The Making of Minty Malone

by Isabel Wolff

  ‘Why?’ said Joe with a shrug.

  ‘Because if I’d confronted him there’d have been a terrible scene and we’d have …split up – that’s why!’

  ‘And would that have been a bad thing?’

  ‘Yes! I didn’t want to split up with him.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because he was my boyfriend. He was The One. I wanted to marry him. So I was prepared to compromise.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Well, everyone compromises – that’s what relationships involve.’

  ‘They don’t seem to involve much compromise for Dominic,’ said Joe contemptuously. ‘No, my question is, why did you want to marry him?’

  ‘Why? Why? What kind of question is that? I mean, why does anyone want to marry anyone?!’

  ‘But from what you say, you didn’t really like or admire him. And so that’s what I don’t understand. Did you like him, Minty?’ He held me in his gaze. ‘Well, did you?’ I found myself staring at his eyes. His pupils were large and hazel, with radiating fibrils of gold and green. There was something hypnotic about them. I heaved a long, weary sigh. ‘Did you?’ I heard him say again.

  ‘No,’ I said quietly. ‘I didn’t really. And I like him even less now I know the truth.’

  ‘But, Minty,’ said Joe, leaning forward a little now, ‘why were you prepared to marry someone you didn’t like? I’m sure I asked you that before, and you just evaded the question.’

  ‘Look, Joe, whether or not I liked him has got nothing to do with it. He wanted to marry me.’

  ‘But – let me say it again – you didn’t really like him, did you?’

  ‘No,’ I hissed. ‘I didn’t. I didn’t like his behaviour. It made me cringe. I didn’t like the way he called everyone by their Christian names and tried to sell policies at parties. I didn’t like the fact that he would never do anything I wanted. I didn’t like his supercilious criticisms of people who weren’t “smart” or well dressed. I especially didn’t like the way he controlled me and destroyed my confidence.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Yes. His conversation – or rather, lack of it. It was bloody boring. I’ll tell you what else I didn’t like – I didn’t like his intolerance, his chronic selfishness, and his lack of sympathy for other people. In fact,’ I said, ‘there were lots of things about Dominic that made me feel absolutely sick!’

  ‘How astounding, then, that you would contemplate marrying such a man. A man you seem not to have respected or liked.’

  ‘But whether or not I liked him has got nothing to do with it!’

  ‘You don’t think so?’ he said, rolling his eyes.

  ‘No. Because marriage is different. When it comes to marriage, lots of people marry people they don’t particularly like.’

  ‘Do they?’

  ‘Yes, because we don’t necessarily marry our friends, do we?’

  ‘Don’t we? I’d like to.’

  ‘But friends are friends. They’re for friendship. And partners are partners.’

  ‘I don’t think Dominic wanted you to be his “partner” in any sense of the word I could understand,’ said Joe. ‘I think he just wanted you to be his decorative doormat.’

  ‘Yes, he did. And that’s what I almost became.’

  ‘Right, Minty, let me ask you again: Why did you want to marry Dominic?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I heaved an exasperated sigh. ‘OK. Yes, I do know,’ I conceded, fiddling with the salt pot. ‘I wanted to marry him because he wanted to marry me. Yes, I admit it. I was flattered. He chose me. And I was flattered by that. There I was, nearly thirty, and I wanted to get married. Then Dominic came along, and he chose me. And I thought he’d do.’

  ‘You thought he’d do?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Despite the fact that your opinion of him was so low?’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t low in every way. I mean, he was very successful.’

  ‘Ah ha.’

  ‘And he was attractive. And he wanted me. Dominic chose me.’

  ‘And that’s all there is to it?’

  ‘Yes. Well, it was for me.’

  ‘And he chose you and then tried to turn you into something you’re not.’

  ‘Yes, he bloody well did – bastard.’

  ‘And I ask you again, why did you go along with that? Why did you try to become something you knew you weren’t? Why did you let that happen, Minty? You weren’t a baby, and everyone has a choice.’

  ‘Why did I let it happen? Because I understood his insecurity. I knew where it was coming from, so that made me take a more flexible view.’

  ‘Lucky Dominic.’

  ‘Because to understand is to forgive.’

