Fair Do's (44 page)

‘We're all going to see Ted and Sandra,' said Jenny. ‘Coming?'

‘I can't really,' said Simon. ‘I want to be here when Lucinda arrives.'

The other three exchanged infinitesimal looks. Simon, not usually so sensitive to nuances, spotted them.

‘She
will
come,' he said.

‘None of us said anything,' said Jenny.

‘You didn't need to. Look, sod off if you're going,' said Simon Rodenhurst, no longer of Trellis, Trellis, Openshaw and Finch.

Geoffrey Boycott looked down in frozen amusement upon an animated scene. Although people had come from the other reception with the express purpose of mingling, not much mingling was going on. In one corner, Sandra and her brothers were reminiscing about the farewell party at the Railway Tavern on the night the landlord left to open a bar in Spain. Warren had drunk fifteen Southern Comforts and Darren had been sick over the aspidistra. Sandra's nan was telling a naughty story about a monk, a chef, a black pudding, two rissoles and a contortionist. In another corner several councillors were exchanging councillor jokes. In the centre of the room, there was a small circle formed by Ted and Sandra, Rita and Geoffrey, the Sillitoes, and Liz.

‘So what are these plans of yours, Ted?' enquired Rita.

‘You what, Rita?'

‘You said you had plans. What sort of plans?'

‘That must have been half an hour ago.'

‘Yes, well, it's only just filtered through.'

There was a noticeable pause, as they waited for Ted to tell them his plans.

‘Well, come on,' urged Liz.

‘You're not really interested, are you?'

‘Not really, but I keep hoping that if I make the right social noises, one day interest may return.'

There was another pause.

‘Well, what are these plans?' said Betty.

‘Well …'

Elvis, Jenny and Carol approached them. They had already got themselves glasses of asti spumante.

Ted seized on the diversion.

‘You came!' he said. ‘Get yourselves a … oh you have.'

‘Hello, Our Dad,' said Elvis with rather forced brightness. ‘Hello, Our Mum. Hello … er …' He looked at Sandra in amazement, as if realising for the first time what their relationship now was. ‘Mum?'

He laughed, uneasily. Sandra laughed nervously and tried to look at him maternally. There was some rather forced laughter all round.

The new arrivals raised their glasses and said, ‘Cheers.' The others responded. They drank in silence. The silence continued for too long.

‘When you came in,' said Geoffrey, ‘Ted was
bursting
with eagerness to tell us about his and Sandra's plans. Weren't you, Ted?'

‘Well, yes. Yes, I …'

‘What's all this, then, Dad?'

‘Yes, well … er … we're opening a …' Everyone in the enlarged circle was willing Ted to finish his sentence. ‘A … er … catering outlet.'

‘A restaurant, you mean?' said Rita.

‘Yes. Yes. Well, in a … well, no. Not really.'

‘I thought you didn't care what folk thought any more,' said Sandra.

‘I won't over there, love, but I know this crabby lot. They'll laugh.'

‘“Over there”?' said Betty.

‘Over where?' said Rodney.

‘The A64,' said Sandra.

‘The A64?' said Jenny.

‘Go on, Ted,' said Sandra. ‘Tell 'em. It's your idea.'

‘It's … er … it's not exactly a restaurant exactly. It's more
… a mobile caravanette borrowed off Sandra's brother Dean. We're going to sell snacks from a lay-by on the A64.'

The whole circle stared at the former toasting fork tycoon in amazement.

Sandra began, with uncomplicated enthusiasm, to list the cornucopia of provender that they would offer. ‘We'll sell teas, coffees, hot chocolate, Bovril, soup, soft drinks, fizzy
and
still, home-made cakes and scones …'

‘Sandra's province,' said Ted proudly.

‘Crisps, buns, sandwiches. What else?'

‘We'll be happy.'

‘Oh yeah. That too. It'll be called Ted's Snax.'

‘Spelt with an X.'

It seemed that they were having to fight not to reveal that they saw something irresistibly comic in this business venture of Ted's.

