by David Nobbs
At the end of the aria, the applause was tremendous. Opera lovers clapped, opera haters clapped, people who had never heard opera before in their lives clapped. The beautiful and the ugly, the thin and the obese, they all clapped. Sally caught sight of Linda Oughtibridge that was, and even she looked almost lovely.
Now Arabella Kate Hendrie paid homage to her name as ‘The Yorkshire Callas’. Now, boldly, exultantly, triumphantly, she sang some of Maria Callas’s most famous arias. Somehow, she made them her own but gave no impression that she was boasting. She sang in tribute to Callas, in tribute to opera, in tribute to art, in tribute to Potherthwaite, in tribute, ultimately, to life itself. ‘Una Voce Poco Fa’ from The Barber of Seville was followed by ‘O Mio Babbino Caro’ from Gianni Schicchi. Alone on the bridge, her perfectly proportioned face lit up by the evening sun as it slanted in from the north-west, Arabella sang so beautifully that Sally felt sad for the composers of the music, sad that they were dead this night.
Even in her exultation Sally was ruefully conscious that her ear was not subtle enough to deserve this treat. If it was, she would not have had space to reflect at this moment. But reflect she did. She reflected on Barry’s legacy, that she could never be fully confident of what was going on in another person’s head. She found herself wondering whether the rapture on Linda Otley’s face was genuine or assumed. Judith’s face was a mask. She was motionless. She might have been a portrait entitled ‘Society Lady in the Act of Admiring Great Music’. Above all, she wondered about John Forrester, who seemed to be rapt in the music in a way that she couldn’t be, yet also utterly at one with her. They were holding hands, and she had the strangest feeling that the music was flowing through his fingers into hers. But he was a farmer. Did he really actually fully appreciate the music? Could he? And did he know that she was unable to give herself to it as she would wish?
And then, at last, Arabella Kate Hendrie took her over, possessed her in the most lovely and unpossessive way. She was singing ‘Dei Tuoi Figli La Madre’, from Medea, and Sally was suddenly captured by the beauty of it. Quite soon after that, the performance was over. It had been an hour, and it had passed in minutes, yet it had also been a lifetime. For just a few seconds at the end of the performance, there was the loudest silence Sally had ever heard. She felt John’s gnarled farmer’s fingers press hers ever so slightly. Now applause burst out over the Potherthwaite Quays. People claimed later to have heard a faint echo of it as far away as Heckmondwike. The Mayor, who was now Councillor Maurice Sibley, found himself doing something that he could never have dreamt of when he told his careers officer that he wanted to run a wet fish shop when he grew up. He climbed a hump-backed canal bridge and presented a magnificent bouquet to one of the greatest divas of our times.
It was as if people couldn’t face the ending of the applause. It was as if people dreaded their return to reality. And yet, Sally felt that they needn’t dread it, that there would be a little extra element of magic in them for the rest of their lives.
At last the applause did stop. Sally didn’t want to speak. Any words would spoil the moment. How she feared that John Forrester would say something. But he didn’t.
The return to reality was a difficult gear change, but now Terence and Felicity Porchester came to the evening’s rescue. Terence was casting off. Felicity was at the helm. The Porchesters were returning home, and everyone was cheering again. ‘Wish Me Luck As You Wave Me Goodbye’, sung by half a town, represented quite a drop in musical sophistication, but at that moment it was wonderfully moving.
The Porchesters chugged out of sight, towards the winding hole. A few people began to move off, the temporary stand was emptying – people feel foolish staying on in a temporary stand – but the Sir Norman Oldfield Tea Room, the Terminus Bistro, the Canal Bookshop and Café and the Navigation Inn were still doing tremendous business. Also, quite a lot of people were hanging on to wave again to Terence and Felicity Porchester, who were now gently chugging back, having successfully turned in the unsilted winding hole. Sally could see that they were both crying. They had their arms round each other. Sally saw the look that passed between them, and then she was crying too. All the day’s emotion came flooding out. John saw it and understood, and he began to cry too – oh God, oh miracle, he understood and he didn’t mind being seen to cry.
