Fair Do's (16 page)

‘We would have been, with our cuisine.'

Ted thought wistfully of all the awards he would have won, the Michelin stars, the rave in the
Good Food Guide
, the popular TV series
Supper with Simcock.
Then his wistfulness was replaced by the soft absurdity of middle-aged infatuation. Following Ted's gaze, Rita saw Corinna Price-Rodgerson standing in the doorway, making an entrance. Where before she had been orange, all was now rust. Ploughing her way through the colours of autumn decay, thought Rita uncharitably.

‘Here's Corinna,' said Ted unnecessarily. ‘I'll be polite to you, but only so as not to show myself up in front of her for what I … well, not for what I am, but for what folk might wrongly think I was if I did. Hello, my petal.'

‘Hello, darling.'

They kissed.

‘Just chatting to dear old Rita here. No point in being petty.'

‘Absolutely not.' Corinna flashed a dazzlingly insincere smile at Rita. ‘Neither of us blame you personally, Rita. Goodbye, Rita.'

Corinna swept Ted on towards the bar and its array of green, red and purple drinks.

Eric Siddall wasn't looking as dapper or indeed as ageless as usual. There was in his face a pursed, wrinkled echo of the prunes in the painting. He hadn't even set his bow tie at its usual jaunty angle.

‘Good evening, sir. Good evening, madam,' he droned. ‘What can I do you for?'

‘You're a ray of sunshine, Eric,' said Ted.

‘Well … it just isn't me, isn't carrot juice,' said Eric Siddall, barman supreme.

Gradually, more guests began to arrive. Melissa Holdsworthy, the tall, handsome sculptperson, creator of the bar's central feature – who, despite a brief affair with the suave Doctor Spreckley, was said to be a lesbian on the slender evidence of her being both tall and unmarried – entered with James Whatmore, who wrote for children and had never hit the jackpot. Betty Sillitoe introduced Prunella Ransom, the parliamentary candidate for the Green Party, to the Mayor and Mayoress, who were too polite to say that they already knew her. Betty hurried over to greet the long-haired Carol Fordingbridge, who was looking very attractive in a navy cotton jersey cross-over balloon-style dress.

‘Elvis not with you?' said Betty, kissing her warmly.

‘He's hardly likely to be. We've split up,' said Carol.

‘Oh, Carol. I'm sorry,' said Betty. ‘We had no idea.'

Rodney emerged from the darkened restaurant, carrying his carrot juice. He dipped under the uncut green tape.

‘Where've you been?' Betty asked him.

‘Just checking the buffet. Everything's fine. Hello, Carol.' He kissed her warmly. ‘Elvis not with you?'

‘Rodney!' said Betty. ‘Tact.'

‘You what?'

‘They've split up,' mouthed Betty.

‘Oh Lord. I'd no idea.'

‘I thought I'd come, anyroad,' said Carol. ‘Why should I have to skulk around?'

‘Absolutely. You, skulking? It's a contradiction in terms.'

‘I've … er … well, thanks.' Carol acknowledged Rodney's compliment rather belatedly. ‘I've … er … I suppose I shouldn't have, but … I've invited a friend.'

‘Good. Why not?' Betty glanced round the half-empty room. ‘The more the merrier.'

‘He may not come, with it being vegetarian and non-alcoholic.' Carol looked mortified. ‘Oh, I shouldn't have said that. Not today.' She recovered quickly. ‘But I thought, no harm in letting Elvis see I've other nuts to fry.'

‘You what?' Betty was puzzled.

‘I'd have said other fish to fry, but you're vegetarian.'

‘Very good. Very droll, Carol.' Rodney laughed. Betty joined in. ‘Why Elvis should think you aren't clever enough for him is beyond me.'

‘Rodney!'

‘Well, I'll go and get a drink,' said Carol, but before she could fulfil her stated intention she was button-holed by Elvis, who had just walked in and had been horrified to see her.

‘Carol! Are you here?' he exclaimed.

