by David Evered
During the course of the meal snow had fallen heavily and the temperature had dropped sharply. The roads had become treacherous and the few cars which had driven along the residential roads beside the Common where they had parked had created a rutted and frozen surface. The car skidded, finally coming to rest at a right angle to the kerb.
Michael looked across at Peter with an air of resignation. ‘Turn into the skid, they always say, the omniscient “they”, but what do they mean by that? Turn left, right or up the bloody centre? I never understood that instruction and what the hell does it matter? By the time anyone’s thought it through it’s too late!’ He swung the wheel and engaged reverse and as he removed his foot from the clutch the wheels spun ineffectually on the ice. ‘Idyllic,’ he said as he finally removed his foot from the accelerator and took the car out of gear. He waved a hand at the wintry scene. ‘Is this Barnes Common or is this fairyland that I see before me?’
‘Oh, shut up,’ said Peter good-humouredly although he was beginning to regret the impulse which had led him to telephone Michael. ‘I’ll get out and push you round while you run the car in reverse but, for God’s sake, do go gently on the accelerator and release the clutch slowly this time.’
‘As you say, Master.’
Peter got out and stepped cautiously onto the pavement and stood looking at the front of the car. There was a man walking slowly, drunkenly and unsteadily towards him, half singing and half humming Lilli Marlene. He lurched towards Peter and stood by his shoulder for a moment swaying gently. ‘That,’ he said judiciously, ‘if you don’t mind my saying so, is a very poor piece of parking.’
‘Oh, go home, Dad,’ said Peter as he placed both his hands on the nearside front wing and braced his feet against the kerb. He started to push the car as Michael took his foot off the clutch and revved slowly in reverse. The car began to straighten and the rear wheels started to grip in the tracks left by an earlier vehicle. This moment coincided with the point at which Michael could contain his impatience no longer and pressed more firmly on the accelerator pedal. Peter slipped, half recovered and then fell prone in the snow. He reappeared at the passenger door brushing the snow from his coat.
‘Is this the Yeti that comes in the night?’ asked Michael as Peter climbed in.
‘For God’s sake, let’s get on.’
Michael drove back to his flat in Hammersmith, rather more cautiously, where they settled down with a drink. ‘It seems a long time ago now,’ Michael repeated.
‘A long time since when?’
‘Since we were at Cambridge and the short time that we shared a flat when we both first came to London. I enjoyed that evening with you and Jenny a couple of months ago. It seemed almost like old times as we talked about our futures – at least Jenny and I did. You were notably silent.’
‘I’m not sure there was much to say. I think you summed it up correctly when you said that most settle for being the poor bloody infantry of life. Though, speaking as a foot soldier, you must not forget how essential they are to the conduct of a war. A masterful strategy is quite useless without the means to implement it. Even a National Service 2nd Lieutenant has sufficient grasp of strategy to work that one out.’
‘Yes, but I sensed that there were times that evening when you were on the verge of expressing some discontent with your lot, as you did when we saw each other in the autumn after your surreal Bohemian day.’
‘Perhaps, but you shouldn’t read too much into that. Everyone must have dreams from time to time of breaking free from the daily round. I guess events over the last few months have rather unsettled me.’
‘What events? There’s something that’s quietly bugging you, isn’t there? We don’t see each other for a year or so and then three times in three months. You offered some details of the occurrences which had touched you during the previous few weeks at the first of our recent meetings but we then veered off into an inconclusive discussion about happiness and fulfilment. Tell all.’
‘All would be going a little too far!’ Peter paused before continuing. ‘I guess it really started with that dinner party last August. That was the evening when we were called by Jenny to say that her father was seriously ill. It led us into a fairly light-hearted conversation about Tyneside which then moved on and focused on the extent to which people are able to free themselves from the familial, emotional and cultural constraints imposed on them by their parents, peers and upbringing. I guess this mirrors the comment by Marx which you quoted when we met earlier. This brought a number of latent thoughts to the fore as I reflected that I’d pretty much travelled along pre-ordained paths through life – really without questioning it. All this would have just become a distant memory within a day or two if it hadn’t been for the subsequent series of wholly unconnected events, some of which I outlined to you. Some were trivial and some more substantial but they kept that discussion at the forefront of my mind. Andrew’s death has affected me deeply, more deeply than I had expected. I suppose it’s often the case that that such tragedies can, in retrospect, seem to have a particular significance.’
Michael was silent for a few moments. ‘This is really not telling me anything other than that you have a nagging sense of unease. Where is all this going to take you?’
‘I really don’t know. Maybe, probably, nowhere at all. A major change in the direction of my life would involve a leap into the unknown and a major disruption of my life and that of Ann as well. She would probably think I’d taken leave of my senses, as would my parents. It’s interesting that they come from entirely different places and yet I’m certain that they would hold exactly the same views. Perhaps I would reflect as Hamlet did, although in somewhat different circumstances, that “conscience does make cowards of us all, and makes us rather bear the ills we have than fly to others that we know not of”. I have to admit that my choice is rather less stark. It is not between life and death and I cannot in truth claim that I have too much in the way of ills to bear.’
