Love, Nina (5 page)

Will came with me to the woman's house. She took to him (Lucas/Jack) straightaway and said he was handsome. She liked his “mittens.” Will and I felt quite proud of him.

Woman: (
stroking Lucas/Jack
) What's his name?

Me: Jack.

Will: Lucas.

Woman: Jack Lucas?

Me: Yes, Jack Lucas.

Woman: Hmm, I'll call him Johnny.

Pause while the woman strokes Lucas and says, “Hello, Johnny.”

Woman: (
to Will
) I've just lost my best friend.

Will: Was it a cat?

Woman: Yes, it was Johnny.

Will: I'm sorry.

Woman: (
proud
) He was eighteen.

Will: What's that in cat years?

Woman: Eighteen.

Will: Oh.

Woman: If he'd been a dog he'd have been a lot older.

Will: Oh, sorry.

Later:

AB: So Lucas has gone, then?

Sam: Lucas Bunt the big fat runt.

AB: Sam! That's not very nice.

Will: Yeah, Sam, don't speak ill of the departed.

Sam: Sorry.

Will: Anyway, he's called Johnny now.

Sam:
Johnny?

Me: It
does
feel strange without him.

MK: Rubbish.

Sam: I don't want him to be in Mornington Crescent being called Johnny—I want us to get him back (
dramatic gesture, head in hands
).

AB: That's only natural—knowing someone else wants him changes your feelings toward a thing.

MK: Doesn't me.

Will: Hey, Sam, it's just like Buckaroo.

Sam: (
serious
) Oh God! Don't mention Buckaroo.

Me: Well, we warned you.

Sam: They play Buckaroo night and day round there now.

Me: Perhaps we could borrow it back.

Sam: Lucas or Buckaroo?

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

No. I don't worry about Sam much. Mainly because MK does the worrying and keeps it to herself. It's no good two people worrying about the same thing unless they want to go on about it and we don't (unless there's a practical angle and there usually isn't). Have done a few experiments with different foods to see if they make a difference and they don't. Except porridge which is good in every way.

I think Will worries when we rush off to Great Ormond Street. Usually what happens is Sam gets a very (very) high temperature and seems extremely ill and we zoom off and when we get there Sam suddenly seems OK enough for the docs not to be worried and they say we can go home again. And we're there thinking, Bloody hell!

Last time we went to GOSH Sam had been (very, very) ill at home and then, when we got to GOSH, he seemed quite a bit better. I said to him, “Make sure you're still ill when the doctor comes.” I know that sounds terrible, but it's how it is. You want the doctors to see it. He doesn't put it on and they need to see it. Then later, in the lift on the way up to the ward on a trolley after they'd admitted him, he suddenly sat up and seemed fine and I pushed him back down again, I was so frazzled. He keeps reminding me of that. He says I said, “No fucking way.”

I do worry about his eyes though (my number one concern). Mr. Mackie (eye doc, Scottish) is brilliant. We go there whenever we're worried and always come away feeling reassured. Sam doesn't cheat his eye tape for a while afterward either. He's a bit mad though (Mr. Mackie) and says funny things. Last time he asked if we knew anyone called Marigold and we said no and he said it seemed such a nice name and wondered if it was still in use as a girl's name. And he said it a few times (Marigold) until we changed the subject.

Another time he advised us to always have our photograph taken in front of a flight of steps (or stairs) and focus just above the photographer's head, slightly to the right. To get the best-looking portrait.

Overall, with Sam, though, it's not like looking after someone ill. He just is ill occasionally and usually at night unfortunately.

Pippa's eyebrows have gone wrong. She's been plucking from the top, which you should never do—it ruins the natural line (apparently). The rule is: only pluck from underneath. If you pluck at all, which I don't.

Hope all's well with you. Sorry to hear about curling-tong burn, always a risk with hot instruments (and early morning usage).

