Authors: Penelope evans
Just that.
But it was enough to let her know she's appreciated, that there are folk who
notice when she's not there. And sure enough, round about seven she was up to
see her Larry. She didn't say a dicky bird about His Highness, so I simply
followed her lead, and kept off the subject. There was no point in upsetting
the old kid, and it was hardly as if we didn't have lots of other things to
talk about.
And if you'd
asked if I thought anything was wrong, I would just have laughed in your face.
For those few days, though, after that weekend when he
didn't turn up, everything was perfect. Mandy was her lovely quiet self - a
little morose maybe, but I didn't mind. You can't expect someone to be good
company all of the time, can you? And anyway, she knew who to blame. I had a
quick peek in her cupboards on the Monday, and you'd never believe it. All the
stuff she'd bought when she thought she was having a visitor had disappeared.
There wasn't so much as a funny-flavoured crisp left. It's as I was saying
about her and the fig rolls - you wouldn't think one person could get through
it all so fast. The Girl With The Secret Appetite - that's what I should call
her really. Mind you, it can't have agreed with her. Last night I heard her in
the smallest room. The poor kid was throwing up fit to drop. I had half a mind
to catch her when she came out and tell her to go easy next time.
Then again,
maybe she's just like I was with those Viennese whirls. Eating it all because
she didn't want to leave him any - not if he can't be bothered to show up when
he's expected. Funny to think of the two of us, isn't it though - both acting
the same way when the world lets us down. There must be a mould turning out
people like us - two halves of the same coin. Nice thought, that.
But it
doesn't make up for what comes next.
I should
start dreading the middle of the week. Really I should. It's always then that
the rot seems to set in. This time it was the Wednesday, and as usual it's
Ethel and the phone that do the damage. Next thing we know, she - Mandy - is on
the middle landing, singing - yes singing - at half-past nine in the evening.
And believe me, if there's one thing that girl can't do, it's sing a note. Then
as if that wasn't bad enough, the actual news has to come from Ethel the next
morning. And that's only because somehow she has got it into her head that it's
me who's all upset every time
he
gets a mention. She should see the effect on Mandy. Anyway, the good tidings is
- he's coming down on Friday, just like he was supposed to do last week.
Well. I
thought very hard about what I did next. I knew she wasn't going to like it,
but at the end of the day there was nothing else I could do. Somebody was going
to have to talk to her. So just to make sure - this being the Thursday, and he
might already be having his effect on her - I left a message for her on her
kitchen table. 'Mandy, see me. Important. Love, Larry.'
She didn't
keep me waiting, I'll say that for her. She was up the minute she got home. I
said hello as usual, but I didn't give her much of a smile. It was only fair to
let her see that this was difficult for me. Strangely for her, she was quite
chatty, falling over herself to tell me about what she'd been up to at that
college of hers. Funnily enough, she can be quite thoughtless like that at
times, wanting to talk about herself when she can see I've got something on my
mind. Normally I would let her get away with it, but not today. So I
interrupted her, gently. Told her to sit down because I had something to say.
First of all
I told her how fond I was of her, how life had brightened up no end since she'd
come. I also told her how it was difficult for a chap like me to go poking his
nose into other people's affairs. A person's life is his own, is what I said to
her, and it wasn't for anyone else to try and tell them how to live it. But -
and this is how I put it, 'There comes a time, Mandy love, when you've got to
say something.'
I think
that's when she must have cottoned on to what I was going to say because she
gave me this quick, guarded little look I'd never seen before. At least, not
from her. If I hadn't been so sure of my ground, I might have wanted to stop
there, before it got any worse. But Larry isn't one to backtrack, not when he
knows he's right.
'Now then,
Ethel tells me that you're expecting this friend of yours again this weekend
...'
'She doesn't
mind, though, Larry. I've asked her...'
'I wouldn't
be so sure of that, love. She's got a funny way of showing things sometimes.
Anyway, it's not Ethel I'm thinking about. It's you.'
'Me, Larry?'
'You, love.