‘Well … tremendous,' said Rita, stifling a laugh. She raised her glass. ‘To Ted's Snax, spelt with an X.'

‘To Ted's Snax, spelt with an X,' they all said, raising their glasses.

‘You think it's so funny, don't you?' said Ted. ‘Well, we'll make a success of it, don't you worry. The local farmer's given us permission to put up two gi-normous great signs, fixed to a horse chestnut westwards and a beech tree eastwards, saying “Ted's Snax. 800 yards. Don't miss it!” And folk won't. They'll pour in. It'll be a licence to print money. Rita, I'm surprised at you. Smirking. Liz, yes; she's a snob.'

‘Ted! Not today!' pleaded Sandra.

Sandra might as well have asked night not to fall as attempt to stop Ted in mid-grievance. ‘Rodney and Betty, yes, they're probably half cut,' he continued.

‘Ted!' said Rodney and Betty.

‘Elvis, fair enough, cynical little sod. All the youngsters, mock mock, 'cos it's easier than thinking. But you, Rita! I never thought you'd go all high and mighty on me. And Geoffrey! Renouncing your double-barrel. Calling yourself Spragg. You don't fool me.'

‘Ted!' said his bride of almost two hours. ‘I thought you didn't have a chip any more.'

‘More like a jacket potato.'

‘Thank you, Elvis. We can do without your helpful comments, thank you very much,' said Rita tartly. She turned to Ted. ‘I'm sorry, Ted,' she said. ‘It's not funny. It's nice. It's just … you … Rotarian … ex-foundry owner … I just … sorry.'

‘I no longer hanker after worldly honours, Rita,' said Ted with dignity. ‘Status. Prestige. Stuff 'em. If they offered me lifelong honorary presidency of the Crown and Walnut Angling Club, I'd tell them where they could stick it. I would. I just want to be happy … and have Sandra's kids. Well, she have mine.'

‘Kids?'
Betty realised that her astonishment might be somewhat hurtful. ‘Sorry.'

All around the suddenly silent circle there was noise and laughter.

‘They're stunned,' said Ted.

‘Very touching, Ted,' said Liz.

‘No. It is touching,' said Rodney. His ruddy face grew strangely gentle. ‘We could never have them, you know. That's why we love other people's so much.'

Betty squeezed his hand consolingly. ‘Never mind. We're not going to let an inadequate sperm count spoil a moment of our lives,' said her eloquent squeeze.

‘Well if it's what Sandra wants,' said Jenny uncertainly, thinking of Sandra coping with teenagers when Ted was seventy.

‘It is,' said Sandra.

‘If you're sure …' said Carol.

‘I'm not a women's libber, I'm afraid,' said Sandra. ‘I want to be dominated by a masterful older man.'

‘And I want to dominate a younger woman who wants to be dominated by a masterful older man.'

‘Ted!' Rita sounded for a moment as if she was still his wife.

And there, in the Geoffrey Boycott. Room of the Angel Hotel, on her wedding day, resplendent in her ivory gown, the cake-loving Sandra Pickersgill made, with grave intensity and admirable brevity, the first political statement of her life.

‘What you women want, don't get me wrong, I think it's great,' she said. ‘Women should have the right. But it shouldn't be compulsory. There's no cause, no cause in the whole world, more important than the freedom to choose what suits you – if it's legal. That's what I reckon, anyroad.'

Ted put his arm round his young wife, proudly.

‘Darling!' said Lucinda Snellmarsh, of Peacock, Tester and Devine. She was simply but elegantly dressed in a blue and cream chiffon top and skirt, with a single row of pearls.

‘Darling! You've come!' Simon was too overjoyed to hide his relief.

Eric hovered tactfully, pretending not to listen.

‘Well, of course I have, my darling.' She kissed him briskly. ‘You didn't doubt me, did you, my darling?'

‘ 'Course not, my darling.'

‘You weren't worried I wouldn't stand by you, were you, my darling?'

