‘Wah, wah, wah!’ he went. ‘
Waaaah
!’
‘Oh! Look, Minty – he’s better,’ crooned Amber. ‘Isn’t that
lovely
? He’s yelling. Let’s see if he’ll sing.’ She turned up the hi-fi and soon Pedro began to singalongaMario.
‘
O SOLE MIO …
’
‘Oh God.’
‘
STA ‘NFRONTE A TE
!’
‘DELICIOUS ICE-CREAM …’ sang Amber.
‘ …FROM ITALEEEEEEEE,’ crooned Pedro.
From somewhere, far away, above the cacophonous combination of Mario Lanza, a woman and a parrot, I could hear the telephone ringing. I went into the hall.
‘Yes?’
‘You pile of rubbish!’
‘What?’
‘You waste of space!’
‘Who
is
this?!’
‘Call yourself a radio reporter?’
‘Now look here –’
‘Come on, Minty! Your turn.’
‘Joe!’
‘Precisely. Do you fancy a drink?’
Did I fancy a drink? Well, no. No, I didn’t. In any case, what was the point of having a drink with Joe? He was seeing Helen. I knew that.
‘Do you want to come out?’ he asked.
‘Um …’
‘
JUST ONE CORNETTO …
’
‘Go on.’
‘GIVE IT TO ME!’
‘Well …’
‘
QUANNO FA NOTTE …
’
‘Come on, Minty.’
‘ …
O SOLE MIO.
’
‘Do you want to have a drink …’
‘Oh, Minty, he’s so much BETTER!’ Amber yelled.
‘ …or don’t you?’ said Joe.
‘Yes,’ I said suddenly. ‘I do.’
Half an hour later Joe and I were sitting in the Engineer, my local. He lives close by, you see, in Camden –just one stop on the Northern line or a fifteen-minute walk.
‘How did you get my number?’ I asked him. ‘Did Helen give it to you?’
‘No, it was on the contact address list, for the Nice course.’
‘Oh.’
‘Now, I hope you haven’t been too nice recently,’ he said, avoiding, I thought, the subject of Helen. He sipped his beer, and looked at me seriously.
‘I’m afraid I have,’ I replied. ‘I’ve just been terribly nice, actually, to Amber.’
‘Oh dear,’ he said, ruefully. ‘That’s very disappointing.’
‘But I have done something radical,’ I said, touching my hair. Joe nodded.
‘Amazing!’ he exclaimed again.
‘And how about you?’ I asked. ‘Are you squaring up for your struggles with the studios?’
‘I’m working on it,’ he replied. ‘I’m determined to get my film made.’
‘Well, the book’s wonderful,’ I said truthfully. ‘I’m halfway through it. You write really well.’
He smiled. And where Amber would have launched into a long discussion about her characters, their motivation, how long it had taken her to write, what such and such a critic had written, and how big her print run was, Joe simply said, ‘Thanks,’ and changed the subject. All of a sudden we noticed that everyone was beginning to leave. I looked at my watch. It was seven thirty-five. The firework display was due to start in ten minutes.
‘Shall we watch it?’ he said.
‘Well, if you’d like to.’
‘Well, I would. But only if
you
want to,’ he said, with exaggerated niceness.
‘I must say, it does sound rather pleasant. But are you quite sure
you
want to go?’ I replied, in kind.
‘Quite sure.’
‘Because I wouldn’t want you to do anything you didn’t want to do,’ I said.
‘May I say how very considerate that is of you,’ he replied, happily.
‘Oh, thank you.’
‘But let me assure you that I would indeed very much like to watch the display, Minty. But only if
you
do too.’
‘Oh, I do.’
‘Sure?’
‘I’m sure. Are you sure.’
‘Sure.’
‘Please feel free to change your mind at any time.’
‘OK, that’s enough niceness, ed!’ he said. ‘We’re going to the fireworks, and that’s it. Come on!’ And I found myself laughing. He was very amusing. In fact, he was enormous fun. We walked on to Regent’s Park Road where a human stream, scarved and anoraked, was flowing towards the Hill. Children were carried aloft on shoulders, gumboots waded through leaves, sparklers hissed and flared in the darkness like electric dandelion clocks.
‘Ten, nine, eight …’ the crowd roared. ‘Seven, six, five …’ We turned in through the gates.’ …Four, three, two, one …’
BANG!!! KER-ACK!!! BOOOOOOOM!!! Vast, incandescent chrysanthemums exploded against the night sky. We craned our necks as their long silvery trails hung in the air like spray. PHUT! PHUT! PHUT! went the Roman Candles. WHEEEEE!! WHEEEEE!! squealed the rockets. Then a spangled meteor shower burst with a sound like the pinching of cosmic bubble-wrap. ‘OOOOOOOOO!!’ went the crowd, then ‘AAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!’ as a gigantic, hyacinth-shaded sea anemone flowered, trembled, then dissolved. I glanced at Joe. His upturned profile was bathed in light as a fiery fountain cascaded over our heads. Below us, flames as high as houses leapt from the huge bonfire into the dark.
