The Emperor Waltz

by Philip Hensher

  ‘She jezzy,’ Nick said. ‘She’s never gone to orchestra with her flute – she’s out being fucked by the gangsters all the afternoon. She’s just told her dad she’s gone to orchestra.’

  ‘Poor old Mr Khan,’ Nathan said. ‘She’s piff, but I wouldn’t fuck her. She takes after her mother in that.’

  ‘Shut your mouth, wallad, she mother coming,’ Nathan said.

  There was a noise on the stairs that Nathan had heard, a creak and a clink of glasses. The twins made huge eyes at each other; Nick dug his heels into the carpet to stop his chair and Nathan sat up on the sofa, pulling the bottom of his jeans down. The door to the study opened, and Mrs Khan came in, pushing it backwards and carrying a tray. Behind her came a much smaller woman, carrying another tray. Nick leapt up and held the door open – ‘Oh, thank you so much, you are kind,’ Mrs Khan said. Bina, the housekeeper, set her tray down and left. Mrs Khan set her tray down, also on the desk, but stayed. She was a thin woman with a streak of white in her black hair; her dress was a mauve raw silk with an octagonal neckline showing a slightly wrinkled bosom. She was a sex-bomb, the twins had heard their father say, in a jocular manner, and their mother respond that she was a very good sort all round. Which she was, they hadn’t decided on just yet. She was sket, but the twins described every woman they knew as sket.

  ‘Hello, boys,’ Mrs Khan said.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Khan,’ Nathan said, and Nick echoed him.

  ‘Is Anita not in here yet?’ Mrs Khan said, setting the tray down on the desk. ‘I’m sorry to be leaving you without anything or anyone to entertain you, boys.’

  ‘That’s all right, Mrs Khan,’ Nick said. ‘You don’t need to make any special effort to entertain us.’

  ‘We were just chatting,’ Nathan said.

  ‘It’s so nice to see brothers who get on so well. You could put the television on, you know. I brought it in here because I thought you might like it.’

  ‘Thanks, Mrs Khan,’ Nick said, ‘but we’re all right, we’re happy just chatting.’

  ‘How’s Mr Khan?’ Nathan said. ‘Is he well?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, very well,’ Mrs Khan said, eyeing them strangely. ‘He’ll be up to say hello in a while.’

  ‘There’s no need for that, Mrs Khan,’ Nathan said. ‘I wouldn’t want to disturb him. We saw him only last week, at the garden centre.’

  ‘At the garden centre?’ Mrs Khan said. She was fitting a cigarette into a cigarette holder. ‘Are you sure? It might have been someone who just looked like Mr Khan. Don’t worry, I’m not going to light this one in here. I know all about you young people not liking passive smoking.’

  ‘Last Friday afternoon, it would have been, Mrs Khan,’ Nick said. ‘It was definitely Mr Khan. He was looking at shrubs with … It would have been his secretary, maybe – she was blonde and in a short skirt, a pretty girl it was, Mrs Khan.’

  ‘Well, then, it certainly wasn’t Mr Khan,’ Mrs Khan said. ‘His secretary is fifty and very fat – I don’t think she would go out in a short skirt. And actually last Friday—’

  ‘Maybe it wasn’t his secretary, then,’ Nathan said disconsolately.

  ‘Last Friday I called for Mr Khan at lunchtime and we spent the afternoon together, so it must have been someone else you saw. Now – these are chicken samosas, and this is what we call chaat, and these are pakoras, vegetable pakoras, and these are just little fritters. They are Indian, but there’s nothing to be frightened of. I’m sure you’ll like them. And this is salad, you’d make me so proud if you ate even some of it. Lemon squash, Coke – the television? You’re sure? There’s a pack of cards on Mr Khan’s desk if you want to play whist – Anita will teach you if you don’t know.’

  ‘Thanks for everything, Mrs Khan,’ Nathan said, as she walked out. There was a click, the noise of a cigarette lighter striking. ‘You’ve been very kind, thank you very much. Man, that sket is bare long.’

  ‘I thought she’d never shut it and fuck off. I was going to call the feds,’ Nick said.

  ‘Yeah, and she call the feds on you, wallad,’ Nathan said. ‘Wagwarn with Mr Khan and the jezz at the garden centre? Oh, she blonde, she hot, she short-skirt sket. You know you trouble? You say too much detail when you tell lie, is it. Friday afternoon, blond secretary – she know, Mrs Khan, she know what her man doing Friday afternoon. You leave it vague and imprecise, fool, you plant seed of doubt in Mrs Khan mind.’

