Love, Nina (2 page)

MK: How come everything's going green?

Me: You mean greeny-blue?

MK: Yes.

Me: I dyed a few things.

MK: Can it stop now?

AB suggested running the cycle through on hot to flush the dye out, which I'll do. I hope it won't put her off the color.

I got new shoes (£10) but hate them (sketch below—you can have if you like, size 6). I can never find shoes that I like, only plimmies and they feel so flat and hot. Shoes embarrass me. I go barefoot a lot, which is better.

Had to go to Golders Green to get new shoes for Sam.

Me: Right, we're off to Brian's.

MK: Aren't you going to put some shoes on?

Me: No, I hate my shoes.

MK: Well, get some nice ones.

Me: I never see any.

MK: Have a look in Brian's.

Me: Brian's is only for kids.

MK: First bare feet, then kids' shoes, then adult shoes. One step at a time.

Hope all's well with you. Sorry to hear about the gum bite…good job she had no teeth, but horrible anyway. Told S&W and they were horrified and now quite scared of the old lady opposite.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Great news about TB. Don't worry about the double-denim, it's just a phase.

Mary-Kay has a new boyfriend too. His name is D— but Sam calls him “Floppy Hair” (because he has floppy hair)—or “Floppy” for short. I find him (Floppy) embarrassing because he's so nice (all the time) but you can't just ignore him because he's always engaging you in conversation. He's tall and handsome with dark black shiny hair, like a horse's mane flopping over his eyes, and when he sits down he adjusts his trousers with a little upwards tug. But I don't think he's ever fully comfortable trouserwise, he's forever at them. MK doesn't do the polite thing of pretending not to notice. She looks at him and says, “Are you all right?” and he doesn't even know he's doing it.

He's ruining our Saturdays with gloomy Bob Dylan drowning out
World of Sport.
I can tell MK doesn't like him (Floppy) that much. Coming down into the kitchen on his first (public) visit, he stopped on the stairs and gazed out of the window into the garden (mossy slabs and two small trees).

Floppy: What kind of trees are those?

MK: They're just
trees
. (Which, in her language, is like calling someone a fucking twat. She ought to knock it on the head really.)

Last night they went out for dinner. Floppy hung around the kitchen while MK got ready. Sam and Will and me were quite excited about the date.

MK wasn't excited at all. She did wear her silky jumpsuit thing though and at least looked nice.

As they left the house and went into the street we called goodbye from the door.

Will: Have a nice time.

Me: Bye.

Sam: (
loud
) Get in there, Floppy!

Love, Nina

PS Could Mr. T not watch horror films on his own? Anyway, I didn't think old people liked horror.

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Went to a party last night with the helper from the Tomalins'. In a dark house in Mornington Crescent and grim-looking people all swigging from cans. I hung around in the kitchen (the only room with a light on). A fat boy called Colin suddenly tipped a packet of Trill (birdseed) into his mouth. He finished the pack, washed it down with a can of Long Life and burped. Everyone clapped and laughed. Then the boy threw up into the sink and everyone clapped again.

Told Sam and Will the birdseed story. I thought it might show them that you shouldn't perform degrading acts to get attention, even if you're fat. They thought it was excellent.

Will: I'm going to do that when I grow up, it's cool.

Sam: I am, but not with birdseed.

Will: It has to be birdseed, that's the point.

Sam: I'm going to do it with something nicer, like Quavers.

Will: You already do.

Will worries about nuclear war. Everyone's told him it'll never happen but, once it's mentioned, it sticks in his mind. He's a bit like you in that respect. Mary-Kay has suggested we stop talking about it altogether (nuclear war). Not that we ever did talk about it much anyway—but it crops up on
The Young Ones
and other comedies. MK has Sellotaped some pages together in his encyclopedia so he can't accidentally turn to that section (War, nuclear).

Sam is envious of all the attention Will's getting over the nuclear war anxiety. He says he's got an anxiety too, he can't say what it is, only that it's a lot worse than Will's.

MK: How can we reassure you if you won't say what it is?

Sam: It's been in the news.

Will: Is it to do with West Ham?

Sam: Fuck off, Will.

Will: Only trying to help.

Hope all well at The Pines. Congratulations re patio. It sounds great. Fresh air always good.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Had a v. nice time with Elspeth.

