by David Nobbs
‘You couldn’t stand me, to be honest.’
‘That’s what I seemed to think. Things are coming back. It’s horrible.’
‘Henry, I must give you credit,’ said Darren. ‘I mean it was crap, utter crap, excuse my French, you know that, I know that, but you played it like that. That stupid Bradley Tompkins took it seriously, the wanker. I mean, let’s face it, at the beginning it was so funny because you was so obviously thinking, “What the fuck am I doing here?”, excuse my Swedish. You looked about as comfortable as a Jehovah’s Witness at a gang bang, but then, you know, suddenly you dragged in that Lady Windermere gag, it wasn’t even about the question you was asked, it was corny, yeah, but it was just right. Genius. Just sodding stupid enough. If old Oscar himself had been there he’d have thought, “Yeah! Nice one!” ’
‘I hardly think so – and he wasn’t actually prone to say, “Yeah! Nice one!”. Darren, somebody must have … really done great things for Ben.’
‘Yeah … spose so … mebbe.’
‘You wouldn’t know who, would you?’
‘Well … yeah … I spose … I spose a bit of it was me. With a bit of help from my friends. I love him, you see. Mad, innit? Keep a bit schtoom about it, eh? Florence Nightingale’s not my style.’
‘Let’s go and eat,’ said Hilary. ‘It’s all very straightforward and simple,’ she added.
They started with gravad lax.
Cousin Hilda’s sniff sniffed.
‘This is what we call simple these days, is it?’ said Cousin Hilda’s sniff.
‘All things are relative,’ said Henry.
‘What on earth made you say that?’ said Camilla.
‘Say what?’ said Henry.
‘ “All things are relative.” You suddenly said, “All things are relative.” ’
‘Sorry,’ said Henry. ‘I meant to say it silently. It came out by mistake.’
This was dreadful. He was sweating.
‘How do you mean?’
‘I mean, I meant just to think it.’
‘What a funny thing to suddenly think.’
‘I can’t help what I think.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Just a bit tired. It was a bit of an ordeal.’
‘You need another drink.’
As they were finishing their beef casserole – Henry had expected another sniff to greet its appearance, but there were no more sniffs, although that wasn’t much of a relief as, the longer there wasn’t another sniff, the more he expected the next one – the question of where Ben and Darren would live cropped up.
‘Can you stay in your squat indefinitely?’ Kate asked.
‘Dunno,’ said Darren. ‘Mebbe. Who knows? That’s squats.’
Henry felt most strongly that he should say, ‘You can come and live here.’ He longed to say it. He wasn’t sure if he longed for them to come and stay, but he longed to say it. He felt most strongly that it needed to be said.
But could he say it without consulting Hilary? He looked across the table at her, so serene and lovely, so matriarchal and yet so unobtrusive, and he gave her a meaningful look, just as she was giving him a meaningful look, and for a moment even these two most loving of partners found that they didn’t understand the meaning of each other’s meaningful looks – it was impossible, and perhaps undesirable, ever to understand fully what another person was thinking. Then a great burst of love and affection swept over him and he knew that Hilary would be happy with what he said.
‘You could come and live here,’ he said.
He saw Tosser twitch. He saw Tosser give Felicity a furtive look. He saw her give an answering twitch, and run her hand over her forehead. It wasn’t difficult, on this occasion, to put words to their body language. Tosser’s twitch was saying, ‘We ought to make an offer. Please tell me you couldn’t face it’, and Felicity’s silent reply was ‘Of course I couldn’t face it. Think how much worse my migraines would be.’
‘Thank you,’ said Darren to Henry. ‘I think that’s a fantastic offer. I find it very hard at this moment in time to credit that I have heard such a wonderfully generous offer from people who I would have described, excuse my Portuguese, as members of the middle-class bourgeoisie.’
‘Darren’s very political,’ said Ben proudly.
‘I dunno, though, Henry. I really dunno,’ said Darren. ‘Would it work? Can we think about it?’
‘Of course. Of course.’
‘I’d hate to do it, and it didn’t work out. I’d hate that,’ said Darren. ‘Anyway, cheers.’
