The Reginald Perrin Omnibus (7 page)

‘Wick. It’s a bit off the beaten track but it’s got a fantastic reputation. It’s a fantastic jumping-off ground.’

‘Into the sea?’ said Reggie.

‘I just need a tenner to see me through.’

Reggie hesitated.

‘Please, dad. You couldn’t refuse your own dustbin, could you?’

‘Dustbin?’

‘Dustbin lid. Kid.’

‘Oh. Well how much do you really need?’

‘Well – they’d like me to go up there and suss the joint – say – er – thirty quid. I’ll pay you back.’

‘You haven’t paid the last lot back yet.’

‘No, but I will.’

‘All right. I’ll give you forty. But this really is the last time.’

Ponsonby came in through the French windows and waited for Mark to make a fuss of him. It had gone dull and gloomy outside, and the heat hung even more heavily without the sun.

Reggie wrote out the cheque and Mark stroked Ponsonby.

‘Well, Ponsonby, me old fruit cake,’ he said. ‘What’s my dad been getting up to, then? Keeping a fancy woman upstairs, is he?’

Reggie gulped and Ponsonby miaowed.

‘Look, Mark, here’s the cheque,’ said Reggie. ‘Now the thing is, I have got a bit of work to do, I don’t want you to think I’m turning you out, but . . .’

The doorbell rang. He couldn’t let anyone else in, not with Joan upstairs.

‘Aren’t you going to answer it?’

‘I suppose so.’

He went reluctantly to the door. It was Elizabeth’s brother Jimmy, otherwise known as Major James Anderson, of the Queen’s Own Berkshire Light Infantry, stationed at Aldershot. He had a ginger moustache and was wearing mufti.

‘Sorry to barge in like this. Fact is, something I want to . . . er . . . oh hullo, Mark,’ said Jimmy, marching into the living room.

‘Hullo, Uncle Jimmy,’ said Mark.

‘Where’s Elizabeth?’ said Jimmy.

‘She’s gone to see your mother,’ said Reggie.

‘Must get down there myself.’

‘Drink, Jimmy?’

‘It’s ten past three. Almost tea time. Whisky, please,’ said Jimmy.

Jimmy parked himself in one of the fluffy white armchairs. He sat stiffly, regimentally. Even Mark sat up a bit in the presence of the military.

‘Cheers,’ said Jimmy, sipping his whisky. ‘Well, Mark, how’s things on the drama front?’

‘Not too bad, Uncle Jimmy.’

‘All the world’s a stage, eh?’

‘Pretty well.’

‘Jolly good.’

‘How’s the army?’

‘Oh, mustn’t grumble. Saw you on the idiot box last week. Just caught the end of it. You were all sitting round eating fish fingers and smiling. Nice to see a play with a happy ending for a change.’

‘Yes, it was a good play,’ said Mark. ‘A bit short, but interesting.’ He winked at Reggie, and Reggie felt pleased to be able to enjoy a private joke with Mark.

The sun, which had made another effort to penetrate the cloud, disappeared once again. The room seemed very gloomy now.

‘Look,’ said Jimmy. ‘No beating about the bush. Bit of a cock-up on the catering front. Muddle over shopping. Fact is, right out of food. Just wondered if you’d got anything. Just bread or something. Pay of course.’

‘No, no, Jimmy. I wouldn’t hear of it.’

‘Oh, thanks. Decent of you. Wouldn’t have asked, only kiddies yelling, general hoo-ha. Feel bad about it. Third time it’s happened.’

‘Not to worry, Jimmy.’

‘Your dustbins all right, are they?’ said Mark.

Jimmy looked at him in astonishment.

‘Think so, yes. Bit bashed about. Dustmen don’t take much care,’ he said.

There was a ring at the bell. Reggie went to the door. It was Linda and Tom, accompanied by Adam and Jocasta.

‘Hullo,’ he said. ‘Come on in.’

‘You don’t look very pleased to see us,’ said Linda.

‘Nonsense. I’m delighted.’

‘Our little man brought the car back, so we thought we’d pop round to – you know – see if you’re all right,’ said Tom.

‘I’m fine. Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘No reason. None at all.’

‘Come in, all of you. Jimmy’s here, and Mark.’

‘Oh. Only we rang Worthing, and heard you were alone,’ said Linda.

‘I was. I’m not now,’ said Reggie.

He escorted them into the living room. There was much standing up and sitting down. Mark said, ‘Hullo, droopydrawers,’ to Linda, and Tom frowned, and when Tom frowned Mark smiled, and when Mark smiled Linda gave him a look, and when Tom saw her giving him a look he gave Linda a look.

‘Yes, we thought we’d pop along and make sure you weren’t depressed or anything,’ said Linda.

