Caroline Graham - A Ghost in the Machine

It hadn’t been pleasant. George had done a lot of bleating about how much he had done for her and how loyal he’d been.

Ava had replied, “Loyal doesn’t cut it with me, George.” Then, when he had protested further, “If I’d wanted loyal I’d’ve got a dog.” At this point in her present reflections the telephone rang.

“That’s them,” cried Ava. “I mean, they. Quick –” she seized Karen, dragged her from the table, pinching her arm – “answer it.”

“Me?”

“Find out who it is. Say you’re Ava Garret’s secretary.”

“Ow—that hurts.”

“Just do it.”

Karen, her eyes watering, picked up the phone. “Hello. This is Ava Garret’s secretary. Who is calling, please?” She stared at the other two, then covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “It’s the BBC.”

Ava gave a single sharp intake of breath. She murmured, “So soon” and began to walk with slow, fate-filled steps across the room.

“This is Ava Garret herself, in person. How may I help you?…I’d be happy to, though I am rather overwhelmed with…I see. Just a preliminary chat? Well, I’m sure I can fit that in…” Frantic silent mouthings: “Paper, paper…pen, pen.” Roy grabbed a double-glazing leaflet and a pencil stub.

“Your name is…yes, got that…I am as it happens…” She glanced at the kitchen clock. “Seven would be fine…And will that be at the ‘Beeb,’ as I believe you media people call it?…Langham Place. Near Oxford Circus…Reception desk…Oh! That is a good idea. Just in case, quite. Una momento…” More mouthing: “Mobile, mobile…quick…quick…”

Karen passed over her phone. Ava dictated her number and said her goodbyes. She turned to the others with great solemnity. “This must be he.”

“Who?”

“The stranger who will broaden my horizons.”

“Thought that was Corey Panting,” said Roy.

“He wants to take me out to dinner.”

“You’re going to be R and F all right.”

“You know what this means, Karen?”

Karen didn’t speak. She hoped it didn’t mean that she was going to have to pretend to be her mother’s sister’s child like she had when Ava joined the divorced and separated club. “Just in case,” Ava had explained, “I meet somebody.” Karen often used to wonder what would happen to her if Ava, suddenly ten years lighter, actually did meet somebody. Especially as no sister ever existed. Before she could respond to her mother’s question Roy shouted, “The chippie’s here!”

Karen pushed her chair back and ran out. Ava hurried after, paused briefly at the gate, then called loudly, “None for me, darling. I’ll be dining at the BBC.” She smiled graciously on her return at Roy. She could afford to smile now she would soon be seeing the back of him. “One could hardly arrive smelling of fish and chips.”

“You could wear some scent,” suggested Roy. “Ivy at work reckons a squirt of pong’s worth a pound of soap.”

“Does she really?” said Ava. God – how had she stood it? Look at him. Spots, greasy hair, spindly arms and legs, tattoos, all those dangling rings. He even had them in his nose like a prize bull, except that Roy would never win a prize unless it was for the dimmest, most charmless male animal in the entire universe. He wasn’t even properly clean.

“How’re you getting there?”

“Not sure.” Ava glanced at the clock. It was 5:15. How hasty she had been. How foolish. She should have thought it through; asked for a later time.

“He’ll wait,” said Roy. “He works there.”

“As a senior producer, I expect he does.”

“Best thing is the Piccadilly Line from Uxbridge. Straight through to the Circus. Ten-minute walk up Regent Street, you’re there.”

“How do you know?”

“They took a group of us from the home once. One Sat-day morning.”

More waste of public money, thought Ava, hurrying upstairs. What on earth was the point—she riffled through her wardrobe – of exposing the dregs of society to a fine institution like the BBC? Her mustard two-piece (a quick sniff under the arms) would just about pass. What a pity this invitation hadn’t come after she’d bought all her new things. Such a thought recalled her recent windfall. She took an envelope stuffed with notes from her underwear drawer and peeled off fifty pounds. About to replace the rest she hesitated. The drawer had no lock and with the two of them on their own rootling about…Roy especially she wouldn’t trust. She often wondered just how much of the church money made its way out of the velvet collecting bag and into his pockets. She slid the envelope under the mattress.

No time to make up. She’d have to do that when she got there. There was bound to be a ladies at the Tube station or near by. Her hair was a mess too, but that was easily solved. She would wear her auburn peruke, short and curly and quite youthifying in a gamine kind of way.

When she got downstairs they were both feeding their faces. There was a huge bottle of orange-coloured pop on the table and pickled eggs in a dish.

“I see you’ve not stinted yourselves.”

“I paid for those,” said Roy. “Here’s your change.”

Ava scooped it up.

Karen said, “You look really nice.”

Roy didn’t say anything. He thought she looked like a long streak of piss with a wig on.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back,” said Ava. “Chris and I are bound to have heaps to talk about.” She was tempted to say, “And no poking around in my room,” but didn’t want to put the idea into their heads.

“Shouldn’t you take this?” Roy held out the leaflet. “In case you forget his name.”

“I’m hardly likely to do that.” But Ava took the paper, just in case. “Don’t stay up late, Karen. When Roy leaves for work you go straight to bed.”

“But that’s only nine o’clock.”

“And don’t think I shan’t know.”

They sat quite still until the car drove off. Karen, her head nervously straining towards the window; Roy with a forkful of batter bits suspended halfway to his mouth. Only when the sound had died away did they carry on eating.

“That was fantastic.” Karen, her shrunken stomach bulging, finally laid her cutlery down. “I was really hungry.”

I bet you were, you poor little sod. “Shall we see what’s on the box then?”

“You said yesterday we could rehearse your jokes.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You did, Roy. You promised.”

“Anyway, you never laugh.”

“I will today.”

“And they’re not jokes. Stand-up comedy is…” He could never remember the word. It meant hanging around watching and listening to what people said. “More like proper life.”

“If you get tired, can you do sit-down comedy?”

Roy was pretty confident he could succeed in the entertainment business because they were always laughing at him at work. To get the hang of it he’d been going to a pub with a room upstairs where anybody could have a go on Saturday night. He couldn’t get over how easy it looked. This bloke had just stood there droning on about how hard it was to get a decent shag and they were all wetting themselves.

At the back of Roy’s mind always, and at the front of his mind most of the time, was the idea that when he really made it, perhaps when he won Stars in Their Eyes he would find his mother again. She would be watching and she’d know him because mothers always recognised their own children, no matter how long it had been. Alone, he would rehearse their meeting, perfect the cracking brightness of his smile.

“Roy?” Karen was shaking his arm. “Can I look at one of your magazines?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“They’re too old for you.”