– the way I used to let it fall round my rough book at school. It’s quite comforting to be able to do that. Daddy says they based the character in
The Addams Family
on me – the onethat’s all hair and shuffles along like a walking haystack. Glad that I couldn’t see Daddy, I said quietly, “I’m afraid I can’t talk at the moment. Can I take your number?” “Oh,” she said. “Sorry, is this a bad time? Call me. I’m at the paper till about 1.30 on – got a pen? I’m on 0-2-0-7, blah, blah, blah; blah, blah, blah.” I don’t know what she said, I didn’t write it down, I just made uh-huh noises to make it sound as if I was. “Then my mobile is 0-7-7, blah, blah, and my home is 0-2-0-8, blah.” She seemed very proud of all these numbers. “Are you on e-mail?” she said. “No.” “Well, just in case, the address is Beverley, dot, Brayfield, dot, blah, dot, uk, dot, blah – at blah-blah.”
The beefburgers weren’t quite right. The same box; but they didn’t taste the same. They think you’ll put up with that kind of thing, but I shall speak to Mr Thomas tomorrow. He might give me a voucher for Carnation milk or something. Bev sounded like she might ring again if I didn’t call her back, so when Daddy was having his afternoon nap with
Godspell
playing on the music centre (my choice; he prefers Radio Four), I quietly laid down the cryptic crossword we’d started, and unplugged the phone from the wall. I’d just worked out “Harassed nurse left with a sense of grievance” – something E, something E something T something something something – was “Resentful”. An anagram of “Nurse” and “Left”. Daddy and I enjoy our cryptics. Oddly enough, we can’t do the quick, easy, five-minute sort at all.
I gave Daddy a little kiss on his bald head as I walked past, I can never resist it. [
Sings, reedily
] Day by day, to see thee more clearly, love thee more dearly. [
Stops singing
] Bloody Beverley Brayfield. Rings up after all this time and sets me off remembering Roger, and sets Daddy off on admirers. Daddy still harks on about the man from theGPO, saying I only tried to get the telephone disconnected to get a man in the flat. And that was ten years ago. As for Mr Thomas’s vouchers – I certainly won’t mention them again to Daddy. “Vouchers, Judy? What’s he giving you vouchers for? What have you been up to behind the sausage counter?”
Of course, when I knew Bev, when I did actually have admirers, Daddy used to guard my honour like a pitbull. I once had twelve people in my bedroom – four of them boys – sitting listening to a
Monty Python
record, and he made us all go outside because he imagined some sort of orgy would break out. It was just the way his mind worked. I didn’t even tell him about Roger; I knew he would be wanting to know, “Have you done it yet?” and not believing me when I said I didn’t want to.
Back in the sixth form, Bev was my best friend ever. Sixth-form mavericks, we were. Young hippy-style renegades in flared loons and badly stitched cheesecloth. We got Miss Watson to read out that notice in assembly: “The Non-Conformist Society will meet at midnight in the cupboard in Room Nine.” That was us. Beverley and Judith. Bev and Jude. “Who was it on the phone, Judykins?” Daddy asked when he woke up. “Was it a secret ad—?” [
interrupts
] “It was Beverley Brayfield, Daddy,” I yelled from the kitchen. “The one who neglects her mother and hates all men but you in particular.” “Oh,” he said. “Did those beefburgers seem all right to you?” I said. But when I came in, I found him holding the dead receiver to his ear, looking puzzled.
Scene Two: bathroom echoes, bath running
Since Mag died, I like to feel I’ve made things nice for Daddy. Mag didn’t love him very much; just reminded him all the time what a big sacrifice she’d made bringing me up – when, after all, I was his “by-blow”. Do people say “by-blow” now?
The Addams Family
on me – the onethat’s all hair and shuffles along like a walking haystack. Glad that I couldn’t see Daddy, I said quietly, “I’m afraid I can’t talk at the moment. Can I take your number?” “Oh,” she said. “Sorry, is this a bad time? Call me. I’m at the paper till about 1.30 on – got a pen? I’m on 0-2-0-7, blah, blah, blah; blah, blah, blah.” I don’t know what she said, I didn’t write it down, I just made uh-huh noises to make it sound as if I was. “Then my mobile is 0-7-7, blah, blah, and my home is 0-2-0-8, blah.” She seemed very proud of all these numbers. “Are you on e-mail?” she said. “No.” “Well, just in case, the address is Beverley, dot, Brayfield, dot, blah, dot, uk, dot, blah – at blah-blah.”
The beefburgers weren’t quite right. The same box; but they didn’t taste the same. They think you’ll put up with that kind of thing, but I shall speak to Mr Thomas tomorrow. He might give me a voucher for Carnation milk or something. Bev sounded like she might ring again if I didn’t call her back, so when Daddy was having his afternoon nap with
Godspell
playing on the music centre (my choice; he prefers Radio Four), I quietly laid down the cryptic crossword we’d started, and unplugged the phone from the wall. I’d just worked out “Harassed nurse left with a sense of grievance” – something E, something E something T something something something – was “Resentful”. An anagram of “Nurse” and “Left”. Daddy and I enjoy our cryptics. Oddly enough, we can’t do the quick, easy, five-minute sort at all.
I gave Daddy a little kiss on his bald head as I walked past, I can never resist it. [
Sings, reedily
] Day by day, to see thee more clearly, love thee more dearly. [
Stops singing
] Bloody Beverley Brayfield. Rings up after all this time and sets me off remembering Roger, and sets Daddy off on admirers. Daddy still harks on about the man from theGPO, saying I only tried to get the telephone disconnected to get a man in the flat. And that was ten years ago. As for Mr Thomas’s vouchers – I certainly won’t mention them again to Daddy. “Vouchers, Judy? What’s he giving you vouchers for? What have you been up to behind the sausage counter?”
Of course, when I knew Bev, when I did actually have admirers, Daddy used to guard my honour like a pitbull. I once had twelve people in my bedroom – four of them boys – sitting listening to a
Monty Python
record, and he made us all go outside because he imagined some sort of orgy would break out. It was just the way his mind worked. I didn’t even tell him about Roger; I knew he would be wanting to know, “Have you done it yet?” and not believing me when I said I didn’t want to.
Back in the sixth form, Bev was my best friend ever. Sixth-form mavericks, we were. Young hippy-style renegades in flared loons and badly stitched cheesecloth. We got Miss Watson to read out that notice in assembly: “The Non-Conformist Society will meet at midnight in the cupboard in Room Nine.” That was us. Beverley and Judith. Bev and Jude. “Who was it on the phone, Judykins?” Daddy asked when he woke up. “Was it a secret ad—?” [
interrupts
] “It was Beverley Brayfield, Daddy,” I yelled from the kitchen. “The one who neglects her mother and hates all men but you in particular.” “Oh,” he said. “Did those beefburgers seem all right to you?” I said. But when I came in, I found him holding the dead receiver to his ear, looking puzzled.
Scene Two: bathroom echoes, bath running
Since Mag died, I like to feel I’ve made things nice for Daddy. Mag didn’t love him very much; just reminded him all the time what a big sacrifice she’d made bringing me up – when, after all, I was his “by-blow”. Do people say “by-blow” now?
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