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

My April Fool joke on S&W didn't go to plan. It was based on Elspeth's old “there's an elephant in the garden” but scaled down for a very small garden.

Me: Oh my God, there's a sheep in the garden.

Sam: (
looks out
) It's probably a cat.

Will: (
goes to French window
).

Me: There's a sheep in the garden.

Will: What are you on about? (
Pause. S&W go about their business.
)

Me: OK, it's an April Fool's joke.

Sam: So there
isn't
a sheep?

Me: No, it was an April Fool.

Will: It was rubbish.

Me: My mum used to say there was an elephant in the garden and we always fell for it.

Will: But you said sheep.

Me: It's a smaller garden.

Sam: An elephant would've been better than a sheep.

Will: An elephant would've been cool.

Me: But a sheep is more believable.

Will: You should've said elephant.

Sam: Yeah.

Said I'd do Bolognese (Sam likes it). Fried up some turkey mince and added a jar of Dolmio. Pippa always does it like that and it seems OK. (No AB, he's in Egypt or Yorkshire or somewhere miles away and no chance of turning up and criticizing the turkey Bolognese.)

At supper:

Sam: (
digging about in his food
) You said Bolognese.

Me: Yes.

Sam: (
inspecting
) Is this Bolognese?

Me: Of course.

Will: (
digging about
) Wait a minute, is it
turkey
Bolognese?

Me: Does it taste like turkey?

Sam: Yes.

Will: Yes.

MK: Is this what happens when Bennett's away?

Told S&W about how I like cold toast.

Me: I like it cold with butter and marmalade.

Will: Why?

Me: Makes me think I'm in a hotel.

Will: Or prison.

Sam: You don't have toast in prison.

Will: What do you have?

Sam: Porridge.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

April/May 1983 (General Election soon)

Dear Vic,

It's the total opposite here—they all absolutely HATE her guts (they call her
Mrs.
Thatcher). When they see her on the telly someone will say, “Look, Mrs. Thatcher.” In a disgusted-but-interested way.

MK and AB used to be Labour but they've gone over to the SDP. Sam and Will used to both be Labour, but now Sam's gone over to the SDP. Stephen is Labour (apparently) and hasn't gone over so far. Sam and Will are taking the General Election very seriously. They want to know how you lot are all going to vote. I've said you're all Ecology to keep it neutral.

Yesterday Sam asked if the SDP will win the election.

Me: It's unlikely.

Sam: (
worried
) I might switch back to Labour.

Will: You can't keep switching—I'm Labour, you're SDP now.

Sam: I want to switch back to Labour.

Will: You can't.

Sam: Yeah, I'm going to. I'm Labour again.

Will: You've got an SDP strip in your window.

Sam: I'll take it down.

Will: I'm ringing Mum. (
Will rings MK
) Sam, Mum wants to talk to you.

After the phone call:

Me: What did MK say?

Sam: She said I should stay true to my beliefs.

Will: Whatever the hell they are.

Me: What are your beliefs?

Sam: I believe in Paolo Rossi.

Love, Nina

PS Nunney's to and fro to Ickenham to do with the Labour Party. Knocking on doors, asking people about their intentions and trying to convince them over, if necessary.

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Will's got a cold, so was at home groggy. This has been our day.

Will: What will I do when you go to do Sam's drops?

Me: You can either come with me or I'll ask Amanda to come and sit with you.

Will: How will you get there?

Me: Depends whether you come or not.

Will: If I come?

Me: Car.

Will: If just you go?

Me: Um, car.

Will: So, car then?

Me: I could walk, but that would take longer and Amanda might not have time.

Will: So car then?

Me: I could walk quickly—or we could both walk, it's such a nice day and might clear your head.

Will: I've lost interest. Just tell me when we're going…or not going.

At school gate:

Will: Can I come in?

Me: No, you're ill, wait here.

In the playground:

Sam: Is Will in the car?

Me: No, we walked, he's at the gate.