  ‘Yeah, I do better next time,’ Nick said. ‘I buy packet of seeds at garden centre – packet of seeds of doubt and plant them in Mrs Khan mind.’

  Nathan and Nick looked at each other, and burst out laughing.

  The door opened again. There was Anita Khan. She stood against the jamb, kicking it gently, looking from Nick to Nathan. She ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it out, letting it drop again. ‘You’re Nick,’ she said, ‘and you’re like Nathan.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Nick said. ‘You’re good. Most people can’t tell the difference.’

  ‘I can’t tell the difference,’ she said. ‘I was just guessing in like a totally random way, you know, and in my random way I was right? I could have said the other way round, easy. I’m supposed to like entertain you. How old are you anyway?’

  ‘I’m thirteen,’ Nathan said.

  ‘Oh, kay,’ she said. ‘And how old are you, little boy?’

  ‘We’re twins, man,’ Nick said. ‘That means we are like exactly the same age, only by minutes. That’s what twins means.’

  ‘Wow, is that the case?’ Anita said, coming in and letting the door slam behind her. ‘I never knew that. I was always hearing about twins, you know, but I never believed they like really existed? I was like they’re, like unicorns and shit, mythical beasts, yeah? But here you are. And you’re like the same age, the exact same age, and you have the same birthday, you know what I mean? Wow. Cool. Anyway.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Anita,’ Nathan said. ‘You know you got to stay in here with us to make sure we don’t trash the place.’

  ‘Whatever. That’s the best time I ever heard of,’ Anita said. She ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Like, spending a whole evening in a room with two thirteen-year-old boys. That sounds like incredible?’

  ‘There’s an eleven-year-old boy coming as well,’ Nathan said. ‘And they be thirteen-year-olds in the ghetto in Chicago done be killing they third man, so you don’t be treating us like kindergarten, you feel me, Anita. Ain’t they told you that one, about the eleven-year-old? His mum’s coming on her own – she’s that sket where the husband he left her, and she’s wondering why. You get me? She lives down there, ten doors down, is it, and she’s fat but no tits, you know the one.’

  The doorbell rang downstairs; a four-toned chime.

  ‘That’s her,’ Nick said. ‘That’s her with her eleven-year-old we got to entertain.’

  ‘O-kay,’ Anita said. ‘That sounds fabulous. I’m like running a crèche here, you know what I mean. Are we going to watch CBBC, I hear In the Night Garden’s like on – that’s going to keep them all quiet?’

  ‘No, it’s X Factor, is it. But that’s dutty. We ain’t seeing that.’

  ‘That Louis Walsh, he badman, is it.’

  The twins laughed. Anita went over to the table where her mother had deposited the tray.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ she said, running her fingers through her hair. ‘This is like – have you seen this food, it’s like a million calories in like every bite, I’m not touching that. My mother, she’s crazy? She thinks she’s got to feed me up every chance, you know what I mean? You’ve got to eat twice as much or she’ll think I’m anorexic and shit. This food is like so random. This shit, it reminds me, it was like this one time at my friend’s house, like once, it was incredible?’

  ‘Hey, Anita,’ Nathan said.

  ‘Yes, Nick,’ Anita said.

  ‘No, I’m Nathan,’ Nathan said. ‘You got my name right a minute back.’

  ‘I’ve like forgotten already,’ Anita said. ‘
So, Nathan. What were you saying?’

  ‘Are you going to tell about this one time at your friend’s house, because it was like incredible?’ Nathan said.

  ‘Oh, fuck you,’ Anita said.

  ‘I was saying,’ Nick said, ‘that

  2.

  ‘I just couldn’t believe it,’ Mr Carraway was saying, drink in hand. ‘I had a phone call from Simon Wu about the Middlesbrough plant, this is four thirty on a Friday afternoon, an aspect of the sale we hadn’t considered, and could I draw up a memorandum for Helen Barclay’s office, which I did – it was a whole weekend, dawn till dusk – and got it to Simon Wu first thing on Monday morning. It was a piece of work, I can tell you – it was really one of my proudest moments, turning something like that round in, what, forty-eight hours? Next thing I know—’

  ‘This is amazing, this,’ Mrs Carraway said, confidentially, leaning forward to Mr Khan. ‘Amazing.’

