Acquired Tastes

by Simone Mondesir

  Until recently, the committee had been a little known. Set up to vet television programmes for political balance, taste and decency, it had provided an innocuous sinecure for retired senior civil servants, failed former politicians and other assorted minor luminaries, for whom service on a public committee guaranteed an appearance on the honours list.

  But the appointment of Sir Norman had changed all that.

  For most of his twenty-five years in parliament, Sir Norman had been a back-bench MP, distinguished only by his rigid adherence to the party line and the fact that nobody - not even most of his constituents - had ever heard of him.

  Aside from his maiden speech, in which he had called for the Union Jack to be raised and the national anthem to be sung at school assemblies, Hansard had not recorded a single further contribution to parliamentary debate. When it announced his retirement, even his constituency newspaper had found it hard to find much to say about his political achievements, other than to praise his record of solid and sturdy support for the Conservative cause. It was assumed by one and all, that in retirement, he would disappear into the obscurity from which he had never emerged. But they had been proved wrong.

  One of the requirements for being chairman of the committee was that Sir Norman watch television, something he had never done before. According to him, it was bad enough having to leave his estate and go up to damn London in order to vote occasionally without wasting further time sitting in front of a bloody box.

  So when duty finally forced him to sit down and watch television, the shock of what Sir Norman saw fired him with a missionary zeal that, on his past record, few would have believed possible. He became a man with a mission, not only to cleanse the nation's television screens, but also to purge the television industry itself.

  'The television industry is a hot-bed of left-wing sympathisers, alcoholics, fornicators and drug abusers,' he had thundered in his first speech. 'If we are to trust the innocent, unformed minds of our children to these people, we must expect them to adhere to decent, god-fearing moral standards off screen as well as on. I intend to root any malefactors out by their toes.'

  This speech - and the many others he had made since discovering he had a voice for the instantly quotable phrase - had earned Sir Norman the tabloid sobriquet ‘the Sleaze-finder General’. Now, as he gazed distastefully down at Philip, his expression suggested he was considering a particularly unpleasant punishment to inflict on him.

  'In… indigestion pills,' Philip stuttered lamely, shaking his pill box like a collecting plate. 'I rather overdid it at lunch.'

  Too late he realised that this, too, could be misconstrued and hastily added: 'But only with food.'

  Sir Norman's bushy eyebrows nearly touched his receding hairline.

  Feeling that he was somewhat at a disadvantage talking to Sir Norman's knees, Philip put a hand on the washbasin and painfully pulled himself to his feet. As he did so, a large ball of wind which had been trapped in his stomach, rose inexorably up and forced itself out of his mouth in a long, loud belch.

  'Well, really,' barked Sir Norman, now confirmed in his earlier suspicion that he was face-to-face with a drug-taking drunk. He turned on his heel with military precision, and marched out of the door.

  Tears of frustration pricking hotly behind his eyes, Philip belatedly put his hand over his mouth. His indigestion had gone, and along with it the pain, but it was too late. Of all the people in all the world, why had he disgraced himself in front of Sir Norman?

  He looked in the mirror again and saw a balding, middle-aged man with panic in his eyes looking back at him.

  Why, oh why, had he left the BBC?

  Seventeen

  Jeremy slept clutching the bed covers with the desperation of a small child clutching its security blanket. Alicia lay beside him, her eyes wide open.

  She sighed. She was at last accustomed to the constant night and day rumble of traffic in London, but she still found the murky orange glow which passed for night disturbing. It seemed to insinuate itself around, under and even through the balding pile of Zelda's red velvet curtains, no matter how tightly she drew them across the windows.

  Alicia leaned over and squinted at the faint green numbers of the radio clock on the bedside table. It was 2.34 a.m. She lay back on the pillow and screwed her eyes tightly shut. Then willing herself to relax, she counted slowly backwards from one hundred. Usually it was an infallible way of falling to sleep, but at nineteen, she gave up and opened her eyes.