‘Glow circles a pound!’ we heard a tout shout, as the show ended, and we clapped and cheered.
‘Would you like one?’ said Joe. I nodded. He put some money in the bucket for Crisis, then he selected one of the coloured phosphorescent strips. It looked like a tiny rainbow as he carried it back in his hands.
‘Here.’ He snapped the two ends together, then placed the luminous circlet on my head.
‘You look like Titania,’ he said with a smile, as we began to walk back down the hill.
‘Didn’t she fall in love with a donkey?’
‘Yes.’
‘What happened?’ I asked. ‘I can’t remember.’
‘Well, she was so besotted, so unlike her true self, that she just couldn’t see that the man was, in fact, an ass. When she realised her mistake, of course, she was appalled.’
‘Well, she would be.’
‘However, it all ended happily. And everyone ended up with the right partner.’
‘How nice. I wish life was like that.’
‘It could be,’ said Joe, as we drew up at my gate. ‘Gosh, what’s that din?’ From inside the flat, we could hear screeching and singing.
‘It’s Amber, her parrot, and er …yes …Placido Domingo. I’d ask you in,’ I added, ‘but I don’t think it’s quite the right moment …’ Joe gave me a hug, which astonished me, and then he kissed me on the cheek.
‘I do hope we can get together again, Minty,’ he said.
Did he? Why? I was totally confused by now. What about Helen? And why hadn’t he been with Helen this evening? Maybe he was going to see her later on. Maybe …maybe I shouldn’t be too ‘nice’ about this, I thought. Maybe I should just grasp the nettle and ask.
‘Joe, can I ask you something?’ I said hesitantly. ‘It’s been bothering me all evening.’
‘You can ask me anything you like.’
‘OK. Um, are you …?’ I laughed, then looked away. ‘I feel really silly asking you this,’ I tried again. ‘But, er, are you seeing Helen?’
‘Helen? No,’ he said. ‘We’re just friends.’
‘Ah.’ Then why was she being so secretive with me?
‘She’s great,’ said Joe.
‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘she is.’
‘I like her a lot.’
‘Me too. But I haven’t heard from her for ages. In fact, she’s
gone a bit funny on me; and she usually only does that when she’s seeing someone, and I kind of thought that someone might be you.’
‘No! Why did you think that?’
‘Because …when we met in Paris,’ I explained, fiddling with my scarf, ‘you asked me for my number.’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘And I refused because, well, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Joe, but you see, I didn’t want to go out with you be-’
‘Minty-’ he interrupted before I could go on to explain that I didn’t want to go out with
anyone
at that time. ‘Minty …’ he repeated.
‘Yes.’
‘I think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick here.’
‘Have I?’
‘Yes. I didn’t
want
to go out with you.’
‘Didn’t you?
‘No.’
‘Oh.’
‘I was just being …friendly.’
‘Ah.’
‘I’m a friendly person.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘And you looked so sad, you see.’
‘I was sad,’ I said with a sigh.
‘You looked terrible, actually.’
‘I felt terrible.’
‘In fact, you looked distraught.’
‘I was distraught,’ I said.
‘And Pierre and I needed partners for the table football, and you and Helen were there, and you both seemed very nice.’
‘I see.’
‘And I only asked for your number because I thought we might remain, you know, friends.’
‘Oh, right. Well, I’ve got it straight now.’
‘And in any case, Minty, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I wouldn’t go out with you in a million years.’
‘Oh. Why’s that?’
He looked at me seriously.
‘Because of what you’ve just been through. You’re not ready.’
‘Aren’t I?’
‘No. I don’t think you are. Some time ago I went out with a woman who was on the rebound,’ he explained. ‘She’d had a very bad time. But …she really hurt me. In fact, it was a disaster. So I vowed I’d never make that particular mistake again.’
‘I see.’
‘Too much baggage, Minty. I saw that on the course.’
‘Well, yes, but …’
‘You’ve really got to recover before you go out with anyone new.’
‘Yes, of course,’ I said. I was feeling slightly irritated by now.
‘You’ve got to move on a bit more.’
‘Yes. Yes, I know that.’
‘But I’d love to see you – just as a friend.’ Ah. ‘I mean, I was really glad when you turned up on that Nice Factor course, because – can I tell you something?’
‘Yes.’
‘Now, promise you won’t get too conceited?’
‘Promise.’
‘Well …I think you’re a horrible old bat.’ A feeling of inexplicable happiness came over me, as though I’d dived into a vat of warm toffee.