It's usually extremely embarrassing, mixing people like that. And it was, but it wore off quite quickly. Mary-Kay said Elspeth seemed like fun. Elspeth didn't say anything about MK seeming like fun (MK keeps that sort of thing hidden until you know her a bit better) but did say MK was pretty and that she had nice objects about the place. Elspeth loved the house (bookshelves and pictures and that it's in London).

Me: My mum thought you were pretty.

MK: Rubbish.

Me: She did, and she said you had nice objects around the place.

MK: That's nice of her.

Me: So?

MK: So what?

Me: What did you think of her?

MK: She seemed like fun.

On the negative side, I found out something about Elspeth that I didn't know before. She snores, not loud but piercing, and rolls about in bed all night like a Labrador trying to get comfy. In the morning she remarked that she'd had a great night's sleep and I told her that she'd snored and rolled around all night and therefore I hadn't (had a great night's sleep) and she laughed and asked if AJA had told me to say that.

Me: Why would he tell me to say that?

E: Because he says that every morning.

Me: He says it because it's true.

She hadn't thought of that.

Anyway, we had a great time and E was nostalgic about London and took me to an old marketplace that used to be better than it is now and a park where she used to walk you in your pram. We were going to visit an old neighbor of hers in Hamilton Terrace but Elspeth decided against it at the last minute due to suddenly remembering something.

Went to National Gallery instead. E got the giggles at a painting of a few nudes having a classical/ancient picnic (grapes and goblets). It wasn't the nakedness but the fact that they looked so stupid (the nudes) having the picnic (in the nude). And in trying to explain why it was funny, she set me off. We had to leave because we were spoiling it for everyone else who didn't find it funny. People hate it when other people laugh in a gallery.

Make sure you tell her you know all about the gallery thing and the snoring.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

I'll be in Leics on 24th December.

Saturday: Mary-Kay came home with an eight-foot-tall Xmas tree. She'd carried it up from Inverness Street with one of the market blokes. We had a lot of problems getting it up. MK thought the stem was too long (she called it a stem, it was actually a
trunk
).

MK: Someone will have to go to the Millers' and borrow their saw. (
We ignore her.
)

MK: Who's going? I've just lugged the tree home.

Will: Not me.

Sam: I'm not going.

MK: (
to me
) Looks like it's you, Nanny.

I said I'd go if Sam came with me. When we got there (only a few doors up) we had a scuffle on the doorstep. When Jonathan Miller answered the door, I pushed Sam in front of me and he blurted out, “The nanny wants to borrow the saw.”

When we got home, MK asked what JM had said. I said he'd said, “Don't forget to bring it back.” MK looked at the ceiling (which in her language means “fucking idiot”).

And I felt bad because JM hadn't actually said, “don't forget to bring it back.” He'd said something like, “Well, good luck, take care”—something friendly and supportive and really didn't deserve the ceiling look. I said he'd said, “don't forget etc.,” to make sure we
would
actually give it back—seeing as I'd been the borrower. I know what it's like when you borrow a thing on behalf of someone else.

Anyway it's up now all covered with little angels and balls and beads and lights (the Xmas tree). It looks brilliant. The best I've ever seen in real life.

See you on the 24th.

Love, Nina

PS Great that you're having lessons, but not sure Mr. T is the best instructor. He never sleeps and he's eighty-nine.

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Sam and me are bickering a lot at the moment. Yesterday I pranged the car on England's Lane—only slightly and decided not to mention it to MK. I said to Sam, “I'm not going to say anything about it to Mary-Kay—so don't you mention it, OK?” And he agreed.

MK grilled lamb chops for supper and Sam found them too chewy but MK wouldn't let him off them. So, because he was mardy about that, he snitched on me about the car prang.

Sam: Nina crashed the car on the way back from the Lahrs'.

MK: (
surprised face
).

Me: It was just a tiny bump.

Sam: She told us not to tell you.

Me: It was a slight bump on the bumper.

Will: Whatever happened to “honesty is the best policy”?

Me: That's what bumpers are for anyway—bumping.

AB: Bumpers
were,
probably, originally designed to take bumps.

MK: Well, how bad is it? Do we need to get it fixed?

Me: No, it's nothing.