  A sudden, bloodcurdling yowl from the garden made her heart skip a beat. The sound hung throbbing in the air for what felt like an age before it finally died away, only to be replaced by the vicious sounds of two cats locked in close combat. It seemed to Alicia that, even if the cats did not disturb Jeremy, the sound of her still-thudding heart must, but when she looked over at him, his eyes remained closed and his breathing deep and regular.

  With a loud sigh she turned over on to her side and curled her knees up. She had always been such a sound sleeper, but since Jeremy moved in, she found that even when she did eventually fall into a fitful doze, she was troubled by unfamiliar and vaguely disagreeable dreams that left her feeling bad-tempered and heavy-headed when she woke. Seeing Jeremy's freshly-minted countenance first thing in the morning did not help either. With another deep sigh, Alicia turned over yet again, this time onto her stomach.

  She hadn't intended they share a bed when she suggested Jeremy come and stay for a while. She had just been so horrified after visiting the dingy room he rented in Hackney a week ago, that she felt she couldn’t bear to think of him staying there a moment longer. The room had been bad enough, but when she saw the squalid state of the kitchen he shared with two others, it had been enough to put anyone off their food.

  Jeremy had needed no encouragement. He packed his suitcase there and then and they caught a taxi back to Zelda's flat. Alicia had intended to go out the next day and buy some sort of put-you up for him to sleep on. But when she went into the bedroom, she found his striped pyjamas folded neatly on the pillow next to her winceyette night-dress.

  The intimacy of the two sets of nightclothes so close together had brought a blush to her cheeks, but Jeremy had not said anything to suggest he thought of her as other than a friend, or at least she didn't think he had. It was so difficult to tell. She certainly liked him much more than just a friend, but hadn't dared say anything, at least not without first knowing what he felt. She had no intention of making a fool of herself with yet another man.

  Yet at times Jeremy seemed more like a little boy lost than a man. When she picked up his pyjamas they were bobbly and rough to the touch. He obviously didn't know about using a fabric conditioner in his laundry. Alicia felt a rush of pity at his helplessness and resolved to make sure his clothes were properly washed and aired in the future.

  This decision helped her to make up her mind. Jeremy had been having such a hard time of late, it would be churlish for her to suggest he sleep on the floor in the other room when Zelda's king-sized bed was so large and comfortable. She had plumped up the pillows and replaced the two sets of nightclothes side by side. If anything happened, she was a mature woman and could deal with it.

  But seven nights had passed and nothing had happened, except that she was beginning to feel the effects of sleep deprivation.

  Alicia raised herself on one elbow and studied Jeremy's sleeping profile. After a week of her cooking, his cheeks were beginning to fill out again and his skin had lost its unhealthy pallor. She stretched over and gently pushed his hair back off his forehead.

  Jeremy's long eyelashes fluttered, and she hastily pulled her hand away, but his eyes remained firmly closed, and with a grunt he turned over, pulling most of the bedclothes with him.

  Alicia lay back on her pillow, and once again studied the cracks in the plaster ceiling which she had come to know so well. She could have gone to confession without blushing for all that had happened between her and Jeremy. Almost by telepathy, they h
ad both adopted a Morse code of discreet coughs outside doors to avoid the embarrassment of seeing each other undressed, and after a chaste goodnight peck on the cheek, they retreated to opposite sides of the bed, with their backs turned to each other. A tear suddenly tried to escape from the corner of Alicia’s eye. Stifling a sniff, she hastily wiped it away. Was she so ugly? She had shared a bed with a man for nearly a week, and all he had done was kiss her on the cheek. This time she didn't even have the excuse that he was gay, like Donald. She could almost hear the echo of Vanessa's mocking laughter.

  Angry with herself, Alicia sat up and scrubbed hard at her eyes. It was no good, sleep was impossible when she felt like this. She gazed resentfully down at Jeremy's slumbering form. How could he possibly sleep at a time like this? She eased herself out of the bed and felt for her slippers with her toes. Then she padded into the living room, closing the door softly behind her.

