Read Online Goodness by Tim Parks - Free Book Online Page B

always given her everything – ponies, dance classes, skiing holidays – while he had largely been ignored and then generally made fun of when he tried to point out the social injustice their lifestyle implied. He had given the Filipino maid a wad of notes from Father’s wallet once, though, intimidated and conditioned as the girl was, she had handed them straight back to Mother, after which his father had given him a thorough beating. That was the kind of family it had been. The difference being that while he rebelled, Shirley had lapped it up, and what she was reaping now was precisely the fruit of her mindless and selfish upbringing, the ennui of the directionless bourgeoisie. She needed a cause, a sense of purpose. He himself was on a local committee which tried to ensure that eligible people got rehoused. He had been instrumental in saving a number of squats which had been under threat from eviction. He was never depressed at all. With all the suffering there was in the world, he said, it was so damn obvious what one should do with one’s life that he couldn’t understand people lounging around moping.
    It didn’t seem worthwhile arguing with someone whose views were so far beyond the pale, so I drank up, paid and got out. Though that evening, just for the record, as it were, I did suggest to Shirley that she might get involved in one of those groups that provides free crêches for working-class mothers.
    ‘Please,’ she said, chopping lemon, ‘are you out of your mind? Or do you want to turn me into your mother or something?’
    So finally I put it to her. Could it really all be simply because she wanted a child?
    Could all what be?
    Her being so depressed and unfriendly (not to mention obtuse).
    ‘Oh that. Just a phase,’ she said, breezing about withsaucepans. She kissed me on the side of the neck as I tucked into chops.
    ‘So it’s not that you want a baby?’ I often do wish, with Shirley, that I had my dictaphone in my pocket.
    She shook her head rather exaggeratedly, refusing to take me seriously. I was patient.
    ‘No, because I mean if it is that, I mean, if you really want children,’ I took a deep breath, ‘then seeing as I don’t, I don’t know why, but I really don’t, I feel complete and happy without them, then I think the best thing to do would be for us to split up so that you’ll be in plenty of time to find another man and we can stop making life a misery for each other. Which seems a crime frankly. I mean,’ I hurried on, talking at her back now as she sloshed water in the pans – Shirley always seems to be doing something with pans – ‘I personally don’t want us to split up, at all, I really don’t, I just want us to be happy together. I’ve said it a thousand times. However, if you . . .’
    The saucepans are the new, slow cooking, heavy metal kind, and cost a good month’s salary. Though I’ll give her they’re stylish. I never objected to such purchases. On the contrary, I encouraged anything that would make her happy. I was always so relieved when there was something she actually wanted.
    But now at last she turned. She stood with her backside hitched up against the draining board, her fingers gripped to its edge. She was wearing glossy blue running shorts. She looked at me and looked at me and at last after all these months she burst into tears. She wept and suddenly crouched down over pitted red-and-black chequered lino. She said of course she didn’t want us to split up. How could I even imagine such a thing? And she was sorry if she was being unpleasant and bloody-minded. She didn’t even know why she was like this herself. But she felt so upset about so many things. Honestly. And she burst into tears again.
    Tears, I must say, have a quite overwhelming, even disabling effect on me. I have never been able to resist them. I had been unable to resist my mother’s as a child and Iwas unable to resist Shirley’s now. Hence at this point I gave up any attempt to