The Benefits of Passion (7 page)

‘Some problem?'

‘No, no. I was just . . . Nothing,' she mumbled.

‘William!' protested Edward. ‘She wasn't doing anything!'

‘She was laughing at me.'

‘Nonsense. She was just laughing. She's always laughing, aren't you, Annie?' He patted her shoulder and she smiled up at him. ‘Don't bully her.' She stole another glance at William and saw he was not fooled. Libby flew back with a yelp, tail between legs. Fortunately the lights began to dim and they all took their places again.

Annie spent the rest of the performance struggling to concentrate. Miss Brown kept fixing her with stern glares, but Miss Brown had always been weak on discipline. Eventually the lights came on and they were gathering their things and heading towards the exit.

‘What did you make of that, Annie?' murmured Ingram.

She pretended to think. ‘A performance that will remain with me for a long time,' she replied.

‘Would you like to “unpack” that a little?' He picked out the word by making two little bunny ear gestures with his fingers, so that she knew he was being ironic.

‘I think I'll need time to sort through my reactions first, Ingram. To ponder.'

‘Of course. How wise.' He began to give his own reactions without any attempt at pondering. The crowds streamed down the stairs. Annie could just see Edward and William a flight below.

‘Why don't we head back to your place for coffee, William?' came Edward's voice. They were just turning a corner and Annie glimpsed William's expression. He looked as if he could think of several reasons why not. By the time they had all gathered – with Ingram still in mid-disquisition – William appeared to have allowed himself to be persuaded. They went out into the snow again.

‘Right. William, you go with Ingram,' ordered Edward. ‘And we –'

‘No,' interrupted William. ‘I'd better go in the other car so that I can give directions. You follow us,' he said to Ingram.

‘All righty,' replied Ingram.

Annie trudged through the snow with Muriel. Edward came skidding along behind them with his friend. After a moment she heard him point out, as though he had been toiling with the problem, ‘You could have gone in the other car and given directions.'

‘What, with that cunt drivelling on about the Elizabethan
Weltanschauung
?' Annie flinched in shock. Muriel seemed to be pretending she hadn't heard.

‘
Will
you watch that foul mouth of yours, Penn-Eddis?' barked Edward. ‘I don't see why my friends should have to put up with that kind of language.' Annie and Muriel glanced at each other. Edward knew he wasn't supposed to protest that there were Ladies Present, but both could tell that this was what he meant.

‘Well, you invited them, not me.'

Annie winced.

‘Oh dear,' whispered Muriel. ‘Perhaps we should . . .' Think up some excuse. We'd better be pressing on. The snow. Another time, maybe . . . But it was beyond the social guile of either of them.

They reached the car and got in with William in the front. Muriel started the engine and they set off.

‘There's Ingram now,' said Edward. The other car began to follow them.

‘What a wankmobile,' said William.

Edward chuckled. There was clearly some male prejudice against spoilers which had passed Annie by. ‘You're just jealous, Penn-Eddis.'

‘It wouldn't last five minutes in Bishopside,' remarked William. ‘Take the next left. So where were you a nurse, then?' And he began to talk quite civilly to Muriel about midwifery and hospitals. Before long they lapsed into silence. The snow was still falling as they crossed the river. Annie glimpsed lights reflected in the water and the outline of the other bridges. William turned to Edward. ‘Well, Teddy. Looks like the Government's pissing on the last embers of the welfare state, doesn't it?' This was definitely a red rag.

The bull swished his horns. ‘I'm not going to argue with you, Penn-Eddis.'

‘Thought you wouldn't.'

‘What's that supposed to mean?'

‘That you realize your position's untenable.'

‘It is not!' A few more expert picador-like gibes had Edward rampaging into the political bullring after William's blood. Not that he stood a chance. William had one of those analytical minds that terrified Annie by dealing casually in frameworks. Edward was undaunted, however, and made up in volume and belligerence what he lacked in macroeconomic theory. Annie stopped trying to understand and began counting the blasphemies and obscenities instead. If we had a swearbox we could solve the Church of England's financial problems in one evening flat, she thought. Even Edward let fly with a bloody and a couple of bullshits. Muriel's lips were moving silently again.