AB went outside to look and came back saying it was “livable with.”

Got my own back on Sam a bit later. I could see a lump under the tablecloth where he'd hidden his chewy chops (usually I'd ignore it). “What's that lump there, Sam?”

Sam not allowed any pudding (banana custard) due to hiding the chops.

Checked the car this morning, just a few black lines like it's been clawed by someone with mascara on their fingernails. That makes it sound bad—it's not that bad. I know you're going to make a joke about me needing driving lessons. But London's crammed with parked cars and sometimes you have to nudge them gently out of the way when you drive off.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

I have promised I'll feed Lucas the cat every day and clean out the crusty food bowl if we can change his name (to Jack). I'm not keen on the name Lucas. It reminds me of Mrs. Lucas. You might not remember her. She was that nice, but quiet teacher at Gwendolyn Junior School.

She taught us how to draw a detailed map of Great Britain by drawing a woman in a bonnet riding a pig. I'll never forget the awful picture she drew on the board as an example. The woman's face represented North Wales and had to be quite contorted to give the right contours, and the pig she was riding (South Wales) had to be equally so. Both with mouths open as if shouting. Devon was the pig's knobbly leg and Cornwall its trotter. The Southeast, inc. London, was its back leg and bum.

She didn't seem to have a plan for Scotland at all.

She also told us to remember Italy as a boot, America a turtle and France a homemade biscuit. Says a lot about her homemade biscuits. My homemade biscuits are more like Poland.

Anyway, I used to notice Mrs. Lucas driving to school in the morning. She was a nervous driver, chest up to the steering wheel, face at the windscreen, in second gear the whole way. I used to feel sorry for her when we overtook her as she waited too long at junctions with cars queuing up behind, bibbing.

Anyway, that's why I don't like the name Lucas. I hate having to feel sorry for people. So the cat is now called Jack.

Saw Joan Thirkettle (newsreader) the other day (short fringe) and the posh bloke from
Rising Damp
(handsome black bloke)—he has this really slow walk.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

I've made friends with two nannies nearby. Pippa and Amanda.

Pippa calls herself an “au pair” as opposed to nanny—don't know why. It could be that “au pair” sounds younger and her being a bit older (about twenty-four). You can tell Pippa spends ages choosing what to wear and has an endless supply of different-colored trousers (including a striped pair and a pair with flowers embroidered down one leg).

Amanda is nice and funny (and thinks I'm nice and funny) and she loves Sam and Will and thinks they're nice and funny too and they like her—plus she always wears the same old jeans.

If Amanda pops round here without Pippa, she tries not to sit near the window. I think this might be because Pippa is a bit tyrannical and doesn't want Amanda popping round here on her own (without Pippa). One day though, Pippa popped round on
her
own (except for a small baby called Julian). It was unplanned—she suddenly peered in at the kitchen window going, “Yoo-hoo.” I asked Pippa (politely) not to shout at the kitchen window in future, but to ring on the doorbell like everybody else. She never fully recovered from the telling-off. Then baby Julian needed something and she had to go. She had the stripy trousers on which never quite work at the back and it looks like a trompe l'oeil.

Also, on the friend-front, there's Nunney, the Tomalins' new helper volunteer (time was up for the old one). He's very confident and jokey which is good for Tom but will take a bit of getting used to. Nunney has the annoying habit of suddenly laughing
at
you though—which can be disconcerting. For instance, to make conversation, I asked him if he had any hobbies and he burst out laughing as if I'd said a hilarious punch line. I must've looked shocked because he then said, “Sorry, no, I don't have any hobbies. Do you?” and of course I said, “No, not really.” So that's how it'll be with this helper. Seems a bit like hard work.

To be fair he did tell a funny thing about himself. On his first night having supper with Claire and Michael and Tom, there was a plate of smoked salmon as a shared starter with lemon wedges and when the plate was passed to Nunney he just ate it (all) and said, “Lovely.”

Claire said, “Oh, that salmon was meant for all four of us, never mind.” And they moved on to the casserole, which Nunney was too full for.

Anyway, I think he'll be good for Tom. And if not, he's only here for six months.

Love, Nina

PS Also on the friend-front, Misty C from Robert Smyth School is at college in Roehampton and Helen from Jez's sixth form is at college in West London.