Cupid's Dart

by David Nobbs

  I wished I hadn't said that. I smiled to take the sting out of it.

  'Poor old Alan,' she said.

  'Not so poor,' I said. 'I've got a year's sabbatical.'

  'What's that when it's at home?'

  'A year's paid leave.'

  'Alan! That's great. How did you get that? Win it, did you?'

  'No, no. Lawrence arranged it for me. Thought I was exhausted.'

  'That's rubbish. I could've told him that.'

  She laughed, utterly unselfconsciously, a real Ange laugh, full of remembered sensuality. I flinched mentally, waiting for the pain, arming myself against it, but not as much pain came as I had expected. Suddenly I felt much calmer.

  'Well, unfortunately that isn't the sort of criterion on which they judge such matters at the university, I'm afraid,' I said.

  'So what'll you do with your year's thingummydoodle?'

  'I thought I might go on a cruise round the world.'

  'Round the world!' she said. 'That's fantastic.'

  'Well, perhaps.'

  'You'll meet all sorts of amazing women, rich widows, oriental princesses . . .'

  'Well, possibly.'

  She leant across and gave me one of her brief kisses, like the early ones before we became close. That was a difficult moment, I admit. I had the sentimental thought, 'I know it has to end, I accept the end, but oh, how I wish we were back at the beginning.'

  'How did you get in?' she asked. 'It's a sell-out.'

  'I pleaded. I pretended to be Tons Thomas's father.'

  'You never!'

  'I do a reasonably convincing Welsh accent.'

  'Alan!'

  She gave me another quick kiss.

  'I hope you don't mind me saying this,' she said, 'but you haven't half improved since I met you.'

  'Thank you,' I said.

  I put my hand on hers, and squeezed it.

  It was closure, as good as I could have dreamt under the circumstances, but I am human, and there were two questions that I still needed to ask. The first one shows me not as a 55year-old, but as an inexperienced man who has only recently lost his virginity. Forgive me for my vanity, if you can.

  'Those nights at the darts, Ange, and in Rome, were they . . .?'

  'They were great.' She looked round and lowered her voice. 'You were just as good as Rob.'

  I felt absurdly pleased.

  'Alan, it wasn't as simple as "easy come, easy go". I stopped being that sort of girl when I met you. I grew up. I . . . I was frightened. You were too keen, know what I mean?'

  'You were frightened of the intensity.'

  'Yeah. I kept thinking . . . this is awful, Alan and I don't like myself for it. I kept thinking of when I was thirty-nine, you'd be eighty.'

  'Well it is awful,' I couldn't resist saying, 'because you've got the maths wrong. You'd have been forty-nine when I was eighty.'

  'Oh gawd. Sorry. I was never any good at maths.'

  'No, but, you were right, Ange. Better to end as we did now than be in a right old mess then.'

  'I'd like to have kids, Alan.'

  'And you didn't want them to have an old father.'

  She looked embarrassed. She couldn't think of a reply.

  'I know you'd never have wanted kids,' she said.

  Had she not read my letter from Prague?

  That led naturally on to the other question I had to ask. There was a burst of cheering. Half the room leapt up with cries of 'One Hundred and Eighteeee.' I had to wait.

  'Did you get a letter from me?' I asked. 'From Prague?'

  'Yeah, I did. I couldn't read it. The writing was terrible. As if you was drunk or somethink. I mean I know you never would be, but that was how it looked. Or it was written by bluebottles. It was a list, wasn't it?'

  'Yes. Yes, it was.'

  'I thought, "It's philosophy. It's a list of, I don't know, theories and black holes and that." I didn't try very hard.'

  'It was a love letter.'

  'Oh. Sorry.'

  'The only love letter I ever wrote.'

  'Sorry.'

  'Probably the only love letter I ever will write.'

  'No! You'll write lots now you've broken your duck.'

  'Maybe.'

  'I am sorry I didn't read it, though, Alan.'

  'It doesn't matter now. In fact it didn't matter then.'

  Rob returned with the drinks. I was grateful to him for having left us alone so long.

  'Sorry about that,' he said. 'They haven't got enough staff on.'

  I admired his finesse. I thought that there was a good chance that they would have really lovely children.

  'I must be off,' I said, and I ventured a comment about our relationship in front of Rob. I was prepared to leave, I was even happy to leave, but I didn't wish to slink out.

  I leant over and kissed Ange for the last time, and said 'Thank you for everything, Ange.'

  'Do you really mean that, Alan?' she asked.

  'Oh yes,' I said. 'It would all have been a waste of time if I didn't. I really do think, you see, that in this cruel world we should be grateful for every nice thing that happens, and, when it's over, we should know how to walk away without looking back.'

  'You're a bit of a philosopher,' said Rob.

  'Yes, well, you've got to be in my game,' I said.

  My eyes met Ange's for the last time. We both smiled wryly, and then I did what I had said I should do. My father would have been proud of me. I walked away without looking back.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  Praise for David Nobbs

  By the Same Author

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter ONE

  Chapter TWO

  Chapter THREE

  Chapter FOUR

  Chapter FIVE

  Chapter SIX

  Chapter SEVEN

  Chapter EIGHT

  Chapter NINE

  Chapter TEN

  Chapter ELEVEN

  Chapter TWELVE

  Chapter THIRTEEN

  Chapter FOURTEEN

  Chapter FIFTEEN

  Chapter SIXTEEN

  Chapter SEVENTEEN

  Chapter EIGHTEEN

  Chapter NINETEEN

  Chapter TWENTY

  Chapter TWENTY-ONE

  Chapter TWENTY-TWO

  Chapter TWENTY-THREE

  Chapter TWENTY-FOUR

  Chapter TWENTY-FIVE

  Chapter TWENTY-SIX

  Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN