The Campus Trilogy

by David Lodge

  But at breakfast in the restaurant he looked at her from under his forelock with worried, doggy devotion, hardly responding to her small talk, eating little but drinking cup after cup of coffee and chainsmoking his Marlboros. When they went back upstairs to pack he followed her into her room and asked what they were going to do. Robyn said she thought she might look at the Old Town while he did his business at the trade fair, and he said, I don’t mean that, I mean what are we going to do about last night? And she said, we don’t have to do anything about it, do we? We both got a bit carried away, but it was nice. Nice, he said, nice, is that all you can say about it? It was wonderful. All right, she said, to humour him, it was wonderful. I slept beautifully, did you? I hardly slept at all, he said, and he looked it. But it was wonderful, he said, especially the last time, we came together the last time, didn’t we? Did we, she said, I don’t really remember, I was half-asleep. Don’t mock me, he said. I’m not mocking you, she said. It means nothing to you, I suppose, he said, it was just a, what do they call it, a one-night stand, I expect you do it all the time, but I don’t. Neither do I, she said hotly, I haven’t slept with anyone except Charles for years, and I’m not seeing Charles at the moment. Not that it’s any of your business, she added. But a look of relief had come over his face. Well then, he said, so it was love. No it wasn’t, she said, I keep telling you there’s no such thing. Love, that sort of love, is a literary con-trick. And an advertising con-trick and a media con-trick. I don’t believe that, he said. We must talk more. I’ll meet you for lunch at the Plaza, where we ate yesterday.

  …

  “So I ran away,” said Robyn to Penny Black, after giving her a précis of this scene. “I phoned up the airport and found I could get back to Rummidge that morning via Heathrow on my ticket, and I took off.”

  “Without telling Wilcox?”

  “I left a message for him at the Plaza. I couldn’t face a sentimental inquest over lunch about the night before. And, you know, I was feeling frightfully guilty about missing my classes in the Department. I got back to Rummidge surprisingly early, because of the time difference. I took a taxi to the University and arrived just in time to take my second Women’s Writing seminar. Swallow was very relieved to see me. The first group had given him a hard time over menstruation, I think—he was looking distinctly queasy. And I was able to take my third-year tutorial group back off Rupert Sutcliffe, to their great relief. So I went home that evening by bus quite pleased with myself. But of course, when I turned the corner of the street, there he was, waiting for me.”

  “Were you frightened?” Penny Black said. “Did you feel he might attack you?”

  “Of course not,” Robyn said. “Anyway, you can’t feel really frightened of someone three inches shorter than you are.”

  …

  As she approached her house, Vic got out of his car, his face white and tense. Why did you run off like that, he said. I had things to do in Rummidge, she said, rooting in her handbag for her keys. If I’d known how easy it was I’d have flown back yesterday evening, instead of staying overnight, it would have been better all round. Can I come in, he said. I suppose so, she said, if you must, but won’t they be expecting you at home? Not yet, he said. I must talk to you. Alright, she said, as long as it’s not about love and not about last night. You know that’s what I want to talk about, he said. That’s the condition, she said. Alright, he said, I suppose I have no choice.

  She led him into the living-room and lit the gas fire. He looked round the room. You ought to get a woman in to clean for you, he said. I would never employ a woman to do my dirty work, she said, it’s against my principles. Well a man then, he said, I believe they have male cleaners these days. I can’t afford it, she said. I’ll pay for it, he said, and she gave him a warning look. I like my house like it is, she said. It may look like chaos to you, but to me it’s a filing system. I know exactly where everything is on the floor. A cleaning woman would tidy everything up, and then I’d be lost.

  She offered to make a pot of tea, and he followed her out into the kitchen. He stared appalled at the heap of soiled dishes in the sink. Why don’t you get a dishwasher, he said. Because I can’t afford it, and no, you can’t buy me one, she said. Anyway, I quite like washing up, it’s therapeutic. You don’t seem to need therapy very often, he said.

  …

  “Cheeky,” Penny Black commented.

