Love, Nina (18 page)

Dear Vic,

Handbags: I'm going to say “thanks but no thanks” to the Handy Organizer—(a) I'm not that kind of person (unfortunately) and (b) I don't have to be organized in that kind of way.

I'll say no on MK's behalf too. MK uses a kind of basket thing. Like a shopping basket, but soft stuff, like hay, not straw, but straw-colored with muted stripes. Long leather straps over the shoulder and a pickpocket's dream.

I've gone on to a longish canvas bag like a plumber's bag. MK can't bear to look at it (not because of it looking like a plumber's bag—some other thing). Will says it's Pinteresque (which is good and bad). Sam quite likes it, it reminds him of a cricket bag.

College is awkward (bag and shoewise)—you can't be girly or you look like a slag, therefore it's easy to go the other way and be too blokey.

The other day I wore a long green cardigan that Mary Hope gave me from a shop called Hobbs where everything's smart (and good quality) and a bloke in my seminar said I looked “luxurious.” And all the girls wanted to try it on. In other words: it was inappropriate.

But thanks for the bag offer anyway and good luck in shifting them.

Love, Nina

PS Doing Nunney's sister's Chicken Supreme tonight.

*  *  *

Dec 1984

Dear Vic,

Thanks for gift. I love it. Hadn't mentioned it here (b'day), but Sam (who always remembers stuff) remembered and alerted everyone.

MK gave me a book of short stories called
The Little Disturbances of Man.
Good, but not your cup of tea.

Mary Hope gave me a cardigan and said, “Change it,” but I won't—lovely color (grayish green). Gave it me early (the one I mentioned that I wore for college and was inappropriate).

Will gave me a Curly Wurly and had a bite of it and all the chocolate fell off. And Sam gave me
Whittaker's Almanac
(not from Central Stationers).

Going out now. Movie and food.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Regent's Park Terrace, Xmas 1984

Dear Vic,

Went round to 55.

Xmas tree up. Properly upright in an attractive bucket in the stair bend, where it always goes. Not wobbly or at an angle, but solid. The new nanny had erected it and was about to rush off (for Xmas).

Me: The tree looks good.

Nanny: I had to take a few inches off it.

Me: Did you use a saw?

Nanny: Borrowed Jonathan Miller's.

Me: Where is it now?

Nanny: I took it back.

Disappointed. I could've taken it back myself to make up for previous year…but no, she'd already done it.

Went round to 55 again later to decorate the Xmas tree. The boxes came out and we all held up things we like (or don't). I like a little bell with the word “Noel” on it. I like it because it tinkles when the tree shudders (which it won't do this year).

Me: The bell won't tinkle this year, the tree's too steady.

MK: Can't have everything.

Will likes a glass snowflake, which he used to call an icicle, and Sam likes a pinecone with snow on it (which MK dislikes for being big.)

MK: What do you like about it?

Sam: It's big, and it's real.

MK: Christmas isn't about big things or real things.

Sam: What about the tree?

MK: The tree's the only big, real thing allowed.

Will: What about baby Jesus?

MK: He's small.

MK likes an old M-E-R-R-Y-C-H-R-I-S-T-M-A-S bunting thing in multicolored metallic letters. This is strung up along the top of the dresser. It's a bit ripped on the second M and fixed with eye tape. She also likes an angel that Sam made with a doily skirt who goes on top and falls off a lot. And a purple anemone.

Baubleswise, MK doesn't like big or tasteful things. Only shiny, small, pretty, tatty and all mixed up. And therefore hated my idea of a theme—a thing I'd heard about that Americans do, where they choose one image-of-Xmas and one color and stick to those. So you might choose the color Red and Robins (you're allowed silver or gold as well) and that would be what you'd have on the tree and dotted around. And you'd do something different the next year.

I saw a shop where they'd decorated all in pale blue and sandy (Bethlehem colors) and even homemade potato-prints of camels. I didn't suggest it.