  ‘The next thing I know, Shabnam, is a furious phone call from Helen Barclay’s office. On my mobile – I was in Birmingham in a meeting on a completely different project that Monday morning, I had to leave to take the call – and it couldn’t wait. What did I think I was doing? I’d sent the report to Simon Wu and cc’d Helen Barclay’s office. They’d have me know that next time I should send it to Helen Barclay’s office and cc Simon Wu. They were in the lead and I should be writing to them.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter that they would have got the report in the same way, exactly the same way,’ Mrs Carraway said, in the same confidential manner. ‘Can you imagine, Michael?’

  Michael Khan shook his head. ‘It’s all about ownership,’ he said. ‘People believe that they own a project and should be addressed first. I’ve met this before. People are so concerned about who comes first in these situations. The main person and the cc is just a part of those questions of hierarchy.’

  ‘And women,’ Shabnam Khan said. ‘It’s just so typical of a woman in this situation, that a woman like—’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ Mr Carraway said.

  ‘Another drink, Caroline?’ Michael said.

  ‘Well, I don’t mind if

  3.

  we can have some fun up here,’ Nathan said. ‘You get me? Anita, you like poppers?’

  ‘Poppers?’ Anita said. ‘Are you like seriously asking me if I like poppers?’

  ‘Ah, come on, Anita,’ Nick said. ‘We’re having a bit of banter with you, man. We know you ain’t been to orchestra practice this afternoon like your mum says.’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ Anita said. ‘So I’ve been like where, then?’

  ‘You’ve been doing it with some badman all afternoon, ain’t that the truth?’ Nick said. ‘You’ve been lying there, and saying to him, go on, do me, do me.’

  ‘Whatever. Go away, little boy,’ Anita said. ‘You’re wrong in the head. I went to orchestra practice, you know? I took my violin, and my dad drove me, and I like rehearsed Dvor̆ák’s like Eighth Symphony, and then at seven my dad came to pick me up. So where was I supposed to be doing it you know with some badman, do you think?’

  ‘Ah, come on, Anita, we know you like it, we know you sket deep down,’ Nathan said.

  ‘And we brought you some poppers,’ Nick said. ‘You like poppers, Anita?’

  Out of his back pocket in his falling-down, underpants-showing jeans, Nick pulled a small brown bottle. Anita leant over and examined it. The label said Jungle Juice.

  ‘That’s Jungle Juice,’ Anita said. ‘That’s poppers, is it?’

  ‘I love poppers,’ Nathan said, putting it back in his pocket. ‘Oh, we love poppers. You just take one sniff, Anita, and it’s amazing, you’re falling over. One time, right, we were in IT and we were just passing it around, because our IT teacher, Mr Brandon, he never notices anything, you can just show him your screen and he’s lost in space, and the whole class was just high, and, Anita, listen, Mr Brandon just never noticed.’

  ‘Yeah, Brandon, he wallad,’ Nick said.

  ‘He what?’ Anita said.

  ‘He wallad, I said,’ Nick said, thrusting his chin out and shrugging.

  ‘I have no idea what that means,’ Anita said. ‘I can’t understand half the things you say. Wallad?’

  ‘Yeah, man, everyone knows wallad,’ Nathan said.

  ‘I’m like so –’ she made a face of horror and despair, a mask of tragedy and abandonment ‘– when I even like listen to you, you know what I mean? It was like this one time, at my friend’s house, you know, it was just like …’

  ‘You don’t have to like listen,’ Nick said.

  ‘Yeah, but I can’t help it, you know, I’m stuck in here.’

  The door opened, and there was the eleven-year-old. He had been dressed by his mummy. He wore an ironed white short-sleeved shirt and blue trousers; his shoes were black lace-ups. He himself wore a cheerful, open expression, his black hair cut short at the back and sides, sticking up somewhat on top. Behind him was Mrs Khan, smoking.

  ‘Hi, kids,’ she said. ‘Having a good time? This is Basil. That’s Anita, and that’s …’

  ‘Nick,’ said Nick, and ‘Nathan,’ said Nathan.

  ‘That’s right. You know Mrs Osborne, don’t you? Have you met Basil before? He’s not in your school yet, are you, Basil?’