  “I didn’t mind,” said Robyn. “I took it as a good sign, actually—that he was getting over his maudlin mood.” She clambered down over the benches to splash water from a plastic bucket on the stove. Steam hissed angrily and the temperature rose a few degrees higher. She climbed back to her perch. “I tried to keep his mind off the love stuff by talking about the business side of the Frankfurt trip. But then I got a very unpleasant shock.”

  …

  So when will you get this new toy of yours, then, she said, when they carried their tea back into the living-room. Oh, I should think six to nine months, he said. Could be twelve. That long, she said. It depends, he said, whether they’ve got something already built that’s suitable or whether they have to start from scratch. I hope it won’t be more than nine, he said, I have a hunch the recession has bottomed out. Business is going to pick up next year and with the new core blower coupled to the KW we’ll be all set to exploit a rising market. I suppose you’ve got to produce more if the machine is to pay for itself, she said. Yes, he said, but there are savings on costs too. There’ll be fewer breakdowns, less overtime to make up for breakdowns, and of course I’ll be able to lose several men. What do you mean, lose, she said. Well, the new machine will replace half a dozen old ones, he said, so most of the operators will be redundant. But that’s terrible, she said, if I’d known that, I’d never have helped you buy the wretched thing. But it stands to reason, he said, that’s why you buy a CNC machine, to cut your labour costs. If I’d known it was going to cause redundancies, I’d never have had anything to do with it, she said. That’s silly, he said, if you want to stay in business at all, you can’t afford to be sentimental about a few men being laid off. Sentimental, she cried, look who’s talking! The man whose knees go weak at the sound of Jennifer Rush, the man who believes in love at first fuck. That’s different, he said, flinching at the word fuck, I’m talking about business, you don’t understand. I understand that some men who have jobs today aren’t going to have them this time next year, she said, thanks to you and me and Herr Winkler. Those old machines had to be renewed sooner or later, he said, they’re always breaking down, and they’re very tricky to operate, we’re always having trouble with them, well, you know yourself… He faltered and stopped, seeing the expression in her face. Robyn stared at him. You don’t mean to say that Danny Ram, operates one of those machines, she said. I thought you knew, he said.

  …

  “Well, you can imagine what a fool I felt,” Robyn said. “After all the trouble I took back in January keeping Danny Ram’s job for him, now I discovered I’d helped to lose it for him again.”

  “Sickening,” Penny Black agreed. “How is it you didn’t know?”

  “I never knew exactly what job it was he had,” said Robyn. “I mean, I don’t know the names of all these machines, or what they do. I’m no engineer.”

  “Well I wouldn’t brood on it,” said Penny Black. “I bet Wilcox would have got rid of him anyway, as soon as your back was turned. He sounds like a real hard-nosed bastard.”

  “Hard-nosed and soft-centred. When he saw how upset I was he started to backtrack and pretend that it might not be necessary to lay men off after all, if things went very well, he said, they might be able to have a night shift—imagine working at night in that place, it’s bad enough in the daytime… but that’s by the by. And then he said he would guarantee to find Danny Ram another job somewhere in the factory.”

  “Just to please you? At the expense of some other poor sod, presumably.”

  “Exactly. That’s what I told him.”

 
…

  You’re playing with people’s lives as if they’re things to be bought and sold and given away, she said. You’re offering me Danny Ram’s job as a sop, as a bribe, as a present, like other men give their mistresses strings of pearls. I don’t want you to be my mistress, he said, I want you to be my wife. She gaped at him for a moment, then threw back her head and laughed. You’re out of your mind, she said, have you forgotten that you’re married already? I’ll get a divorce, he said. I refuse to listen to any more of this, she said, I think you’d better go home, I have a lot of essays to mark. Term ends tomorrow. Listen to me, he said, my marriage has been dead for years, we have nothing in common any more, Marjorie and me. And what do you think we have in common, she demanded. Not a single idea, not a single value, not a single interest. Last night, he said. Oh, shut up about last night, she said. That was just a fuck, nothing more or less. I wish you wouldn’t keep saying that, he said. Anybody would think it had never happened before, she said, the way you go on about it. It never did happen to me before, he said, not like that. Oh, shut up, she said, go away, go home, for God’s sake. She sat up very straight in her armchair, closed her eyes, and did some yoga breathing exercises. She heard a floorboard creak as he got to his feet, and felt his presence like a shadow falling over her. When will I see you again, he said. I’ve no idea, she said, without opening her eyes. I don’t see any reason why we should ever meet again except by accident. That ridiculous scheme is finished. I don’t have to go to your ghastly factory ever again, thank God. I’ll be in touch, he said, and taking advantage of her closed eyes, kissed her quickly on the lips. She was on her feet instantly, glaring at him from her full height, hissing: Leave me alone! All right, he said, I’m going. At the door, he turned and looked back at her. When you’re angry, he said, you look like a goddess.