‘Thanks,’ I said with a shy smile. ‘I think you’re ghastly too.’
‘Do you really mean that?’
‘Yes, of course I do.’ Gosh, he really was
very
nice-looking.
‘So we’re friends now, aren’t we, Minty?’
‘Yes.’ I sighed. ‘We’re friends.’
‘So, no more misunderstandings, then?’
‘No.’
‘That’s good. In fact it’s excellent. Well,’ he added brightly, ‘I think I’ll be off.’ Then he smiled, and walked away. And I was suddenly very sorry when he turned the corner, and I couldn’t see him any more.
‘And now to family matters,’ said Melinda into the microphone the following Tuesday. ‘With me in the studio is Mike Hunt –’
‘I told her to say
Michael
!’ said Jack, furiously.
‘– the newly appointed Minister for Family Values. Now, Mike, could you tell the viewers – sowwy! I mean
listeners
– how you hope to stwengthen family life?’
We were on air, live. Wesley was producing, Jack was supervising, and I was frantically cutting down a feature. I glanced at the clock – we’d gone on air at two. It was now twelve minutes past, and the piece I was editing was scheduled to go out at two fifteen. My knees felt weak and my pulse raced as I pressed the ‘Fast Forward’ button, stopped at the place I’d marked, then yanked out lengths of tape. Damn Wesley, I thought as I spooled back and forth, heart pounding, frantically slashing and splicing. He’d managed to exploit my good nature again. When
is
the Nice Factor going to kick in? I wondered, as the seconds ticked relentlessly away. I got to the end, then spun through it one more time to make sure there were no glitches.
‘Done it!’ I said, breathlessly, as I removed my ‘phones.
‘Thanks,’ said Wesley, as he sat at the switch-and-flashing-light-studded console. ‘Is it de-ummed?’
‘Yes. Smooth as a baby’s bum.’
‘Oh, thanks, Mint. Oh God, my timings are out,’ he whined. They always are. He peered at his stopwatch. ‘Er …what’s one minute twenty plus two minutes fifty-three?’
‘Four minutes thirteen,’ I said.
‘Well of
course
the Labour Government is committed to family life,’ I heard the Right Honourable Michael Hunt say. ‘That’s why we’re going to make it compulsory for divorcing couples to seek counselling. And when it comes to the issue
of single mothers, we strongly feel that the taxpayer should not have to pick up the tab.’
‘Quite wight!’ said Melinda. ‘Now, I’m pwegnant myself, Mr Hunt.’
He gazed at her enormous bulge.
‘So I see.’
‘One more minute, Melinda,’ Wesley whispered into her headphones on ‘talkback’. She nodded to show that she had heard.
‘Now, I’m not a single mother. I’m mawwied. My husband Woger’s a stockbwoker. But even if I were a single mother with absolutely no money, I’d never expect anyone else to cawwy the can for me.’
‘Ha!’ I exclaimed.
‘I work hard for my living. I support myself …’
‘With the aid of Uncle Percy,’ said Jack.
‘ …because I think that’s
wight.
And I think nothing of working wight up to the end of my pwegnancy,’ she went on. Oh God, she was getting carried away. ‘My baby’s not due for another thwee weeks, but I fully intend to go –’ Suddenly she gasped, and the electronic monitoring levels on the desk popped up like toast. Her lips compressed. Her eyes goggled. Then her features crumpled like an old sheet, and she opened her mouth and went ‘AAAAAAAHHHHH!!!’
‘Oh God!’ said Jack, standing up.
‘Good heavens!’ said the minister.
‘OOOOOHHHHHHH!!!!! Oh Chwist!’ she yelped. ‘My waters have just bwoken!’
‘Get her out of there!’ said Jack. He flew to the talkback.
‘Just sign off, Melinda! Sign off, and we’ll put on a tape.’
‘No!’ she said. ‘No! I won’t! I want to share this with my fans. Do you think a few contwactions are going to stop
me
?’ We all gawped like goldfish through the glass.
‘It’s my duty to stay at this micwophone until the pwogwamme’s over!’ she announced. ‘If necessawy, I’m pwepared to give birth on air.’
‘Please don’t!’ said the Minister as he leapt to his feet.
‘Why not?’ said Melinda. Then she was felled by another spasm. ‘OOOOOOHHH! I mean …we’ve had death on air, haven’t we, listeners?’ she went on, as she clutched the green baize table. This was true. The octogenarian vicar who did
Prayer for the Day
had croaked – live, as it were – just a few months before. ‘So we can have birth on air too,’ she went on. ‘London FM is the station where
anything
can happen – OOOOWWWWWWW!!! – the whole of human life! And as the Minister for Family Values is actually here, in the studio, he might even give me a hand. Do you know what to do, Mr Hunt?’