  ‘Is it? I don’t know about that. I mean, you now understand why Dominic dumped you …?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’

  ‘But do you forgive it?’ I looked at him. ‘Do you?’ he asked again.

  ‘No,’ I croaked. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘So why did you make all these allowances for him?’

  Why did I? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

  ‘All right! Because I knew that if I stood up for myself he’d leave me, because that’s what he’d always done before. If his girlfriends made any criticism of him, or pointed anything out to him that they didn’t like, he’d dump them. Just like that. On the spot. He told me that, himself. Quite early on.’

  ‘Oh, I see. As a kind of warning.’

  ‘I don’t know. All I know is that I didn’t want to be dumped. I don’t enjoy being dumped. No one does.’

  ‘So a fear of rejection kept you, perversely, with a man you didn’t really like?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, that’s what it was: fear of rejection. I couldn’t bear the thought of being ditched by Dominic. Apart from anything else, I don’t like change, and I’d got used to him.’

  ‘That’s not good enough, Minty.’

  ‘And because, actually, all right, yes …there were some things I liked.’

  ‘Like what? Not his conversation – or lack of it. Not his behaviour. Not his vicious temper. Not lots of things, from what you say.’

  ‘He was very ambitious, like me.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘And he was very ambitious for me.’

  ‘Are you sure it was for you, Minty?’ said Joe. He had a funny little half-smile on his face.

  ‘What do you mean? Of course it was for me. He really wanted me to shine.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘He said that I was a “class act”.’

  ‘Well, you are – this evening.’

  ‘And he said, he said …’ Oh God, I remembered what he’d said. I exhaled painfully. ‘He said …it “looked good” for him to be with me.’

  ‘Oh really, Minty? How flattering for you.’

  ‘OK, he probably was a bit shallow about that, but the point is that there were things about Dominic that were right. Dominic was suitable for me.’

  ‘Ah.’ Joe leaned back in his chair.

  ‘We looked …good together. People often said that.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘And we had a nice time,’ I said as I pushed the pepper mill round the table.

  ‘Did you?’ Asked Joe. ‘I mean, did you have a nice time?’

  ‘In some ways. And I would never have had to worry again.’

  ‘You mean, financially.’

  ‘He was attractive, eligible and well dressed.’

  ‘But you weren’t even remotely compatible, from what you said about Dominic on the course.’

  ‘Compatible? Well, no. I mean, not in every way. But in some ways we were.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Look, Joe, we filled in a compatibility questionnaire. And we passed!’

  ‘I detect an element of surprise there, Minty. Did you fill it in truthfully?’

  I stared at him, shocked to my core. ‘Are you accusing me of lying?’

  ‘Er …yes,’ he said, carefully. ‘I am. To yourself at
least.’

  ‘Charming!’

  ‘The game’s up, Minty.’

  ‘Don’t speak to me like that!’

  ‘You’ve been rumbled.’

  ‘Rumbled?’

  ‘Well, either you were a complete moron to put up with such a load of shite from Dominic, or you were shallow. Which was it?’

  ‘I am NOT a MORON!’ I hissed. ‘Don’t you call me that!’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘I don’t think you are a moron. That’s exactly my point.’ We stared at each other over the table. It was like High Noon, but I blinked first.

  ‘I’m not shallow,’ I whimpered hoarsely. ‘I’m not shallow now, and I wasn’t shallow then. I was simply mistaken. OK? I mistook Dominic for a safe bet when he was in fact a very risky proposition. But I suppressed the bad things and allowed my view of him to become distorted.’

  ‘Yes, because you were shallow, Minty. In your own way, you were shallow too.’

  ‘I wasn’t shallow.’

  ‘Yes, you were. And that’s why you put up with him. Because he had money and a bit of polish, and he looked good in his nice suits. But that’s all he had to offer. And then – surprise surprise – he ditched you, and you got hurt.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I did,’ I said. ‘I was terribly badly hurt. And I don’t think it’s very nice of you to make me feel awful about all this on the one day when I was starting to understand it and come through it and move on.’

  ‘You still don’t understand it,’ he said, running his left hand through his hair. ‘You still don’t understand that you were partly to blame.’

  ‘I am not to blame,’ I said vehemently, as Joe picked up the bill.

  ‘OK, Minty, whatever you say.’

