Read Online A Private Business by Barbara Nadel - Free Book Online Page B

be apprehended, if he, she or it actually existed. Out of the corner of her eye, Mumtaz observed the glee that Maria derived from goading her mother fight with the shame that uttering that word clearly made her feel. In her professional life, on stage, she broke down. She’d told Lee this was because her new-found faith made her feel guilty about saying words like “cunt,” about laughing at the misfortunes of others, about blasphemy. She was a comedian at war with her own material.
    â€œI’ll say something for them happy-clappies, they don’t swear,” Glenys said. “Can’t be in their good books with your effin’ this and c-ing that.” Her voice was what Mumtaz would have described as recognizably cockney but there was just a haze of some sort of southern Irish in there too.
    Mumtaz noted that there were two microphones and cameras, both hidden in books, in Maria’s vast lounge, and then she looked up in time to see the comedian’s face fall into a bitter expression that made her appear much older. “Don’t call them—us—happy-clappies,” she said. “It’s insulting.”
    Glenys’s pale blue eyes flashed. “Then don’t call the Holy Father a pedophile,” she said.
    Maria sat down. “He is and he’s a purveyor of superstition.All that Catholic superstition you brought us up with. I still can’t get it out of my system, even now. Touch this statue of the Virgin and it’ll bring you good luck. Beware of witches and jujus and nonsense. Father this, that or the other always knows best.”
    â€œYou used to love going to Mass,” Glenys said. “Couldn’t keep you away. Then you got into showbusiness …”
    Maria ignored her and turned to Mumtaz. “Would you like a cup of tea or something?”
    â€œNo.” Mumtaz smiled. “Thank you.”
    She saw Glenys looking at her as if she had a bad smell underneath her nose. “What is it you’re doing, love?”
    â€œI’m looking at where Mr. Arnold has sited the surveillance equipment,” she said. The principle thing about Miss Peters’ living room was the amount of ornaments that were in it, mainly china cats; they all looked as if they had been very precisely positioned.
    â€œShe’s learning,” Maria interjected.
    â€œOh.” Glenys took her eyes away from Mumtaz and said to her daughter, “Anyway, once that church has been demolished, you’ll lose interest. I know you. If it ain’t on your doorstep …”
    â€œThe church is being rebuilt,” Maria said.
    â€œNot where it is at the moment.”
    â€œNo. We’ll have to move to a temporary building for a while.”
    â€œThen where? This new church? Where’s it being built?”
    â€œWhy do you want to know? You’re not interested, are you?”
    The older woman went silent. The ticking of a large baroque clock on the mantelpiece above the fireplace suddenly sounded almost deafeningly loud. This went on for at least a minute until Maria said, “Barking.” Then, pointing at her mother who was now just beginning to smile, she added, “Say nothing, Ma! Say nothing! The church, as in the people, are my friends, they support me. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”
    Her mother snorted. “You managed before they come along. I’d put money on you still having your rosary and still saying it. They’re just pulling you in so they can get your money. They’re all the same these so-called ‘new’ churches!”
    Maria’s fury bubbled over. “I went to them, Mother,” she said, “because I needed some support. You didn’t give me any—ever! I learned not to even ask it from you. But they did. I sought them out, not the other way around!”
    â€œAh, have it your own way,” her mother said dismissively.
    â€œIf you don’t like it,