Mortimer Penelope - The Pumpkin Eater

“You must bring Ireen to the works,” my father said. “That is, if she’d be interested?”

“Oh yes !” Ireen said, “I should adore that!”

‘We’re coming tomorrow morning anyway,” I said. “Don’t you remember?”

“Show her all your old haunts,” he said, as though I were a ghost.

“But we arranged it already!” I insisted. “You said to come to the office about ten o’clock. Don’t you remember?”

“Did I, dear? Now Ireen, you can’t throw away your bamboos in that reckless fashion …”

At last we went to bed. Ireen put her hair in curlers and did extraordinary things to her face, slapping it smartly with the back of her hand and covering it with grease. “You can read my magazines if you like,” she said. “It says in one of them you must do this every night if you don’t want a double chin by the time you’re twenty. They have terribly serious articles too, you know, about cancer and having the curse,” she giggled briefly, “and what to do if your husband is unfaithful and all that. Of course Mummy’s never told me a thing, but those magazines are mostly awfully frank, you really should read them.”

“I’m reading Jane Eyre ,” I said. It sounded priggish, perhaps, but I was in some ways very stupid.

“But that doesn’t tell you anything! I mean, look here.” She pulled a magazine off her bed and opened it at random. “ ‘I am fifty-one years old and have recently experienced some pain and difficulty in relations with my husband. I am afraid that this may have a bad effect on our married life, and I have already noticed a slight cooling off on my husband’s part. Can you help me before it is too late? Signed Anxious Wife.’ And the woman says, ‘This is a condition known as kraurosis, which is a vaginal shrinkage due to hormone withdrawal in middle age. In most cases the use of a special cream will restore normal elasticity. Your doctor will be able to help you if you go to him.’ Well, I mean, they tell you things like that , and it’s terribly useful because no one else would, would they? I bet your mother’s never even said the word vagina to you, has she?” She giggled hopefully and I answered, with complete truth, “No, she hasn’t.” If the woman had a sore throat, I couldn’t see what it had to do with her marriage, or why she should write to a magazine about it. “What else does it tell you?” I asked curiously.

“Well, there’s a great long bit about Princess Elizabeth in this one, and a cut-out picture of Clark Gable, and it says what to do about your spots. Oh, oodles of things. You really ought to read them, you know. They’d do you much more good than that old Jane Eyre .”

“I’ll have a look at them tomorrow,” I said. “Thanks.”

“They’d help you like anything with Him ,” she said, bundling into bed and winding her watch, which she then laid carefully on the bedside table. “I know, because I tried it on Brian last holidays. It works like magic.”

“What does?”

“You know. Keeping them at a distance, being a bit snooty to them. It drives them absolutely wild , honestly.”

“Supposing you don’t feel snooty?”

“Well, of course you don’t, barmy. You just pretend to. I mean, the worst thing of all is running after a boy. It’s absolutely fatal …”

She talked on for what seemed most of the night. I dreamed I was running after the clergyman’s son, running and running with outstretched arms, and when the elastic snakes got in my way I tried to fly over them … It was very unpleasant and when I woke up I had been crying. Ireen said, “You’re quite different in the holidays. I don’t know why.” Miserably, I watched her as she drenched her face in pink powder and clasped on her beads. When we went to the factory I let my father take her round, which he did with great charm, as though she were Royalty. Nobody could see how awful she was. On the way to the Copper Kettle she took my arm and said, “I do believe you’re afraid I’m going to steal him from you. Well, you needn’t worry, you know. One thing I am, and that’s loyal .” As she said this she stopped and rearranged her fringe in front of Sainsbury’s window. “Mary was petrified, you know, that Graham would like me best. Well, I simply froze him off. After all, Mary’s my best friend — next to you, of course.”

“I don’t think he’d like you to … freeze him off,” I said. “He likes people to be nice to him.”

“But of course I’ll be nice to him! I just mean you needn’t worry . I mean, he’s your boy-friend. I’m just a dear old gooseberry.”

After we had waited for ten minutes in the crowded tea shop, he came lumbering through the door. My heart leapt and I could feel myself growing pale, my knees under the gingham tablecloth began to tremble. “There he is,” I whispered. “Where?” “There, by the door.” “You mustn’t wave to him like that! He’ll think you want to see him!” “Well, I do want to see him!” “Hush, here he comes. I say, isn’t he tall …” She moved up on the oak pew, making room for him.

“Hullo,” I said.

“Hullo,” he said.

We smiled at each other and he clapped his hands together, knocked against a woman at the next table, apologized, at last fitted himself into the pew with his back to Ireen.

“This is Ireen,” I said.

He swivelled round, pulling the tablecloth with him. There was demerara sugar all over the place. He slapped about with a rather dirty handkerchief and Ireen said it didn’t matter at all. He then said, “How do you do?” and held out his big hand which grew out of his rather skimpy sleeve like a beautiful cabbage. She shook it delicately. He then sat on his hands, as though to prevent further damage.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Ireen said. Her eyelids were fluttering as mine did when I was trying not to cry. I thought perhaps she had hurt herself in the scuffle. “It’s so nice to meet you at last.”

“Well,” he said. But nothing came after. He was staring at her. Her eyelids beat up and down and for some reason she had clenched the tip of her tongue between her teeth and was smiling at the same time. This gave her the look of a complete maniac. At least two whole minutes went by, while I held my breath and wondered what on earth was happening. Was she having a fit? Was this normal? Should I scream or faint or simply carry on with the conversation?

“Are you going to have an ice cream?” I said.

“No. No. I can’t stop. I can’t stay. I’ve got to …”

“Oh, but you must !” Ireen said, and put her hand on his arm, at the same time impossibly moving her body at least six inches towards him. “You simply must stay!”

Now I knew that in daylight, in public places, the clergyman’s son was untouchable. To brush against him by accident was enough to send him crashing away, hair tossing, arms flailing, a fearful embodiment of terror and disgust. Therefore when Ireen assaulted him, so to speak, I drew in my breath, knowing what would happen. He leapt up as though shot, took two steps backwards and overturned a hatstand, whirled round and hit a small child over the head with his great uncontrollable hand, bent sideways, grabbed the hatstand, looked desperately at the screaming child, dropped the hatstand, leapt over the pile of fallen coats straight into a waitress with a tray, turned, gasped, gave a hunted cry and was gone. I let out my breath and took a mouthful of ice cream. The cafe reassembled itself round me with sounds of protest and distress.

“What a pity,” I said. “He doesn’t like you.”

“Doesn’t like me?”