The fact is, I was at my wits' end last week, seeing you so unhappy, and not
knowing how I was ever going to bring back a smile to that little face. And
why? Because this Francis bloke tells you he's coming down and then never bothers
to show.'
'There was a
reason for that, Larry.'
'Oh I daresay
there was. And he'll probably have a reason this week and all...'
You should
have seen her face then. Talk about Jekyll and Hyde. Those sweet little
features just seemed to vanish before my very eyes, and suddenly I wasn't
looking at Mandy any more. She'd gone, and standing there in front of me,
staring back at me, was every woman in the world. Nasty, spiteful. And a voice
to match.
'The reason
he didn't come down last week,
Larry
,
was because he was saving lives. There was a huge accident outside Edinburgh -
you must have seen it on the television. Every doctor in the region was working
that weekend.'
Suddenly I
felt quite ill. It really could have been Doreen standing there, using her voice
the way only women can, jabbing at you with every word.
Don't ask me
how I kept my cool, not when there have been women who've been throttled for
less, and rightly. But kept it I did. 'That's not the point, Mandy, love,' I
began to say quietly, too quietly, because she simply jumped in on top of me.
'No, you're
right. It's not. The point is, I would have been a lot less unhappy if someone
had simply given me the message that was left for me...'
'Ah,' I said.
'Ethel...'
'No, not
Ethel, Larry. I talked to her. She told me what you promised to do. You were
meant to leave a note for me, and you never did.'
Well there
was an answer to that, but would you believe it, she never gave me a chance.
Before I could say another word, she got up from her chair, and walked out of
the room.
So what sort
of behaviour would you call that?
Funny thing
is, the moment she'd gone I forgot all about taking umbrage. If she'd only let
me finish, she'd have seen what I was trying to say. Which was simply this:
where was her pride? It stands to reason: when someone lets you down, the last
thing you do is welcome him back so he can do it again. It's the one way not to
be disappointed. That's all I wanted to say to her. But she just didn't stop to
listen.
So there you
are, we've quarrelled, and she's gone and taken it personally. Only will
someone please tell me what I said.
All the same, I knew he would turn up. Mandy wasn't
going to change her mind, and there wasn't going to be a phone call like the
last. People like him - they're born cunning. They know they can't chance their
arm twice in the same way - not two weeks running anyhow.
So that's the
first thing that hits me when I woke up yesterday. But it got worse.
Mid-morning I heard Ethel downstairs, having a whale of a time by the sound of
it, pattering about, moving furniture would you believe. Now normally I would
have been down there before you could turn round, but for once I decided not to
do a thing about it. It was hardly as if I'd get any thanks for it. I mean, if
Mandy thought that much of her privacy, she wouldn't be having that man here to
stay for the whole weekend.
Come the
afternoon though, I couldn't resist it. I had to see what Ethel had been up to.
If it was something awful, something that was really going to upset Mandy,
maybe I'd be able to sort it out for her before she got to know about it.
And here was
proof if ever it was needed that Ethel is the strangest woman alive. A girl
brings a man to stay, not once, but twice, and what does Ethel do but start to
smarten the place up. That rug in front of the gas fire was good enough for us,
and later it was good enough for the Indian girls. Not any more, though, not
when it comes to a certain cheeky young lady and her fancy man. The very rug
that has served faithfully these last twelve years has been taken up and
another one put in its place. I even know where it's come from. I've been
seeing those greens and pinks staring out from the all purpose box in the junk
shop round the corner for the last two weeks. The point is, though, it looks
new compared to the old and by Ethel's lights, that's pampering. When you think
about it, it's no wonder Mandy thinks she can get away with murder, because
there's Ethel practically telling her she can.
And after
that it's just downhill all the way. He's here, and you've guessed it, it's
like living in a madhouse.
He's even
interfered with the air we all breathe. No, really. You could still smell it -
him - on the landing, on the stairs long after they'd gone out. I'm not joking
- the man wears perfume. You can't mistake it. And I don't mean aftershave
either. There's a world of difference between a splash of Old Spice and this.