‘That's an incredibly interesting question, Elvis.'

‘You what?'

‘A solipsist might say we could never know, because I might only exist in your imagination. I know that's not true, of course, but I don't know that you don't only exist in my imagination.'

‘You what?'

‘Because I'm not clever enough for you, before we split up, not knowing we were going to split up, I got these philosophy books from the mobile library, so I might be able to hold my own when you came out with incredibly intelligent questions like “Carol! Are you here?” I've got a question for you now. It's not exactly philosophical exactly, well, I suppose it is, sort of.'

‘Fine.' Elvis bent down slightly, as if Carol's question would be easier to answer if they were on the same level. ‘Well, fire away. I'll do my best.' He smiled slightly, as a teacher might smile at a pupil who deserved encouragement.

‘OK,' said Carol. ‘It's this: why don't you get stuffed?'

She swept off to the bar, where she plumped for a peach juice.

The smile froze on Elvis's face. Neville approached the bar and Elvis smiled again. Neville turned towards him, beaming with infinite good humour, saw who it was, wiped the smile from his face, and turned away. Elvis sauntered off, trying to look insouciant. Jenny approached him, and her smile didn't fade when she saw him.

‘Have you ever had the feeling that it isn't your day?' he asked.

‘What's wrong?'

‘Nobody seems exactly pleased to see me.'

‘I'm pleased to see you.'

Elvis was pleased that Jenny was pleased to see him. ‘Well, I'm pleased to see you,' he said.

‘Who wasn't pleased?'

‘Well, Carol, obviously. And Neville just ignored me.'

‘Mum is instigating a feud between the Simcocks and the Rodenhursts, because of the ring road.'

‘Oh, I see.'

Simon Rodenhurst, of Trellis, Trellis, Openshaw and Finch, burst in from the chill of the street. He flashed his glorious molars and hurled an enviably uncomplicated ‘Hello' in their direction.

‘Simon!' commanded his mother imperiously from afar.

‘Coming, Mother,' he called out. To Elvis he said, ‘Talk with you in a moment,' as if offering the prospect of a treat.

‘I wouldn't bet on it,' muttered Elvis.

‘I know he sometimes seems a bit of a twit,' said Jenny, ‘and it's a pity he's an estate agent, of course, but he'd never do anything deliberately to hurt me.'

‘Why would his not talking to me hurt you?'

‘Because I think I'm falling in love with you.'

‘Jenny!'

Jenny seemed almost as astonished as Elvis by her words.

Simon burst insensitively upon their amazement.

‘Hello, Jenny,' he said.

He gave Jenny a brotherly kiss and walked straight past Elvis.

‘It gives me no pleasure at all to be proved right,' said Elvis.

‘He doesn't know he's hurting me, because he doesn't know I'm falling in love with you, because I've only just found out myself,' said his brother's wife.

More people were arriving all the time. Rodney and Rita stood between the bar and the door and welcomed them. Where
was
Betty?

‘I hope we haven't invited too many,' said Rodney.

‘A few minutes ago you were worrying nobody would come.'

‘I know. Aren't they silly things, nerves?'

Rodney was particularly pleased to see Gordon Trollope, whose butcher's shop in the Buttermarket was unrivalled. Gordon had taken the Sillitoes' conversion to vegetarianism hard. Betty had written him a lovely letter when his wife had died, and he had now decided that friendship was more
important than principle. Where
was
Betty? She'd be thrilled to see their old friends, the abstemious Pilbeams. The Pilbeams, who had watched with disapproval the excessive consumption of hard liquor in the Crown and Walnut Angling Club, had become almost embarrassingly friendly since the Sillitoes had become teetotal.

Betty appeared at last, curtseying under the uncut tape, carrot juice in hand.

‘Where've you been?' asked Rodney.

‘Just checking the buffet.'

‘I've just checked it.'

‘Just checking to see you'd checked it thoroughly enough.' Yet more people hurried into the room, shivering. ‘Good Lord! People are pouring in. It's going to be a success.'

