Paul Murray - An Evening of Long Goodbyes

‘Yes,’ Frank said. ‘Yes. You are quite right. It is dreadful. My God.’

‘Could you go a bit faster?’ she said.

‘Yes yes you’re quite right it’s —’

‘Stop, Frank, maybe we should go back a bit — how about my dear little child —’

‘All right… you’re not just a niece to me, you’re an angel, you’re — Bel, I can’t understand a word this bollocks is sayin, is he tryin to ride her or what? Cos like if he’s the uncle you wouldn’t think he should be tryin to, like, give her lengths.’

‘Oh for God’s sake,’ she said despairingly.

‘Unless,’ he mumbled to himself, ‘he was one of them uncles that’s just like married to her auntie, I s’pose then it’d be fair enough…’

‘Look, it doesn’t matter Frank, you just have to read it — oh, this is hopeless, I’m never going to get this right.’

She was teaching him to read, that was what it was!

‘Bel?’

‘What?’

The poor thing sounded quite exhausted and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet. Perhaps she was realizing that she’d bitten off more than she could chew.

‘I reckon if you were my niece, I’d want to give you lengths.’

There was a moment of outraged silence; I blushed at the door on her behalf.

‘… Give you a ride on the oul train, like…’

Oh, for shame! I was on the point of bursting in and rewarding his discourtesy with the back of my hand when — to my horror — I heard Bel burst into laughter: ‘Oh, you,’ she said, and there was a creaking of bedsprings. Suddenly I felt queasy; I beat a hasty retreat before things took a turn for the tactile.

*

‘What do we know about Mrs P?’ I said next afternoon, laying my book down.

Across the table, Bel was crimping her eyelashes with some sort of metal contraption. ‘Hmm?’ she said.

‘I mean, she’s been here with us for — what, two years? Three? And yet we don’t truly know what makes her tick.’

‘You’re not going off on one of your paranoid delusions,’ she said, inserting the top lashes of one eye between two steel prongs.

‘No,’ I said impatiently. ‘I just think it odd that someone should live in one’s house for so long and remain a veritable stranger, albeit a cherished and well-paid stranger. Do we — are we giving her enough attention? Should we be, you know, talking to her, and so forth?’

‘What’s brought this on?’ Bel said curiously.

‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘But everybody needs love, though.’

She cackled unflatteringly. ‘Maybe you should have a bed-in?’

‘Well, haven’t you found her a little… unbalanced lately? Take the business with the kidney beans. She keeps making these bizarre gestures of atonement. Yesterday she bought me pants .’

‘I don’t think there’s anything unbalanced about her wanting to make it up to you, Charles, except that it was entirely your fault, of course —’

‘Yes, well, you didn’t see the pants. Anyway, it’s hardly appropriate, is it, buying underwear for one’s employer — unless…’ A terrible thought struck me. ‘Good God, Bel, you don’t think she’s developed some sort of obsession with me? I mean, she’s not trying to seduce me, is she?’

‘I’d say she probably knows all it takes is a half-bottle of Jameson and a Wonderbra…’

‘I’m being serious. There’s other things. The other night — at a quite ungodly hour — I caught her making me breakfast. I can’t fault her dedication, obviously, but she was preparing what looked like a full pheasant. Isn’t that a little strange?’

She raised her eyebrows thoughtfully. ‘Not really. Not for you. Not when you remember your lobster-breakfast phase, and your foie-gras phase, and that atrocious Moroccan concoction —’

‘Yes, yes… But lately I’ve been quite frugal. I take just a croissant and the cricket pages.’

‘Yes, but only because lately you’ve been hungover every morning — do wish you’d curb your drinking, Charles, have you seen the wine cellar? Of course you have, silly question. But it looks like it’s catering for a whole shedful of rakes, not just you.’

‘Well, better a rake than a hoe, as I always say. That’s quite enough, anyway. Kindly return to your maquillage.’

She made a face and began to dab her nose with a powder-puff. Bel always took great care with her appearance: most of her clothes came from charity shops, but her look — penniless Parisienne student circa 1968 — was artfully constructed. I wondered how Frank prepared for a night out. One suspected that once he had hidden the bolts in his neck he was satisfied.

‘I was talking about Mrs P. I simply feel we ought to make more of an effort. She’s getting on and she needs our support. Polite inquiries, suchlike. I daresay she’s got a few rum stories from that place she’s from, what is it, Bosnia?’

‘I daresay.’

‘What’s it like, Bosnia? Do you know anything about it?’

‘For heaven’s sake, Charles, it was only on the news for about three solid years —’

‘Well, which one is it? Is it the one with the chaps with those funny hats?’

‘I can’t believe you. Don’t you know anything about current affairs?’

‘Hardly my cup of tea.’

‘Oh, genocide isn’t your cup of tea, is it?’ she said sarcastically, pulling a miniature pencil over her eyebrows. ‘One wonders whose cup of tea it is.’

‘Well, I don’t recall you doing much about it,’ I retorted. ‘I don’t recall you … collecting bottle-tops, or, or writing stern letters to the UN.’

‘Collecting bottle-tops,’ she said, reaching for an emery board. ‘The great humanitarian. That’s priceless.’

‘Well, it seems to me,’ I objected, ‘that the only reason you know about these things is to lord it over me. In fact, it seems to me that that’s the only reason anyone knows about these things, so they can act superior and have heated discussions in pubs and make everyone else feel guilty for not watching more television.’

‘You go and talk to Mrs P then,’ Bel scowled, ‘and I’m sure she’ll be delighted to share in your informed opinions. Maybe you can swap traditional recipes, you can give her kidney beans à la Charles —’

‘So where’s Frank bringing you tonight, then?’ I said, as the gloves appeared to be off. ‘Badger-baiting? Mud-wrestling? Are you going to drink cans in a field?’

‘The pact!’ she cried, outraged. ‘The pact!’

‘ Habeas corpus ,’ I countered. ‘The pact isn’t sealed till you fulfil your half.’

‘I called her,’ she protested. ‘She gave me her work number and said she would be delighted to hear from you any time.’

‘Well, that’s no use!’ thumping my hands on the table. ‘You know I hate using the phone.’ In fact, I abhorred all modern gadgetry — gadgets , even the word had an ignoble ring to it. ‘Couldn’t you call her back and tell her to come over here?’

‘What are you, an invalid? I’m not your lackey.’

Maybe Mrs P would call her — but no! The pact had not been honoured, and I was going to make a stand. ‘The pact has not been honoured,’ I told her, ‘and until it is, we remain in a state of war.’

‘War?’

‘So I must insist on joining you tonight as chaperone.’

‘Charles,’ she warned, glaring at me through her black-frosted eyelashes.

‘I insist.’

‘Every day you plumb new depths, do you know that?’

‘Be that as it may,’ I replied peaceably. ‘So where are we going?’

*

‘Go on, Ask Me Hole, you useless fucker!’ Frank was shouting abuse at the top of his voice, between dips into a bag of coagulated chips. ‘Go on, you shit-bag, run, for fuck’s sake!’