Read Online (2008) Mister Roberts by Alexei Sayle - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alexei Sayle
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original Spanish owners. Baz had done the building work to
expand the house and to install the swimming pool and that had cost him a fair
chunk of change, then for a while Miriam had charged him a fortune to plant and
maintain his garden, until she got the idea that some of the plants were
talking about her behind her back. And then, of course, there was Donna.
There
existed a hierarchy in the village which had nothing to do with class or wealth,
rather it concerned how much time you spent in the place. Those who lived in
the village permanently were united in mild contempt for the Brits who owned
second homes in the valley, and the ones who owned second homes looked down on those
here on holiday who only rented. Donna attempted to make a living from all
three groups. She rented out a little village house that she’d bought and done
up when prices were low, she went in for a bit of property developing, buying
and selling tiny scraps of land with highly suspect planning permissions, she
did some translation work, she cleaned pools and she looked after other
people’s houses while they were back in the UK.
Laurence,
back when she had sometimes called herself his personal assistant, when he and
Donna had been good friends and they were having one of their late-night talks
curled up on his sofa, said, ‘Don’t you think your taste for all these
dangerous men —all the Brit hard cases from the coast, the Spaniards, the
gypsies both single and married, that German transvestite who beat you up and
ruined your tights — don’t you think it’s all an attempt to capture the wild
youth that you think has been stolen from you by having a child so young, and
by you having to make your way in the world without any help?’
Her face
hardened, clearly intimating to Laurence that she didn’t want to go into the
subject. Laurence knew that sometimes you could say all kinds of things to
Donna, get her to admit to all sorts of personality defects (though she never
attempted to change any of them) while on other occasions she got very hostile
if you suggested even the smallest flaw. ‘Oh yeah?’ she asked, ‘and where did
you do your degree in psychology, Doctor Laurence?’
‘Pinewood
University, dear,’ he replied, frightened of offending her and so allowing
himself to be derailed, ‘that’s where I studied. When you work in the movie
business, with directors and producers and actors and, my God!, actresses, you
learn all you need to know about the human mind because everybody experiences
everything in bigger portions than the ordinary mortal. They feel they have to
undergo every human emotion but they must do it forty times larger than anybody
else so they fill up the silver screen.’
‘Sounds
exhausting,’ she had replied. ‘You’re better out of it. You should be glad you
don’t get much work anymore.’
In the
end, he reflected, his sensitivity hadn’t made any difference, Donna had fallen
out with him anyway.
It was well into Boxing
Day morning before Donna and her companion were back through the door of their
house and into the kitchen. Mister Roberts went limp and lifeless and after a
few seconds Stanley climbed out of his back.
‘Aw…’
said Donna, approaching the silent machine. ‘I was hoping for a dance.’
She
went closer and began running her fingers tipsily across the face of the robot.
‘Mum,
leave him alone,’ Stanley said over his shoulder as he rummaged in the fridge
looking for something to eat. Finding some leathery chorizo at the back of the
frost-furred shelves he put the meat in his mouth and chewed. They were both
staring at the big silent man when Donna said:
‘You
know, Stan, how people are always letting me down?’
Her son
nodded, it was a story that was repeated time and time again in their lives
like a plotline from a long-running sitcom. When his mum made a new friend it
was like she was falling in love. She always became friends with her new
friend’s friends, got
expand the house and to install the swimming pool and that had cost him a fair
chunk of change, then for a while Miriam had charged him a fortune to plant and
maintain his garden, until she got the idea that some of the plants were
talking about her behind her back. And then, of course, there was Donna.
There
existed a hierarchy in the village which had nothing to do with class or wealth,
rather it concerned how much time you spent in the place. Those who lived in
the village permanently were united in mild contempt for the Brits who owned
second homes in the valley, and the ones who owned second homes looked down on those
here on holiday who only rented. Donna attempted to make a living from all
three groups. She rented out a little village house that she’d bought and done
up when prices were low, she went in for a bit of property developing, buying
and selling tiny scraps of land with highly suspect planning permissions, she
did some translation work, she cleaned pools and she looked after other
people’s houses while they were back in the UK.
Laurence,
back when she had sometimes called herself his personal assistant, when he and
Donna had been good friends and they were having one of their late-night talks
curled up on his sofa, said, ‘Don’t you think your taste for all these
dangerous men —all the Brit hard cases from the coast, the Spaniards, the
gypsies both single and married, that German transvestite who beat you up and
ruined your tights — don’t you think it’s all an attempt to capture the wild
youth that you think has been stolen from you by having a child so young, and
by you having to make your way in the world without any help?’
Her face
hardened, clearly intimating to Laurence that she didn’t want to go into the
subject. Laurence knew that sometimes you could say all kinds of things to
Donna, get her to admit to all sorts of personality defects (though she never
attempted to change any of them) while on other occasions she got very hostile
if you suggested even the smallest flaw. ‘Oh yeah?’ she asked, ‘and where did
you do your degree in psychology, Doctor Laurence?’
‘Pinewood
University, dear,’ he replied, frightened of offending her and so allowing
himself to be derailed, ‘that’s where I studied. When you work in the movie
business, with directors and producers and actors and, my God!, actresses, you
learn all you need to know about the human mind because everybody experiences
everything in bigger portions than the ordinary mortal. They feel they have to
undergo every human emotion but they must do it forty times larger than anybody
else so they fill up the silver screen.’
‘Sounds
exhausting,’ she had replied. ‘You’re better out of it. You should be glad you
don’t get much work anymore.’
In the
end, he reflected, his sensitivity hadn’t made any difference, Donna had fallen
out with him anyway.
It was well into Boxing
Day morning before Donna and her companion were back through the door of their
house and into the kitchen. Mister Roberts went limp and lifeless and after a
few seconds Stanley climbed out of his back.
‘Aw…’
said Donna, approaching the silent machine. ‘I was hoping for a dance.’
She
went closer and began running her fingers tipsily across the face of the robot.
‘Mum,
leave him alone,’ Stanley said over his shoulder as he rummaged in the fridge
looking for something to eat. Finding some leathery chorizo at the back of the
frost-furred shelves he put the meat in his mouth and chewed. They were both
staring at the big silent man when Donna said:
‘You
know, Stan, how people are always letting me down?’
Her son
nodded, it was a story that was repeated time and time again in their lives
like a plotline from a long-running sitcom. When his mum made a new friend it
was like she was falling in love. She always became friends with her new
friend’s friends, got
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