Henry raised his glass and in that moment of emotion took a rather larger sip than he had intended.
One more glass would do no harm. After all, there was cheese still to come.
By the end of the meal he knew that he had drunk too much, and he felt extraordinarily tired. The last thing he needed was Tosser saying, ‘A word in your ear.’
He poured Tosser a little digestif, then, on second thoughts, poured one for himself, so that Tosser wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. He led Tosser through the hall, past the grandfather clock and the barometer, Cousin Hilda’s old barometer which had only come to him a few weeks ago under the will of her old friend, Mrs Langridge. He had once infuriated Cousin Hilda, when he had come home drunk, by tapping the barometer and saying, ‘Quarter past stormy. Didn’t realise it was as late as that.’
He felt fairly drunk now, but not like that, of course. He was mature now. He could hold his drink.
The study felt cold. The radiator wasn’t on. Too late now.
Henry subsided into the leather chair at the side of his large, Georgian desk. Behind him, in pride of place, sat the various editions of Hilary’s four published novels – hardback, paperback, audio unabridged, audio abridged and large print.
All round the walls were photographs of scenes from Henry’s past life, and against the south wall, opposite the books, sat the Henrygraph, Guiseppe’s caricature. Hilary had been right. He didn’t want people to see it, in all its wicked accuracy, but he was happy to see it, here, on his own, in private. It would keep him from getting too bigheaded, he hoped.
Tosser seemed to have been silent for a very long time. Henry was almost asleep.
‘I don’t find this easy,’ Tosser began at last.
‘Clearly. Cheers.’
‘Cheers. What is this?’
‘Marc de Bourgogne.’
‘It’s very good. Henry, I don’t find this easy. I … you offered Ben a home today.’
‘Well, yes. I don’t think he’ll take it, though.’
How big Tosser was. Bigger than ever. He quite dwarfed the Henrygraph.
‘I’m not criticising you for offering, Henry.’
‘Good.’
‘No, it’s good of you. I’m not even saying that you’re usurping my role as Ben’s father.’
‘I can only usurp it if you aren’t prepared to take it on.’
‘I realise that. No criticism will pass my lips.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I just wanted to explain why I cannot have Ben to stay.’
‘You don’t need to explain.’
‘I do. I need to explain to somebody and you’re the only person I can explain to.’
Henry was uncomfortably aware that Tosser was looking in the direction of a photograph of the occasion at Thurmarsh Town Hall when Henry (Liberal), Tosser (Conservative) and Martin Hammond (Labour) had stood beside the Returning Officer (berk) to hear the result of the parliamentary election of 1979, when Henry’s actions had resulted in Tosser being elected to a seat he didn’t want.
‘I cannot have Ben to stay, Henry, much as I might like to.’
‘Much as you might like to? You’d hate it.’
‘Anyway, it’s hypothetical. It’s Felicity, Henry. I’m afraid she couldn’t take it. She’s … fragile, Henry. Very fragile.’
‘I understand, Tosser.’
‘Please do try not to call me that.’
‘Sorry.’
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br /> ‘No, you’re not. Er … there is also the question of Darren. Felicity is rather … squeamish. No use pretending she isn’t. She can’t help it. Studs make her sick. Particularly nose studs. Felicity is ultra-sensitive about noses. We once saw a man with a very deformed, diseased nose in a bar in Rotterdam. She took to her bed for three days.’
‘Oh dear. I can’t pretend, Tosser, that I was thrilled when Darren came through my door, but actually I think he’s great. I think kindness and compassion are rather more important than studs and tattoos.’
‘Well, yes, I agree. Of course. But there you are. You’re going to think me old-fashioned, Henry, I know you are, but it’s a profound shock to me to find that my boy is gay.’
‘Good God, Tosser, you fancied me yourself once.’
‘I was a child, for God’s sake, it was boarding school, you were the only thing with smooth flesh around.’
‘And I thought you really cared.’
‘Don’t be silly, Henry.’
‘You’ve been friends with Lampo for most of your life.’