  ‘Just who do you think you are, Joe?’ I hissed. ‘Some deus ex machina? The fucking Spanish Inquisition?’ He didn’t answer. He just looked at me, which annoyed me even more.

  ‘You’ve been preaching at me all evening,’ I said.

  ‘No I haven’t. I’ve simply asked you a few questions. I’ve tried to get you to admit the truth.’

  ‘The truth?’ I said. ‘Well, the truth’s none of your bloody business. How dare you!’ I suddenly exclaimed, glad that the bar was almost empty. ‘How dare you question me like that and try and catch me out!!’

  ‘I didn’t try and catch you out,’ he said wearily. ‘You caught yourself out.’

  That was it. He had lobbed a flaming brand into the huge munitions dump of my resentment.

  ‘I am FED UP with this!’ I exclaimed. ‘You have been VILE to me, ALL EVENING! All EVENING you’ve been GOING ON AT ME. On and on and ON! Trying to make me feel BAD about myself. Well, I had that from Dominic – I had that from Dominic nearly ALL the FUCKING TIME and I’m not BLOODY well taking it from a BASTARD like YOU who’s supposed to be NICE!!! I’ve HAD IT! I’ve HAD IT with your horrible, personal and FUCKING IMPERTINENT comments about me when you don’t even KNOW ME VERY WELL!! I mean, I haven’t sat here and taken YOU apart. I haven’t accused YOU of being SHALLOW and UNTRUTHFUL and a PILL.’ I had exhausted my arsenal of expletives, so I stood up, blinded now by tears. ‘I thought this was going to be a really nice evening!’ I said. ‘But you’ve RUINED it. You’ve RUINED a perfectly NICE, HAPPY evening. And I was HAPPY!’ I was shouting now, tears coursing down my face. ‘But now, thanks to YOU, I’m UNHAPPY. And I’m NOT going to stay here and be INSULTED.’

  ‘I thought you liked insults,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Not REAL ones! Not like this!’

  ‘I bet you never spoke to Dominic like this.’

  ‘No, I DIDN’T, and I damn well wish I HAD!!’

  ‘I wish you had too,’ he said. ‘Then you wouldn’t need to shout at me.’

  ‘The reason I’m shouting,’ I whispered, aware now that the barman was staring at us, aghast, ‘is because you have driven me to it. It’s all your fault.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘just like it was all Dominic’s fault.’

  ‘Yes!’ I said. ‘EXACTLY!’ I stooped to pick up my bag. ‘Today I was happy!’ I spat as I prepared to leave. ‘I was HAPPY for the first time in MONTHS. And I was happy to be seeing YOU! But now I’m NOT HAPPY AT ALL!’ I shouted as I made for the door. ‘In fact I’m very UNHAPPY! So I really hope you’re happy, Joe – BECAUSE IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT! AND IF I NEVER, EVER SEE YOU AGAIN, IT’LL BE TOO BLOODY SOON!!’

  ‘He’s a BASTARD!’ I called out to Amber, as I stamped upstairs at eleven thirty. She was in bed, but I didn’t care. The light was on. I opened the door. She was sitting up in bed, reading. She was stroking Perdita with her right hand, and holding Vanity Fair in her left. ‘He’s a bastard!’ I said again.

  ‘Yes, we all know that,’ she said. ‘You’re well out of it. We’ve been saying that to you for months.’

  ‘No, not Dominic. Joe. Joe’s a bastard.’ I was so angry I was shaking.

  ‘Is he?’ She looked a bit surprised. ‘I thought you said he was nice. He seems nice, I must say.’

  ‘Well, he’s NOT nice. He’s nasty. I got it horribly wrong. I made another big mistake.’

  ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘Well, we were having a perfectly nice evening – perfectly nice. It was going very well. Very. In fact, I was even thinking that at last I’d be able to get it together with Joe.’

  ‘That’s a good idea.’

  ‘No, it isn’t a good idea, because Joe was horrible. Very.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Well, I told him about meeting up with Dominic again, and how what happened to me wasn’t my fault. And Joe accused me of being shallow! Shallow! Unbelievable! He said I’d brought unhappiness on myself.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘Yes. He said I only wanted to marry Dominic because he was loaded, well dressed and presentable. Bloody, bloody cheek of the man.’

