see.’
‘Let me know if you stop waiting, won’t you?’
‘You too.’
‘I can’t believe that two people, two human beings, are having this conversation. It’s a bad dream.’
‘Life is a bad dream.’
‘Come now.’
‘It is, it truly is. Oh, there are some good bits, but on the whole it’s a bad dream, where things just happen completely beyond one’s control. We’re all basically helpless .’ Barbara was sitting up, staring into the face of naked Reason. ‘All there is in the end,’ she said, ‘is—is—simply—trying to keep one’s hands clean—and it’s difficult. It’s probably impossible. But—’
‘You’re wrong. All there is, is whatever real connection one can manage to have with another soul, another lost soul—that’s the only thing one can hope for. And you’re turning your back on it, actually rejecting it, for the sake of a mere scruple.’
‘It isn’t mere . And we couldn’t have a real connection , as you put it, as long as this scruple exists.’
‘We’re fucked then, aren’t we?’
‘Not thoroughly. Not finally. God may deliver us.’
‘Him again.’
‘There’s no one else who can help us here.’
Alex laughed. ‘So God gets the last word,’ he said. ‘Even when you don’t believe in him. Or especially then. What a sportsman— I do believe the bastard’s an Englishman after all. One of the old school, that is. Must be the last one left alive.’
‘As long as he is alive.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ said Alex. ‘As long as he’s our only hope.’ He was laughing no longer; he wasn’t even smiling. ‘Sod it,’ he said. ‘Sod everything: especially God.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘All right. I take it back, just for you.’ Suddenly he was weary: ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘what would you say to some dinner?’
They tidied themselves and went out to eat at a restaurant in Belsize Village. The hour was late; the place was almost empty. ‘We’re always the last customers,’ said Alex. ‘Have you noticed?’ They laughed together, restored by food and wine, and held hands, and Alex believed he would, in fact, wait, preposterous as it might seem; and Barbara did too.
‘I might just be going away quite soon,’ she told him. ‘I might go to India.’
‘Never.’
‘I might.’
‘Please don’t.’
‘What difference would it make?’
‘Something might happen to you.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
Alex said nothing for some time. ‘I’ll give you my numbers,’ he said. ‘In case you ever need me, or anything. Anything at all.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me; I’m doing it for me.’
‘Okay.’
‘How could I reach you?’
‘You couldn’t.’
‘In case I need to tell you that I’ve stopped waiting.’
‘Oh, yes—of course. I’ll give you my sister’s address; you could always write to me care of that.’
Not that either of them envisaged ever sending such a message: it was only that each was bound to believe it to be possible that the other might wish to.
‘Well,’ said Alex, putting the slip of paper which Barbara had given him into his pocket, ‘I suppose I ought to say in the circumstances that I don’t look forward to hearing from you.’
Barbara gave him a weak smile. ‘Likewise,’ she said.
He took her hand. Having no discernible future, they had not another word to say.
37
Claire was looking through her diary; Alex handed her her drink and sat down with his own. The show was on the road again.
‘Are you off to Scunthorpe this year?’
Claire looked up, surprised. ‘Fancy your remembering Scunthorpe.’ She very slightly stared at him, her eyebrows raised.
‘Can’t think why. Must have seen something about it in one of the Sundays.’
‘Hmmm. The machine’s been turned on good and early, then. Yes, well, since you ask, I may well be—it isn’t firm just yet. That’s one of the things I have to sort out this week. I should call Lizzie first thing—oh, and that reminds me! You
‘Let me know if you stop waiting, won’t you?’
‘You too.’
‘I can’t believe that two people, two human beings, are having this conversation. It’s a bad dream.’
‘Life is a bad dream.’
‘Come now.’
‘It is, it truly is. Oh, there are some good bits, but on the whole it’s a bad dream, where things just happen completely beyond one’s control. We’re all basically helpless .’ Barbara was sitting up, staring into the face of naked Reason. ‘All there is in the end,’ she said, ‘is—is—simply—trying to keep one’s hands clean—and it’s difficult. It’s probably impossible. But—’
‘You’re wrong. All there is, is whatever real connection one can manage to have with another soul, another lost soul—that’s the only thing one can hope for. And you’re turning your back on it, actually rejecting it, for the sake of a mere scruple.’
‘It isn’t mere . And we couldn’t have a real connection , as you put it, as long as this scruple exists.’
‘We’re fucked then, aren’t we?’
‘Not thoroughly. Not finally. God may deliver us.’
‘Him again.’
‘There’s no one else who can help us here.’
Alex laughed. ‘So God gets the last word,’ he said. ‘Even when you don’t believe in him. Or especially then. What a sportsman— I do believe the bastard’s an Englishman after all. One of the old school, that is. Must be the last one left alive.’
‘As long as he is alive.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ said Alex. ‘As long as he’s our only hope.’ He was laughing no longer; he wasn’t even smiling. ‘Sod it,’ he said. ‘Sod everything: especially God.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘All right. I take it back, just for you.’ Suddenly he was weary: ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘what would you say to some dinner?’
They tidied themselves and went out to eat at a restaurant in Belsize Village. The hour was late; the place was almost empty. ‘We’re always the last customers,’ said Alex. ‘Have you noticed?’ They laughed together, restored by food and wine, and held hands, and Alex believed he would, in fact, wait, preposterous as it might seem; and Barbara did too.
‘I might just be going away quite soon,’ she told him. ‘I might go to India.’
‘Never.’
‘I might.’
‘Please don’t.’
‘What difference would it make?’
‘Something might happen to you.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
Alex said nothing for some time. ‘I’ll give you my numbers,’ he said. ‘In case you ever need me, or anything. Anything at all.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me; I’m doing it for me.’
‘Okay.’
‘How could I reach you?’
‘You couldn’t.’
‘In case I need to tell you that I’ve stopped waiting.’
‘Oh, yes—of course. I’ll give you my sister’s address; you could always write to me care of that.’
Not that either of them envisaged ever sending such a message: it was only that each was bound to believe it to be possible that the other might wish to.
‘Well,’ said Alex, putting the slip of paper which Barbara had given him into his pocket, ‘I suppose I ought to say in the circumstances that I don’t look forward to hearing from you.’
Barbara gave him a weak smile. ‘Likewise,’ she said.
He took her hand. Having no discernible future, they had not another word to say.
37
Claire was looking through her diary; Alex handed her her drink and sat down with his own. The show was on the road again.
‘Are you off to Scunthorpe this year?’
Claire looked up, surprised. ‘Fancy your remembering Scunthorpe.’ She very slightly stared at him, her eyebrows raised.
‘Can’t think why. Must have seen something about it in one of the Sundays.’
‘Hmmm. The machine’s been turned on good and early, then. Yes, well, since you ask, I may well be—it isn’t firm just yet. That’s one of the things I have to sort out this week. I should call Lizzie first thing—oh, and that reminds me! You
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