Getting It Right (4 page)

‘I wouldn’t mind his tantrums, I wouldn’t mind – well, to be scrupulously fair, I
do mind
– but I could put up with the fact that he is congenitally
incapable of sticking to any arrangement. I’ve
always
known he’s bone idle – he’s always been quite honest about
that
. It has a certain charm and it makes
you understand why he
can’t
have any sense of time – ’

‘Look out!’ The rich brown froth was starting to mushroom over the top of the pot. Harry whipped it off and lowered the gas.

‘It’s the
lies
he tells – ’

‘Lies?’

‘You ask him if he’s done something and of course he says, “Yes.” It bears no relation to the truth whatsoever – ’ without warning, he darted out of the
kitchen.

‘Shall I put the coffee back?’

‘If you keep an eye on it. It should come just up to the boil twice more. Don’t let it actually
boil
, though.

‘I put them out on the balcony: I was afraid they’d infect everything else. Look at them.’ He dumped two flower pots on the draining board.

One contained a stephanotis, Gavin observed, and one a fern. Both plants looked decidedly sick. The stephanotis was glistening with sticky drops – many leaves were discoloured, and one
fell even as he watched. ‘Looks like scale,’ he said, and just caught the coffee in time.

‘That’s what it is: the fern’s got it too. Caught it – it’s wildly infectious.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Gavin put the coffee back on the gas determined to watch it whatever Harry said or did.

‘He knows that perfectly well. If I’ve told him once, I’ve told him a hundred times. I’ve said, “
Don’t
just buy any old plant off a stall, and if you
do,
quarantine
it for a couple of weeks.” Does his Lordship take a blind bit of notice?’

‘You can try sponging the leaves with a weak solution of paraffin and water. But I’ve never got rid of scale myself. I think the coffee’s ready.’

‘I’ll make
him
do it. He loathes paraffin: serve him right.’

Harry had the wrong face for looking vindictive: with his small, nervous eyes, his long nose quivering, his narrow mouth braced with resentment, he only succeeded in looking like an anxious rat.
Gavin who had owned a white one when he was considerably younger felt a surge of affectionate nostalgia.

‘If you’ve got some rubber gloves handy, I’ll have a go. Can’t get paraffin on my hands, the clients wouldn’t like it.’

‘Me neither. No – let’s play some Tchaik.’ But, as if on cue, a blast of what sounded like four cowboys in a frenzy of self-pity burst upon them.

‘My God! Watch the coffee.’ Harry almost ran out of the kitchen, his spikey hair on end. Gavin stood in the kitchen: he did not like to go into the sitting room, since the bedroom
led straight off it, but he could not help hearing . . .

‘Winthrop! You miserable boy, you. How many times have I
told
you I won’t have that row here!’

The music stopped as abruptly as it had started, there were sounds of a scuffle, a thud, and a shriek of pain. The bedroom door slammed. Gavin found a glass and had a drink of tap water: he was
extremely thirsty, and the thought of a scene in which he might be expected to take sides, or at least some part, made his mouth even dryer than his mother’s curry had already achieved on its
own. He thought longingly of the more peaceful evenings when he and Harry, and even sometimes all three of them, discussed their holidays, and listened to records and worried about their mothers.
Harry’s lived with a senile brother in Potters Bar and still worked as an office cleaner, and Winthrop’s was an unwillingly retired prostitute with one leg – it hadn’t been
the absence of a leg that had impeded her career, but a nasty car accident that had otherwise affected her mobility. She lived in a Home with what she described as a not very nice class of
person.

Harry and – more surprisingly – Winthrop were both devoted sons, visiting their mothers regularly, never forgetting their birthdays, taking them on outings and devising treats for
them; more than that, they were unfailingly kind to each
other’s
mother, discussing her respective welfare with a serious concern. He listened: they were talking, but things sounded
calmer. He decided to take the coffee into the sitting room. As he did so, Harry emerged from the bedroom holding a handkerchief to one side of his chin.

‘He hit me with that ashtray we brought back from Pisa. He knows I can’t stand blood.’ He sank on to the chesterfield and added unexpectedly:

‘It’s all right now, though: the air has cleared. No Stones and no Tchaik is the contract.’ He poured the coffee that Gavin had put on the black glass table. ‘He’s
coming to join us when he’s done his hair. Just behave as though nothing has happened. How’s the job going?’