‘He isn’t my child, Henry. You don’t have a child who’s gay. You don’t understand.’
‘There have been moments when I’ve wondered if Kate is gay. I still do, actually. It would make no difference at all.’
‘I … I may not seem to you to be a shining example of a caring father, Henry, but … I’ve come in here to ask you something … as an old friend … and we must go in a moment, because unfortunately Felicity’s migraine is firming up, they go one way or the other, her migraines, and I just want to ask you this one favour before I go. For me, and for my peace of mind, because Felicity does tend to be a little bit … obsessive, does take things rather to heart, does … well … she gets absolutely stricken with guilt, can’t sleep, even with sleeping pills … I really do think … well, she’s very … she’s very resentful sometimes, Henry, and she bottles it up. It honestly wouldn’t surprise me if she had a nervous breakdown. I mean that. So, for my peace of mind, because I can have no peace of mind if she hasn’t, could you see your way to withdrawing your invitation to Ben and Darren?’
‘I can’t, Nigel,’ said Henry. He couldn’t bring himself to refuse the man’s request and call him Tosser at the same time. ‘I understand why you’re asking me, and I sympathise, I really do, but I’m afraid supporting Ben is more important to me than sparing your feelings.’
Anybody would admit that he needed a drink after a conversation like that with Tosser – and the marc de Bourgogne was superb – and really good drink didn’t make you drunk.
Tosser and Felicity made their farewells. Paul and Christobel said that they must be going.
Lampo asked to have a word in his ear.
He topped up his glass. Nobody would think it unreasonable to do that before yet another word in his weary, over-used ear.
He trotted across the hall, silently saying ‘Here we go again’ to Cousin Hilda’s barometer, and led Lampo into his study, which was even colder now, because the night was growing colder and because Tosser had recently been in the room.
‘When I fagged for you, I little dreamt that you’d both want words in my ear in quick succession in my study on the same evening more than forty years later,’ he said, collapsing into the leather chair rather more heavily than he’d intended.
‘What did Tosser want?’
‘It was confidential.’
‘Henry! We’re old friends.’
‘He doesn’t want me to usurp his parental role with Ben.’
‘Well, if he doesn’t want it somebody has to take it.’
‘Exactly. Just what I told him. My very words.’
‘I can’t forgive myself for being so friendly with somebody so dim. Well, my request is more simple. Will you be doing A Question of Salt again?’
‘Probably. Why?’
‘Could you get me two tickets?’
‘You want to go again? Denzil I can understand, but you?’
‘Oh, it isn’t for Denzil. It’s for me and … my friend. I don’t mind pretending, Henry, that he has very common tastes in some areas.’
‘Well, there’s nothing like being tactful.’
‘Surely I don’t need to be tactful with you? Tact can be so patronising.’
‘Fair enough, but let me get this straight …’
The room began to move: the Henrygraph, the books, the photos, they were going round and round. Why wouldn’t they keep still?
‘Are you all right?’ asked Lampo.
‘Fine. Just D I Z Z Y.’
‘What?’
‘A dizzy spell. That’s funny, isn’t it? D I …’
‘I did get it. I only didn’t laugh because it wasn’t funny.’
‘I thought it was.’
‘You’re drunk and I’m sober. Is it worth going on with this?’
‘Yes. Sorry.’
Henry strove very hard to concentrate. He had something very important to say. He stood up unsteadily, put his hand on the desk for support, and glared at Lampo.
‘Let me get this straight,’ he said. ‘You are asking me, in my house, with your lifelong lover, my friend Denzil, to whom I introduced you to in Siena, actually sitting in my sitting room across the hall at this very moment, you are asking me, sitting there across my desk, separated from Denzil only by the hall, to give you two tickets for you and the youth you’re cheating him with unbeknown to him without his knowing?’
‘Well, yes, if you put it that way.’
‘I do, Lampo. I do.’
‘You wait till you’re smitten.’
A vision of Sally Atkinson flashed disturbingly across Henry’s mind. He swayed, but didn’t fall.
‘Smitten?’
