Early evening. Guess what? Nadia is sitting across the room on the sofa with Howard. This is their first meeting and they’re practically on each other’s laps. (I almost wrote lips.) All afternoon I’ve had to witness this meeting of minds. They’re on politics. The words that ping off the walls are: pluralism, democracy, theocracy and Benazir! Howard’s senses are on their toes! The little turd can’t believe the same body (in a black cashmere sweater and black leather jacket) can contain such intelligence, such beauty, and yet jingle so brightly with facts about the Third World! There in her bangles and perfume I see her speak tohim as she hasn’t spoken to me once – gesticulating!
‘Howard. I say this to you from my heart, it is a corrupt country! Even the revolutionaries are corrupt! No one has any hope!’
In return he asks, surfacing through the Niagara of her conversation: ‘Nadia, can I show you something? Videos of the TV stuff I’ve written?’
She can’t wait.
None of us has seen her come in. Ma is here now, coat on, bags in her hands, looking at Nadia and Howard sitting so close their elbows keep knocking together.
‘Hello,’ she says to Howard, eventually. ‘Hiya,’ to Nadia. Ma has bought herself some flowers, which she has under her arm – carnations. Howard doesn’t get up to kiss her. He’s touching no one but Nadia and he’s very pleased with himself. Nadia nods at Ma but her eyes rush back to Howard the hero.
Nadia says to Howard: ‘The West doesn’t care if we’re an undemocratic country.’
‘I’m exhausted,’ Ma says.
‘Well,’ I say to her. ‘Hello, anyway.’
Ma and I unpack the shopping in the kitchen. Howard calls through to Ma, asking her school questions which she ignores. The damage has been done. Oh yes. Nadia has virtually ignored Ma in her own house. Howard, I can see, is pretty uncomfortable at this. He is about to lift himself out of the seat when Nadia puts her hand on his arm and asks him: ‘How do you create?’
‘How do I create?’
How does Howard create? With four word-kisses she has induced in Howard a Nelson’s Column of excitement. ‘How do you create?’ is the last thing you should ever ask one of these guys.
‘They get along well, don’t they?’ Ma says, watching them through the crack of the door. I lean against the fridge.
‘Why shouldn’t they?’
‘No reason,’ she says. ‘Except that this is my home. Everything I do outside here is a waste of time and no one thanks me for it and no one cares for me, and now I’m excluded from my own flat!’
‘Hey, Ma, don’t get –’
‘Pour me a bloody whisky, will you?’
I pour her one right away. ‘Your supper’s in the oven, Ma.’
I give her the whisky. My ma cups her hands round the glass. Always been a struggle for her. Her dad in the army; white trash. She had to fight to learn. ‘It’s fish pie. And I did the washing and ironing.’
‘You’ve always been good in that way, I’ll give you that. Even when you were sick you’d do the cooking. I’d come home and there it would be. I’d eat it alone and leave the rest outside your door. It was like feeding a hamster. You can be nice.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Only your niceness has to live among so many other wild elements. Women that I know. Their children are the same. A tragedy or a disappointment. Their passions are too strong. It is our era in England. I only wish, I only wish you could have some kind of career or something.’
I watch her and she turns away to look at Howard all snug with the sister I brought here. Sad Ma is, and gentle. I could take her in my arms to console her now for what I am, but I don’t want to indulge her. A strange question occurs to me. ‘Ma, why do you keep Howard on?’
She sits on the kitchen stool and sips her drink. She looks at the lino for about three minutes, without saying anything, gathering herself up, punching her fist against her leg, like someone who’s just
‘Howard. I say this to you from my heart, it is a corrupt country! Even the revolutionaries are corrupt! No one has any hope!’
In return he asks, surfacing through the Niagara of her conversation: ‘Nadia, can I show you something? Videos of the TV stuff I’ve written?’
She can’t wait.
None of us has seen her come in. Ma is here now, coat on, bags in her hands, looking at Nadia and Howard sitting so close their elbows keep knocking together.
‘Hello,’ she says to Howard, eventually. ‘Hiya,’ to Nadia. Ma has bought herself some flowers, which she has under her arm – carnations. Howard doesn’t get up to kiss her. He’s touching no one but Nadia and he’s very pleased with himself. Nadia nods at Ma but her eyes rush back to Howard the hero.
Nadia says to Howard: ‘The West doesn’t care if we’re an undemocratic country.’
‘I’m exhausted,’ Ma says.
‘Well,’ I say to her. ‘Hello, anyway.’
Ma and I unpack the shopping in the kitchen. Howard calls through to Ma, asking her school questions which she ignores. The damage has been done. Oh yes. Nadia has virtually ignored Ma in her own house. Howard, I can see, is pretty uncomfortable at this. He is about to lift himself out of the seat when Nadia puts her hand on his arm and asks him: ‘How do you create?’
‘How do I create?’
How does Howard create? With four word-kisses she has induced in Howard a Nelson’s Column of excitement. ‘How do you create?’ is the last thing you should ever ask one of these guys.
‘They get along well, don’t they?’ Ma says, watching them through the crack of the door. I lean against the fridge.
‘Why shouldn’t they?’
‘No reason,’ she says. ‘Except that this is my home. Everything I do outside here is a waste of time and no one thanks me for it and no one cares for me, and now I’m excluded from my own flat!’
‘Hey, Ma, don’t get –’
‘Pour me a bloody whisky, will you?’
I pour her one right away. ‘Your supper’s in the oven, Ma.’
I give her the whisky. My ma cups her hands round the glass. Always been a struggle for her. Her dad in the army; white trash. She had to fight to learn. ‘It’s fish pie. And I did the washing and ironing.’
‘You’ve always been good in that way, I’ll give you that. Even when you were sick you’d do the cooking. I’d come home and there it would be. I’d eat it alone and leave the rest outside your door. It was like feeding a hamster. You can be nice.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Only your niceness has to live among so many other wild elements. Women that I know. Their children are the same. A tragedy or a disappointment. Their passions are too strong. It is our era in England. I only wish, I only wish you could have some kind of career or something.’
I watch her and she turns away to look at Howard all snug with the sister I brought here. Sad Ma is, and gentle. I could take her in my arms to console her now for what I am, but I don’t want to indulge her. A strange question occurs to me. ‘Ma, why do you keep Howard on?’
She sits on the kitchen stool and sips her drink. She looks at the lino for about three minutes, without saying anything, gathering herself up, punching her fist against her leg, like someone who’s just
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