The Reginald Perrin Omnibus (71 page)

‘To you it is. To me it isn’t.’

Tom propped himself up on his left elbow, the better to assume mastery of the conversation.

‘I’m sorry, Linda,’ he said. ‘But for the life of me I can’t distinguish any great difference between Squelchypoos and Cuddlypuddles.’

‘Oh stop being pompous, Tom.’

Tom abandoned mastery and plumped for being hurt. This involved lying on his back and staring fixedly at the ceiling.

‘I can’t help being pompous, Linda,’ he said. ‘I drew the ticker marked pomposity in the lottery of life. I’m a pomposity person.’

‘That’s another thing, Tom.’

‘What?’

‘Do try and stop saying “I’m a whatsit person” all the time.’

‘I never say “I’m a whatsit person”.’

‘You just said “I’m a pomposity person”.’

‘I’ve never said “I’m a whatsit person”.’

Linda turned angrily on her side, facing away from Tom.

‘You know what I mean,’ she said. ‘Whatever it is we’re talking about, you say, “I’m not a whatever it is person”.’

‘It’s just a phrase I’m going through, Linda. I can’t help it. It’s like C.J. can’t help saying “I didn’t get where I am today”. I just don’t happen to be an “I didn’t get where I am today” person. I’m an “I’m a whatever it is person” person.’

‘Oh, Tom, for God’s sake. We’re supposed to be setting up an ideal society here.’

‘Perhaps I’m just not an ideal society person, Cuddlypuddles.’

‘It’s been an excellent first day,’ whispered Reggie.

Oslo Avenue lay draped in the thick velvet of suburban sleep, eerie, timeless, endless.

Reggie began to stroke Elizabeth’s stomach.

‘No,’ she said, stiffening.

‘Stop stiffening,’ he said. ‘Leave that to me.’

‘People will hear,’ she whispered.

He put his ear to the wall.

‘Reggie, don’t,’ she whispered. ‘That’s disgraceful. It’s intruding on people’s privacy. Can you hear anything?’

‘David Harris-Jones just whispered “No. People will hear”,’ he whispered.

And he laughed silently, joyously.

3
The Training

In the morning the temperature was close to freezing point. Joan curled up in her sleeping bag and pretended to be asleep.

‘Come on,’ said Tony. ‘Lovely fresh morning. Knock-out. Let’s go and hit some breakfast.’

Joan groaned.

‘Oh come on, darling,’ said Tony. ‘Let’s get this show on the road and score some fried eggs.’

He crawled inelegantly out of the tent. A heavy dew lay on the lawn and rose bushes. The sky was a diffident blue.

C.J. was returning from the house after performing his ablutions.’ He was wearing a purple dressing gown over his trousers and vest and carried a large pudding basin. Neatly folded over the edge of the basin was a matching purple face flannel. Among the toilet requisites in the basin were a luxuriant badger-hair shaving brush, a cut-throat razor and a strop.

‘Only just up?’ said C.J. ‘You’ve missed the best part of the morning. The early bird gets first use of the lavatory.’

Reggie came over the patio towards the lawn, rubbing his hands.

‘Morning,’ he said. ‘Everybody up? That’s the ticket. Lovely fresh morning.’

‘I.e. perishing,’ said Tony.

At that moment three things happened simultaneously. Mr Penfold looked over the hedge from Number Twenty-three, a tiny double-decker bus, hurled from the children’s bedroom, struck Reggie’s shins, and Doc Morrissey’s tent collapsed.

Mr Penfold closed his eyes, as if he hoped that when he opened them again it would all be gone. Doctor Daines had warned him that there might be side-effects from giving up smoking. Perhaps this whole scene was simply a side-effect.

He opened his eyes. The scene was still there. A child was bawling in an upstairs room, and Doc Morrissey was moaning inside the collapsed tent. Mr Penfold met Reggie’s eyes.

‘It’s a sharp one, isn’t it?’ he said, and fled.

Reggie joined C.J. and Tony outside Doc Morrissey’s tent. ‘Are you all right, Doc?’ he called out. ‘I can’t move,’ groaned Doc Morrissey. ‘I’ve broken my back.’

It was nine o’clock. Time for the group meeting to begin.

Reggie sat in his study, looking out on to the pebble-dash wall of Number Twenty-three.

In his lap sat Snodgrass, the newly acquired community cat. She wriggled uneasily.

‘It’s time for my great project to begin, Snodgrass,’ said Reggie, tickling her throat gently. ‘But I shall enter slightly late, in order to impress.’

Snodgrass averted her eyes haughtily, in order to impress.

