hit-and-run cripple, too. I stood.
'Give my regards to your mother,' said Nanny, 'and to Mr Seth-Smith.'
'I will. And Mummy says she's going to try to come and see you soon.'
Tell her not to put herself out. Goodbye, Charles, lovely to've met ewe.'
'No, please don't get up,' I said. 'Goodbye, Miss Rees, thank you very much for the delicious tea. It was very nice meeting you, and I hope I see you again soon.'
I turned away, letting them complete a short but intense session of hugs, kisses and promises. Rachel joined me by the door and preceded me out. As I followed I looked back to give Nan a final wave, conceitedly indicating that I, in a mere two hours' acquaintance, had perhaps learned more about this sad indictment of our society than Rachel probably ever would. Nan didn't see me. She had brought her swollen red face back towards the fire, seeming to smile in a strange ripple-featured way. Rachel had her back to me, head bowed over open handbag in an attempt to light a cigarette, having not smoked while she was there. She was oddly stiff, or intent, or something. I took another glance inside. Nanny was still. Nanny rested her head on her left hand and brought her right hand up to her forehead so that the hands nearly touched, face very shiny in the glow from the fire. Perhaps it was sweat, or grease, or sebum - but, you never know, it might have been tears. I liked to think it was.
As I closed the door, Rachel turned in the semi-darkness, cigarette alight in her mouth, and led the way down the gaunt staircase to the hall. The hall smelled of boiling cabbage -or, let's be accurate, it smelled as if someone had eaten six bushels of asparagus, washed them down with as many quarts of Guinness, and pissed over the walls, ceiling and floor.
My tentative plans. A walk along the Embankment, melodious insights on Nanny Rees. Or a showing of Bicycle Thieves at a local Classic, after which I would discourse tellingly on the theme of its all being very well for us. Or an unsmiling taxi-ride back to my place, where we'd churn the sheets in locomotive lust.
I didn't feel up to any of these. As we left the house, I said, 'Can we go and have a drink somewhere ?'
'Fine. Where? I can't stay too long. Got to be back at nine.'
The Queen's Elm. It's the other end of the Fulham Road. It'll be open by the time we get there.'
The sky was greying now, and the light shower earlier had brought no warmth to the air. Rachel fastened her coat tightly and did a Walt Disney shiver. I was informed by my viscera that now was the time to put an arm round her shoulders. I ignored them.
'God, it's freezing,' she said, as we walked up to the main road. 'Can we get a taxi ? I'll go halves.'
I felt reluctant to do this. Taxis now seemed vulgar, in bad taste. Puritan guilt after parting the soiled net curtains to Nanny's world? Although I couldn't refuse without seeming mean, I hated my blithe talk on the way about what a marvellous old girl old Nanny was, such resilience and warmth and, well, goodness. Mind you, I realized even at that moment how shaky were my claims to any social concern. Like most people, I feel ambiguous guilt for my inferiors, ambiguous envy for my superiors, and mandatory low-spirits about the system itself. Was this better than Rachel's obliviousness ? She didn't use the misery of others to cultivate her own smugness, true, but at least I didn't go about eating all their food.
'Shouldn't we have helped clear up?'
'Not on your life. She wouldn't of let us.'
Naturally, I paid for the taxi, even though Rachel made a few token rummages in her bag.
'Don't worry,' I needn't have bothered to say.
'Uh, Rachel,' I said, putting the drinks down on the table (a tomato-juice for her, ergo a shandy for me). I paused worriedly, gearing her for a heavyweight interlude. 'I'm not trying to be sweaty or anything, but, um — just out of interest - how long have you known DeForest?'
'About a year. Are we going to talk about him now?' She
'Give my regards to your mother,' said Nanny, 'and to Mr Seth-Smith.'
'I will. And Mummy says she's going to try to come and see you soon.'
Tell her not to put herself out. Goodbye, Charles, lovely to've met ewe.'
'No, please don't get up,' I said. 'Goodbye, Miss Rees, thank you very much for the delicious tea. It was very nice meeting you, and I hope I see you again soon.'
I turned away, letting them complete a short but intense session of hugs, kisses and promises. Rachel joined me by the door and preceded me out. As I followed I looked back to give Nan a final wave, conceitedly indicating that I, in a mere two hours' acquaintance, had perhaps learned more about this sad indictment of our society than Rachel probably ever would. Nan didn't see me. She had brought her swollen red face back towards the fire, seeming to smile in a strange ripple-featured way. Rachel had her back to me, head bowed over open handbag in an attempt to light a cigarette, having not smoked while she was there. She was oddly stiff, or intent, or something. I took another glance inside. Nanny was still. Nanny rested her head on her left hand and brought her right hand up to her forehead so that the hands nearly touched, face very shiny in the glow from the fire. Perhaps it was sweat, or grease, or sebum - but, you never know, it might have been tears. I liked to think it was.
As I closed the door, Rachel turned in the semi-darkness, cigarette alight in her mouth, and led the way down the gaunt staircase to the hall. The hall smelled of boiling cabbage -or, let's be accurate, it smelled as if someone had eaten six bushels of asparagus, washed them down with as many quarts of Guinness, and pissed over the walls, ceiling and floor.
My tentative plans. A walk along the Embankment, melodious insights on Nanny Rees. Or a showing of Bicycle Thieves at a local Classic, after which I would discourse tellingly on the theme of its all being very well for us. Or an unsmiling taxi-ride back to my place, where we'd churn the sheets in locomotive lust.
I didn't feel up to any of these. As we left the house, I said, 'Can we go and have a drink somewhere ?'
'Fine. Where? I can't stay too long. Got to be back at nine.'
The Queen's Elm. It's the other end of the Fulham Road. It'll be open by the time we get there.'
The sky was greying now, and the light shower earlier had brought no warmth to the air. Rachel fastened her coat tightly and did a Walt Disney shiver. I was informed by my viscera that now was the time to put an arm round her shoulders. I ignored them.
'God, it's freezing,' she said, as we walked up to the main road. 'Can we get a taxi ? I'll go halves.'
I felt reluctant to do this. Taxis now seemed vulgar, in bad taste. Puritan guilt after parting the soiled net curtains to Nanny's world? Although I couldn't refuse without seeming mean, I hated my blithe talk on the way about what a marvellous old girl old Nanny was, such resilience and warmth and, well, goodness. Mind you, I realized even at that moment how shaky were my claims to any social concern. Like most people, I feel ambiguous guilt for my inferiors, ambiguous envy for my superiors, and mandatory low-spirits about the system itself. Was this better than Rachel's obliviousness ? She didn't use the misery of others to cultivate her own smugness, true, but at least I didn't go about eating all their food.
'Shouldn't we have helped clear up?'
'Not on your life. She wouldn't of let us.'
Naturally, I paid for the taxi, even though Rachel made a few token rummages in her bag.
'Don't worry,' I needn't have bothered to say.
'Uh, Rachel,' I said, putting the drinks down on the table (a tomato-juice for her, ergo a shandy for me). I paused worriedly, gearing her for a heavyweight interlude. 'I'm not trying to be sweaty or anything, but, um — just out of interest - how long have you known DeForest?'
'About a year. Are we going to talk about him now?' She
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