Annie watched the snow gathering at the window edge then peeling away. She set Miss Brown a little assignment: Criticize the following phrase, paying attention both to content and context, ‘That cunt drivelling on about the Elizabethan
Weltanschauung
'. Miss Brown recoiled from the task, but Annie was firm. It was shocking because it was so off-hand. It begged the question, what did the man say when he was actually annoyed about something? It was also unpleasant because it had a human subject (that is, Charles Ingram Wallis), which put it into a different league from ‘Sod this' or ‘Bloody weather'. Yes, decided Miss Brown. It was the undisguised contempt of another human being that was so offensive, not the C-word itself. Wrong, thought Annie. It was the D-word. Drivelling. That's what I don't like. Dribbling. Drooling. Here was a man who despised women and their drivelling cunts. I'm glad he's not my GP. When it came to undermining female self-esteem, there was nothing quite like a contemptuous sneer on the lips of a man wielding a speculum.

‘Left here,' said William. ‘Park anywhere.'

They pulled up and got out. Ingram drew up in the wankmobile.

‘You'd better bring that on to the yard,' said William, as Ingram emerged. ‘If you want to see it again, that is.'

Ingram seemed to take this as a veiled compliment on his car, and made a large gesture like a Christian who knows better than to store up for himself treasure on earth. ‘We won't be long.'

‘All the same.'

‘Don't you think you're being a
leetle
alarmist, William?' asked Ingram.

‘Suit yourself.'

They waited on the doorstep while William went in and turned off the burglar alarm. Annie hated the things. If she had one she'd be forever setting it off and annoying the neighbours. A moment later they were all in William's sitting room trying to decide between tea and coffee (no, really, I don't mind, whichever's easier).

Annie looked round the room. The house was a medium-sized Victorian middle-of-terrace, which surprised her since she'd always assumed that GPs lived in big houses in polite areas. The room had the subdued creams and taupes she'd expected after seeing his cottage; and there was a lot of valuable-looking dark wood furniture. She guessed it would turn out to have come from his grandparents' place. He looked like the sort of man who would raise an eyebrow at the concept of
buying
antiques. She created a new category for him: Posh Socialist. Her eyes continued to skim around. She caught Isobel's doing the same. Like two female bower-birds assessing the worth of a potential mate by looking over the nest he has woven. Annie felt herself smiling at the idea.

‘Have you had time to ponder yet?' came Ingram's voice at her side.

‘Not really.' Annie got to her feet. ‘Sorry. I must just find the . . .' One more moment of Ingram and she'd be screaming like a runaway train. She hovered in the hallway. William was in the kitchen. Supposing she . . . Why not? An Isabella-like impulse seized her, and whistling for Libby she went to find him.

He was leaning against the sink reading his post. He looked up – eek! those eyes again! – when she came in.

‘I wondered if you needed a hand.' He scanned the mugs and coffee-maker satirically. Milk jug, teapot, strainer. ‘Yes. Well, obviously you've got it all under control,' she mumbled, cursing Isabella. ‘So I'll . . .' He had returned to his letter. She shrugged and began to tiptoe away.

‘By all means hide here if you want to.'

‘I wasn't . . .'

He raised an eyebrow and her protest withered on the stem. Help. Am I that transparent? He was deep in his letter again and she dithered, wondering whether he was expecting her to stay. Should she pick up a medical journal from the table and pretend to browse?

‘So,' he said suddenly, folding up the letter and putting it aside. ‘What do you do, then?'

‘Annie,' she prompted, on a mischievous impulse, seeing he had forgotten her name.

‘
Annie
,' he repeated nastily. ‘Well? What do you do?' He folded his arms. It was perfectly obvious that he didn't want to be talking to her. Some vestigial courtesy must be grumbling away in his conscience like an appendix.

‘Um, well, the same as the rest of them.' He stared. ‘You know. Training for the ministry.'

‘You're kidding.'

‘No.'

‘Good God. How old are you?'