‘Is it too ridiculous for words, Snodgrass?’ said Reggie. ‘Should I go in there and say “Sorry. It’s all been a mistake. Go home”?’

Snodgrass made no reply.

‘I can’t, can I?’ said Reggie. ‘They’ve sold their homes. They’ve given up their jobs. I’m committed.’

Snodgrass miaowed.

‘You’re wrong, Snodgrass,’ said Reggie. ‘It isn’t ridiculous. It will work. We aren’t going to be sod worshippers in Dorset or mushroom sniffers in the Welsh hills. We aren’t going to pray to goats or sacrifice betel nuts. We aren’t going to live in teepees and become the lost tribe of Llandrindod Wells. I’m not going to shave my hair off and chant mantras in Droitwich High Street. I’m not going to become the Maharishi of Forfar or the Guru of Ilfracombe. It’s going to be an ordinary place, where ordinary, unheroic, middle-class, middle-aged people can come. It’s going to be a success. I’m going to make another fortune.’

He lowered Snodgrass gently to the floor.

He smoothed his hair and straightened his tie. He might have been setting off for the office, not starting an experiment in community living.

He entered the living-room.

There was nobody there.

It was almost ten o’clock before the chaos of that first morning was sorted out and the staff were assembled in the pleasant surburban room.

The only absentee was C.J. It was still the school holidays, and, as luck would have it, he had drawn first blood at looking after the children.

Reggie stood in front of the fireplace and looked grimly at his watch.

‘It’s nine fifty-eight,’ he said. ‘Not an auspicious start. Now, who’ll set the ball rolling?’

He sat between Prue and Tom on the settee, and looked round expectantly.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’ve wasted enough time already. You’re supposed to discuss your problems openly, criticize each other frankly, and so learn to express yourselves and realize your potential more fully. So come on, let’s be having you.’

He looked round the room imploringly. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Let’s try a different approach. Why are you all late? Doc?’

He glanced hopefully at his psychologist.

‘My tent fell down,’ said Doc Morrissey.

‘How is the tent now?’

‘I find myself suffering from a feeling of deep insecurity in my tent,’ said Doc Morrissey, who seemed to have made a remarkable recovery from his broken back. ‘I just toss that into the maelstrom of speculation.’

‘Ah!’ said Reggie. ‘Now that is just the kind of thing these meetings are for. Well done, Doc. We’re off. We’re on our way. The project is launched.’

He looked round the room, embracing them all in his smile of encouragement.

‘Has anyone got any ideas why Doc Morrissey should feel insecure in his tent?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Tony. ‘The bloody thing keeps falling down.’

Reggie looked pained.

‘Isn’t that a bit facile?’ he said.

‘I spoke of a deeper insecurity than that,’ said Doc Morrissey. ‘As I lie on my back, in my tent, in a tactile me-to-ground situation, I feel a strong sense of the natural world, the earth, beneath me, and the fragile structure of civilization, the tent, above me, and I realize, I sense, the fragility of our domination over the world of nature around us. And it gives me a real sense of pain.’

‘Cobblers,’ said Tony.

‘Yes, I do have a bit of pain in the cobblers as well. It’s the dew, I think. Incipient arthritis of the testicles.’

‘Well, that was splendid. Doc,’ said Reggie. ‘You see, you’ve taken to psychology like a duck to water. Excellent. So that’s why you were late. Anyone else got any interesting reasons why they were late?’

‘Because I didn’t get up,’ said Joan.

‘Ah!’ said Reggie. ‘But why didn’t you get up?’

‘Because I was in a tent.’

‘Yes, I think maybe we could move on from the subject of tents now,’ said Reggie.

‘Tony’ll soon be wanting to,’ said Joan. ‘He isn’t going to get his end away while we’re under canvas.’

‘Joan!’ said Tony, giving her leg a sharp kick.

‘Tony!’ said Reggie. ‘Don’t kick Joan.’

‘Well what a thing to say. Honestly. Crudesville, Arizona,’ said Tony.

‘I won’t miss it much. Your not all that fantastic at it, anyway,’ said Joan.

‘Joan, please!’ said Tony.

‘I think this is going a bit far, Joan,’ said Reggie.

‘I thought we were supposed to criticize each other frankly,’ said Joan, bending down and examining her leg.

‘We
are
supposed to criticize each other frankly,’ said Reggie, ‘but frankly I think you’re criticizing Tony too frankly. Not that he should have kicked you.’

‘Excuse me a moment,’ put in Elizabeth, leaning forward in her armchair. ‘Aren’t we going to be teaching very largely by example?’

‘That’s right,’ said Reggie. ‘Example from above.’