‘Pressed or anyfing,’ said Adam.

‘Preffed or fing,’ said Jocasta.

‘No, I’m not depressed or anything,’ said Reggie. ‘What would you all like to drink? Tea? Whisky? Sherry?’

‘Tea time,’ said Jimmy. ‘Usually drink tea this time. Whisky for me, please.’

Tom drank sherry, Linda gin. Mark stuck to whisky, Adam and Jocasta spilt orange juice.

‘I did poopy-plops in my panties,’ reminisced Adam.

‘Would you two like to go and play in the garden?’ said Reggie.

‘Do you mind if Tom and I pop up to my old room for a moment?’ said Linda.

‘What on earth for?’ said Reggie.

‘We’ve been having an argument. Tom says the spire of St Peter’s Church is visible from it. I’m sure it isn’t.’

‘No, you can’t go upstairs,’ said Reggie hastily. ‘We’re bringing out some new products and I’m working on them up there and it’s all a bit hush-hush.’

Linda looked at him in astonishment.

‘What do you think we are? Industrial spies?’ she said.

‘Of course not. It’s the rules, that’s all. I’ll just go and move them. Won’t be long.’

He hurried upstairs. Joan had hidden herself completely under the bedclothes.

‘It’s all right,’ he whispered. ‘It’s me.’

Her face emerged cautiously.

‘Linda’s turned up now – and she wants to come in here,’ he whispered.

‘It’s like Piccadilly Circus in this house,’ she said.

‘Sorry. It’s one of those days. There’s six of them down there. I honestly think you’d better go.’

‘Oh God.’

‘I know, but it’s not my fault. Have you got enough for a taxi?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll reimburse you later. Slip out as soon as you’re dressed. I’ll keep everyone in the living room.’

‘I feel like a criminal.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You seem nervous, father,’ said Linda, on his return.

‘What, me? Am I? Perhaps it’s the heat,’ said Reggie.

‘Awkward customer, the heat,’ said Jimmy. ‘Known sane men go mad in the tropics because of the heat. Makes you think.’

Reggie saw Linda frown at Jimmy. Something in the attitude of Mark and Jimmy made it clear to him that Tom and Linda had told them about his episode with the lions.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘I see you’ve told them about my little episode with the lions.’

‘Tricky blighters, lions,’ said Jimmy.

‘I thought you’d got more garden,’ said Mark.

‘Garden?’

‘Garden fence. Sense.’

‘That isn’t an authentic example of cockney slang, is it?’ said Tom.

‘Oh. She’s sharp today, isn’t she?’ said Mark. ‘She’s been sleeping in the knife box.’

‘I did biggies in my panties,’ said Adam, coming in through the french windows, dragging the best part of a hollyhock behind him.

‘I’ll bet you did, you dirty little bugger,’ said Mark.

Jocasta followed Adam, dragging in the worst part of the hollyhock.

Tom and Linda beamed. ‘We’re great believers in letting them learn to use the toilet at their own pace,’ said Tom.

‘May be something in it,’ said Jimmy, standing at the french windows and surveying the back garden. ‘Garden’s in good nick.’

Mark moved towards the door.

‘Where are you going?’ said Reggie.

‘For a bangers.’

‘Bangers?’

‘Bangers and mash. Slash.’

‘Ah. Yes. Well would you mind waiting a minute, old thing. The – er – the lavatory is blocked.’

Reggie thought he heard steps on the stairs.’

‘What’s wrong, father?’ said Linda.

‘Nothing’s wrong, except that everybody keeps asking me what’s wrong,’ said Reggie.

‘Yes, you’ve got a fine garden,’ said Jimmy. ‘I say, come here, Reggie. Look. Woman crawling through bushes.’ Reggie went reluctantly to the window. The others followed. ‘See the cone-shaped bush, two o’clock, middle foreground? Behind that. There’s a woman crawling through your shrubbery.’ He opened the window. ‘You – you there,’ he shouted, and Joan Greengross scampered off as fast as she could. ‘Quick. After her.’

‘No,’ said Reggie, grabbing hold of Jimmy’s arm. ‘It’s – it’s only Mrs Redgross. Poor woman – she crawls around in shrubberies. She’s not quite right.’

‘You’re as white as a sheet, dad,’ said Mark.

‘We had a nasty incident with her. I’d rather not talk about it,’ said Reggie.

There was a distant peal of thunder.

‘Better get off before Jupiter plooves,’ said Jimmy. ‘Well, thanks for the drinks. Make me own way out. Crawls through shrubberies, eh? Rum. Makes you think. So long, all.’

‘That’s odd,’ said Reggie, when Jimmy had driven off. ‘He left without any food. He came to borrow some food.’

