Getting It Right (31 page)

‘To be quite frank with you,’ Peter said as though this would be an innovation, ‘this whole dinner’s a kind of dry run for having Haze’s parents. So what I thought
we’d do, over coffee, is give everything
marks
– you know marks out of ten, and then add it all up and see whether we need to make any changes. We’ve got a week before
they’re coming, so Haze and I could test out any alternatives. You see, we don’t want them to feel that we’re laying on a particularly terrific feast; on the other hand we
don’t want them to think we haven’t tried . . . Also, Haze gets so nervous cooking in front of her mother, who’s pretty good at that sort of thing in an old-fashioned English way,
that I want her to feel she can do her recipes blindfold.’

‘I’m not sure that Dad’s going to take to the aubergines much,’ Hazel said, ‘he really prefers plain food.’

‘I dare say he does! But look at what it costs! On our budget, it’s a roast once a week, and then there wouldn’t be enough for outsiders!’

‘The pudding’s very good,’ Jenny said. ‘I love crème caramel.’

‘It doesn’t matter so much about the sweet,’ Hazel said. ‘Mum doesn’t eat sweets because of her figure.’

‘But there has to
be
a sweet,’ Peter pointed out. ‘We don’t want them to think we didn’t know there ought to be one.’

With any luck, Gavin hoped he could be deflected from the marking system, and it seemed to work out that way, because Peter offered to make the coffee, and suggested that Hazel move them back to
the bus station end of the room. This meant moving two of the chairs, and Gavin did that. He watched Hazel and Jenny settle themselves on the chesterfield, which Hazel told Jenny had been a wedding
present from Peter’s parents – ‘of course we chose it – really we did the whole room
round
it.’ Gavin noticed that Hazel’s face looked smudged with
fatigue and it briefly occurred to him how tiring it must be being married to such a dedicated homemaker. He decided to leave the girls to talk and go and help Peter who was surreptitiously
clearing up plates and things.

‘Haze gets so worn out,’ he confided to Gavin. ‘I don’t know what it is! It isn’t as though we
go
anywhere or
do
anything.’

‘Perhaps you do too much work on the flat?’

‘Oh, she loves doing that! She’s hell bent on getting everything done: even the spare room. She’s even keener than I am on finishing that.’

He was rinsing plates and putting them into a plastic rack. ‘She wants to do it all in pale pink with a frieze of bunnies all round. It seems extraordinary to me. She didn’t even
call them rabbits. Anyway, she’s bought the frieze so now we’re committed. Where’s the coffee now? It isn’t in a tin yet, because we’re buying one of them a month and
we haven’t got to one for coffee.’ He felt his beard with his hand, a nervous gesture that Gavin recognized as the prelude to some more confiding confidence. ‘I say – you
remember what I talked to you about when I asked you if you’d come to dinner? You remember. It was something
she
suddenly wanted to do that isn’t commercially feasible.
You
remember,’ he urged, so urgently that Gavin had to say that he did.

‘Well – she hasn’t dropped it. Far from it. She brings it up every time we – well at night-time mostly. Do you think it would be all right if we had a frank talk about it
in spite of – you know’ – he dropped his voice even more – ‘Jenny being here?’

‘I don’t honestly see that it would be much use. I mean – it’s a private matter between you two, isn’t it? Nothing to do with anyone else.’

Peter had measured the coffee and he now poured boiling water over it without replying. Then he said: ‘She’s not rational on the subject. So, when it’s between the two of us, I
don’t feel she listens to my point of view at all. Last night, she accused me of not loving her. That shows she’s mad.’ He put the coffee on a black glass tray. ‘Of course I
love her,’ he said, as though Gavin had asked him. ‘She’s the only girl I’ve ever felt like this about. I tell you what,’ he decided suddenly, ‘let’s play
it by ear.’

This was not a soothing suggestion to Gavin as he didn’t feel very sure of Peter’s ear, but there didn’t seem much that he could do about it . . . Peter took the coffee tray
into the part of the room where the girls were, and Hazel poured it out. Nobody said anything for a bit, and then Hazel asked Gavin where he was going for his holidays. Gavin said he’d been
thinking of Greece, but, even as he said it, he suddenly felt sure he wasn’t going to go there, nor did he
mind
, which was even more strange.

