Love, Nina (8 page)

(AB phones later to say he saw it on the way out. It's a penis.)

Earlier this week. A boy in UCS uniform flicked the Vs at me while I was waiting to pick Will up from school. I flicked them back.

Will: What did the boy look like?

Me: Your height, dark hair.

Will: Blue rucksack?

Me: Yes, crossing near the pasta shop.

Will: I think it was me. Dammit.

Me: Why dammit?

Will: He sounded cool.

Amanda has another drama-school audition looming. This time she's doing a modern piece about a female serial killer. She rehearsed at the table with our Kitchen Devil. It was the most gruesome thing I've ever seen (but a monologue, thank God). Mary-Kay came home and caught the tail end—piling body parts (lemons) into a sack (M&S bag).

Me: Another audition.

MK: I see.

Amanda: (
waving knife about
) I'm a serial killer cutting up a body.

MK: (
to me
) You could find her the Millers' saw.

At Primrose Hill Pippa surpassed herself showing-off-wise. She did a whole gym routine starting with a one-handed cartwheel and ended with a back bend and kick over. It was based on an Olga Korbut routine including the cheeky facial expressions that used to please the judges. No one was interested except in a horrified way. On the plus side, her beret fell off and we all saw the clips.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Day out in Brighton. Boring overall.

The best bit was when we went into an antique shop and Misty picked up a pickle fork with a pretty green jewel on the end.

“How much is this pickle fork?” she asked the antique man.

The man said it wasn't a pickle fork but a runcible spoon.

Misty: What's a runcible spoon?

Man: One of them in your hand.

Misty: But what's it for?

Man: Pickles and such.

It was only one pound fifty, and even though Misty likes spoons and liked the little jewel, she couldn't buy it, not knowing what a runcible spoon was. Then, on the way out, an old woman in the alleyway offered to tell our fortunes. I declined. Partly because she looked so horrible and partly because I had my palm read last week by Sam. It went something like this:

Sam: (
studying wrong side of my hand
) I see you're going to have a baby.

Me: When?

Sam: About 1988.

Me: That's too soon.

Sam: 1989, then.

Me: Too soon.

Sam: Bloody Nora, 1990, then.

Me: Still too soon.

Sam: All right, 1995, but it's twins.

Anyway, as we walked away from the antique shop, the old woman shouted after us, “You didn't want the spoon, then?” I said she must have been looking in through the window, but Misty wanted to be frightened (that's how boring the day was).

Anyway, Brighton is quite nice. Arriving at railway station is good. It's downhill into town and you feel energetic, striding down to the sea front—as opposed to an uphill walk at the start of a place. But then, before you get anywhere charming, you're surrounded by W H Smith and Boots and people wanting a haircut and you might as well be in Loughborough.

Beach disappointing and the whole place pleased with itself for no real reason.

I won't mention my Brighton thoughts to Nunney. Sussex University is in his top three for university next year.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Sam had this thing at the Tomalins' made by a friend of the family who goes round a lot and makes corner shop puddings. It's basically a load of Maryland cookies all sandwiched together with some kind of cream or ice cream or dream topping. She also does hot chocolate that you drink through a Wispa bar.

Funny about the giraffe thing. Similar here. A while back Sam took part in a class assembly (Romans) which “went wrong” because they all mixed up their lines and the teacher felt “a bit let down.”

This week:

Me: (
to Sam
) How was school?

Sam: It was OK but someone said “Rome.”

Me: Rome?

Sam: Yes, and it all came back to me.

Me: What did?

Sam: (
quietly
) The assembly.

Will: (
to Sam
) You're not raking that up again, are you?

Later:

MK: What's up with Sam?

Me: He had a flashback to the Roman assembly.

MK: Oh dear.

AB: The Ides of March.

Pippa came round with a window box, nice (with a heart cut out). Her boyfriend made it at woodwork night class. I have to admit it's nice. She's going to paint it (green) because she hates wood.

Me: How can you hate wood?

Pippa: I don't hate wood, I just hate the grain.

