by Nick Thripp
‘Not really.’
‘Have you ever listened to any of his music?” By now she was smiling broadly. It was quite possible that the school music teacher had included some of Puccini’s works in the collection of classical masterpieces he’d inflicted on us during our ‘appreciation’ lessons every Thursday afternoon, but I couldn’t be sure.
‘May have done.’ I had a sinking feeling, the sort you get when you stare at an exam paper and realise you can’t answer any of the questions. Surely, once she realised I was culturally illiterate, she’d blow me out?
‘You may have done?’
‘Er, well, I mean, I’m not sure.’
She reached out a hand and placed it on my arm.
‘In that case, you’re very sweet to bring me to one. I’ll have to educate you. The thing you have to remember about Puccini,’ she said, as I gazed at her face. I loved her animated expression and the small laughter lines which appeared and disappeared around her mouth as she spoke. The tip of her nose was so delicate and finely shaped, I felt like leaning across and kissing it.
‘…And so, sometimes you can even get to hear the original version of Madam Butterfly,’ I heard her say as I emerged from my thoughts and found her staring at me.
‘I don’t think you’ve heard a word I’ve said.’ She gave my arm a squeeze. ‘This is going to be tougher than I thought.’
I’d never been to an opera before and was surprised at how normal the audience looked, like any cross-section of the metropolitan population. Though I quite enjoyed the performance, more for the spectacle than the music, I couldn’t wait for it to end. I kept imagining being in bed with Rachel, the thought blotting almost everything else from my mind.
At last it was over, and we walked back to my car, arm in arm.
‘That was a wonderful evening. Thank you.’ She kissed me on the cheek. ‘Come back to my place and I’ll introduce you to Linda and Jean.’
I must have frowned. Linda and Jean, whoever they were, were the last people I wanted to meet. Rachel misread my expression.
‘They’re my flatmates. Identical twins, both solicitors working for the same firm. They’re a hoot.’
When we got back to the flat, Linda and Jean, solid women with their shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal broad forearms, were about to start a game of Monopoly. I stood watching them set up the board as Rachel brewed coffee in the kitchen. I couldn’t wait for her to bring it out so I could observe the niceties, gulp it down and manoeuver her towards the bedroom.
‘Want to play?’ either Linda or Jean said. Dressed identically, I couldn’t tell them apart.
‘Great idea,’ Rachel shouted from the kitchen. She emerged holding four mugs. ‘Coffee’s up.’ She looked at me. ‘You don’t mind, do you? It’ll be fun.’
I shook my head. This was no time to appear a bad sport.
I placed my cup carefully beside me and promptly knocked it over with my elbow. Coffee spilled everywhere, all over the board, the piles of bank notes, the stack of properties and dripped slowly off the edge of the table onto the cream carpet.
‘Don’t worry,’ Rachel shouted as she raced to the kitchen, returning with a couple of cloths and a bucket and mop. The twins rolled their eyes and set to work wiping while Rachel wielded the mop. I sat on the edge of my seat, feeling useless. After ten minutes, they finished and we selected our metal tokens. Rachel took the top hat, one twin the battleship and the other the boot. I rummaged through the remainder and selected the iron, thinking it would show me in a non-sexist light.
The game took almost three hours, for most of which it seemed the result would be a stalemate, that is until Rachel and The Battleship did a deal in which Rachel acquired Park Lane in return for Coventry Street and £100. Soon houses and then hotels sprouted on her dark blue set while the three of us spent our time trying to leapfrog that corner of the board. Inevitably each of us, in turn, failed, and Rachel was left with a pile of coffee-stained properties in front of her and a stack of slightly soggy cash at her elbow.
‘The set’s ruined,’ The Boot lamented.
‘Well done, Monopoly Queen,’ I said to Rachel, hoping my magnanimity would prove endearing.
‘No one landed on my properties, not even him,’ complained The Battleship. I’d definitely been the game’s unluckiest player, arriving regularly on the income tax square and frequently being sent to jail.
‘Popping to the loo,’ Rachel said and left the room.