‘Well, then, should you give aggressive orders like “Don’t kick Joan”?’

‘Well, I mean to say . . .’

‘Surely it’s wrong to counter aggression with aggression, if aggression is wrong?’

‘We’re quibbling now,’ said Reggie.

‘Mother-in-law’s right,’ said Tom. ‘It should be a democratically arrived at decision whether Tony should have kicked Joan.’

‘I suppose I should have said . . . er . . . er . . . has anyone any idea what I should have said?’

‘“Tony, do you think it’s in your best interests to kick Joan?”’ said Prue. ‘“Might it not lead to her kicking you in retaliation?”’

‘Good,’ said Reggie, patting the top of her sensible head affectionately. ‘Very good.’

‘“Tony, don’t you think that if you kick Joan you might bruise her legs and render those exquisite long slender limbs a little less pleasant to plant little hot kisses on?”’ suggested Doc Morrissey.

Joan gave him a cool look.

‘Just a suggestion,’ he said. ‘What we psychologists call the appeal to self-interest.’

‘Right,’ said Reggie. ‘Well, if we can now leave the question of Joan’s legs and move on . . .’

C.J. burst in. There were lumps of plasticine on his face. He shook his trousers angrily. A green frog dropped to the floor.

‘I’ve had enough,’ he thundered. ‘I didn’t get where I am today by having green frogs dropped down my crutch.’

‘Had enough already?’ said Reggie. ‘You’re going to need a bit more perseverance than that if you’re to succeed in the great work for which I have enrolled you. You’re getting the perfect training with those kids. There isn’t a person in this room who wouldn’t willingly exchange places with you, but there you are, you picked the plum. Linda, where are you going?’

Linda, who was sidling towards the door, stopped.

‘I was going to see if the children were OK,’ she said.

‘Please. Please. Faith and trust. I’m sure that if C.J. has the backing of our trust and faith, he will go in there and start earning his salary.’

C.J. scowled.

‘But what’ll I do?’ he said.

‘What about trying simple argument?’ said Reggie. ‘What about saying, “I say, Adam, old fruit, do you really think Kermit wants to have a trip down my crutch. It’s frightfully dark inside trousers, you know”.’

‘Yes,’ said C.J. ‘But what’ll I do after that?’

‘Why not tell them a story?’ said Reggie.

C.J. looked as near to panic as Reggie had ever seen him.

‘Oh, all right,’ he said. ‘But I don’t intend to make a habit of looking after the children.’

‘Their behaviour will get much better once we adults set them a consistent example,’ said Reggie.

‘Hm!’

C.J. left the room with a wistful glance at the comparative safety of the group meeting.

‘I see,’ said Tom. ‘So we haven’t been bringing the children up properly. Is that the insinuation?’

‘There was no insinuation whatsoever,’ said Reggie. ‘But the fact that you insinuate that there was suggests that you feel guilty. Maybe we can examine this feeling without interruption.’

C.J. burst in once more.

‘Reggie’s wet himself,’ he announced.

‘Then change him,’ said Reggie irritably.

Prue fetched a nappy and safety pins, and handed them to C.J. He received them as if they were a grenade and its pin.

‘I fold them by the kite method,’ said Prue.

‘The . . . er . . . ah!’ said C.J. ‘I . . . er . . . I’ve never actually changed a nappy before.’

‘There’s a first time for everything,’ said Reggie.

‘That’s true,’ said C.J., grudgingly admitting the force of Reggie’s remark.

‘In changing the nappy you’ll help yourself,’ said Doc Morrissey. ‘Try and look on it as a wonderful journey of self-discovery.’

C.J. smiled faintly at Doc Morrissey.

‘Your turn for the wonderful journey of self-discovery will come,’ he said, and he closed the door behind him.

‘Right,’ said Reggie. ‘It is now ten twenty-six and we’ve still hardly got started. This emphasizes the importance of starting punctually at nine. It’s not good enough and it won’t happen again.’

He glared fiercely at them.

‘Excuse me,’ said David Harris-Jones. ‘I may be quite wrong, but . . . er . . . if you’re the example that we’re to follow, isn’t it wrong that you should give orders and . . . er . . . virtually . . . as it were . . . threaten us. I mean maybe I’m wrong and it isn’t wrong. But I think I’m right and it is wrong.’

He looked anxiously at Prue. She smiled reassuringly.

‘Super,’ she said.

‘David has a good point,’ said Reggie. ‘I’d like to rephrase what I said. We should have started at nine, but we didn’t and that is . . . er . . . absolutely splendid because obviously you didn’t want to start at nine, but I would suggest that it would be even more absolutely splendid in future if you did want to start at nine.’