‘ 'Course I wasn't, my darling.'

Eric moved smoothly forward. ‘Champagne, my darli … madam? Touch of the '82?'

‘M'm. Please.'

‘There you go, madam. Tickety-boo.' The dapper, ageless Eric Siddall departed, giving Simon a dirty look and no chance to take one of the other glasses on the tray.

‘You're awfully late, though,' said Simon.

‘I know. Some urgent business cropped up, and it involved you.'

‘Me?'

‘Yes. It's incredibly exciting, but I can't tell you in front of every … where is everybody?'

In his fog of anxiety, Simon hadn't noticed that there were only fifteen guests, mainly somewhat bewildered relatives of Rita, still there.

‘Yes, where is everybody?' he said.

It was elbow to elbow in the Geoffrey Boycott Room. Barriers were breaking down. Councillors were rubbing shoulders, sometimes literally, with Sandra's friends and relations. The Sillitoes were joking with Sandra's nan. The beer and the asti spumante were flowing freely, and everybody except Liz was having a wonderful time.

Eric Siddall, eager to find someone to serve, rushed up to Rita and Geoffrey and Liz the moment they returned, even though
this meant that he would also have to serve the Sillitoes, who had returned with them.

‘Sir, madam, madam, madam, sir? Champagne?' he said.

‘Ah. The real stuff,' said Liz. ‘Thank you, Eric. Well, if you'll excuse me, I have to …'

‘Get away from us? Of course you do,' said Rodney.

‘Rodney!' said Betty.

Rita also walked away, abruptly. The Sillitoes exchanged raised eyebrows. Geoffrey wasn't sure whether to follow her or leave her alone.

All the function rooms in the town held painful memories for Rita. In choosing the Angel for their reception, they'd been swayed by the fact that the sparkling Sir Leonard Hutton Room looked so different from the old ballroom, whose walls had bubbled with nicotine stains.

Yet now, with no Dale Monsal Quartet, a carpet covering the dance floor, and a shaft of golden October sunshine showing how much dust churns in the air we breathe, Rita was back in the smoky, noisy dentists' dinner dance, where her father had dropped dead during the last waltz.

She didn't believe in a life after death, yet she sometimes imagined her parents looking down, watching her. She looked up at the ceiling now, and imagined her father looking down, and craved his posthumous forgiveness, his approval of what she had become, his approval of Geoffrey, his approval of their decision to adopt that flat cap of a name, Spragg.

She realised that Geoffrey was speaking to her.

‘Sorry,' she said. ‘What was that?'

‘I said, I feel incredibly close to you,' said Geoffrey.

Liz became another in the long line of people who, that afternoon, said, ‘You came!' to somebody who couldn't have failed to be aware of the fact.

‘Surely you didn't doubt your future daughter-in-law?' said Lucinda, with a faint smugness that grated on Liz's nerves.

‘No,' said Liz. ‘No! Though why you should think him worth standing by under the circumstances amazes me.'

‘Ah, but the circumstances have changed, Mother,' said Simon, oozing brightly onto the scene. His smugness was a Matterhorn compared to Lucinda's Mendip. To Lucinda he said,
‘Just phoned him. Seeing him tomorrow, sweetyplum.' He saw Elvis watching him, and called out, with frightful cheeriness, ‘Elvis! Pax!'

Elvis joined them reluctantly.

‘You what?' he said.

‘Thanks, old chum,' said Simon. Seeing Elvis's puzzlement, he added, ‘For what you did.'

‘“Old chum”?' said Elvis.

Simon turned to Lucinda. ‘It's in the bag,' he said.

‘Thought it would be!' Lucinda's smugness level rose from Mendip to Brecon Beacon.

‘Children, please,' said Liz, almost screaming with irritation. ‘What's in what bag?'

‘I've been offered a job by a very large, go-ahead firm,.' purred Simon.

‘What?'
Elvis couldn't believe his ears. ‘Why?'

‘They seem impressed by what I did at Trellis, Trellis, Openshaw and Finch.'