.

  ‘Right. Both white with, please. I think we’ll need the kitchen table. Will you forgive us for a moment?’

  They wanted the kitchen. They wanted Eve’s kitchen. She poured the coffee, poured the milk, measured the sugar, stirred. Indeed she thought of drinking it for them, but she wasn’t wanted. Eve wandered out to the garden like a refugee. Then she went over to Inge’s for coffee.

  Since Inge had moved in next door they had seen each other most days. Sometimes just over the hedge in the garden, but quite often for coffee. It was nice. Like having a real friend. Inge came to the door frowning, but then she saw Eve and smiled. She suddenly looked all blonde health and happy. Eve liked the Holbrook house. She always had. It was so neat and cosy. Since Inge had moved in, there always seemed to be a fire going in the sitting room, even when it wasn’t needed, and books everywhere. Eve could feel her shoulders sink six inches as soon as she crossed the threshold. She had spent so many happy hours here as a schoolgirl. It didn’t feel any different now. Inge wasn’t famous. She was just Inge. Eve half expected Inge’s mum to appear with a plate of cakes and some fresh lemonade. Inge put the kettle on while Eve sat looking at her cookbooks.

  ‘Special night?’ she asked.

  ‘I want to make the kids something nice. Shirley’s got some news. To do with her university, I think,’ she said. ‘It’s silly but cooking for Shirley always makes me nervous. My own daughter. And then Tom, my son. Well, he’s a vegetarian now and I can never think what to make. I’m sure it’s very healthy but it does seem troublesome to me. He seems to like things that need soaking overnight and by the time I think about it, it’s always already morning and dinner is just round the corner.’

  Inge nodded. ‘I think you need to be very organised to be a vegetarian. I’m not surprised that Linda McCartney was one.

  She had the money, didn’t she? I’m sure she never had to think, Oh well, at least a chop will be quick.’

  The two old friends sat next to each other and leafed through the cookbooks. Eve tried to imagine the late Linda McCartney having an ordinary conversation about what to have for dinner. She was sure she must have. She just couldn’t imagine it. Inge pointed to a picture of a nut casserole.

  ‘I never think the cookbook pictures of veggie food look very nice. Everything seems so brown. It doesn’t seem to matter what you make, it all ends up looking like it’s been eaten once before.’

  They were laughing when the strains of Shirley Bassey wafted over from Eve’s house.

  ‘Adam,’ she explained. ‘He’s making posters for the election. He’s standing again. It’s only the town council but once Adam’s decided on something … Marshall your forces — vote Adam. Adam Marshall!’ In blue letters on yellow paper. I haven’t said anything. Adam thinks it’s time something was done about Edenford.’

  ‘Why, what’s wrong with it?’

  ‘Well, it’s changed a lot since we first moved here. There is a rougher element now and I see his point. What with the mugging at the bus depot, and then last year’s pantomime was an uproar.

  ‘What happened at the panto?’

  It was a slightly rude story and Eve wasn’t sure about it. She hesitated.

  ‘Go on,’ said a soft voice from the doorway.

  Inge looked up, surprised to find Kate up and about. ‘Eve, you’ve met my friend Kate?’

  ‘No, hello.’

  ‘I think I’ve always been asleep when Eve’s been over but I’ve heard a lot about you.’ Kate grinned at her. ‘So what happened? At the panto?’

  Eve blushed. ‘Oh well, I shouldn’t tell it, but it was Robin Hood, and Robin had just captured Maid Marian for the first time. And he did what Robin Hood always does; he turned to the audience and said, ‘What shall I do with her, boys and girls?’ And three boys at the front, from the modern houses up by the garage, shouted back…’ Eve hesitated for a moment,’… fuck her!’

  Inge and Kate both laughed and laughed and Eve suddenly realised it was funny. It was terrible but it was funny too.

  ‘Tell her about that school show you went to, Inge,’ prompted Kate, still laughing.