AB not around. In Yorkshire or New York. I prefer him being around…God knows what he does in NY (if it is NY), can't imagine him there, being shouted at by taxi drivers and prostitutes. Though his coat would work.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Mary-Kay has been having a builder round to plan some renovations and to make a new room in the loft and general improvements to various rooms.

I think Carter (the builder) fancies MK.

Carter: Tell you something, I hold that lady in very high esteem.

Me: Who?

Carter: Mary-Kay.

Me: Why?

Carter: She's a rare breed.

I like “a rare breed.” I'll try to say it from now on. Told MK that Carter said she was a rare breed.

Me: I think Carter fancies you.

MK: I doubt it.

Me: He thinks you're a rare breed.

MK: (
shrugs
).

MK's got him in to do various work. Including the nanny's quarters. Carter was telling her about this plastic wood—a floor covering that's the image of wood but is actually plastic and therefore washable, even with bleach.

Carter: (
holding a sample
) It looks like the real thing, you'd swear it was wood.

MK: I wouldn't.

Carter: It's bloody tough this is (
jabs at it with screwdriver
), but, to look at, you wouldn't know the diff.

MK: I would.

Carter: You're barmy—this stuff is the business (
jabbing
).

MK: (
looks at him
).

Carter: OK.

That's why Carter likes her. He can't get one over on her. And there's no way she'd have plastic wood however convenient or tough, she'd always want wood, however limited and useless.

I'm pretty sure now the new nanny hasn't worked out. Maybe, psychologically, that's why MK wants the house renovations. Improving the things she can improve (the rooms) to help her accept the things that can't be improved (the nanny).

I think she (the nanny) is good/bad in all the wrong places, which isn't her fault. It's OK to be bad, but it has to be in the right way(s). Which I just happened to be (on this occasion). You have to be a quick learner and not use too many platitudes. And, most importantly, you have to be nice without seeming to be or overdoing it.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Babysat S&W at 55.

Wore new shoes that I hate but wanted to give them a chance. MK didn't like them either. So that's it. They're too much shoe for her tastes. She likes very little actual shoe and no buckles or flaps (slim feet).

MK: (
frowning
).

Me: What?

MK: Shoes.

Me: I know they're bad, don't look.

MK: I can't stop; I'm trying to work them out.

Will: Me too.

Sam: They're a bit clippy cloppy.

MK: I don't mind the clippy cloppy, it's all the stuff.

Me: I know.

I made very early supper (leek and potato soup) and put too much pepper in.

MK: Nice but peppery.

Me: If you think this is peppery, you should try Mary's pepper, it's not ground up, it's in chunks, you're chewing it.

Sam: Mine's too peppery.

AB: Some soups call for a lot of pepper.

Me: Yes, this soup called for it.

MK: My soup didn't call for quite this much.

Will: Mine did.

Sam: Mine didn't.

Me: Can't please everyone.

MK: Perhaps if you'd responded to individual calls.

MK was going out after the soup (hence me babysitting) and she looked just like a boy (floppy white shirt all scrunched up and hanging out. Gray jacket with pointy lapels and three-quarter-length sleeves).

Me: You look like the Artful Dodger.

MK: You
behave
like the Artful Dodger.

Love, Nina

PS Soup would have been OK if I hadn't overdone the pepper. Leeks, potatoes, onions, stock cube, water, and cream (and pepper). Serve with toast and cheese.

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Just realized I love American drama. Thames Poly has literally hundreds of plays on video and we get to watch them. Which is fantastic. Albeit all crowded round a little telly.

Also, drama tutor Vicki got us all tickets to see an Arthur Miller thing in the West End. Stella isn't used to going to plays and said she felt uncomfortable at the actual “live” theater (as opposed to watching the telly).

SH: I just feel uncomfortable at the theater.

Me: Me too. It's the anxiety that something embarrassing is going to happen.

SH: No, I mean the seats.

Anyway, the Arthur Miller play was good but Stella fell asleep because she'd had a couple of pints of beer in the pub beforehand and snored.

Tutor Vicki: Was someone snoring in Act Two?

SH: No.