Terence and Felicity exchanged a few words now, and then they slowed down, and the bows of their narrowboat began to turn in towards their old berth. There was another great roar now, a roar to send frightened herons migrating to Holland. Everyone in the crowd understood something of the language of the world of boats. Terence and Felicity hadn’t stopped because they felt they might need one more pint of milk. They were stopping because they had found that they couldn’t leave their new friends after so many years. And Potherthwaite, delightfully flattered, was welcoming them home.
Now it was time to say goodbye to Ellie, Ali and Oli. They were being taken home in a bus adapted for the disabled, though Ali and Oli could have managed the walk back with ease.
‘I can’t believe what I’ve seen today,’ Ellie told Sally.
Sally was almost too moved to reply, but John, who had heard all about the Fazackerly sisters by then, saved the day.
‘See you next year on the Rhine,’ he said.
The Fazackerly sisters took in the implications of this remark quite slowly, and then beamed broadly – even Ali and Oli were, after all, still slightly broad.
‘I told you you should of got five tickets,’ said Ellie.
Sam and Beth said goodbye, slipped away. The parting between Beth and Judith was a desperately polite affair, brimming with insincerity and invitations from and to people who with luck would never see each other again in their lives.
Judith, though, surprised Sally, stayed on, took them to the Navigation Inn, bought them a bottle of champagne, laughed at what she had taken John for on that terrifying night. When he went to get another bottle, Judith said, ‘I like him, Sal, but I realized today how special you are, and you hardly know him. Be careful, won’t you?’
‘No,’ said Sally.
‘What?’
‘No, I won’t.’
‘Won’t what?’
‘Be careful.’
‘What?’
‘I’ll throw myself at him.’
‘Sally!’
‘For over twenty years I didn’t know what Barry was thinking. I don’t think Marigold has a clue what Conrad is thinking, and she’s accepting him as her fourth husband. I don’t know what you’re thinking now. Are you telling me to be careful because you love me and don’t want me hurt or because you’re jealous and don’t want me happy? I don’t know. What I do know is what I want. I want you and me to be closer, better sisters. I want to marry John if he asks me and be a farmer’s wife or a whatever-he-does-next’s wife. I don’t know how he votes, what he loves, what he hates, which side of the bed he likes to sleep on, what time he goes to bed, what time he gets up, whether he likes the windows open, whether his farmhouse is lovely or horrid, whether he will stay there anyway, whether he believes in God, how clever he is, how brave he is. I’ll find out and it’ll be fun or indeed it may not but let’s not start by thinking it won’t be and here he is, give me a lovely hug and kiss, my darling darling Judith, and oh God, I’m going to cry. Hello, darling man, I’m so happy, here I am crying again.’
The sun, trapped in its orbit, began to say goodbye, whether it wanted to or not. It soon disappeared entirely behind the hills, a loss that Potherthwaite would feel every evening, for ever. Now it began to get cold. It was time to leave, but it had been a great day, and there were smiles on every face but one.
Oh, could there not for just one evening be a smile on everybody’s face? Was that too much to ask?
Ben was walking towards them along Quays Wharf. He didn’t look like a great artist. He looked like a twelve-year-old on the verge of tears.
Sally felt ashamed that in the excitement she had forgotten all
about him. And of course with his worry, her worry returned. The school play was very precious to her. Lucy wouldn’t let her down. Would she? Not even for the call of the circus.
‘Oh, Ben,’ she said, ‘you look so sad. No news?’
‘No news.’
Sally explained the story of Ben and Lucy to John and Judith.
‘I’ve told myself she loves me,’ said Ben. ‘I’ve told myself to have faith. But it’s hard. He is her father after all. And the circus is very exciting. And she did so love it.’ He stopped, overcome by the possibility.
‘I thought your High Street was marvellous,’ said John desperately.
‘Thank you. So did two agents and a gallery owner. I could be rich. I don’t want to be rich without Lucy.’
‘Haven’t you tried her?’
‘Yes. She isn’t answering.’
‘Why isn’t she answering? What’s happened?’