‘Rachel always wins at board games,’ The Boot said.
‘Ruthless and lucky,’ The Battleship added. ‘Quite a combination.’
‘Lucky at Monopoly, unlucky in love.’ The Boot cast a meaningful look in my direction.
‘You’ve never seen my abacus,’ I retorted, with a light-hearted laugh. Two square-jawed faces stared at me. We lapsed into silence.
‘Er, I suppose you’ve met quite a few of Rachel’s admirers,’ I hazarded, not expecting a serious answer.
The twins exchanged glances.
‘Rachel only likes really challenging people,’ The Boot said.
‘Or nature’s pushovers. They offer no threat,’ The Battleship added.
‘Really?’ I said. ‘How strange.’
‘Which category do you think you fall into?’ The Boot asked, her tone of voice leaving me in no doubt as to her own views. I resolved not to be brow-beaten.
‘She certainly revelled in drubbing you two.’
'Getting her own back for the thrashing we gave her and Louise at bridge the other day. She can’t get over the fact we’re virtually telepathic.’
‘Bit like the Krays then?’
The twins, sitting on the sofa, arched their backs like a pair of cobras, and I understood how a small animal, which has been chosen as dish of the day, must feel.
‘You know, Ronnie and Reggie were meant to be—’ I trailed off weakly.
‘Think it’s time to go to bed,’ The Boot said. The Battleship agreed.
‘Good night,’ they chorused.
‘Nice to meet you. See you again soon,’ I said.
They looked doubtful about both statements.
I hung around while the twins used the bathroom. Rachel, now pottering in the kitchen, had given no indication she was going to invite me to stay. She emerged yawning and stretching.
‘Oh, I’m so tired.’ She yawned again. That’s it, I thought. The sign for me to leave. The twins had been right. At least I’d depart with dignity. I looked at my watch.
‘Suppose I’d better be going now.’
Rachel’s eyes widened.
‘Don’t you want to stay?’
‘Thought you were tired.’
‘Not too tired.’ She came and stood close to me, the fragrance of her recently shampooed hair filling my nostrils. We kissed.
‘Sure you want to?’ she asked, breaking off for a moment. I buried myself in her neck and breathed in her sweet and gentle aroma.
‘Well?’ She glanced at my crotch. ‘You look like you’d prefer to stay.’
I nodded vigorously and she took me by the hand and led me to the bedroom.
I wondered whether our lovemaking would be accompanied by a recitation of tracts from Trust Law. However, Rachel remained quiet, except for the odd gasp, until shortly before the moment of climax when I heard her start to hum Vissi d’arte, her rendition building to a crescendo at the exact moment of orgasm.
Chapter 12
Neil, 1980
The almost horizontal rain, driven by a gusting wind, drenched everyone in the cinema queue in Leicester Square.
‘I’m not sure I even want to see it. I’m soaked. Shall we go home?’ Rachel brushed the water off her Barbour. It had been my idea to go and see Seems Like Old Times, largely because I fancied Goldie Hawn, though that wasn’t what I’d told Rachel. The queue shuffled along a litt
le as another couple abandoned it. The doors weren’t due to open for another fifteen minutes.
‘Won’t you miss the Sisters Kray?’ I asked. Rachel usually objected when I used that term.
‘Not in the least.’ She waved a dismissive hand. ‘In fact, since I started beating them at bridge we’ve barely been on speaking terms. Come on let’s go.’
I looked up into the sky. Somewhere between the towering black clouds I was sure I could glimpse a chink of brighter weather. I really wanted to see Goldie Hawn.
‘I think it’s a clearing shower. Let’s give it another few minutes.’
Rachel shook her head and a cascade of droplets spun from her hood. She looked up.
‘It’ll still be raining when the film ends.’
A fork of lightning ripped through the gloom and illuminated the sky, followed by a loud peal of thunder. As though infused by the electric storm’s energy, the wind hurled a fierce barrage of rain in our faces.
‘I’m leaving.’ Rachel stepped out of the queue, hunched her shoulders and made for the kerb.