  Jeremy heard the door closing and opened his eyes. His heart was thudding against his ribcage, and his forehead still burned from the touch of Alicia's fingers. He let out a long sigh. He couldn't carry on like this for much longer; he was beginning to find it almost unbearable to be near Alicia.

  The flowery scent of her body remained in the air like a whisper, even when she wasn't in the room, but when she came so tantalisingly close to him as she had just a moment ago, it threatened to overwhelm him.

  He had even taken to waiting until he was alone in the flat so that he could go through the drawers where Alicia kept her underwear. It lay in soft white layers, scented with sweet-smelling sachets of lavender and chastely trimmed with broderie anglaise and pink rosebuds. When he leant down and buried his face in the drawer, it reminded him of being back in the nursery with Nanny Greig. When Vanessa had worn any underwear at all, it had been silly little scraps of black silk.

  He groaned softly and gathered Alicia's pillow up into his arms, hugging it to his body. Vanessa had been right. He was an abject failure when it came to women. He never knew what he was meant to say or do. It was like trying to speak a foreign language or worse - trying to explain cricket to a foreigner. He had never succeeded in either.

  Still holding Alicia's pillow, he lay on his side and closed his eyes. The jolly thing about Alicia was that she made him feel so secure. It was so nice just to be able to be with her and not feel that he was under pressure to well, perform. She wasn't the least like Vanessa who had wanted sex all the time. In fact she had given absolutely no sign of wanting sex at all.

  A happy little smile flitted across Jeremy's lips as he drifted back to sleep. You knew where you were with Alicia - just like Nanny Greig.

  In the kitchenette, Alicia whipped the milk for her cocoa with more than her usual vigour. She was determined to put all thoughts of Jeremy out of her head. He had made it quite clear that he was not interested in her, so she had to stop acting like a lovelorn, fourteen-year-old adolescent. It was time to be sensible and accept the fact that she was going to be, what Fergus had so scathingly called, an academic spinster.

  He had meant it as an insult, of course. To him a spinster was a woman who lived without sex, and therefore was not really a woman at all. But he was wrong Alicia thought as she poured the frothy milk into her mug and sprinkled it with nutmeg, being a spinster was an honourable vocation. No matter what Fergus said, sex wasn't everything, and women without it could live rich and fulfilling lives. She had her cottage and her career and much more besides.

  After washing and drying the saucepan, Alicia stood in the kitchenette, blowing on her cocoa. She couldn't face going back into the bedroom yet.

  A newspaper on the top of the rubbish bin caught her eye, and she spread it out on the worktop, idly turning the pages as she waited for her drink to cool. Why Jeremy should buy a tabloid paper was beyond her. What on earth did he find to read in it?

  But then the wording of a small boxed advertisement caught her eye. She read and re-read it. There was no mistake. She almost ran back into the bedroom.

  'I just can't believe they will get away with it,' she said prodding Jeremy with her finger and waving the newspaper in his face with her other hand.

  'Wha…?' he asked, groggily.

  'I just can't believe they will get away with it,' she declared again, pushing Jeremy over so she could sit down beside him.

  Jeremy struggled into a half-sitting position. 'Who can't get away with what?'

  'Vanessa and Fergus, of course,' said Alicia impatiently.

  'I shouldn't worry about it.' Jeremy yawned again. 'Nothing lasts long with that woman. Take it from me. Men are just playthings to her, even this Fergus.' He sleepily rubbed his eyes. 'Anyway, from what you've told me about this fellow, he's a queer sort of cove. Can't see what any sensible woman would see in him.'

  Alicia decided to ignore this and instead, slapped the newspaper on to his lap. She turned on the bedside lamp.

  'Look,' she commanded, jabbing her finger at the advertisement.

  The headline read: DAYDREAM YOUR WAY TO STARDOM.

  Jeremy glanced at it and yawned. 'Typical tabloid stuff.'

  'Jeremy, read it carefully,' Alicia insisted, 'particularly the bottom part.'

  Jeremy picked up the newspaper and studied it. Comprehension slowly dawned on his face.

  'Ye gods, that's Vanessa's lot, isn't it?'