  …

  “A goddess?” Penny Black repeated wonderingly.

  “That’s what he said. Heaven knows what he was on about.”

  Penny Black shifted her weight from one massive haunch to the other, making her pendulous breasts tremble. Runnels of sweat ran down between them and vanished into the damp undergrowth at her crotch. “I must say, Robyn, putting ideology aside for a moment… I mean, it’s not every day of the week a woman gets to be called a goddess.”

  “It’s just a nuisance, as far as I’m concerned, a nuisance and an embarrassment. He keeps phoning me up, and he writes every day.”

  “What does he say?”

  “I don’t know. I put the phone down immediately and I throw the letters away without reading them.”

  “Poor Vic!”

  “Don’t waste your pity on him—what about poor me? I can’t get on with my research.”

  “Poor lovesick Vic. Next thing you know, he’ll be outside your house serenading you.”

  “Playing his Jennifer Rush and Randy Crawford cassettes under my window.” They giggled together. “No, but it isn’t funny really,” said Robyn.

  “Does his wife know?”

  “I think not,” said Robyn, “But she must suspect something. And I had a visit from his daughter today.”

  “His daughter?”

  …

  Sandra Wilcox had turned up in the Department without an appointment, but Robyn happened to be in her room checking the proofs of a Finals paper at the time. The girl was fashionably dressed all in black, with a mask of white make-up, and her hair was expensively contrived to look as if she had just been electrocuted. Oh, hallo Sandra, said Robyn, come in, aren’t you at school today? I had to go to the dentist’s this afternoon, Sandra said. It wasn’t worth going back to school so I thought I’d drop in. Fine, said Robyn, what can I do for you? It’s not for me, it’s my Dad, said Sandra. Why, what’s the matter with him, said Robyn anxiously. I mean it’s my Dad who made me come, said Sandra. Oh I see, said Robyn, with a light laugh, but she had given something away to the girl, and it was a subtext of their conversation about the pros and cons of going to university. Why not apply for admission in 1988, said Robyn, and take a year off after leaving school to make up your mind? I could, I suppose, said Sandra, I could get a job at Tweezers—I already work there Saturdays. Tweezers, Robyn said, what’s that? Unisex hairdressers, said Sandra. She looked round the room. Have you read all these books, she said. Not all of them, Robyn said, but some I’ve read several times. What for, said Sandra. You’re not thinking of applying for English, are you, Sandra, said Robyn. No, said Sandra. Good, said Robyn, because there’s a lot of re-reading in English. I thought I’d do psychology, if I did anything, said Sandra. I’m interested in the way people’s minds work. I’m not sure psychology will help you there, said Robyn, it’s mostly about rats as far as I can make out. You’d probably learn more about how people’s minds work by reading novels. Like my parents, said Sandra. I’d love to know what makes them tick. My Dad is acting most peculiar, lately. Is he, said Robyn, in what way? He doesn’t listen to a word anyone says to him, said Sandra, he goes about in a dream. He banged into another car the other day. Oh dear, I hope he wasn’t hurt, said Robyn. No, it was just a bump, but it’s the first accident he’s ever had in twenty-five years’ driving. Mum’s worried about him, I can tell, her Valium consumption’s gone up. Does your mother take Valium regularly? said Robyn. Does she, said Sandra, pick her up and shake her and she rattles. And now he’s reading books, novels, he never did that in his life before. What kind of novels? said Robyn. My school copy of Jane Eyre for one, said Sandra, we’re doing it for A-Level. I was looking for it everywhere the other day, it made me late for school. Eventually I found it under a cushion on his armchair in the lounge. What’s he want with Jane Eyre at his age?