Will: The grain
is
the wood.

Pippa: The Scandinavians respect wood.

(
Will, puzzled, looks at me. Taps side of his head.
)

Will: What have Scandinavians got to do with it?

Pippa: I'm just saying they like wood.

Will: Why?

Pippa: Do I have to have a reason for stating a fact?

Will: No, but it's helpful in a conversation.

She doesn't like the grain but owns a shirt with a wood-grain pattern. Didn't mention it. Don't want her to think I notice her clothes.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Had smoked salmon with bread and butter (and lemon and pepper) at supper followed by my veg soup. The salmon was too nice to have anything after, esp. veg soup. Should have done it the other way around. Mary-Kay made the good point that starters always seem nicer due to you being hungry, but even allowing for that, the soup was like a lot of mushed-up overcooked veg—which it was.

AB disagreed with MK and said starters
are
always nicer. He sometimes orders two starters (instead of a main course) in a café, partly to get the nicest things and partly not to get overstuffed.

I'd done a fruit pie for pudding (blackberry and apple) using a tin of Morton's pie-filler. I admitted it was out of a tin but didn't say it was blackberry and apple. AB likes real blackberries but they make him nostalgic about blackberrying in the lanes. So, to avoid a whole lot of disappointment (and his blackberrying anecdotes), I said the pie was apple and raspberry. Pie fillers all being pinkish-purplish, could be any flavor—they are what you think they are, basically. Apart from apricot, which is bright orange and could only really be apricot (or carrot).

Anyway AB said it wasn't bad for a tinned pie-filler, but said it tasted more like blackberry. Which I thought was quite impressive (AB for detecting blackberry and the pie-filler for tasting of blackberry).

AB did his chicken curry and rice round here the other day (he had a load of cooked chicken to get rid of). I have to admit, it was very nice and only used one pan.

Cooked chicken (chopped up)

Single cream

Curry powder

Grapes—cut in half (or raisins if you don't have grapes)

That's it. Heat it up. No herbs (only what's in the curry powder, if any). It's similar to Dad's Chicken Muck-up, only easier. He got it out of a magazine.

I gave a couple of pages of my semiautobiographical novel to AB.

Me: Did you read my thing?

AB: Yes, it was funny.

MK: What's it about?

AB: I'm not sure.

Me: Are you being discreet?

AB: No, I just can't quite describe it.

Me: So you
didn't
read it?

AB: I did. I'm not sure what it's about. A bunch of literary types doing laundry and making salad—or something.

Me: I think I've given you a letter to my sister by mistake.

I was joking, but “many a true word spoken in jest” because, when he gave it back to me, it did seem very similar to one of my letters to you. Anyway, AB thought it was funny and that's the main thing.

Thanks for sending Moussaka recipe. Will try out, but with turkey mince.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Nunney thinks I should go to university. And I agree and MK agrees. It's a funny thing because I was pretty much told that I'd never be allowed to go to university because of leaving school too soon and that only people who slog it out till they're eighteen are allowed. Nunney says, one, I'm too bright not to go and, two, the universities are desperate for anyone these days. So, I have decided to study for an A level (English Lit) so I can. Have enrolled with C— College to sit exam next June. I have to study all on my own.

I didn't have a clue how it all worked. Thank God Nunney has just done his (A levels and applications). In fact, he's done his A levels twice because of not doing quite well enough the first time to go to the university of his choice (which is
not
Oxford or Cambridge by the way).

Nunney: So have you got all the books on the syllabus?

Me: The what?

I.e. I didn't even know what a syllabus was. It's just a list of books that you have to study but they call it a syllabus rather than book list.

Nunney is going to read the books (on the syllabus) at the same time as me so we can discuss (study). When he looked down the list of books (syllabus) he said, “You're on your own with
Seamus Heaney—Selected Poems.
” He said that because he's not a huge fan of poetry, but I think he'll read them anyway—I hope so. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. We're starting on
Return of the Native
by Thomas Hardy (of
Far from the Madding Crowd
fame).

