ordinary lives before they became aspiring yuppies. The
word was new; and its use made a few pained lines appear on David’s
otherwise untroubled face. But Matthew had a certain licence to say
uncomfortable things. Generally he behaved himself.
Sometimes he would bring Carol
with him, but more usually he’d be alone. Often Patricia would play
hostess, attaching him to whichever lone guest seemed to be feeling
out of place.
A character so easily given to
resentment as Matthew sometimes had to kick against becoming, as he
said, a stage prop in someone else’s social life; but the truth was
that he enjoyed these evenings, especially after the more stuffy
guests had gone. Everyone relaxed and the serious drinking began.
And although Matthew had felt ambivalent about alcohol as a
student, now he joined in with the rest. With drink in him, he
would feel less tongue tied, more able to talk to strangers. It
gave him a feeling of freedom.
David’s hospitality was lavish.
Few of the guests knew or cared that much of the upper floor of the
house was still in a condition that Patricia described as ruined.
Towards the end of the night, drinking wine that was
inappropriately good for the hour, one or other of the guests might
wonder aloud how someone so young as David could afford such a
fantastic home.
Then David would talk like a
wise estate agent for a few minutes, pointing out that the
neighbourhood was not great (cheap new homes crowded outside its
high walls and hedges). The house needed a lot of work and it would
be too big for most buyers. True he’d negotiated a good deal but in
all honesty the house would never sell for much (not that they
intended to leave). The guests would nod at his modesty which
didn’t alter the fact that the place was a mansion. Matthew knew
that the reality was that David could not afford the house. He was
gambling on being able to grow his income to match his outgoings
before his situation became too serious.
His friend’s finances were one
more thing for Matthew to worry about. Meanwhile, in the daytime at
least, he had the job of writing for the paper to occupy his
time.
He was offered plenty of advice.
Someone told him that a local paper never used more than eight
basic stories. The news was just these few standards, shuffled and
rehashed. Richard told him that the nationals were the same. Ralph
claimed that really there were only six stories not eight.
But there was more to it than
just writing. Early on, there was a boy who had been killed in a
horrific motorcycle accident and Matthew was assigned to get the
human interest story from his girlfriend.
-Richard, why would she want to
talk to a stranger about it?
-She won’t at first, that’s why
we’re sending you. You’re young and sympathetic. Imagine what she’d
think if Ralph went.
-But what can I say to her?
Matthew was deeply
uncomfortable. Richard’s smile was not unkindly.
-You don’t need to say much at
all. Just ask her if she wouldn’t want the lad to be remembered.
You could say “their love to be remembered” if you want to lay it
on thick. Then just get a few details. The story writes itself.
-What do you mean?
-It’s a dying young story.
Basically there’s two kinds. You can have promise unfulfilled or
doomed romance. Promise unfulfilled is about what a brilliant
person the victim would have turned out to be if he’d lived, so
with a biker you’re better off with doomed romance. Have a look at
some of my old clippings. You’ll get the drift.
-It seems wrong. Dishonest.
Richard saw his problem.
-Ah, ethics. You feel that we’re
intruding and trivialising? Well look at it the other way round.
The girl is going out with this boy and suddenly he’s smeared down
the road; there one day, gone the next. Makes no sense to her or
anyone else. She has the chance to say a few words about it to a
young lad like yourself who’s so sincere that he seems a bit dim.
Even if she thinks she’d rather not at first,
word was new; and its use made a few pained lines appear on David’s
otherwise untroubled face. But Matthew had a certain licence to say
uncomfortable things. Generally he behaved himself.
Sometimes he would bring Carol
with him, but more usually he’d be alone. Often Patricia would play
hostess, attaching him to whichever lone guest seemed to be feeling
out of place.
A character so easily given to
resentment as Matthew sometimes had to kick against becoming, as he
said, a stage prop in someone else’s social life; but the truth was
that he enjoyed these evenings, especially after the more stuffy
guests had gone. Everyone relaxed and the serious drinking began.
And although Matthew had felt ambivalent about alcohol as a
student, now he joined in with the rest. With drink in him, he
would feel less tongue tied, more able to talk to strangers. It
gave him a feeling of freedom.
David’s hospitality was lavish.
Few of the guests knew or cared that much of the upper floor of the
house was still in a condition that Patricia described as ruined.
Towards the end of the night, drinking wine that was
inappropriately good for the hour, one or other of the guests might
wonder aloud how someone so young as David could afford such a
fantastic home.
Then David would talk like a
wise estate agent for a few minutes, pointing out that the
neighbourhood was not great (cheap new homes crowded outside its
high walls and hedges). The house needed a lot of work and it would
be too big for most buyers. True he’d negotiated a good deal but in
all honesty the house would never sell for much (not that they
intended to leave). The guests would nod at his modesty which
didn’t alter the fact that the place was a mansion. Matthew knew
that the reality was that David could not afford the house. He was
gambling on being able to grow his income to match his outgoings
before his situation became too serious.
His friend’s finances were one
more thing for Matthew to worry about. Meanwhile, in the daytime at
least, he had the job of writing for the paper to occupy his
time.
He was offered plenty of advice.
Someone told him that a local paper never used more than eight
basic stories. The news was just these few standards, shuffled and
rehashed. Richard told him that the nationals were the same. Ralph
claimed that really there were only six stories not eight.
But there was more to it than
just writing. Early on, there was a boy who had been killed in a
horrific motorcycle accident and Matthew was assigned to get the
human interest story from his girlfriend.
-Richard, why would she want to
talk to a stranger about it?
-She won’t at first, that’s why
we’re sending you. You’re young and sympathetic. Imagine what she’d
think if Ralph went.
-But what can I say to her?
Matthew was deeply
uncomfortable. Richard’s smile was not unkindly.
-You don’t need to say much at
all. Just ask her if she wouldn’t want the lad to be remembered.
You could say “their love to be remembered” if you want to lay it
on thick. Then just get a few details. The story writes itself.
-What do you mean?
-It’s a dying young story.
Basically there’s two kinds. You can have promise unfulfilled or
doomed romance. Promise unfulfilled is about what a brilliant
person the victim would have turned out to be if he’d lived, so
with a biker you’re better off with doomed romance. Have a look at
some of my old clippings. You’ll get the drift.
-It seems wrong. Dishonest.
Richard saw his problem.
-Ah, ethics. You feel that we’re
intruding and trivialising? Well look at it the other way round.
The girl is going out with this boy and suddenly he’s smeared down
the road; there one day, gone the next. Makes no sense to her or
anyone else. She has the chance to say a few words about it to a
young lad like yourself who’s so sincere that he seems a bit dim.
Even if she thinks she’d rather not at first,