‘They told me they were telepathic,’ I said, following. A passing car splattered my trousers with muddy brown water from a flooded gutter.
‘Who?’ Rachel shouted as another peal of thunder broke.
‘The Krays.’ I shook my leg and gesticulated at the driver.
‘Huh! They had a system and I cracked it. Now I can trounce them at will.’
She stuck out her hand and a taxi miraculously appeared. We sat in a deepening pool of water on the back seat as the taxi threaded its way through the dense traffic of Coventry Street.
‘Bet they were pissed off. I can imagine their faces. You’d better be careful you don’t end up in a concrete pillar on some motorway.’
‘Enough about them!’ Rachel exclaimed. ‘You haven’t answered my question. Do you want us to move in together or not?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘But what? I suppose you’re one of those commitment-averse men.’
As the taxi inched forward, the driver muttered something through the half-open window separating us, but neither of us caught it. As far as one could see, the rain had brought all traffic to a standstill and, sure enough, having nosed up to the back of a white van we, in turn, stopped. Now the only thing moving was the meter, which clocked up additional cost relentlessly. I felt my inside pocket for my wallet, worried that if we didn’t start moving soon I wouldn’t be able to afford the fare. Rachel nudged me. She was obviously expecting a response.
‘It’s not that. It’s—’
Another flash of lightning was followed almost immediately by tumultuous thunder.
‘The storm must be directly overhead,’ Rachel said, her features as dark as the weather. The taxi, buffeted by a gust of wind, rocked.
‘Feels like it’s in the taxi,’ I said. She didn’t smile.
I swallowed hard. I didn’t want her to think I was insecure, but the simple fact was I still didn’t know what she saw in me. She was more intelligent and energetic, and I’d never deluded myself that I was good looking. I remember around the age of seven my mother saying to her friend Janet that Janet’s son was going to grow up to be very handsome. I’d torn myself away from my game of Dinky cars to ask, ‘Will I be handsome too, Mummy?’ only to be told, after a pause, that I’d be ‘fun to be with.’
‘Rachel, I’d love us to move in together. There’s nothing I’d like more.’ I swallowed hard again and tried to keep my voice even. ‘But are you absolutely sure you want to live with me?’
At last the taxi started moving, albeit slowly.
‘That’s why I suggested it, you chump.’ She squeezed my upper arm. ‘We’ll have a great time together. You’re such fun to be with.’ My heart sank. The ‘fun to be with prize’ was what schools probably awarded to no-hoper children to console them.
‘That’s settled then,’ she said. ‘We’ll start looking for a place. How about Richmond? I’ve always fancied Richmond.’
I looked through the taxi’s windows, but they were so smeared with water now I couldn’t see much. I rolled the window down and then back up again. It had stopped raining.
‘Richmond sounds fine,’ I said, and Rachel kissed me. A milky ray of sunshine broke through the separating clouds.
‘I’ll contact some agents first thing tomorrow.’ She reached for her purse as the taxi built up speed. ‘This is on me.’
Although the Kray sisters’ words echoed in my ears, I brushed aside my suspicions that Rachel was ticking the ‘obtain partner’ box on her own mental CV, and doing so by signing up someone undemanding who wouldn’t compete with her or distract her from her career. After all, Rachel was an extremely attractive woman, and if she wanted to live with me, why should I object?
The wet pavements glistened in the bright sunshine as we stepped out of the taxi outside Rachel’s flat. Shouting out ‘hello’ as we entered the hall, she dashed into her bedroom to change. I heard some rumbling noises, like the grunting of bison across the North American plains, and locked myself in the bathroom, a small pool of water rapidly forming on the cork-tile floor around the bottom of my waterlogged trousers. As I combed my hair I scrutinised my face in the mirror. She must see something in me. Perhaps I wasn’t so bad looking. Although my hairline might be receding a bit, surely that and my thickening waist were only signs of burgeoning maturity, of worldly experience, of gravitas? On the work front I’d recently been promoted to Manager and a team of accountants and trainees was at my beck and call, clients treated my audits with respect, sometimes even bordering on trepidation, and on the social front I was going to move in with a most desirable woman, and at her suggestion. Surely, I’d arrived?