‘That’s odd too,’ said Linda. ‘He came to borrow some food from us on Wednesday. He said there’d been a cock-up on the catering front.’

‘I find the words people use fascinating,’ said Tom. ‘I’m very much a word person. We both are.’

In the dark recesses behind the settee Adam was pummelling Jocasta.

‘Shouldn’t you stop them?’ said Reggie.

‘It doesn’t do them any harm,’ said Linda.

‘Adam’s working out his aggressions, and Jocasta’s learning to be self-reliant,’ explained Tom.

‘Oh, I see,’ said Mark. ‘I thought he was bashing the living daylights out of her. Can I go for me hit and miss now?’

‘Hit and miss?’ said Reggie.

‘Piss.’

‘Oh. Yes, I think I just heard the lavatory unblock itself.’

It grew steadily darker. Another peal of thunder broke over them.

‘Well if you’re sure you’re all right we may as well try and beat the storm,’ said Linda.

‘I’ve told you I’m all right,’ said Reggie.

‘Too dark now to see that spire anyway,’ said Tom.

As Tom and Linda drove off down Coleridge Close the first drops of rain began to fall.

Reggie and Mark went back into the living room.

‘Great hairy twit,’ said Mark. ‘What did she want to marry him for?’

‘I don’t see how you can talk about him being hairy,’ said Reggie.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well your hair isn’t exactly short, is it?’

‘Oh God. Not that.’

‘I don’t mind long hair as such, old prune. Good lord no! I hope I’m more reasonable than that. What difference does the length of your hair make? None, to me. I’m just thinking of your work.’

‘If I play long-haired parts I have to have long hair.’

‘Yes, but what about short-haired parts?’

‘So if I get a short-haired part I’ll have a bloody hair cut.’

‘There’s no need to swear at me, Mark. I’ve just given you forty quid.’

Oh God, Reggie. Shut up.

‘I hope you don’t go for auditions wearing a “WedgwoodBenn for King” T-shirt.’

‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘It’s not exactly the height of elegance. I’d like to think we brought you up to have rather better taste than that.’

A flash of lightning illuminated Mr Snurd’s pictures of the Algarve.

‘Have the money back if you want,’ said Mark.

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘You have to bring up every bloody little thing, don’t you?’

‘There are lots of things I don’t bring up. You don’t wash your feet but I draw a veil over it. I just happen to mention your hair and you go berserk. Your generation are too damned sensitive by half.’ Stop it, Reggie. But I can’t. It’s got to come out. ‘In my day we expected a bit of criticism. We took it for granted. We weren’t so damned sensitive in my day.’

Mark made a gesture imitating the winding up of a gramophone.

‘All right. I’ll leave you. I’ve got work to do anyway,’ said Reggie angrily.

‘Don’t slam the door, Dad.’

Reggie slammed the door.

He went upstairs and stood at the landing window watching the great drops of rain fall on the parched earth. A high wind was battering the roses and hollyhocks, and creating havoc among the lupins and delphiniums. He was shaking with humiliation and anger and frustration.

If only Mark respected him. If only he could behave to Mark in a manner worthy of respect. If only Mark hadn’t come today. It was all so pointless. Did they all have to play these pathetic roles – infant, son, father, grandfather, dotard – generation after generation?

He climbed up into the loft. There were piles of mementos up there, relics of his past. He must get rid of them.

Mark watched the rain gloomily. He wanted to get away. His father always made him acutely conscious of being a failure, of disappointing his father’s hopes, of not being taller. Jimmy made him ashamed of being an actor. Who did they call in when there was a dock strike? The national theatre? No, the army.

Reggie sat on a cross-beam, listening to the rain pattering on the roof. He had rigged up an electric light in the loft, but beyond its reach there were pools of mysterious darkness. Here there were old set squares, a copper warming pan turned green, six tiny fir trees that had been part of the scenery on a model railway axed in a nursery economy drive. There were thirty-seven electric plugs, twelve bent stair rods, the battered remains of a blow football game, his old school tuck box full of faded curtains. All these ghosts would have to go.

He found a pile of old wedding photos that hadn’t been good enough to be included in the album. Could that gawky, close-cropped young idiot really be Lance Corporal Perrin? Could the naive girl in the shapeless utility wedding dress really be Elizabeth? He could hardly bear it now, the strained smile of his mother, war-widowed in 1942. Elizabeth’s father, on forty-eight hours’ leave, smiled stiffly. Her mother smiled over-brightly, a budding resemblance to a hippopotamus already faintly discernible beneath the gallant home-made hat. The embarrassments of yesterday might be bearable, but these reminders of the embarrassments of long ago were infinitely more painful. They too must go.