A Bit of a Do

‘I mean,’ said Jenny, ‘what difference does his wearing a tie make to his worth as a human being?’

‘Not a lot,’ said Ted. ‘But it makes a hell of a difference to his getting any dinner.’

‘You all enjoy laughing at us, don’t you?’ said Jenny. ‘Well, maybe we are naive, but it’s better than dying of terminal smugness.’

‘I’ve got a dental association tie in my car,’ said Laurence with suppressed anger. ‘If he has no rooted objection to maroon.’

‘The nastier the better,’ said Jenny. ‘He won’t care if it’s got four crossed molars on a ruptured abscess.’

Laurence stalked out past the inseparable Finchams at a pace his pregnant daughter couldn’t match.

Rita wasted no time in asking Ted, ‘Why on earth did you show him your boot scrapers?’

‘Because.’

‘Because what? What do you mean – “Because”?’

‘Because there’s no room for shrinking violets in the world of the small foundry.’

‘Shrinking violets! I don’t know. Between you and Paul, I’ll have a nervous breakdown. I will. Ask Doctor Gillespie.’

‘Be fair to the lad, Rita. He’s got principles.’

‘Yes, and we all know where he got them from. Before he met her, he lay in bed till twelve and wandered around picking his nose and listening to rubbishy music like any other normal, healthy boy.’

Ted had an uneasy feeling that Dame Peggy Ashcroft had winked at him.

‘I’ll put me prime ministers in the boot,’ he said.

‘Don’t leave me,’ begged Rita, but he was on his way.

As he approached the door, Liz intercepted him and made it look accidental.

‘Liz!’ he said. ‘Don’t keep winking and blowing kisses. She’ll see.’

‘I must see you outside,’ said Liz.

‘Liz! We were dead lucky at the wedding. I mean … aren’t they enough for you, our Tuesdays?’

‘No, actually they aren’t.’

‘Oh heck.’ Ted raised his eyes imploringly to a photograph of General Dayan. There was no help from that quarter. The face was stern. The message, ‘Good food. Good service. General Dayan’, was of no practical value. ‘Liz?’ he said. ‘Are you kinky about this? Does it turn you on, doing it in the middle of dos? It’s probably got a medical name. Functionomania. Do-itis.’

‘All right. We can do it in here if we’re careful.’

‘Liz!’

‘Talk! I’m talking about talking, Ted. I have to talk to you.’

‘Liz! She’s watching.’

‘It’d be unnatural if we never talked. I mean, we do have a young married couple in common. Just make sure you take it calmly. Pretend to show me those things you were showing Laurence.’

‘Oh heck.’

Ted opened his case, and got out a boot scraper with the face of Neville Chamberlain. He could feel the sweat trickling down his back. He had an uneasy feeling that the three eyes of Rita and General Dayan were fixed upon him.

‘Make sure I take what calmly?’ he said.

‘What on earth is that?’ Liz was gawping in astonishment at the boot scraper, and Ted realized that he had never seen her gawp in astonishment before, not even at the magnificence of his naked body on their Tuesdays, when she was ostensibly at her aerobics and he was supposedly at work.

‘Don’t bother about it,’ he said. ‘I’m only pretending to show you them.’

‘It’s not the kind of thing you can ignore.’

‘Good. If that’s a harbinger of the trade’s reaction, it bodes well. They’re boot scrapers with the faces of famous prime ministers. That’s Neville Chamberlain. You’re impressed, I can see.’

‘Ted, listen, I’m …’ Jenny and Paul approached with Laurence, who was still simmering. ‘… doomed never to tell you.’

Paul’s suit looked a worse fit than ever now that he seemed to be developing the symptoms of a sympathetic pregnancy, and the maroon tie clashed horribly with his green shirt.

Neville Badger wandered slowly round the edges, of the bar, pretending to be interested in the photographs, reading the messages as if he expected to find the meaning of life in them, thinking about last year’s dance, thinking about Jane. The inseparable Finchams veered away to avoid him, but Rita made a beeline for him.

‘Hello,’ she began.

He looked at her blankly.

‘Sorry?’ he said.

You feel rather a fool when asked to repeat a sparkling gem like ‘hello’.

‘Hello,’ she said again.

‘Ah. Yes. Rather,’ said the immaculate Neville Badger. ‘Hello. Absolutely.’

‘Would it help to talk about her?’

‘What?’

‘Your wife. You were thinking about her, weren’t you?’

‘Yes. Yes, I was. How on earth did you …? I was thinking of this same evening last year. She said, “We’ve been happy, haven’t we?” It’s true. We were. I mean, we wanted children, we couldn’t have any, but … that’s life, you can’t choose. But, we were happy. I was wondering, Rita, remembering her saying that, it suddenly struck me. Last year. Did she know? Did she suspect? I’m sorry. I’m boring you.’

‘No! Please! I don’t mind. I mean, not that you are, but even if you were I wouldn’t mind, because I like listening. It saves me from having to think of anything to say. I mean, not that that’s the only reason why I enjoy hearing about Jane. I’m very interested.’

Part of Rita was outside herself, listening to herself wittering on, thinking, ‘How embarrassing!’ Yet she didn’t feel embarrassed. And it was a lot better than thinking about her suspicions.

The object of those suspicions was standing with Liz and her pregnant daughter. Laurence and Paul were getting the drinks.