each other, and to be with you. Yes, the two of us felt privileged to be with you, Robin, to feel that we had a friend in you, a shared friend. You bound us together in those days, it was almost like having a child. Of course, now we have Peter. But I have to know, Robin, I need to know now – did you sense any of that at the time? Did you know how much you meant to us?’
But it is Robin’s quiet suspicion that Ted is kidding himself, for he remembers the day in question distinctly, and it is not at all as Ted had described it. Ted and Katharine had not arrived at any kind of understanding, of that he is quite certain, because their behaviour together would surely have given it away, and then Robin would not have spent the entire afternoon in an agony of indecision, an ecstasy of trepidation, a stupor of half-formed words and held-back propositions. It is clear that Ted, seduced by the memory of an afternoon which might indeed have appeared romantic to one with his limited sense of the connotations of that word, has projected onto it the overtones of a situation which had not yet taken shape. Besides, Robin had never been able to punt; nor had Ted for that matter; Katharine was the only one who was any good at punting. So Robin toys with the idea of telling Ted that both of the concepts of privilege invoked in his reminiscence have their flaws; but something advises him that his breath would be better saved.
And so, slightly (but still not sufficiently) daunted by the number of disparities between their different accounts of the same, supposedly shared, experiences, Ted has a final bash at coaxing his friend into a mood of fond nostalgia, by saying:
‘What about that night, that unforgettable night, of the last May Ball? That unforgettable night, many of the details of which, I confess, I’ve forgotten, but one thing does stick in my mind, namely, that memorable conversation we had, on the bridge over the river, as the piper ushered in the dawn. That memorable conversation, the actual substance of which, admittedly, escapes my memory, except that I know Katharine was there too, and the three of us were together, watching the mist roll back from the water, watching the revellers in their jackets and ball gowns, revelling away, strolling beside the river, hand in hand, arm in arm, and I know that the three of us must have made a very handsome threesome, or perhaps foursome, for I forget whether you had anybody with you at the time, although presumably you must have done, now I come to think of it. Do you remember that morning, Robin? Do you remember that dawn? The dawn as it now seems, of our new lives, our brighter future?’
But this time Robin can scarcely believe his ears, so little resemblance does there appear to be between his and Ted’s version of this episode, which he remembers vividly, with a nauseous clarity. He remembers the ball, which he had attended, much against his better judgement, as a favour to a friend, who had been looking for someone to accompany his sister. He remembers this friend’s sister, who ditched him after about half an hour, for some other bloke, leaving him to wander around in helpless solitude, wretched with embarrassment. He remembers coming across Ted and Katharine, beneath an archway, she with her back against the wall, he with his arms astride her, the frightened look in her eyes as she saw Robin approach, her mouth still wet from the kiss. And he remembers being on the bridge with them, only a few hours later, after they had all had far too much to eat and drink, and Ted was leaning queasily over the muddied waters of the Cam.
‘There there,’ Katharine had said, stroking his back, slowly. ‘There there.’
‘No,’ Robin now says, five years later. ‘No, I don’t remember that at all.’
∗
Their dialogue was interrupted, at this point, by the abrupt arrival of a plastic football which landed in Ted’s lap. A small boy of about three or four came running up, and
But it is Robin’s quiet suspicion that Ted is kidding himself, for he remembers the day in question distinctly, and it is not at all as Ted had described it. Ted and Katharine had not arrived at any kind of understanding, of that he is quite certain, because their behaviour together would surely have given it away, and then Robin would not have spent the entire afternoon in an agony of indecision, an ecstasy of trepidation, a stupor of half-formed words and held-back propositions. It is clear that Ted, seduced by the memory of an afternoon which might indeed have appeared romantic to one with his limited sense of the connotations of that word, has projected onto it the overtones of a situation which had not yet taken shape. Besides, Robin had never been able to punt; nor had Ted for that matter; Katharine was the only one who was any good at punting. So Robin toys with the idea of telling Ted that both of the concepts of privilege invoked in his reminiscence have their flaws; but something advises him that his breath would be better saved.
And so, slightly (but still not sufficiently) daunted by the number of disparities between their different accounts of the same, supposedly shared, experiences, Ted has a final bash at coaxing his friend into a mood of fond nostalgia, by saying:
‘What about that night, that unforgettable night, of the last May Ball? That unforgettable night, many of the details of which, I confess, I’ve forgotten, but one thing does stick in my mind, namely, that memorable conversation we had, on the bridge over the river, as the piper ushered in the dawn. That memorable conversation, the actual substance of which, admittedly, escapes my memory, except that I know Katharine was there too, and the three of us were together, watching the mist roll back from the water, watching the revellers in their jackets and ball gowns, revelling away, strolling beside the river, hand in hand, arm in arm, and I know that the three of us must have made a very handsome threesome, or perhaps foursome, for I forget whether you had anybody with you at the time, although presumably you must have done, now I come to think of it. Do you remember that morning, Robin? Do you remember that dawn? The dawn as it now seems, of our new lives, our brighter future?’
But this time Robin can scarcely believe his ears, so little resemblance does there appear to be between his and Ted’s version of this episode, which he remembers vividly, with a nauseous clarity. He remembers the ball, which he had attended, much against his better judgement, as a favour to a friend, who had been looking for someone to accompany his sister. He remembers this friend’s sister, who ditched him after about half an hour, for some other bloke, leaving him to wander around in helpless solitude, wretched with embarrassment. He remembers coming across Ted and Katharine, beneath an archway, she with her back against the wall, he with his arms astride her, the frightened look in her eyes as she saw Robin approach, her mouth still wet from the kiss. And he remembers being on the bridge with them, only a few hours later, after they had all had far too much to eat and drink, and Ted was leaning queasily over the muddied waters of the Cam.
‘There there,’ Katharine had said, stroking his back, slowly. ‘There there.’
‘No,’ Robin now says, five years later. ‘No, I don’t remember that at all.’
∗
Their dialogue was interrupted, at this point, by the abrupt arrival of a plastic football which landed in Ted’s lap. A small boy of about three or four came running up, and
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