  Alicia nodded. 'Fergus's research was all about fantasies. I bet this is the programme they're making together.'

  'Bit strong, isn't it?' Jeremy said, raising an eyebrow.

  'You don't know Fergus like I do,' replied Alicia then leant back against the pillows blinking away tears of despair.

  All her life she had tried to do what was right. She always paid her bills on time, never parked on yellow lines or fed parking meters, always put money in charity collection boxes, and always opened the little doors on her advent calendar on the right day. And yet, while her life was in ruins, Vanessa and Fergus were happily carrying on as though nothing had happened, and were even making a television series together. They had behaved dreadfully and would get away with it unless…

  She sat bolt upright. 'I think we should answer the advert.'

  Jeremy's eyes, which had been closing, snapped open. 'What? Why on earth should we want to do that?'

  'Trust me,' said Alicia in a tone of voice that Jeremy had not heard before.

  He glanced at the clock, it was 3.15 am. He settled further down in the bed, unsuccessfully trying to stifle a yawn.

  'OK. But can we talk about it in the morning?' he begged sleepily.

  Alicia looked down at him. His eyes were already closed. She would get nothing more out of him, but now she had decided what to do, sleep was impossible. She turned off the bedside lamp, tucked the newspaper under her arm, and padded back into the sitting room.

  Her cocoa had gone cold, so she poured some more milk into the saucepan. As she waited for it to boil, she climbed on to a stool and felt around in the top cupboard where she kept her chocolate store. Her recent sleepless nights had taken a toll on her usually well-stocked cupboard, and she had to feel right to the back before she found a packet of chocolate coated, double chocolate chip cookies. Her questing hand also found some books, which seemed to have been pushed to the back of the shelf. She lifted one down. From the title it seemed to be a cookery book she hadn't read before. Next to the novels of Jane Austen and Henry James, there was nothing Alicia loved more than reading a good cookery book. She tucked it under her arm, and with the mug of cocoa in one hand and the packet of biscuits in the other, headed back to the bedroom.

  Jeremy was fast asleep again and as well as the bedclothes, had pulled all the pillows on to his side of the bed.

  Alicia switched the bedside lamp back on again, and tugged a pillow out of Jeremy's embrace. She plumped it up behind her shoulders, and then emptied the biscuits from their packet, stacking them on the bedside table so she could reach them without having to look. Dunking a biscuit in her cocoa, she looked at the book which she had b
alanced on her knees. It was called The A to X-to-Zee of Food. She opened it.

  A biscuit was half-way to Alicia's mouth before she realised it was not a cookery book. The biscuit remained suspended in mid-air as she read the opening sentences.

  “To consummately enjoy both food and sex, the ingredients are the same: both should be a feast which employs all the senses, and both should be shared with a partner of exquisite taste and insatiable appetite. But our boil-in-the-bag, oven-ready, fast food, deodorised culture is in danger of losing the essential and sensual link between food and sex.”

  A soggy piece of biscuit fell unheeded on to Alicia's nightdress.

  “Other cultures have understood it better than us. The ancient Greeks used the same word to mean either hors d'oeuvre or foreplay while the Tupari Indians of South America express coitus with vivid phrases like kuma ka meaning to eat the vagina and ang ka, meaning to eat the penis. Another South American tribe evocatively employ the same word to mean eat like a pig and to copulate excessively.

  “Starting with A for the apple that Eve offered Adam, this book will take you through the alphabet of the food of love.

  “It was not accidental that it was a woman who, by offering food, opened man's door to a new world of sex and sensuality.

  “And you can be sure that it was no tasteless, chalky textured fruit that Eve offered her mate. No, the apple which tempted man out of the Garden of Eden would have been scented by the spring and summer rains, filling it with sweet juices, and ripened by the warm sun, causing it to blush with pleasure.”

  Alicia thoughtfully ate the crumbly mess which was all that was left of the biscuit in her hand. As she licked the chocolate from her fingers, she flicked through the pages, looking for the chapter headed 'C'. There was a long section on chocolate.