‘How lovely for you,’ Hazel said. ‘We’ve had our holiday getting married. Not that we went for one.’

‘We’ll go one day though, won’t we, Haze?’

‘You always say that we’re
going
to do things. I’d like something to be going to happen now! It’s the same thing about a family,’ she explained to the
others. ‘Peter wants to wait for years and years, but I think one should have one’s family when one’s young.’

‘Hazel – we’ve been over and over – ’

‘No, you be quiet for a moment. I want to hear what the others think. Just talking to you about it makes me feel I’m
unusual
or something, and it’s not true.
Most
girls get married to have babies. And, anyway, I don’t think it’s the sort of thing you ought to plan. I think it ought to just happen. What do
you
think?’
It was a direct appeal to Gavin who muttered something about it being a joint decision, he supposed, but then, it wasn’t the kind of thing he knew about – when Jenny interrupted
him.

‘Couldn’t you sort of compromise?’ Everybody looked at her, and she started blushing. ‘I mean – get the flat straight, and then start one?’

‘That’s the whole
point
! We
can’t
get the flat straight without Haze working, and obviously she can’t work if she has a baby! You’re not married,
so you wouldn’t have
thought
of all that,’ he said as kindly as he could manage to Jenny, ‘but babies have to be looked after, you know. You don’t just have them,
and that’s that: with respect, Jenny, you don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Gavin saw Jenny open her mouth and shut it again. She wasn’t going to tell them about Andrew, because of Mr Adrian . . . The whole evening was becoming unenjoyable in a completely
different way. Up till now, he’d been bored – really the whole time, except for that moment when Jenny had winked at him – now, he felt, anything might happen; well, not anything,
but one of a large number of uncomfortable things, the most immediate of which was that Hazel was going to cry. And, whatever did happen, he and Jenny were only captive spectators: they
weren’t involved, and there was nothing they could do. All this time, Peter was holding forth – much in the vein that he had employed with Gavin in the salon (probably in his only
vein), about money and time, and mortgages and hire purchase, and Hazel sat biting her finger and trembling and clearly about to explode in one way or another at any moment. Then he saw Jenny
looking at him.

‘My God!’ he said. ‘I’ve just noticed the time! I promised Jenny’s mother to get her back. Afraid we’ll have to go.’

Hazel burst into tears and ran out of the room.

Peter got to his feet with alacrity: ‘Don’t let us keep you. I’m afraid Hazel’s a bit upset,’ he explained. ‘It’ll take me hours to bring her round.
Thank God it’s Friday. Sorry about all that, but I warned you it was a problem.’ He was conducting them to the door. Jenny said:

‘Would you thank her for the nice dinner? And for having me – and everything?’

‘I don’t suppose it’ll do much good, but I’ll tell her, of course. So long, Gavin. Sorry about all that – but I did warn you.’

Gavin said good-bye, and the door was shut . . . Jenny and Gavin looked at each other and then made for the lift. In the lift, Jenny said: ‘Cor!’

‘I’m really sorry – ’ Gavin began, but she interrupted him: ‘Don’t you be. It wasn’t
your
fault. Not exactly fault, at all, really.’

‘What I meant was, it was intended to be a nice evening out for you: your mother said you didn’t go out much.’

‘Well, you couldn’t have known.’ There was something both sturdy and forlorn about the way she said this that made him feel really sorry she’d had such a dud evening . .
. They walked to the bike, and he almost wished they were going back by tube: at least they could have talked a bit. But, as they were putting on their helmets, she said: ‘Would you like to
come back and have a coffee or a tea?’ And he said, yes he would.

Her mother had gone to bed, and the kitchen, without Andrew in it, was completely tidy . . . It had obviously been a back sitting room: there were French windows looking on to the back garden
and there was an old marble fireplace behind the cooker . . . Jenny had filled a kettle and lit the gas. ‘I got some biscuits,’ she said. ‘Have a chair.’

There were two kitchen chairs pushed against the table which was scrubbed wood and had a small standard lamp upon it – which reminded Gavin of a restaurant. ‘Sorry if I wasn’t
good on the bike,’ she said. ‘It’s exciting, isn’t it? But I felt a bit nervous going round corners.’

‘You were fine. It takes some getting used to.’