  ‘No, Mrs Khan,’ Basil said. ‘But I’m in the same orchestra as Anita. She plays the violin and I play the cello, though I’m only in the seventh desk back. We’re rehearsing Dvor̆ák’s Eighth Symphony and the Emperor Waltz at the moment. The cello’s not really my main instrument, though. My main instrument’s the organ, but you can’t play that in orchestras apart from a few pieces. For instance, did you know Mahler’s Eighth Symphony has a part for an organ?’

  ‘I never knew that,’ Mrs Khan said, puffing on her cigarette. ‘That you were in the same orchestra as Anita. We must have a word with your mum, and then we can pick you up together rather than both turning out every week. That would save a lot of effort.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not an effort for Mummy,’ Basil said. ‘She says she enjoys the drive and I’m happy to be with her as much as possible, since the divorce, you know.’

  Nick and Nathan exchanged incredulous glances of joy.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Mrs Khan said, with an air of distaste. ‘Of course. Well, I must be getting back downstairs. There’s lots of food there, on the tray, look – my daughter and these two haven’t started it yet. I’m happy to see she has some manners still. If there’s anything else you need, just come downstairs. Bina’s cooking in the kitchen and she’ll help you out, help you to find anything. There’s some dessert, which she’ll bring up when you want it, it’s her special dessert, you’ll love it. You’d make everyone so happy if you ate the salad, too, kids. Well, I live in hope. See you all later.’

  She left, closing the door.

  ‘Is this your father’s study?’ Basil Osborne said. He went round the room, looking in particular at all the books. ‘What do you think of the Emperor Waltz, Anita? It’s hard, isn’t it, harder than you think it’s going to be, but it’s satisfying when you get it right. I didn’t think I knew it, but I’d heard it before, somewhere. I know you, I’ve seen you a lot, but we’ve never said hello or anything like that.’

  Anita was looking at him with disbelief.

  ‘So, Basil,’ Nick said heavily. ‘You play the organ.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Basil said. ‘I don’t have one at home, of course! I have to go and practise it in St Leonard’s Church, you know, the one up by the bus terminus. They let me come in on Tuesdays and Thursdays after school. Shall I sit here?’

  ‘Is it a big organ?’ Nathan said. ‘Do you like a big organ, Basil?’

  ‘Well, I’ve seen bigger organs, perhaps in cathedrals,’ said Basil. ‘But I’ve never played a really big one, I’ve only played on quite medium-sized organs, like the one in St Leonard’s. Is that food for us? Golly. It looks delish. Can we start on it or are we waiting for someone?’

  ‘Does it
give you a lot of pleasure,’ Nick said ‘When you sit on a really big organ.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know that the size of the organ makes all that much difference,’ Basil said. ‘But I wouldn’t know. It’s true that even a moderate-sized one, when it’s going at full tilt, can be really exciting.’

  ‘So when you see a big organ,’ Nathan said, ‘I bet you can’t wait to sit on it.’

  ‘I don’t know that that’s really what organists think,’ Basil said, puzzled.

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ Anita said. ‘They’re being horrible, don’t pay any attention. Do you want some food? There’s plenty. That’s like lemon squash or you can have some Coke. There’s some like orange juice as well.’

  Basil scrambled up from the beanbag and started filling his plate with food. It was as if he were in a race and might end without enough.

  ‘Take your time, man, take your time. Ain’t no ting,’ Nathan said.

  ‘You talk like black people do,’ Basil said gleefully, with an air of discovery. ‘There’s a boy in my class called Silas who comes from Jamaica, at least his parents do, he was born here, and sometimes he talks like his grandmother talks and he sounds just like you do. This looks really good, I like everything here. It was nice of your mother to make all this food specially for us.’

  ‘Yes, she knew how to make food that appeals to people who talk like a boy called Silas’s grandmother,’ Anita said. ‘Ah, Basil, you make me laugh, you really do.’

  ‘That ain’t true,’ Nick said. ‘Do I look I’m laughing, man?’

  ‘True that,’ Anita said, in Nick and Nathan’s style. Then she went into hostess mode. ‘Take your plate and sit down, Basil – there’s plenty of food, you can go back for more later. And some squash? Or Coke? There’s more downstairs if we finish this bottle.’

  ‘Like I say, man, take your time, ain’t no ting,’ Nick said.

  ‘Skeen, man,’ Nathan said. ‘Is it time to get wavey, man?’

  ‘Because Anita, that OJ, that Coke, that lemon squash and shit, well, I look forward to that, but there is something that you can put into those things to make them a less long, alie?’ Nick said.