  ‘Oh God. I was asked to open or close some senior-school open day, and as part of the event they had done a rather refined production of The Importance of Being Ernest, to which they invited the local primary school. The play has a tea scene in which two rather posh ladies are exchanging remarks, one of which is, “I don’t believe I’ve ever even seen a spade.” It was quite a rough area and I don’t think some of the younger children had ever been to see any theatre before. I was sitting at the front and the audience had been fairly attentive until this scene. As the rather grand actress said the line about the spade, a small boy sitting right behind me said in a disgusted voice, ‘You cunt!’

  The three women wept with laughter and all the time Eve was thinking that she had heard the word before. This was not the first time. Of course, no one had ever said it to her in their kitchen but she had heard it.

  ‘Wasn’t everyone furious? What about the teachers?’ Eve asked.

  ‘No. I think I persuaded everyone that Oscar Wilde would have loved it. He was quite a naughty boy himself, you know.’

  Eve didn’t know that but she did know that she glowed. They were sitting discussing Oscar Wilde. Drinking coffee and trying to decide what Oscar Wilde might or might not have liked. The three women were silent for a moment. That nice, comfortable silence that friends can have. The only sound was Inge’s ancient family lawnmower being pushed rhythmically up and down in the garden outside. Through the kitchen window they could see the young lad, Patrick, clipping the grass. The lawnmower was probably forty years old. Eve hadn’t seen one like it in years. It had a stout wooden handle, two wheels and, suspended between them, a curling blade. There was nothing technological about it. It was warm out and Patrick was wearing nothing but a pair of cut-off denim shorts. The muscles in his back stood out as he forced the old machine into its labours. The women watched him as he moved across the garden, up and down the lawn and round the handful of apple trees. The light filtered through the leaves and glinted off his shaggy blond hair. It was a pleasant sight. He was not yet enough of a man to be alien to them and not so much a boy that he needed their care. His hairless chest and flat stomach seemed newly sculpted. His bare feet had yet to be trodden into imperfections. Eve thought it was like having an angel mow your lawn.

  ‘He thinks he might be gay,’ said Kate.

  The women came back into the room. Inge poured some more coffee while Eve concentrated on getting an exact measure of sugar on her teaspoon.

  ‘New trainers?’ asked Inge.

  ‘Yes. I am going for comfort,’ replied Eve.

  Inge
nodded. ‘Quite right.’

  ‘Goldfinger…’ came blaring out of Eve’s house. Adam was practising his campaign speech.

  ‘People of Edenford, we are cast upon a sea of change.’

  ‘Why don’t you just do salad?’ suggested Inge. ‘Eve’s son is vegetarian. She can’t decide what to make. I thought salad.’

  ‘Salad is good,’ responded Kate, still looking out of the window.

  ‘What?’ Eve wasn’t paying attention.

  Inge had got salad in her head and wasn’t about to let it go. ‘Tonight. For Tom. Just do salad. You can’t go wrong with salad.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Eve. She didn’t want to do salad. Now that her mother had gone off for a short hop with the fairies, she found she was checking vegetables for her. Checking them for signs, inscriptions of the Old Testament, black and white photos of St Paul, that sort of thing. She couldn’t tell Inge. She couldn’t tell anyone. It was crazy.

  ‘Maybe you and Kate would like to come…

  Inge got down off her bar stool and put her cup in the sink. ‘No thanks, Kate’s not feeling too clever, are you?’

  ‘I’m fine. Maybe another time.’

  ‘Salad,’ said Eve. ‘I’d better be off. See you tomorrow.’

  As Eve headed out, Kate called after her, ‘Oh, Eve, do you know Pastor Hansen? Up at the Ten Commandments Church?’

  ‘That’s that new one, isn’t it? I don’t think so. Why?’

  ‘He’s Patrick’s father. I just wondered…’

  ‘No, no I don’t.’

  And Eve left.

  There were papers all over the kitchen table. Adam was sucking on his teeth while John stood beside him.

  ‘I think that’s it, I do think that’s it,’ he kept saying. ‘Ah, Eve, look at this.’

  The poster was only a mock-up but it was still quite frightening. There was a black and white photograph of a woman out on her own at night. She was being menaced by something and was terrified. The slogan was straightforward.

 

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