‘Thirty-one.'

‘What! Come here.' He beckoned. In her surprise she obeyed. ‘Look up.' He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face towards the light. It was obviously a piece of medical observation for him, but for Annie it felt alarmingly like the prelude to a kiss. She stared up at his beautiful wide sulky mouth and her lips parted in a helpless gasp.
GET DOWN, GIRL!
William withdrew his hand and stared frigidly, as though she were a small child who had belched at the dinner table. She blushed.
You horrible horrible dog. I'll have you spayed.

‘You look about fifteen.'

‘I know.' There was a silence. She began counting the silver teaspoons in a desperate bid not to laugh.

‘So how will you arrange it?' he asked at last. ‘Will you have neighbouring parishes?' She looked up in surprise. ‘You and Edward.'

‘Edward? Ah. Oh. I think you must be assuming we're – we're –'

‘And you're not?'

‘No. I'm just, um, a friend of his.' Now he looked surprised, not to say faintly annoyed, as though she had been deliberately misleading him. He began pouring the coffee. ‘Sorry,' she said.

‘What do you mean,
sorry
?'

‘To put you to the trouble of having to talk to me.' He paused and looked at her. She'd seen this expression before on other faces: is this girl just gauche, or was that malicious?

‘Well, fuck you, honey.' Annie blinked in shock. He handed her a tray. ‘Take these through.' She carried them to the sitting room, her hands trembling so much that the mugs rattled. Don't you go dropping them, Anne Brown! cried her mother in alarm. He followed her down the hall with another tray.

The conversation and coffee drinking went on around her. She tried to compose herself. She was used to getting away with saying rude things to people without them quite realizing. Her mousy looks and diffident manner were a perfect disguise. She was not at all used to people seeing through her and saying, ‘Fuck you, honey.' Isobel was engaging him in polite chat again. Her colour was heightened, and while not precisely mellowed by his attention, she was certainly wearing her dignity at a more rakish angle. Before long she lost him to a rugby conversation, which had been started by Edward on the other side of the room. Annie saw her court shoe begin tapping silently on the carpet. Muriel, who had been peeping anxiously between the curtains for some time, said, ‘I wonder if we ought to make a move? It's still snowing.' They all found their coats and began edging their way out of the door with Edward still talking loudly about England's chances against France on Saturday.

Their thanks and goodbyes were interrupted suddenly by a cry from Ingram. ‘Hey! What do you think you're doing?'

There was a burst of shouting and running. Annie stood bewildered. Edward and William took off through the snow after Ingram.

‘What's happening?' asked Dave. The wankmobile. A car door slammed. Tyres squealed, an engine roared off along the street, cornered violently and sped off.

‘Any damage?' came William's voice.

‘They've broken the lock.' This was Ingram.

‘Looks like someone was trying to steal Ingram's car,' said Ted, who had ventured further out to look.

Ingram came back with William and Edward, visibly shaken. Treasure on earth, after all.

‘Use my phone,' William was saying.

Everyone began asking questions at once.

‘They got away in another car,' said Edward. ‘Must have pinched it earlier. Damn lucky we disturbed them.'

‘Another five minutes,' quavered Ingram.

‘Try five seconds,' said William, busy dialling for him. ‘The little sods can be in with the engine running while I'm still getting my keys out.'

‘But they looked like ten-year-olds!' protested Edward.

‘They probably were. Here you are.' William handed the receiver to Ingram.

‘I should have listened.'

‘Yeah. Well. Fact of life round here.' William laid a hand briefly on his shoulder. Annie saw in surprise that this was genuine compassion, when he might have been forgiven a little well-bred smirk.

‘Yes? Hello? I want to report an attempted car theft.'

The rest of them drew away and, while Ingram talked, continued to murmur in shocked tones, saying how sorry they were, as though by being privileged themselves they were personally responsible for the crime levels in Bishopside.

Later, when they were heading back to college, Annie leant her head back again and tried to summon Isabella. Blazing sun. Rape fields. Barney –

‘Your friend seems a pleasant young man,' remarked Muriel.