‘Yes. Incredible,' said Rodney. ‘I mean, not that I ever … hello, Trevor.'

‘Hello! My word, they don't look bad “in situ”, do they?' said Trevor Coldwell, whose paintings of fruit and vegetables decorated the spartan walls.

‘Very good,' said Betty.

Trevor Coldwell, who had a heavily lined face and a spectacularly unconvincing orange wig, which stirred occasionally like a dreaming cat, moved over to examine one of his works, ‘The Peach'. Every tiny furry hair on the richly textured skin was clearly visible. ‘I've done for the peach what Albrecht Dürer did for the hare,' thought Trevor Coldwell with an immodesty that he never allowed the world to suspect.

Rodney and Betty beamed at all these new arrivals. In their hearts there began to burn the glow of success.

‘Rita?' said Rodney. ‘Will you make a little speech about the raffle?'

‘Me?'

‘Well, it was your idea.'

‘Oh Lord.'

‘Rita!' Betty was amazed by Rita's reluctance. ‘You do on the council.'

‘You made a wonderful speech at your wedding,' said Rodney. ‘I mean, your non-wedding.'

‘Yes, it was very appropriate, Rita,' agreed Betty. ‘Everyone said how appropriate it was.'

‘Thank you, but this is different,' said Rita. ‘It's still there, you know. I mean, sometimes I feel quite confident for minutes on end. Then back it comes.'

‘Back what comes, Rita?' Betty was puzzled.

‘My life. The long years of feeling inadequate. You don't lose it. Don't worry. I'll make the speech.'

Simon breezed up to them. ‘Rodney, Betty, congratulations,' he beamed. If his father could have seen him, he'd have been proud of those teeth. He cast an uneasy glance towards Rita, then turned back to the Sillitoes and beamed again. ‘A great night.'

Rita excused herself wryly. As soon as she'd gone, Simon said, ‘It's embarrassing. I'm not allowed to talk to her.' He changed his tone, as if approaching dangerous but exciting waters. ‘Look … er … I've … er … I've been a bit naughty.'

‘Congratulations. Do we know her?' said Rodney.

‘Rodney!' said Betty.

‘I don't think you do, no,' said Simon.

‘You what?' said Rodney.

‘Know her. I've … er … I've met this friend. Well, I mean, she wasn't a friend when I met her, she couldn't be, I'd never met her, but then I did.'

‘And you were naughty.'

‘Betty!'

‘Oh no. No, no. Not naughty in that … well, not yet. No, I mean, I … er … what was naughty was, I've invited her tonight.' Simon's eyes swept in wonderment round the juice drinkers, who were now thronging the bar. ‘I shouldn't have. It's so full. But I never dreamt … she may not come, of course. Probably won't, it being me.'

‘We're delighted you did, and we hope she does,' said Rodney.

When Simon had gone, the Sillitoes sipped their carrot juice reflectively.

‘What sort of girl would fall for Simon?' said Rodney at last.

‘A short-sighted estate agent?' suggested Betty.

The ravishing Liz Badger bore down on them ravishingly.

‘I thought I ought to mention it,' she said. ‘I've been a bit naughty.'

‘Male or female?' enquired Rodney.

‘What?'

‘The person you've invited.'

‘How on earth did you guess?'

‘There seem to be about four hundred uninvited people invited,' said Rodney. ‘If you see what I mean.'

‘Oh Lord. But I never dreamt that so many …' Liz didn't complete her sentence. She didn't need to.

Betty finished it for her. ‘People would come? It's all right. Neither did we.'

‘Male,' said Liz.

‘What?' said Rodney.

‘He's a he. My brother.'

‘Brother?'

Betty echoed Rodney's astonishment. ‘I didn't know you had a brother.'

‘Oh yes. An elder brother.' Liz was enjoying their surprise. ‘He's been abroad for twenty-two years. He's an anthropologist. He specialises in the social behaviour of primitive tribes.'