She put some assorted biscuits on a plate and switched on the lamp. ‘I’ll turn off the other,’ she said, ‘we only use it for cooking.’

‘Have you lived here long?’

‘Ever since my dad died. My mum bought this with the insurance money, but we only live on two floors. She lets the rest. I sleep next door with Andrew. Do you mind if I go and see
he’s all right? He will be, of course, but I like to see.’

‘Course not.’

While she was away, the kettle boiled, and seeing that she had decided they would have tea, he poured some into the pot to warm it.

She returned almost at once and said: ‘I never asked you! Which you wanted.’

‘Tea’s fine.’

While she was making it she said: ‘It’s interesting how other people live, isn’t it? I don’t see much of that. It was a funny meal, wasn’t it? I didn’t care
for that main course. They have a funny old time together, don’t they? Like a couple of kids playing houses.’

‘Pretty depressing.’

‘I expect they like it really.’

‘Why do you think that?’

‘Well, he’s always getting ready for occasions, isn’t he, and she wants to have them.’

‘You mean, he’s a nest-maker, and she just wants to get on with laying eggs?’

She started to laugh, and clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘I mustn’t wake Andrew. But
he’s
like that in the salon as well: I wasn’t surprised.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘When he’s cutting, he gets obsessional. Goes on and on and
on
. Getting slower and slower. Not like you at all.’ There was a pause and then she said: ‘You can
learn a lot about people watching them cut hair.’

She sipped her tea, staring ahead of her over the cup. Then she asked: ‘Do you think everyone who gets married is a bit like Peter and Hazel? Not entirely like them – but a
bit?’

‘You mean sort of enclosed?’

She nodded, and waited with an expression that looked as though she thought he was going to be very interesting about it all. ‘I don’t know,’ he said and, as he heard himself
saying it, he wondered how many times he’d said that just this evening. He always
felt
as though he didn’t know about almost anything that came up. ‘I don’t see a
lot of married couples.’

‘Nor do I,’ she said. ‘In fact, outside the salon, I don’t see people. Andrew and my mum and that’s it. I wanted to know, because I kept feeling like laughing
tonight, and then I thought no, it’s really sad. All the girls at the salon – well, you know, all the juniors, and I’ve been there longest so I’ve seen quite a few –
all of them waiting to find the right chap and setting up house and that. If
that’s
what it all adds up to – I mean is
all
it adds up to – it
is
sad,
isn’t it?’

‘It would be if you’re right. I don’t think you are, though.’

‘Tell me some people who aren’t like that.’

‘It wouldn’t make any difference – you wouldn’t know them.’

‘It would help. I’d believe you,’ she added.

‘My sister. I don’t think they’re like that. They’re very close, but I think they have a good life with their friends and their children. I think they enjoy themselves.
Will that do?’

She shrugged. ‘Have to. It doesn’t sound – much like an adventure, though.’

‘Is that what you think it ought to be?’

‘You know what you said about art and that?’

As he just looked at her, trying to remember what exactly he had said about that, she went on: ‘About art being for recognizing things. For showing people what a lot there is about life
that they don’t know?’

‘I remember now.’

‘Well, I feel all the time as though I’m living just
outside
everything. In a kind of backwater. All I ever do is work in the salon and look after Andrew . . . There
doesn’t seem
time
for anything else to happen. It’s not that I don’t want to work, or don’t like looking after Andrew – ’ she stopped suddenly. After a
moment she said: ‘I don’t want to bore him, you see. End up being one of those mums you can rely on if things are tough, but you don’t want to be with them in between. I mean,
when he goes to
school
. I did try one thing. Went to the library and asked them for a history book. But it was all about fighting and Acts of Parliament and I couldn’t get into it.
When you said that about art, I thought it might be a bit easier for me to take in.’ She looked at him so earnestly that he felt completely stuck for an adequate response. He finished his tea
to give himself time, and she immediately poured him some more, and then remained with her trusting owl eyes fixed upon his face. It shot through his mind that on the Ladder of Fear this was
supposed by him to be pretty high up and
he didn’t feel frightened
– a whole lot of things, but not that.

‘I don’t know what you like,’ he said at last, ‘I mean – it has to start with
you
. Well, you finding something interesting, or beautiful, or
extraordinary.’