‘All right; just the same really. How’s yours?’

‘Well, it’s nothing like the last one, but one does feel one is doing some good. The most embarrassing thing about my clients is that what with being out of condition and then having
nothing but raw fruit or vegetables they’re so full of
wind
. I don’t mind, because I’ve come to expect it, but they get so embarrassed. And I suppose,’ he finished
honestly, ‘that if they weren’t – I mean if they employed a whole lot of sang froid about it –
I’d
feel embarrassed.’

Harry was a masseur: he had recently gone to work in a fashionable Health Farm because there had been so many rows with Winthrop when he worked at the Turkish Baths in Jermyn Street. For some
reason Winthrop seemed to feel that the presence of at least an equal number of ladies in the clientele obviated temptation, although so far as Gavin could see, all it did was halve his chances.
The coffee was good; he said so and Harry replied:

‘The secret is to have it really fresh: freshly roasted, freshly ground: like everything else – it’s no good if you don’t take it seriously. Winthrop wants you to cut his
hair, by the way – if you feel up to it.’

‘I’m afraid I haven’t brought my scissors with me.’

‘
He’s
got some. Humour him, there’s a dear child, or we’ll be having another moody.’ He met Gavin’s eye and winked – a desperate plea. Then
more briskly, he said, ‘I meant to ask you: I want to get a new recording of K.449. I’m through with Haebler. Gabble gabble. Who would you recommend?’

Gavin thought seriously. This was just the kind of question he liked to be asked.

‘The performance I
like
best is Serkin. There was a nice one with Gieseking. Probably Haskill as well, but they aren’t recent. I don’t think Milkina’s
done
it, or I’d have her, but Klein may have.’

‘Klein? He’s good, isn’t he?’

‘He’s good. Worth asking. Of course there’s Clifford Curzon – ’ he broke off, and they both looked towards the bedroom door where Winthrop, clad in boxer’s
shorts, track shoes and a T-shirt stood in a pose of theatrical patience.

‘What the fuck are you two talking about?’

‘A Mozart concerto, dear boy, in E flat.’

‘Oh.’ He prowled to the only armchair and cast himself upon it. His T-shirt said SEARCH ME YOU MIGHT EVEN GET TO LIKE IT in three rows on his rippling chest. ‘That sounds like
a boring conversation to me.’

Harry pursed his lips. ‘No doubt it might seem so to some of us.’

Oh dear, thought Gavin. He asked Winthrop how the job was going.

‘Which job?’

‘I thought you were demonstrating sports wear.’

‘Oh
that
! I couldn’t stand that. Get paid far more for a beer commercial – far less work – same money for a few hours’ work as I’d get at any
department store for a week.’

‘But it’s not
regular
work. There’s no
security
in it.’

Winthrop looked at Harry with affectionate contempt.

‘There he goes. If he had his way, I’d be at home all day churning out chutney for a health shop.’

‘You make marvellous chutney, dear child. I don’t know anyone who makes chutney like him – out of
anything
– he’s got a real gift for it. You’ve got
so many talents, Winthrop, you just won’t use them.’

‘Some of them I use.’ The room became full of sly smiles, but the atmosphere had definitely gone down a peg, Gavin thought.

‘Harry said something about you wanting a hair cut,’ he said.

‘I’ve changed my mind. I’m going out.’ He got to his feet, ran a muscular hand through his auburn curls and yawned so that Gavin could see nearly all of his splendid
teeth.

‘Where are you off to, then?’

‘I’m going to Town. You should care. Leave you to your fucking classical music.’

‘I don’t mind. Where are you going to?’

‘Mind your own fucking business.’

‘Please yourself.’ Harry’s eyes had filled with tears. ‘I ask you a perfectly reasonable question and you get stroppy.’

‘I’m going to a disco, if you must know. Satisfied?’

‘It makes no difference to me
where
you’re going. I only asked.’

‘You only
asked
,’ repeated Winthrop and disappeared into the bedroom.

‘My God!’ Harry’s silky gold hair stood in spikes off his forehead and his nose was twitching again. Gavin’s heart began thudding – he could not think of anything
to say or do that would alleviate Harry’s distress.