‘I guess the smart money would be on all this going nowhere.’
‘I’m sure you’re right, although I feel somewhat wimpish in saying that. I can, of course, put together a case articulating reasons why my current role in life is worthwhile. Much of it is designed to help ordinary people navigate through the storms of life. Like you, I see clients at times when they are stressed and often when they are vulnerable.’
‘Yes, we are both in the same trade. I’m not sure that I suffer from the same anxieties as you – and I have my political ambitions to spur me on. It remains to be seen if they will amount to anything. Even as an agnostic I do have a missionary streak!’
‘I believe I see your Catholic upbringing still lurking somewhere in the background.’
‘Perhaps so. As we’ve been saying, it’s almost impossible to throw off the effects of nurture on our lives, but I would reject the suggestion that it has imposed on me the uncertainties and agonies which are so characteristic of the fiction of some Catholic authors.’
‘So we talk but continue to walk along our accustomed paths. This, stripped down to its bare essentials, was the basis of Andrew’s challenge. I remember once when I was at school I was posed a question by one of the staff. He looked at my face as I struggled and failed to answer and suggested in a wonderful phrase that I was “in an ecstasy of indecision”! That phrase comes close to summing up my position although I’m not sure that it currently constitutes a state of ecstasy. I must be going.’ He rose to leave. ‘I’ll take a bus if they’re still running or a taxi if not.’
* * *
During the first full week in December Jenny moved into the flat and started her job with Fine Arts Monthly and Ann returned from her trip to Newcastle and the Midlands. After a few days commuting from Barnes to Bloomsbury, Jenny decided that she would look for a flat-share as soon as possible. It was evident that she was not only motivated by the inconvenience of the journey but also
by a wish to live nearer the centre of the city. She decided she would start to look in earnest after the Christmas holiday period. Ann announced her intention of going to Newcastle on the Friday before Christmas so that she could travel back with her mother. The Bowmans, as Peter had predicted, invited the family to join them on Christmas Day. They were to be joined by Peter’s older brother, Matthew, and his family who had been living in Frankfurt for the past three years where Matt had a job in the financial sector. Matt and Jilly had two boys aged six and four, Oliver and Piers.
They all met as instructed for a family visit to church on Christmas morning and then walked down the hill to the house. They gathered in the lounge for a glass of champagne before lunch as presents were distributed and the room rapidly became knee deep in discarded wrapping paper. Conversation flowed slowly at first as new connections were made.
‘I think it’s a pity that we didn’t get to know you before today and that we never met your husband. It’s so sad that you were unable to come to Peter and Ann’s wedding,’ said Molly ignorant of the fact that Ann’s parents had been actively discouraged from attending by their daughter.
Loyally, Peg responded saying that it would have been a big journey for them and that Graham was already unwell by then.
‘Peter tells me that this is the first time you’ve been to London since you came up for a cup final.’ She ploughed on blithely and wholly unaware that she was discomfiting her son and daughter-in-law.
‘That was my second visit. We came here on our honeymoon – for just two nights. That was in 1932.’
‘So there was quite a long gap before Ann was born?’
‘Yes, she was born shortly before the war and Jenny just after it was all over. It took some time for me to fall with Ann.’
Molly looked a little nonplussed at the response. ‘What do you mean?’
Ann interjected to explain that “falling” was a northern term for becoming or falling pregnant. Then, planning to divert the conversation towards more general topics, she added, ‘We plan to show Mum some of the sights and take her to a show.’
‘What are you planning to see?’
‘Mum loves music. We thought of Cabaret but a friend said that it might be better to go to see “Fiddler on the Roof.” That seemed like a good idea so we’ve booked for that.’
‘That sounds like just the ticket,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I wouldn’t mind seeing it myself. Is young Jenny in on this party as well?’
‘Absolutely, if she wishes to come.’
Peter turned to Matt. ‘It’s a year since I last saw you. What’s family life like in Germany? I imagine you’ve already had some celebrations for St Nicholas.’
‘Yes, but these vary widely from region to region and St Nicholas goes by a variety of different names. The celebrations are fairly small scale. Children put a boot outside the door in the hope that it will be filled with sweets or small gifts. The tradition is that he will only leave gifts if the children have been good through the year and he leaves a stick in the boot if they haven’t.’
Geoffrey looked at Oliver and Piers. ‘Did you get a stick?’
‘Of course not, Grandpa,’ they chorused. ‘We’re always good.’
‘A likely story,’ he said genially.
‘Do you speak German fluently now?’ asked Ann.
‘I regret to say that my German is only average. The principal language in the office is English and, of course, we speak it at home. Jilly is much better than I am as she has to deal with all our everyday affairs – shopping, the services, plumbers, butchers, bakers and probably candlestick makers as well. I suspect if we’re there for another year the boys will be the most fluent as they pick it up from playing with other kids from the housing complex. They learn so quickly at that age.’
‘It must be great,’ said Jenny. ‘I should so love to work abroad for a time.’
