stay,’ Victor told Poppy, hoping to see her smile again.
‘On railway journeys, stupid. We never entertained Viceroys,’ said Singh rather nastily, belittling Viceroys.
‘How was I to know? Well, better get on with it, time is short, I have much to do.’ Victor clapped his hands together smiling at Poppy.
‘Come on then, stupid. He is a clown,’ Singh said to Poppy as he left the kitchen, ‘but he means well.’
‘How can you be so cruel?’ cried Victor.
‘Can you manage?’ asked Poppy. ‘I have to dress and dry my hair.’
‘Sure, leave it all to us, we have the booze in the van and glasses and plates and all that, actually it would be better if—’
‘I were out of the way?’
‘Well no, no of course not.’
‘I’m just going, I must.’
‘I’ll help if they need anything,’ said Jane who had been standing watching by the sink. ‘I’ve seen photos of these things. The gentry used to use them at shooting parties and at races in the old days.’
‘Stand by for a flood of reminiscence.’ Singh came back carrying another box. ‘These Thermos boxes unleash a cornucopia of memories. I shall have to stop using them, a terrible time waster.’ He shot Jane a sultry glance. ‘Young stupid here knows how to look after them, not to shut them immediately when they have been washed, else they smell musty.’
‘I’ll see to that,’ said Jane busily. Poppy left the room to dry her hair and dress.
They can manage perfectly well without me, she thought, pulling off the turbanning towel, brushing her damp hair. They could manage Dad’s funeral without Dad. They have all the trappings, the food, the drink, the Thermoses, the horses. As she combed her hair she watched the stout Indian leave the house, get into his van and drive off. From the kitchen she heard voices, Jane and Victor.
I’m very quiet, she thought, brushing her hair, and Dad’s very quiet.
An Interflora van drove up, a man and a girl got out, opened the van doors and began to unload wreaths.
Oh God! Poppy stood watching. More trappings. I wish I could run away. Why did she have to ask after Edmund? I was all right until then, now I feel sick. Would they notice if I left them all to it? Brushing her damp hair, she wished she could jump into her car and drive away. They are all happier without me, I am de trop . She stood by the window looking out at the swallows on the telegraph lines. She felt isolated as one standing in a fog, the sounds from the outside world muffled and indistinct. They are arranging all this without me. They do not need me. They are carried away by their plans for the ritual, using me and Dad as a rehearsal for the burial of their own loved ones when their time comes. I wish it were over.
14
H ALF AWAKE, EDMUND EXPERIENCED a feeling of unease. He lay still, setting his sleepy brain to define the grounds for this sensation. His mind clocking into gear, recognised the cause. It was not Poppy who lay warmly asleep beside him but Venetia Colyer, a longer version of womanhood than Poppy, quite a lot older and, he faced it bravely, cooler.
One of Poppy’s assets had been her physical warmth. She had been lovely to cuddle on winter nights. It had been nice to feel her warm bottom in the small of his back as they lay back to back as he now did with Venetia.
Heigh-ho, thought Edmund, can’t have everything. He consoled himself for his loss by enumerating Venetia’s assets. She was beautiful, sophisticated, rich, well dressed. She had a marked talent for cooking, useful friends who were in touch with important people. Her flat was large, comfortable, finely furnished. For instance, the bed in which he now lay was perfectly sprung, something which could not be said of the bed he had shared with Poppy which, sagging in the middle, led to sexual encounters when he was too tired or felt he should have been too tired, having a fear of excess in these matters as do many keep-fit maniacs. Except that I am not a maniac,
‘On railway journeys, stupid. We never entertained Viceroys,’ said Singh rather nastily, belittling Viceroys.
‘How was I to know? Well, better get on with it, time is short, I have much to do.’ Victor clapped his hands together smiling at Poppy.
‘Come on then, stupid. He is a clown,’ Singh said to Poppy as he left the kitchen, ‘but he means well.’
‘How can you be so cruel?’ cried Victor.
‘Can you manage?’ asked Poppy. ‘I have to dress and dry my hair.’
‘Sure, leave it all to us, we have the booze in the van and glasses and plates and all that, actually it would be better if—’
‘I were out of the way?’
‘Well no, no of course not.’
‘I’m just going, I must.’
‘I’ll help if they need anything,’ said Jane who had been standing watching by the sink. ‘I’ve seen photos of these things. The gentry used to use them at shooting parties and at races in the old days.’
‘Stand by for a flood of reminiscence.’ Singh came back carrying another box. ‘These Thermos boxes unleash a cornucopia of memories. I shall have to stop using them, a terrible time waster.’ He shot Jane a sultry glance. ‘Young stupid here knows how to look after them, not to shut them immediately when they have been washed, else they smell musty.’
‘I’ll see to that,’ said Jane busily. Poppy left the room to dry her hair and dress.
They can manage perfectly well without me, she thought, pulling off the turbanning towel, brushing her damp hair. They could manage Dad’s funeral without Dad. They have all the trappings, the food, the drink, the Thermoses, the horses. As she combed her hair she watched the stout Indian leave the house, get into his van and drive off. From the kitchen she heard voices, Jane and Victor.
I’m very quiet, she thought, brushing her hair, and Dad’s very quiet.
An Interflora van drove up, a man and a girl got out, opened the van doors and began to unload wreaths.
Oh God! Poppy stood watching. More trappings. I wish I could run away. Why did she have to ask after Edmund? I was all right until then, now I feel sick. Would they notice if I left them all to it? Brushing her damp hair, she wished she could jump into her car and drive away. They are all happier without me, I am de trop . She stood by the window looking out at the swallows on the telegraph lines. She felt isolated as one standing in a fog, the sounds from the outside world muffled and indistinct. They are arranging all this without me. They do not need me. They are carried away by their plans for the ritual, using me and Dad as a rehearsal for the burial of their own loved ones when their time comes. I wish it were over.
14
H ALF AWAKE, EDMUND EXPERIENCED a feeling of unease. He lay still, setting his sleepy brain to define the grounds for this sensation. His mind clocking into gear, recognised the cause. It was not Poppy who lay warmly asleep beside him but Venetia Colyer, a longer version of womanhood than Poppy, quite a lot older and, he faced it bravely, cooler.
One of Poppy’s assets had been her physical warmth. She had been lovely to cuddle on winter nights. It had been nice to feel her warm bottom in the small of his back as they lay back to back as he now did with Venetia.
Heigh-ho, thought Edmund, can’t have everything. He consoled himself for his loss by enumerating Venetia’s assets. She was beautiful, sophisticated, rich, well dressed. She had a marked talent for cooking, useful friends who were in touch with important people. Her flat was large, comfortable, finely furnished. For instance, the bed in which he now lay was perfectly sprung, something which could not be said of the bed he had shared with Poppy which, sagging in the middle, led to sexual encounters when he was too tired or felt he should have been too tired, having a fear of excess in these matters as do many keep-fit maniacs. Except that I am not a maniac,
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