Sam: Can we go and see him?

Me: No, he's ill.

Sam: But he walked here.

Me: For a bit of fresh air.

Sam: Can't I just say hello to my own brother?

Me: No, he's ill, he doesn't want bothering.

Sam: Is he not seeing visitors?

Outside:

Will: Huh! Nice of Sam to totally ignore me.

At home:

Will: I feel better now—can I go and call for Robert?

Me: No, he's off school with a sore throat.

Will: I'm off too.

Me: But you're both supposed to be ill.

Will: I feel better.

Me: He might not.

Will: Why are you isolating me?

Me: Because otherwise I look irresponsible.

Will: You
are
irresponsible.

Me: I don't want to
look
irresponsible.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Mentioned to MK how much I hate the fishmonger.

Me: I don't like the fishmonger.

MK: How can you not like the fishmonger?

Me: I just don't.

MK: What's wrong with him?

Me: He's tricky to do business with.

MK: Like fish.

Discussing this further:

MK: It's not him, it's you.

Me: No, it's him.

MK: It's the way you approach.

Me: Like what?

MK: Barefoot for a start.

I don't agree. I think the fishmonger is deliberately difficult with anyone who doesn't know much about fish—i.e. me. He abuses his power.

Later, we were watching a film and some music came on the telly and we agreed we didn't like it.

Sam: I hate this music.

Will: Me too.

Sam: I hate it when music does that.

Will: What?

Sam: Comes on in a film and makes the film seem sad.

MK: I think it's meant to be happy.

Me: But it's that film-style happy that actually seems sad.

Sam: Yeah.

Me: I hate emotional music.

MK: More or less than you hate the fishmonger?

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Had tea at the Lahrs' as usual yesterday. I don't know why it's always so nice. It just is. There's John Lahr and Anthea and their son Chris—a good friend of S&W and goes to Anna Sher (children's theater company) with them. Usually Karel and Betsy, plus an assortment of other people.

The tea itself is a mixed bag. The cake/cookies are nice (Betsy?) and the people are nice, probably due to being mostly American, although Anthea isn't (American) and is the nicest of all. But the tea (beverage) is always revolting, like tree-bark, and goes like dishwater if you put milk in. It's either that or orange squash or milk—in a beaker.

John always brings things up for discussion round the tea table. And everyone joins in with their view. Even me. He likes to know what everyone's been doing. He means what films or plays have they seen or, failing that, what telly or books. And then he likes to know what you thought of it (the play, film, book, whatever) and he really is interested in whether you thought the actor/actress was funny or not.

He wears a jacket (either tweedy, beige, cord, or checked), even inside. You never see him without one even on a warm day. Unless he takes it off, briefly, but then he's got it over his shoulder with his finger in the loop thing. Also, he's just written a book about the playwright Joe Orton who used to live on Saffron Lane in Leicester, near the Pork Pie library.

Anyway. They're nice and we like going there and they love MK and always say how clever and sweet she is. She'd die if she heard.

Ring me on Tuesday. Definitely going to Greece. I know it's a bit last minute, but would you want to come?

Discuss on phone on Tuesday.

Love, Nina

PS Anthea says I have the nicest feet she's ever seen and she marvels at my ability to not wear shoes. She thinks it's a wonder I don't stub my toe. I didn't tell her that I do (stub my toe). I just took the praise.

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

It's a hard-water area, not bleachy tasting, but makes fluffy hair less so (good for me but bad for someone with coarse, thick hair). Some people have water filter jug things but they're a bit of a faff, to be honest. You have to keep topping them up and it's easy to forget. Also, if you pour quickly, the water comes out of the top (i.e. not filtered) so what's the point. Plus, if everything else in your house is all charming and junky, why would you want an ugly plastic jug? You wouldn't.

Been trying out a side ponytail. Quite short, but at the side (low). It's OK but can't decide if it's stylish or strange.