‘So what exactly does your job involve?’ asked Jilly. ‘Peter told us that you have just started to work for a publishing company.’
‘Yes, it publishes fine art books and magazines. I have the job title of editorial assistant.’
‘What does that involve?’
‘Difficult to say in detail. I’ve only worked there for just over two weeks and most of the second week was given over to Christmas parties. But I think the answer will be almost anything I’m told to do. I suspect it will involve some copy editing, some liaising with contributors to the magazines, possibly providing a little assistance in developing promotional material and being a general dogsbody. Fine art publishing is a small scale business. I understand that I’ll be going out of the office a bit but mainly in the London area which is where most British experts are based. I don’t think I’ll get anywhere more exciting.’
‘Might the Frankfurt Book Fair be a possibility?’
‘I suspect that would be for more senior people in the company. I still have so much to learn. It helps that my degree was in English and my thesis was on Christina Rossetti.’
‘And how is your life going, Peter?’
He shrugged. ‘Plodding on – after all, I am a solicitor.’
‘I’m sure it’s not as boring as it sounds.’
‘I suspect most people would think it is. I spend my day dotting “Is” and crossing “Ts” and generally trying to make sure that everything is as unambiguous and, therefore, as boring as possible. Like most lawyers, I’m forever utilising that awful phrase “for the avoidance of doubt”.’
Molly had been out of the room attending to the turkey. ‘We haven’t seen you, of course, since that terrible night with your neighbour. It was very upsetting and even if he did behave outrageously, what happened afterwards was very sad.’ There was a pause while Peter delivered an edited version of the events of that evening and its consequences to his brother. ‘How is that sweet wife of his managing?’ she finished.
‘With great difficulty,’ said Ann. ‘Peter and I have been trying to be as supportive as possible but she is very low. Peter has seen more of her as I’ve been away quite a bit in Newcastle and in Birmingham with preparations for a documentary series we are putting together.’
‘Sounds interesting,’ said Molly. ‘You must tell us more over lunch. Geoffrey, come and carve the bird.’
The rituals of a traditional Christmas lunch having been duly observed, they returned to the lounge for a brandy and a semi-somnolent afternoon while they watched the film “The courage of Lassie” on the television with the boys. Finally, Ann and Peter together with Jenny and Peg returned to their flat.
* * *
The day of Peggy Robson’s departure was approaching. She had been delighted to be treated as a tourist viewing the sights of London, and claimed that the visit to the theatre to see “Fiddler on the Roof” had evoked happy memories of a more innocent pre-war world. Ann, Peter and Jenny sat talking together the night before Peg’s return after their mother had gone to bed. They had tried to persuade her that it might be a good idea if she were to move to London so they could see more of her and visit her regularly. This proposition had been firmly rejected on the grounds that she had lived in Newcastle all her life and did not plan to up sticks at this stage and that her friends were all there. ‘You’re all too busy with your lives,’ she had said. ‘I’m not sure that I would see so much more of you. It has been lovely having Jenny living at home for the last year but now she has a job and the freedom to go anywhere. I don’t want to hold her back. Ann took her freedom nine years ago,’ she had said rather pointedly, ‘so I know what happens when you young people get away and start to make a success of your lives.’
Ann had been stung by the last of these remarks and proposed to Jenny that they should continue to try and persuade their mother to move south although both Jenny and Peter insisted that such an attempt was almost inevitably going to end in failure. Eventually she said, ‘Well, Jenny, you and I will hav
e to get up to Newcastle more regularly to see Mum. I think she is being a little selfish in refusing to consider moving south, but I guess we can encourage her to come and stay once or twice a year. It’s going to be difficult for me to travel north very often as I’m now so busy in my job and, at times, I have to work in the evenings and at weekends.’
‘That last comment is scarcely fair,’ said Jenny somewhat angrily. ‘In fact, not much of it is fair. I’ve lived with Mum and Dad as an adult, something that you haven’t done. Her friends and contemporaries are important to her and they are there day in and day out at the Social Club. She would be isolated here in London with only occasional visits from us.’
‘Well, I think that most of the burden of travelling to Newcastle will fall on you.’
‘Why should that be?’
‘Simply because I’m so busy.’
‘OK, you’ve established yourself in your career but I just don’t know how busy I shall be nor where my career might take me. You seem to think, just because I have an open mind and am ready to explore various possibilities for my future, that my ambitions are somehow less significant than yours. You just left home and didn’t come back until Dad was dying.’ Jenny was quite angry now.
‘I think Jenny has a point,’ said Peter.
‘It’s nothing to do with you.’
‘Perhaps not so much but I am simply saying that Jenny has a point and as you work out how you are to continue to keep in contact, you do need to consider both your needs. The first thing you might do would be to get a telephone installed in her flat and pay for it, although that is no substitute for visits.’
‘Yes – I agree with that and yes, we do need to work together,’ Ann said in a rather less dictatorial tone. ‘We’ll all take her back to King’s Cross tomorrow and I’ll make arrangements for a telephone to be put into the flat.’