It comes at you in waves - like the ones you're supposed to think of every time
you catch a whiff of it - Mediterranean waves rushing over broken columns and
all that. Well, it was bad enough on the landing, but when it started drifting
up the stairs it was time to take Active Measures. I didn't have any air
freshener to hand, but I had something just as effective. And maybe I did feel
that bit dizzy after I'd sprayed it around everywhere, but I'll tell you
something - I'd rather be knocked out by a respectable fly spray than nancy-boy
perfume any day of the week, and I expect Joey would too.
I'll come
clean, though, when I say there's a limit to how much you can lift your spirits
with the liberal use of aerosol. Especially when this was only the Friday night
and there was still the whole of the weekend to be got through. Which probably
means you'll be surprised to hear that I woke up this morning in soaring good
spirits. And no, I haven't gone mad like the rest of them.
One reason
you can maybe guess. It involved not getting a wink of sleep before three,
listening to the silence, the perfect silence that tells a story in itself.
So that was
one reason, but the other was almost as good, and only hit me in the wee small
hours when nothing (and I mean nothing) was going on. I'll give you a clue if
you like. It's all to do with the time of year, a time when everyone with a
normal life is preparing to join forces and celebrate. Get the picture? In
other words, did anyone mention Christmas?
Before you go asking what Christmas has to do with
anything, consider this: husbands spend Christmas with their wives. Whether
they want to or not, that's the way of the world. Likewise, children who get on
with their mums and dads. And that, you may think, accounts for most folk when
it comes to what the world is doing at Christmastime. But then again, what
about those people who aren't married or who don't get on with their folks?
What sort of holiday can they look forward to, once it starts rolling round to
that time of year again? Says a lot about your life, it does, who you spend
your Christmas with. Which brings us to Mandy, bearing in mind everything else
we know about the old kid. What will she be doing for Christmas?
Well, there's
an answer to that, of course. And I'll just say it involves a certain
interested party and no end of goodwill.
In other
words, nobody else might want her, but there's still someone up here who loves
her.
But it's not
going to be just any old Christmas. Any fool can buy a tree, put his turkey in
the freezer, pick the Christmas cards off the mat and hope he's got enough milk
to tide him over. Larry's and Mandy's Christmas is going to be something else
again. The Christmas I've got in mind is going to take no end of forward planning,
with lists and checklists made up and completed, down to the smallest detail.
Everything in, nothing left out, and all so that Mandy can have a Christmas she
will remember for the rest of her life.
Which quite
simply means this is no time to dwell on the present. It's time to look to the
future, the one that contains Mandy and her little face all rosy and glowing,
gazing up and saying to her old pal, 'Merry Christmas Larry. And thank you,
thank you for everything.'
Result -
until dinner time, they might have been swinging from the lampshades as far as
Larry was concerned. He was too busy sitting up to his elbows in lists, trying not
to panic. Because no sooner had I started then it hit me. Already I've left it
a bit late. They had their bigwig switch on the lights getting on for a
fortnight back, and yet there was me, too caught up with other things to give
it a second's thought. What I should have remembered was, switching on the
lights is only the starting pistol. From now on, it's going to be dog eat dog
out there, every man for himself, and what's needed now is some fast and
efficient planning.
Think I'm
exaggerating? Well, listen to this. Four weeks to go before the big day, and
what should appear on the mat this morning but the first of the Christmas
cards. It's a tradition all by itself, that one card, turning up like
clockwork, a week before everyone else's.
It's from
June, of course, showing a bit of the old forward planning herself. You could
say that's the small bit of me coming out of her (the rest being entirely her
mother). It's supposed to make me think I'm on the top of her list, as well as
leave me plenty of time to send one back. And like a fool every year I open it
in the faint hope that this time she'll have put something different inside.
And what
happens - you give someone a second chance and you get the same old slap in the
face. Nothing's changed. Open the envelope, and there it is: 'Hoping to see you
this year. Love from June.'