the first. Out of bed, across the room, I toppled into the armchair by the fire, which, naked, I lit, fourth match. With quivering fingertips I kneaded my forehead and scalp. When I had got them working again, I moved to the window and gingerly parted the curtains. Norman was standing above me, the two dustbin lids in outstretched arms. Cymbal-like, he clapped them together, and released them. I veered back into the room.
*
'... change the way you feel, but you can change the way you think.'
There was enough of a pause for me to say: 'Well, I'd better pull out.'
'Here,' Sheila said. She handed me a paperback. The Well-Tempered Spiral: An Ascent, by Professor Hamilton Macreadie. 'Read it,' she said. 'It's a very beautiful book.'
I flipped through. Four hundred pages of hippie sententious-ness. 'I will. Thank you.'
'Be sure you do.'
Geoffrey said that he would see me out. In the small vestibule, he took the book from my hand.
'Don't bother about that — I'll hide it.' He made a space between the telephone books on the floor. 'She's really into it seriously ... so—'
'Is that why you were trying to shut me up earlier?'
'Yeah, save hustles.'
'See ? You do it too. You go along with all that. What's the difference?'
Geoffrey opened the front door. 'I only do what I have to do, like everybody else. But I don't say anything I don't mean. With me, it's not all part of some great... scene.'
'Scene?'
'You know - strategy, angle. You go out of your way to do it. I never even really think about it. Never thought about it till today.'
'Yes, but you've got Sheila. I haven't got Rachel, so I've got to work on it.'
'Yeah. Anyway, fuck it.'
'Yeah, fuck it. She's nice, that Sheila, though, despite all the -'
'Yeah. Ring me. See you.'
'Yeah. Bye.'
'G'luck.'
To stabilize myself I had trekked slowly through the morning routine. Duffle-coat and gyms; up the stairs; gruff hellos, make some coffee, jokes and nudes in the morning papers.
Then I took the coffee to my bathroom (which a few not very arduous days had made usable) and sat on the lavatory seat, leaning over every now and then in order to hawk into the basin. The point of the coffee was to camouflage any darker substances I might chance to cough up; similarly, I used red-tinted toothpaste to abolish signs of what might or might not be bleeding gums. But I didn't dare look at all that morning, flushing the whole lot down with an imperious blast of the hot tap. I caught my eye in the mirror. My face looked, at once, dreary and vicious. My hair hung on my head as if it were a cut-price toupee. My mouth was crinkled like a frozen potato-chip. Moreover, my chin seemed curiously mis-shapen, or off-centre. Suddenly my hand flew to my face. A Big Boy.
For five minutes I savaged it with filthy fingernails.
Then I rang Geoffrey.
'Lovely. Then I suppose it was ewe decided to go to The University?'
Rachel spoke for me. 'Yes. He could have gone to a university but he decided to wait another year and try for Oxford.'
'Just in case,' I put in, not the silk-hatted layabout I seemed.
'Very good,' said Nanny. 'And have ewe been studying hard, my lovely?' She leant forward and slapped Rachel on the thigh.
She, Nanny, wasn't too bad: a red-faced, fat but strong-looking woman of about sixty-five or seventy. A Taff all right.
I sat with Rachel on the sofa, facing the two-bar electric fire. Nanny was on the moist armchair to Rachel's right, her shiny old knees drinking up the heat. As she poured tea and turned animatedly from one of us to the other, Rachel's leg would brush mine. I had, therefore, a painful, half-buckled erection which, in the teenage manner, wouldn't go away. A cup of tea turned stone-cold on the throbbing saucer above my groin without me once daring to raise it to my lips. I wore a smile, one of decent approval of all before me.
The day was going well, particularly in view of the fact that Rachel's first words were:
'Hi. You've got an enormous spot on your
*
'... change the way you feel, but you can change the way you think.'
There was enough of a pause for me to say: 'Well, I'd better pull out.'
'Here,' Sheila said. She handed me a paperback. The Well-Tempered Spiral: An Ascent, by Professor Hamilton Macreadie. 'Read it,' she said. 'It's a very beautiful book.'
I flipped through. Four hundred pages of hippie sententious-ness. 'I will. Thank you.'
'Be sure you do.'
Geoffrey said that he would see me out. In the small vestibule, he took the book from my hand.
'Don't bother about that — I'll hide it.' He made a space between the telephone books on the floor. 'She's really into it seriously ... so—'
'Is that why you were trying to shut me up earlier?'
'Yeah, save hustles.'
'See ? You do it too. You go along with all that. What's the difference?'
Geoffrey opened the front door. 'I only do what I have to do, like everybody else. But I don't say anything I don't mean. With me, it's not all part of some great... scene.'
'Scene?'
'You know - strategy, angle. You go out of your way to do it. I never even really think about it. Never thought about it till today.'
'Yes, but you've got Sheila. I haven't got Rachel, so I've got to work on it.'
'Yeah. Anyway, fuck it.'
'Yeah, fuck it. She's nice, that Sheila, though, despite all the -'
'Yeah. Ring me. See you.'
'Yeah. Bye.'
'G'luck.'
To stabilize myself I had trekked slowly through the morning routine. Duffle-coat and gyms; up the stairs; gruff hellos, make some coffee, jokes and nudes in the morning papers.
Then I took the coffee to my bathroom (which a few not very arduous days had made usable) and sat on the lavatory seat, leaning over every now and then in order to hawk into the basin. The point of the coffee was to camouflage any darker substances I might chance to cough up; similarly, I used red-tinted toothpaste to abolish signs of what might or might not be bleeding gums. But I didn't dare look at all that morning, flushing the whole lot down with an imperious blast of the hot tap. I caught my eye in the mirror. My face looked, at once, dreary and vicious. My hair hung on my head as if it were a cut-price toupee. My mouth was crinkled like a frozen potato-chip. Moreover, my chin seemed curiously mis-shapen, or off-centre. Suddenly my hand flew to my face. A Big Boy.
For five minutes I savaged it with filthy fingernails.
Then I rang Geoffrey.
'Lovely. Then I suppose it was ewe decided to go to The University?'
Rachel spoke for me. 'Yes. He could have gone to a university but he decided to wait another year and try for Oxford.'
'Just in case,' I put in, not the silk-hatted layabout I seemed.
'Very good,' said Nanny. 'And have ewe been studying hard, my lovely?' She leant forward and slapped Rachel on the thigh.
She, Nanny, wasn't too bad: a red-faced, fat but strong-looking woman of about sixty-five or seventy. A Taff all right.
I sat with Rachel on the sofa, facing the two-bar electric fire. Nanny was on the moist armchair to Rachel's right, her shiny old knees drinking up the heat. As she poured tea and turned animatedly from one of us to the other, Rachel's leg would brush mine. I had, therefore, a painful, half-buckled erection which, in the teenage manner, wouldn't go away. A cup of tea turned stone-cold on the throbbing saucer above my groin without me once daring to raise it to my lips. I wore a smile, one of decent approval of all before me.
The day was going well, particularly in view of the fact that Rachel's first words were:
'Hi. You've got an enormous spot on your
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