  …

  “He’s obviously trying to study your interests,” said Penny Black. “It’s rather touching, in a way.”

  “Touched, you mean,” said Robyn. “What shall I do? Next thing you know, I’ll have Mrs. Wilcox in my office, stoned on Valium, begging me not to entice her husband away from her. I feel as if I’m getting dragged into a classic realist text, full of causality and morality. How can I get out of it?”

  “I’ve had enough,” said Penny Black, getting to her feet.

  “I’m sorry, Penny,” said Robyn, contritely.

  “I mean, I’ve had enough of this heat. I’m going to shower.”

  “I’ll come too.” said Robyn. “But what shall I do?”

  “You’d better run away again,” said Penny Black.

  4

  So Robyn piled her books and her notes and her BBC micro in the back of the Renault, and locked up her little house and went to spend the remainder of the Easter vacation with her parents in their house with a view of the sea on the South Coast. She instructed Pamela, the Department Secretary, not to divulge her whereabouts to anybody except in the direst emergency, explaining that she wanted to get on with her research free from any distraction. She gave the same reason to her somewhat puzzled parents for descending upon them so abruptly and for so extended a visit. Her old bedroom was much as she had left it on going up to the University; the photos of David Bowie and The Who and Pink Floyd had been taken off the walls, and the wallpaper renewed, but the woodwork was still painted the rather violent pink she had chosen in late adolescence. She set up her word-processor on the scratched and stained desk where she had swotted for her A-Levels, under the window from which, when you looked up from your work, you could see the horizon of the English Channel ruled like a faint blue line between the roofs of two neighbouring houses.

  She spent most of her time in this room, but when she went out into the town to shop, or just to stretch her legs, she couldn’t help reflecting that although she was only a hundred and fifty miles from Rummidge, she might as well have been in another country. There was no visible industry here, and no visible working class. Black and brown faces were rare, mostly belonging to students from the University, or to tourists who came in motor coaches to stare at the fine old cathedral set serenely among green lawns and venerable t
rees. The shops were small, specialised, and served by suavely deferential staff. The customers seemed all to be wearing brand-new clothes from Jaeger and to be driving brand-new Volvos. The streets and gardens were well-groomed, the air soft and clean, smelling faintly of the sea. Robyn thought of Rummidge sprawled darkly and densely in the heart of England, with all its noise and fumes and ugliness, its blind-walled metal-bashing factories and its long, worm-like streets of tiny terraced houses crawling over the hills, its congested motorways and black canals, its hideous concrete core, awash with litter and defaced with graffiti, and she wondered whether it was by luck or cunning that the English bourgeoisie had kept the industrial revolution out of their favourite territory.

  “You don’t know what the real world is like down here,” she told her parents at supper one day.

  “Oh, but we do,” said her father. “That’s why we chose to stay. I could have had the Chair at Liverpool years ago. I went up there and walked about the streets for a morning, and I told the Vice-Chancellor, thanks very much, but I’d rather be a Reader all my life than move up here.”

  “I don’t suppose you’ll be sorry to leave Rummidge, will you dear?” said her mother.

  “I shall be extremely sorry,” said Robyn. “Especially if I can’t get another job.”

  “If only something would turn up here,” her mother sighed. “Your father could use his influence.”

  “On the contrary,” said Professor Penrose, “I should have to declare my interest and have nothing to do with the appointment.” Professor Penrose always spoke in a formal and deliberate manner, in an effort, Robyn sometimes thought, to disguise his Australian origins. “But the problem will not arise, I’m afraid. We’re suffering the same cuts as everywhere else. There are no prospects of any new posts in the Arts Faculty, unless our UGC letter is very much better than expected.”