‘Calm down,’ said Sally. ‘We all know Lucy. She’ll be back.’
She met Judith’s eyes and she knew that Judith was remembering what she’d said a few minutes ago. We can never really know anybody.
Suddenly Ben went very tense. His father was approaching the canal, and, in a typically unimaginative way, he was approaching down Canal Approach.
Ben stood up, stared at his father fearfully.
‘I’ve been looking for you,’ said his father, waving his mobile phone.
‘Well, now you’ve found him,’ said Sally. ‘Have you heard anything?’
‘I’ve been to the cricket,’ said Ben’s father, relishing the moment, revelling in his brief stardom. ‘I don’t believe in all this Transition stuff, and I don’t like opera.’
‘Never mind that,’ said John. ‘Is Lucy all right?’
She left her phone on the train, so she used her great-uncle’s. It hadn’t got your name, and she must have remembered your number wrong because it told her there was no such number, but it had mine because her great-uncle and I used to …’
Everyone’s patience with Ben’s father snapped at the same moment.
‘Never mind her great-uncle,’ said Judith angrily. ‘What did she say?’
‘Don’t all get on at me.’
‘What did she say?’ shouted Judith. Sally had never seen her sister like this.
‘Just thirteen words. Unlucky for someone.’
‘We don’t care how many sodding words,’ screamed John. ‘What were they?’
‘Not very literate, I’m afraid,’ said Ben’s father with a smirk. ‘Bad spelling error.’
‘What were they?’ shouted Ben, Sally, John and Judith in unison.
Ben’s father realized that there was no more fun to be dredged out of the situation.
‘“Please tell Ben I’ll see him tomorrow. Tell him I’m missing him tebrilly.”’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thanks to my wife Susan for her usual incredible patience, to my agents Ann Evans and Nemonie Craven at Jonathan Clowes Ltd for their support and wisdom, to Cassie Browne and everyone I know at Harper for their support and enthusiasm, and to Mary Chamberlain for another great editing job.
I’m also very grateful to my stepdaughter Kim and her husband John for inspiring me to write a book with the Transition movement at its heart. They are heavily involved in this in France and have played a big part in the creation of the film entitled Transition Au Pays – Aventure Lotoise.
I have also learnt a great deal about the Transition movement from two books by Rob Hopkins – The Transition Handbook and The Transition Companion, which Sally buys in Totnes, and I was also inspired in my choice of subject for this novel by reading The Energy Glut: The Politics of Fatness in an Overheating World, by Ian Roberts.
However, I have not witnessed or taken part in any of the Transition movement’s initiatives. I wished my beloved Potherthwaite and its characters to remain entirely imaginary.
About the Author
DAVID NOBBS’S first break as a comedy writer came on the iconic satire show That Was The Week, That Was, hosted by David Frost. Later he wrote for The Frost Report and The Two Ronnies and provided material for many top comedians including Les Dawson, Ken Dodd, Tommy Cooper, Frankie Howerd and Dick Emery. Apart from his twenty novels, David is best known for his two hit TV series A Bit of a Do and The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin. His radio series With Nobbs On aired on Radio 4 in 2012.
Also by David Nobbs
NOVELS
The Fall and Rise of Gordon Coppinger
It Had to be You
Obstacles to Young Love
Cupid’s Dart
Sex and Other Changes
Going Gently
Fair Do’s
A Bit of a Do
A Piece of the Sky is Missing
Ostrich Country
The Itinerant Lodger
REGINALD PERRIN SERIES
The Legacy of Reginald Perrin
The Better World of Reginald Perrin
The Return of Reginald Perrin
The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin
PRATT
Pratt à Manger
The Cucumber Man
Pratt of the Argus
Second from Last in the Sack Race
NON FICTION
I Didn’t Get Where I am Today
Copyright
Harper
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First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2014
Copyright © David Nobbs 2014
Cover layout design HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2014. Designed by Aka Alice
David Nobbs asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780007449989
Ebook Edition © 2014 ISBN: 9780007500383
Version: 2014-05-02
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