A Bit of a Do

‘I’m starving,’ Jenny was saying. ‘I could eat a horse, except I never could.’

‘It’s chicken tonight,’ said Ted.

‘I hope it’s free-range,’ said Jenny. ‘I won’t eat it if it isn’t.’

‘Good for you,’ said her mother.

‘You think you’ll annoy me by not disagreeing with me, don’t you?’ said Jenny.

‘I just have,’ said Liz. Ted wanted to bury his head in those smooth, tanned shoulders. He wished she wasn’t showing so much to all these people. He wanted it for himself. She was speaking to him. He hadn’t been listening.

‘What?’ he said.

‘Rita’s rather trapped with poor Neville. A rescue might be diplomatic.’

‘Every morning I stretch out my hands to caress her … er …’ Delicacy prevented Neville from continuing, but his hands stroked an exquisite pair of invisible buttocks. ‘Every morning it’s a shock to find she isn’t there. The mornings don’t get any better, Rita.’

‘They will.’

‘Yes, but, you see, I don’t think I want them to. That would seem like a betrayal. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to burden you with my grief.’

‘Oh, please do. I don’t mean burden me. It doesn’t. I’m glad. I don’t mean glad about your grief. I mean, I’m glad to listen to the grief I wish you hadn’t got, but since you have got it, I’m happy to listen to it.’

Ted arrived. ‘Rita, love, could I have a word?’ he said, and to Neville he added, ‘Sorry, Neville.’

‘No! Please!’ said Neville.

Ted led Rita away.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘Nothing. I was rescuing you.’

‘It’s years since I enjoyed a conversation as much as I was enjoying that one with Neville.’

‘So how are you feeling?’ asked Liz. In the months to come her relationship with her daughter was going to be put under a great strain. She wanted a nice, cosy chat before that happened.

‘Fine. It’s going to be a girl, incidentally.’

‘You’ve had it tested?’

‘I didn’t need to. I know.’

‘Oh. Are you pleased?’

‘I don’t mind. I think it’s selfish of parents to saddle their children with burdens of expectation.’

‘Is that a dig at me or mere disinterested trendy priggishness?’

Oh dear. The nice, cosy chat was going wrong.

‘It’s a dig at you,’ said Jenny. ‘Well, you never left me in any doubt that you preferred Simon.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Yes. I mean, I’m not resentful. Not now. Not really.’

It was no wonder if her parents did prefer Simon, thought Jenny. He’d always been the perfect son. Never a hint of rebellion. It was entirely typical of him that he should walk past at this very moment, right on cue.

‘Oh, hello, Mother,’ he said. ‘Hello, Jenny. You look nice!’

‘There’s no need to sound so surprised.’

‘Well … you’re my sister.’

‘I mean not that I want gracious compliments, anyway. They’re so sexist.’

‘Simon?’ said Liz. ‘Would you say I favoured you as a child, at Jenny’s expense?’

‘Good Lord, no! You were absolutely fair.’

‘You see!’ said Jenny triumphantly, when Simon had moved on.

‘What?’

‘If Simon thinks you were fair, you must have been favouring him outrageously. Which isn’t surprising, really.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Well … you’ve always been a man’s woman, haven’t you?’

Jenny had never seen the blood rush to her mother’s cheeks before.

‘You bitch!’ said Liz.

‘Mum!’ said Jenny, as Liz stormed off. ‘I didn’t mean … I only … Oh!’

Paul and Laurence returned with Ted’s scotch, Rita’s gin and tonic, dry white wine for Liz and Jenny, and a pint of bitter for Paul – a pint of bitter as an apéritif at a dinner dance! Were these Simcocks deliberately uncouth or merely ignorant?

‘Where’s your mother?’ said Laurence, and Jenny burst into tears and ran from the room.

‘She does that a lot,’ said Paul proudly, and he set off to follow her.

‘Paul!’ said Laurence. ‘Sometimes, a woman needs to be alone.’

‘Not Jenny,’ said Paul. ‘Our marriage is a totality of shared experience.’

‘Berk,’ said Laurence softly to Paul’s back, and then Rodney and Betty Sillitoe were bearing down on him. Rodney looked as if he’d slept in his suit for a week. Betty was wearing a mauve dress and a string of real pearls.