  ‘But it’s true, isn’t it, Minty?’ said Amber benignly.

  ‘No, it’s NOT true,’ I said, shocked. ‘I wanted to marry him because I thought he loved me, and he had chosen me, which was very flattering because I hadn’t been out with anyone for ages.’

  ‘But Dominic wasn’t very nice to you, Minty. We all saw that.’ She put down her book. ‘And we assumed that you put up with his ghastly behaviour because he was attractive and had a good job.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ I said. ‘I put up with him because I’m so bloody nice.’

  ‘Oh, no one’s that nice, Minty,’ she said, turning the page of her book.

  ‘Well, I am. Or rather, I was. But I’m NOT nice any more.’

  ‘So I see.’

  I sat on the edge of her bed, and heaved an enormous sigh. ‘You know, I was just very, very unlucky to meet Dom.’

  ‘There’s no such thing as bad luck, Minty. There are only bad choices. And I always assumed you had your reasons for choosing Dominic. Because, let’s face it, he was a bit of a shit.’

  ‘That’s not true. He could be nice. Sometimes.’

  ‘Like when?’ she enquired, as Perdita stretched out her front paws, like two black elastic bands, then rolled blissfully on to her back.

  ‘Well, he was very generous. He was always buying me things. You know that. Nice clothes and that bag, and …well, he bought me lots of things.’

  ‘He didn’t buy them for you, Minty. He bought them for himself. So that you’d look “right”. Didn’t you realise that?’ she said, as she scratched Perdita’s tummy. ‘You’re not stupid. I’m sure you did.’

  ‘And we had lovely weekends away.’

  ‘But not anywhere that you wanted to go.’ I sighed. ‘All those golfing and fishing holidays, Minty – that must have been fun for you.’

  ‘And he was very good to his mother.’

  ‘So was Reggie Kray.’

  ‘Look, I don’t want to talk about Dominic, because Dominic’s out of my life. But I object to Joe telling lies about me, libelling me –’

  ‘No, it was slander, Minty,’ she corrected me. ‘If he puts it in a book, then it’s
libel.’

  ‘Oh, I know that. And we were having such a nice evening, playing table football. And then it wasn’t a nice evening any more. It was a nasty evening, because we had this terrible row. He said some AWFUL things to me,’ I went on furiously. ‘But of course, I put him straight. In fact,’ I went on proudly, ‘I cornered the market in expletives.’

  ‘Oh dear. Well, ring him up tomorrow and apologise.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You can apologise to him, in the morning, for being unfair. It sounds like you were unfair. And rude.’

  ‘But he was unfair to me! He was terrible. He misrepresented me completely. He got it totally and utterly wrong.’

  ‘Ring him up tomorrow.’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘Well, ring him the day after, then. But make sure you apologise. Because, to be perfectly frank, Minty, I think he was right. Night night.’

  And then she put out the light. Just like that! She left me in the dark. I was livid. So I tried to think of something nasty to say. But I couldn’t think of anything sufficiently horrible straight away. And then, as I opened the door, something vicious came to me. Something really hurtful.

  ‘Your cat’s overweight!’ I spat.

  T.S. Eliot was right. April really is the cruellest month. Because if you’re feeling down, as I now am, then the sight of all those ridiculously cheerful-looking daffodils, shaking their gaudy trumpets all over the place like trollops, is enough to make you puke. I mean, it can really get you down. That goes for the tulips too, and that sickly, sugary fuzz on the cherry trees which will soon be a blaze of pink.

  The joys of spring are completely lost on me. Because I have too many worries: a) My father’s behaving in a very odd way; and b) I’ve fallen out with Joe, who I thought I really liked but obviously I don’t like now at all; and c) it’s no speakies with Amber because of 1) her impertinent intervention on Saturday and 2) my spiteful comments about the cat, which I made (i) because I wanted to be nasty and (ii) because it’s true. That cat is fat. But Amber’s livid about it. I really got her where it hurts. So she’s treating me to one of her supersulks. She just sits in her room – I mean, my room, and that’s another thing – and I don’t know what she’s doing. It’s been like this for days. Maybe she’s planning her next novel, God help us, or surfing the Net. But she certainly isn’t talking to me.