Me: Yes, someone was, but it wasn't any of us.

Told Stella later that the knee-jerk denial wasn't believable and made her look guilty (which she was). She's so immature.

Remember the girl from Thames Poly (“he nearly pole-vaulted out of the window”)? She's in my theater studies tutor group. She's chirpy and very much models herself on Rita from
Educating Rita.

Tutor Vicki: How can Chekhov show us it's winter and yet hint that spring's just around the corner?

Girl: Frozen bird shit at the junction.

She might even have got that line from
Educating Rita
(it was so funny).

Told Will about it. He loves hearing stuff about college, especially when people are funny like that. Will's way ahead of himself literature/dramawise and has already seen two hard-hitting things about salesmen and reads Dickens.

Sam's still on
Wind in the Willows.

Love, Nina

*  *  *

Dear Vic,

Stella Heath definitely keen to be friends. She'd arranged for a bloke from the council to go round to her house to look at her roof (a flock of birds are nesting in there and bothering her). And she asked if I'd go back with her when he was due (for moral support).

Me: Won't your boyfriend be at home?

Stella: He'll be asleep.

Me: At three in the afternoon?

Stella: He's a postman.

We went back to hers on the day in question (after a seminar about religion conning poor people into believing that an acceptance of an unfair/dreadful life on earth will earn them a place in heaven). The council birdman was waiting outside in a van. He said he was from pest control but specialized in birds.

Stella broke the first rule of dealing with people by failing to offer him a hot beverage. And that set the tone. As soon as he realized she wasn't going to offer, he was grumpy.

SH: There seem to be birds under there (
points to roof
 
).

Birdman: (
grumpy
) What makes you think that?

SH: Bird noises and flapping.

Birdman: What kind of noise?

SH: Bird type noise.

(
Birdman looks up at roof and there's a long pause.
)

Birdman: Is it a coo or more of a tweet?

SH: I think it's a coo, but it might be a tweet.

Birdman: Cooing and tweeting mean different things. Is it like this (
coo
) or this (
tweet
)?

SH: I think it's a coo. What does cooing mean?

Birdman: It's pigeons (
looking hopeful, smiles
).

SH: It's cooing.

Birdman: (
satisfied smile
) It's pigeons!

Me: (
aside
) Did you say it was cooing just to please him?

SH: No, of course not. Why?

Me: It seemed like you did.

SH: I didn't. It is cooing.

Me: You didn't seem that certain.

SH: I am.

The birdman went up a ladder. Stella and me went into her house (bizarre) and she had a hazelnut Ski, then a fag and put the telly on for
Countdown
and put the fag out in the yoghurt pot. After a while, when we'd forgotten all about the birdman, he suddenly tapped on the French window. Stella screamed because she thought it was the landlord (she's got outstanding bills and they've drunk his homebrew).

Birdman: I've sealed the place where they were getting in.

SH: OK.

Birdman: Be vigilant.

SH: OK.

Birdman: If you hear cooing, ring the council.

SH: What if I hear tweeting?

Birdman: Ring the council. Ditto squeaking.

After the man had gone we heard definite tweetings.

Me: Is that tweeting?

SH: Shit.

Me: I knew it.

I went home then and felt that although I always read the set text(s) I'm somehow less of a student than the likes of Stella with her birds and landlord worries.

Went round to 55 to tell about my day. They'd had supper but not pudding. Was telling them about Stella and the birdman and that I love US drama when Mary Hope arrived. Which was funny (fancy seeing you here, etc.).

MK: Such as?

Me: Tennessee Williams, Arthur Miller, Edward Albee (the best), Sam Shepard (second best), David Mamet (third).

MK: What about Sam Shepard?

Me: I said him.

MK: So what about the birdman, then?

Me: Oh God, that was weird.

MK: So what happened?

Me: The most significant thing was when he knocked on the window and she screamed.

MK: Why did she scream?

Me: She owes rent and she thought it was the landlord.

Mary H: (
frowning
) Is this Sam Shepard?

Me: No, it's Stella Heath.