A loud knocking on the door startled me from my thoughts.
‘Are you ever coming out of there?’ It was the rasping voice of one of the Krays.
I opened the door slowly. Wearing a shiny black shirt, tight black trousers and Doc Martens, she stood blocking my way, her arms akimbo.
‘God, you look like a drowned rat. What sewer have you just crawled out of?’ She shuddered. ‘Ugh, you’re still dripping.’
‘Ever thought of moonlighting as a nightclub bouncer? You look just the part,’ I said as I squeezed past her muscular frame and into the sitting-room.
Rachel emerged barefoot and wearing a voluminous white cotton dress. Apart from slightly damp hair, she could have stepped from the pages of a fashion magazine. She went into the kitchen to make some drinks.
‘You’ll make the sofa wet. You better sit here,’ the other Kray twin said, pulling up an upright wooden chair. ‘Every time you’re here you wreak havoc.’
‘Won’t be for much longer,’ I said.
‘Why, has Rachel told you to sling your hook?'
‘Not before time,’ added her sister from the doorway.
‘No, we’ll be moving in together soon.’
I wish I’d had a camera handy to catch the way their jaws dropped. Rachel would probably be cross I’d broken the news. It was worth it though.
*
I quite enjoyed sensing the misery rising from Neil’s hunched shoulders like mist off a marsh. He’d been to a better school and he’d gone to university. If that wasn’t enough to make me envious, he’d pulled the desirable Samantha and started a business which was going to make lots of money. Then he’d lost the girl and now he’d all but lost the business.
‘We couldn’t match their rates. They were so aggressive. I don’t know how they could do it and make money. We couldn’t.’
‘How have you survived so far?’
‘Bank loans, and then more bank loans. Now I can’t even pay the interest.’
In the gloom of the East End pub his face appeared gaunt and his jacket hung limply from his shoulders. He sipped the beer I’d bought him. Normally he would have swigged it.
I clucked sympathetically to mask my feelings of smug self-satisfaction.
Work was going well and Rachel and I had moved in together.
‘Want another?’ Neil said, dragging himself to his feet. I was torn. Should I let him persevere with the charade of offering even though he couldn’t afford it, or should I take the magnanimous option and buy the drinks myself, thus reinforcing my superior financial status? I chose the latter and, brushing his token protests aside, shortly afterwards, with a flourish, placed the two pints on the table.
‘Thanks, mate. Cheers!’
We clinked glasses and each took a mouthful. He sighed.
‘I’ll never meet a bird like Samantha again. Nobody matches up. I would have married her, you know. Apparently, she and John split up almost straightaway. How could he do it to me?’
‘Didn’t you ask him?’
Neil sighed. ‘He said she’d seduced him and then dumped him. Not sure I believe him though. She wasn’t like that. She was quite shy underneath that glamorous exterior.’
I thought it prudent not to mention my chance encounter with Samantha at Jemima’s.
‘Yeah, it’s strange,’ he continued. ‘Almost as though he did it to spite me. But why? He was helping me on the business front and every time we met he seemed very friendly.’
I shook my head and shrugged. I’d no wish to discuss Beart. In any case, anyone not blinded by lust could see that Samantha was in a different league from Neil.
I invited Neil to join Rachel and me for dinner one night; I ached to show her off to everyone I knew. He declined, and I sympathised. Spending time with couples, especially if they’re still all over each other, is never much fun when you’re single.
*
My next encounter with Neil, several months later, came as a surprise. I’d visited my parents for the first time in nearly four years. Rachel was spending a few days with her uncle in Bridlington, and I hadn’t been invited. The ostensible reason for my visit was to tell my parents that Rachel and I were living together. I’d dropped her name into telephone conversations with my mother a few times, keeping my references casual as though she were something between a good friend and a non-serious girlfriend. However, my real agenda was to visit Mrs Beart. After all these years, I still felt guilty about my less than gentlemanly conduct and, having at last plucked up the courage, wanted to make amends, although I wasn’t entirely sure how.
