Simon Beckett - Fine Lines

Anna seemed far away.

The hours passed quickly. I closed the gallery, showered and changed, and tried to tell myself it would, if nothing else, soon be over. The Thornby woman had suggested a restaurant with a small bar in it. I went there early. Not, needless to say, out of eagerness, but because I needed a drink before I faced her. I ordered a gin and tonic, sat down, and looked around. I was relieved that the restaurant was not a particularly intimate one. I looked at my watch. I had nearly twenty minutes before she was due. Time enough for another drink, if I wanted one. Feeling the closest to being relaxed I had all day, I took my first sip, and over the top of the glass saw the door open and Margaret Thornby walk in.

My stomach curdled. All enjoyment of the drink vanished. In the moment before she saw me, I swallowed half of it, regardless. Then I had been seen.

She smiled and began to walk over. I forced an answering smile on to my face. A waiter intercepted her and made some polite enquiry, and she murmured something in reply and indicated towards me. I stood up as she approached the table.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, sitting down. “Have you been waiting long?”

“No, I’ve only just arrived.” I wondered what she was talking about. She was more than fifteen minutes early.

“Oh, that’s all right then. To be honest, I forgot if we’d said seven, or half past. I tried phoning you a while ago, but you’d obviously set off, so I thought, “Oh God, it must have been seven’, and dashed around like a mad thing to get here on time.” She looked at her watch. “I’m only seven minutes late, so that’s not too bad, is it?”

I did not bother correcting her mistake. “There was no need to rush yourself.”

“Well, I don’t like being late for people.” She laughed. “As you probably remember.” I smiled, again not knowing what she was talking about. Then I realised she must be referring to when we had bumped cars. She had been hurrying to meet her son. She looked at my glass. “That’s a good idea. I think I’ll have one myself before we eat.”

I remembered my manners. “Of course. What would you like?”

“What are you drinking?”

“Gin and tonic—”

“That sounds nice. I’ll have the same, please.”

I tried to hide my unease as I ordered the drink. It seemed ominous that she had chosen the same as me. “Cheers,” she said, raising her glass. I did likewise, regretting that I had not had the foresight to order myself another. Now I would either have to appear gluttonous or nurse an almost empty glass until she had finished hers.

“Oh, that’s welcome,” she said, setting her drink down. “I feel I’ve earned that. Today’s just been one fiasco after another. One of the main reasons I had for coming into the city today was to look at a supposedly authentic set of Queen Anne chairs. This woman phoned me at the beginning of the week and said her aunt had died, and was I interested in buying them? I said of course, because those sort of things don’t crop up every day, do they? I would have liked to have gone to have a look at them earlier this week, but she said they’d got to bury her aunt first. Only decent, I suppose, but I daresay old Aunty wouldn’t have minded any more.”

I smiled.

“Anyway, I got over there this morning, and guess what? Blow me if the damn things weren’t only reproductions! And not even very good ones, at that!” She spread her hands, inviting me to join in her amazement. I did my best.

“Well, I tried to break it to this woman and her husband gently, but they started getting very offish with me,” she went on. “Well, she did at least. He didn’t say very much at all, just stood behind her like a limp lettuce. It was clear who wore the trousers in that house, if you know what I mean. So finally, I said, “Now just a second. I’m very sorry that your aunt didn’t know the difference between Queen Anne chairs and a Formica stool from Woolworths...” — well, I didn’t quite put it like that, but I felt like it — “...but that’s hardly my fault. You’re quite welcome to get as many opinions as you like, but they’ll all tell you the same thing.”

She pointed at the ashtray on the table. “Those chairs weren’t built any earlier than the nineteen fifties,” I said. “And if Queen Anne had anything to do with them, she must have lived a damn sight longer than the history books tell us!”

She laughed. “That shut her up. “Well, what shall we do with them, then?” she asked. As if it was my responsibility! “Put ’em on the bonfire!” I said, and left them to it!”

I realised some contribution from me was expected at this point. Smiling in approval I murmured, “Quite right.” It was enough. She paused only long enough to take another drink before going on.

“And then, as if that wasn’t enough, I was supposed to be meeting my daughter this afternoon have I told you she’s an art student? Well, she is anyway, she’s got a degree show coming up soon, so I said I’d buy her something to wear for it. You know what students are like, never any money, so I thought I’d help her out a bit. Anyway, I was supposed to be meeting her at two o’clock she couldn’t make lunch, which was why I wondered if you were free and so I waited at this little wine bar place she’d suggested. Ten past two. No sign of Susan. Half past two. Still no sign of Susan. Well, when it got to quarter to three I thought, “Well something’s wrong here,” and tried to contact her. So I phoned the art college, and finally spoke to someone who said she’d already left. I didn’t know what to do then, so I gave it another half hour, and decided I’d better call around to her digs. She’s not on the phone, you see, so I couldn’t ring her. So I trailed around there she lives in Tooting, by the way and of course there was no Susan there either. Well, there I was, standing on the pavement, just beginning to wonder what I was going to do, when one of her flat mates turned up. Stuart, he’s called. Smashing young man. I hadn’t met him before, but he let me in and made me a cup of tea, and told me that Susan had gone to the pictures!”

She raised her eyes ceiling ward “Well, I wasn’t too pleased, I can tell you. Luckily, I’d managed to calm down a bit by the time she finally turned up. “What are you doing here, Mum?” she asks, and before I can say anything Stuart says, “I told your mum you’d been to the pictures. To see that Warhol film.” Well, I don’t know if she had or not, but it took her a second or two to say, “Oh, yes, that’s right!” so you can draw your own conclusions.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “I think these youngsters think we must have been born old. Not that I was bothered where she’d been, I only wanted to know why the hell she’d left me hanging about all afternoon. So I said, “I thought we were going to buy you a new dress or whatever?” She held one hand out, turned palm up. “Of course, she’d forgotten all about it.”

She chuckled again. “Anyway, we got it all sorted out in the end. Then, of course, she wanted to take me out tonight. “No,” I said, “I’m sorry, but you’ve had your chance, I’m afraid some other lucky person’s got that pleasure.” I felt my face begin to burn and hid it by taking a drink from my almost empty glass. She did likewise. She set it down again, smiling fondly.

“Kids. Who’d have them?” She looked across at me. I was acutely conscious of being the object of her attention. “Do you have any?”

It was the first time anyone had ever asked me that question. “Me? Oh no. No.”

“Very wise. Pain in the neck half of the time. As I said to my daughter today, “If I had my time again, I’d stick to cats. More fun and less trouble.”