In an astonishingly short space of time Winthrop emerged in a bright blue windcheater over a white track suit.

‘Ta ta,’ he said, ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. And that means you can do fucking well
anything
.’ He had two goes at slamming the front door, and
they heard him running downstairs.

Harry burst into tears.

‘Look here,’ said Gavin; ‘don’t – I mean – he’ll be back.’ He groped for a Kleenex in his pocket. ‘Won’t he?’

‘He’ll be
back
. It’s who he’ll be back
with
.’ Sobs convulsed him – the Kleenex was sodden before he had even blown his nose.
‘He’s got no sense of responsib
il
ity! Just a child! He really goes in for the rough trade – has all sorts back – I knew it was a mistake to get the chesterfield. I
told him this is the lounge but he’ll get up to anything anywhere you wouldn’t treat a dog like you treat me sometimes and do you know what he said?’

‘No,’ Gavin said (what else could he say?).

‘“Yap yap,”’ Harry looked at his friend with streaming eyes. ‘“Yap yap.” As though I
was
a dog: never mind my migraines. He’s got a
lovely nature underneath. I keep telling myself he’s had a terrible childhood – well it’s a fact – his mother’s working hours being so awkward, and she filled him up
with Milk Tray so all his teeth had to be crowned before he was eighteen and getting the money for that set him on the primrose path I can tell you, he couldn’t be too fussy where he got it
from.’ He took a deep breath and blew his nose on the only other Kleenex Gavin had with him. ‘When I got him back here the first time it seemed such a golden period of our lives.
“Consider this as a haven,” I said, and he cried. And I got the trouble with his back right. It took me three months – that’s the time he got into Asian cookery and he even
seemed to take an interest in opera – his mind was like a clean slate. He didn’t used to want to go out all the time then – he was quite happy with his photography and that rug he
was making, and we used to make a lot of wine and have one or two people round – well, you remember how it was – an idyll. That’s how I described it then, and it’s how
I’d describe it now. If asked.’ He looked hopefully at Gavin. Gavin, however, was far from sure that nostalgia would prove to be a comfort, and suggested a cup of tea instead. So that
is what they had, and Gavin was pleased to find that he was right about the idea. They had three cups each and nearly a whole packet of chocolate digestive biscuits because Harry said that upsets
made him hungry. Gavin, who loved chocolate, ate his share although he remarked that it played havoc with his spots.

‘The trouble with you,’ Harry said affectionately, ‘is that you need a sexual partner. Clear your skin in no time.’

‘I haven’t found the right girl.’

‘You know what I think?’

‘Yes,’ said Gavin because they’d had this out before.

‘You’re barking up the wrong tree. The reason you don’t find the right girl is that you don’t want a girl. If you did – you’d find one. You want a lovely
young quean. Why don’t you try it?’

‘But if what you say about the girl is true – if what I wanted was a chap, wouldn’t I have found one by now?’

‘Not necessarily. You’re inhibited you know. Shy: you underestimate yourself. And living at home doesn’t make it easy: I can see that. But you’d probably find –
after a bit of initial distress – that your mother would feel it was only natural for you to have your own pad – a nice little place of your own with a boy you can really rely on. I
know you’d never neglect your mother, but you have got your own life to lead and it’s time you made a start, you know. You should come out with me and Winthrop one night and see what we
can find.’

‘How’s your mother?’ It was a deflection, but Gavin felt all the horrible, and horribly familiar, sensations of a first-class blush – the kind that surged up from just
below his collar bone, ignited round about his Adam’s apple and exploded on his face, making the worst of his spots look as though their heads had been touched with luminous paint.

‘She’s having a lot of trouble with her food. What she fancies, she can’t keep down, and anything she
could
keep down, she really doesn’t fancy. But she’s
all right in
herself
. Still working and putting up with Sydney which is more than most of us could do. He keeps on asking her the time and he won’t throw anything away – hides
things – she keeps on finding paper bags in his bed and God knows what was in them in the first place. She’s been a good sister to him – leaving aside anything else. I got her
some tropical fish for her birthday and they seem to have gone down very well, I must say.’ He tried the now exhausted teapot and then said with a touch of sly severity: ‘I have a
feeling that a certain party didn’t want to pursue a subject. It’s understandable: I know you feel a bit shy about these matters.’