Have told S&W all about my plans. Will laughed when I said my ambition was to be a proper student. He just thinks of
The Young Ones.

Hope you are well. I hope Miss H is recovering on the Ripple bed.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Mary-Kay's good friend from university has just come back to the UK from South Africa (Mary Hope). She's very nice (in a good way). She smokes, even when eating sometimes. Not that she continually takes puffs, or takes long puffs, she just lights up a lot. It's a habit from the 70s.

Her fingers are like sausages at the moment (temporarily) because they're swollen for some reason, possibly an allergy. She loved being in South Africa except they couldn't get SR toothpaste and of course they abhorred the situation.

I mind Mary's daughter Polly sometimes while Mary sorts out their new house and her life. She's buying a house just behind us on Regent's Park Terrace. Mary Hope often says she's pleased that the three children (S, W & Polly) get along so well. The thing is—they don't. I get along with Polly (very grown-up and funny), but she finds S&W tedious.

Mary will arrive to collect Polly and ask, “Have you had a super time?” and I'll say, “Yes, they've all had a great time.” And Polly will say under her breath, “Except William's a complete idiot.” And Will'll say, “Yeah, and she's so boring.” And Mary will say, “Marvelous, sounds like you've had a super day.”

Good about you giving up fags.

MK's trying to cut down. She used to smoke Camels or some brand like that. Then went on to Silk Cut Extra Mild. And tried just holding it and pretending to take puffs. Anyway, now Mary Hope is back, MK's lost her will-power and now smokes as much as ever (about 5–6 per day). I smoke about 5 per day (Silk Cut ordinary). Nunney smokes Camels in the soft pack or Marlboro Lights. He can blow a ring inside a ring. Did 3 the other night.

We have all agreed—we must try not to blow smoke near Sam, it's bad for his eyes etc.

Hope this letter doesn't drive you back to the ashtray.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Summer 1984

Dear Vic,

I won't mention cigarettes this time.

Mary Hope has given Mary-Kay a box of sugar lumps. They weren't very expensive (you could see the price).

MK: (
admiring pretty box
) Ooh, thank you.

Mary H: I thought it was pretty.

MK: It is, very.

MK and I and everyone else all agree it's one of the nicest things we've ever seen, especially considering the price. For a start the box is lovely with a little green and yellow parrot and the sugar lumps are brown and all lumpy and rough. I've started taking sugar again just to have a lump.

MK had a European soup called Gazpacho at a friend's dinner party. It's a chilled (i.e. freezing cold) soup made of peppers and tomatoes, garlic and olive oil. MK said it was nice, but a bit too cold.

It's a thing you can only have in the summertime. One, because it's chilled and, two, because you need seasonal tomatoes. But it's very simple and easy to make (in the whizzer). I decided to make some using a recipe that came from the wife of the Spanish Ambassador (via Pippa), so bona fide. I couldn't believe the amount of olive oil you were supposed to put in, so I only put half the amount and it came out a bit thick.

Nunney tried a spoonful.

Nunney: Ugh, that's horrible.

Me: That's the Spanish Ambassador's Gazpacho.

Nunney: It's liquidized salad.

Other cold soups include lettuce, beetroot, cucumber. All the salad things basically. But you should only have them in summer. I'd rather soup was warm, to be honest. You don't expect a soup to be freezing cold, it's a mind-set thing.

Had to go to Chamberlaine's to get a puncture-repair kit. MK's bike has a persistent flat and I want to ride it to Parliament Hill Fields to go in the Lido with the nannies. No one at 55 is any good at bicycle maintenance, but AB is brilliant and just as long as you give him prior warning, he'll get the bike upside down in the hall before supper. He seems to like it.

In Chamberlaine's the bloke asked if I needed any help. I said I was going to get a friend to fix the tire. The bloke was very nice and said he'd show me how to do it, then I'd be independent for the rest of my life (puncturewise). I thought about it for a moment but decided I'd rather AB did it. I told the bloke at Chamberlaine's I might pop back later for the lesson. But didn't.

Later on AB came round and fixed the tire.