‘Utterly. I wasn’t at first, I admit, but … well, I should never have started it, of course, but it’s too late now.’
Henry sighed.
‘Oh, don’t worry, Henry,’ said Lampo. ‘I shan’t ever leave Denzil. I couldn’t.’
Henry gave a faint smile.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘I do know that, but my answer …’ He tried to look severe, tried to look as if he was a headmaster in his study. ‘My answer, Lampo, is no, no and never. Do what you want with this youth …’
‘He’s thirty-six.’
‘Do what you want with him, but don’t ever again try ever again to use me in your dirty little deceptions ever again.’
Henry let go of the desk and tried to walk towards the door. His legs wouldn’t work. They wouldn’t hold him. They were jelly. He was like a drunk in a comic film. He subsided on to the floor.
It took four of them to put him to bed – Lampo, Hilary, Guiseppe and a sniff.
8 Sod’s Law
OCCASIONALLY, AFTER THE transmission of Henry’s first appearance in A Question of Salt, people stopped him in the street and told him how much they’d enjoyed it. It was awkward if he was in a hurry, but he always stopped to talk. ‘I have to respect my public,’ he told Hilary, who raised her eyebrows just a little towards heaven, even though she didn’t believe that there was anybody there to respond.
‘You’re my second celeb of the week,’ a taxi driver told him one Wednesday. ‘I had that Bjorn Borg in the back on Monday.’
Celeb!
‘I’m a celeb, Miss Candy,’ he told his old teacher silently. ‘It’s a pity you must have died long, long ago, because I think you’d be proud to see that I have amounted to something.’
He felt that he must show the taxi driver that success wasn’t spoiling him, that he was still a man of the people, so he decided that he must speak to him.
‘Any sign of the Christmas rush starting yet?’ he asked.
His remark thudded into the ether with all the subtlety of a steam hammer. Even the taxi driver seemed bored by it, as he replied, without vitality, ‘Yeah, well, it won’t be long, that’s for sure. There’ll be Christmas trees in shop windows next week.’
‘Ridiculous!’ spat Henry confidently. ‘Far too early.’
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‘I like it,’ said the taxi driver reprovingly. ‘We have enough boring, colourless times in the rest of the year.’
Henry realised that if he wanted to be loved by his public – and what was the point of having a public if they didn’t love you? – he might have to be a bit more careful in expressing his opinions, and a bit more subtle in detecting other people’s .
He also felt certain that, on Thursday, his taxi driver would be saying to his passengers, ‘I had that Henry Pratt in the back yesterday. You know, the chef bloke. I’ll tell you what. No conversation!’
He would have to pull his socks up, now that he was a celeb.
The Christmas special was his fifth recording of A Question of Salt. He felt that it was quite a feather in his cap to be chosen for the special – until he saw Bradley Tompkins there.
It was the first time he’d gone without Hilary. The recording clashed with a Christmas dinner for some leading booksellers, and her publishers wanted her to be there.
There were bound to be such clashes, from time to time. They were lucky not to have had them before.
‘You don’t need me there now, do you?’ she said at their wooden kitchen table, modern but distressed. ‘You’re a big boy now.’
I do need you there. I don’t want to be tempted by Nicky. I don’t trust myself, especially if I’ve had a few drinks.
Then don’t have a few drinks.
I don’t trust myself not to have a few drinks.
‘I’d like you there. Put it that way.’
‘I really think I ought to go to this, darling. Sales slipped just a bit last time and I want to emphasise the autobiographical element in this one. I think it might get them behind it more.’
In the taxi to the BBC (not recognised by the driver, slightly to his chagrin) with his change of clothes, all chosen by Hilary, Henry couldn’t help hoping that Sally Atkinson would be on the show, couldn’t help hoping that Bradley Tompkins wouldn’t, kept saying to himself, ‘Be sensible. Don’t drink too much. You love Hilary. Don’t let her down. Don’t let Ben down. Don’t let them all down. For God’s sake, Henry Pratt, don’t be a tosser tonight.’
He didn’t get any of his wishes. Bradley Tompkins was there. Sally Atkinson wasn’t.