Read Online One for My Baby by Tony Parsons - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tony Parsons
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boy called Gen. He’s very shy and hasn’t volunteered any information about himself until now. “You know Funky Sushi? No? Really? It’s one of those –” He chats to Yumi in Japanese for a bit.
“Conveyor belt restaurant,” says Yumi. She makes a circular motion with her hand. “Where the food goes round and round.”
“Conveyor belt,” says Gen. “Considered very low in Japan. Cheap place, for workmen. Driving trucks and so forth. Because sushi not fresh enough when it goes round and round and round. Too old. But here – very fashion. Funky Sushi always busy. Always the kitchen – what do you call it? – mental.”
“We all work,” says Yumi. “I work in bar. The Michael Collins.”
“Irish pub,” says Zeng. “Very good atmosphere. Guinness and the Corrs. I enjoy looking for my crack in an Irish pub.”
Yumi shrugs. “Have to work. London too much money. Worse than Tokyo even. So we get tired from work. Apart from Vanessa.”
“I get tired from my boyfriend,” says Vanessa.
“But we like your lessons,” Yumi says with conviction. She smiles at me, and I realise how pretty she is beyond all the war paint. “It’s – what do you say? – nothing personal.”
She looks down at her desk, then back at me, still smiling, until I am the one who is forced to look away.
When I get home I find Lena crying in the kitchen.
This shouldn’t surprise me as much as it does. Since Oranges For Christmas went through the roof and my parents moved to this big white house, there have been a succession of au pairs and I have seen a few of them crying in this kitchen. There was the Sardinian who missed her mother’s cooking. The Finn who missed her boyfriend. The German who discovered she didn’t like getting out of bed before noon.
My parents treated all of these young women very well. Neither my mum nor my dad had grown up around my kind of hired help so they were far more than friendly to our au pairs. They were almost apologetic. Yet the au pairs still found a reason to cry all over their low-fat yoghurt.
I thought Lena was different from the rest. She has that untouchable air about her that only the truly beautiful possess. For those of us who are merely average-looking – or in my case, slightly below average – beauty seems like a magic shield. You can’t imagine life ever wounding someone who has that magic shield around them.
But the ordinary-looking always overestimate the power of beauty. Just look at Lena. A fat lot of good beauty did her. She has been crying her heart out.
Embarrassed to see me, she starts to dab away her tears with a piece of kitchen towel. And I’m embarrassed too, especially after I ask a stupid question.
“You all right, Lena?”
“I’m fine,” she lies, wiping her perfect nose with the back of her hand.
“You want a coffee or something?”
She looks at me with wounded eyes.
“Just some milk. There’s some organic left in the fridge. Thank you.”
I bring Lena her glass of organic milk and sit across from her at the kitchen table. I don’t want to get too close. In the presence of beauty, I always feel that I should keep my distance. Even at a time like this.
I watch her taking little bird sips from her milk, her lovely face red with spent emotion, her large blue eyes all puffy from crying. Strands of her blonde angel’s hair are damp with snot and tears. She twists the piece of kitchen towel in her fingers.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, although I sort of know the answer already. An au pair doesn’t cry these kind of desperate tears just because she misses Mutti’s apple strudel.
This is man trouble.
Lena is silent for a while. Then she looks up at the ceiling, her mouth and chin trembling, her eyes suddenly full of tears.
“I just want someone who is going to love me forever,” she says quietly, and I feel a surge of sadness and fear for her.
Forever? There’s one thing wrong with forever. These days it seems to get shorter and
“Conveyor belt restaurant,” says Yumi. She makes a circular motion with her hand. “Where the food goes round and round.”
“Conveyor belt,” says Gen. “Considered very low in Japan. Cheap place, for workmen. Driving trucks and so forth. Because sushi not fresh enough when it goes round and round and round. Too old. But here – very fashion. Funky Sushi always busy. Always the kitchen – what do you call it? – mental.”
“We all work,” says Yumi. “I work in bar. The Michael Collins.”
“Irish pub,” says Zeng. “Very good atmosphere. Guinness and the Corrs. I enjoy looking for my crack in an Irish pub.”
Yumi shrugs. “Have to work. London too much money. Worse than Tokyo even. So we get tired from work. Apart from Vanessa.”
“I get tired from my boyfriend,” says Vanessa.
“But we like your lessons,” Yumi says with conviction. She smiles at me, and I realise how pretty she is beyond all the war paint. “It’s – what do you say? – nothing personal.”
She looks down at her desk, then back at me, still smiling, until I am the one who is forced to look away.
When I get home I find Lena crying in the kitchen.
This shouldn’t surprise me as much as it does. Since Oranges For Christmas went through the roof and my parents moved to this big white house, there have been a succession of au pairs and I have seen a few of them crying in this kitchen. There was the Sardinian who missed her mother’s cooking. The Finn who missed her boyfriend. The German who discovered she didn’t like getting out of bed before noon.
My parents treated all of these young women very well. Neither my mum nor my dad had grown up around my kind of hired help so they were far more than friendly to our au pairs. They were almost apologetic. Yet the au pairs still found a reason to cry all over their low-fat yoghurt.
I thought Lena was different from the rest. She has that untouchable air about her that only the truly beautiful possess. For those of us who are merely average-looking – or in my case, slightly below average – beauty seems like a magic shield. You can’t imagine life ever wounding someone who has that magic shield around them.
But the ordinary-looking always overestimate the power of beauty. Just look at Lena. A fat lot of good beauty did her. She has been crying her heart out.
Embarrassed to see me, she starts to dab away her tears with a piece of kitchen towel. And I’m embarrassed too, especially after I ask a stupid question.
“You all right, Lena?”
“I’m fine,” she lies, wiping her perfect nose with the back of her hand.
“You want a coffee or something?”
She looks at me with wounded eyes.
“Just some milk. There’s some organic left in the fridge. Thank you.”
I bring Lena her glass of organic milk and sit across from her at the kitchen table. I don’t want to get too close. In the presence of beauty, I always feel that I should keep my distance. Even at a time like this.
I watch her taking little bird sips from her milk, her lovely face red with spent emotion, her large blue eyes all puffy from crying. Strands of her blonde angel’s hair are damp with snot and tears. She twists the piece of kitchen towel in her fingers.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, although I sort of know the answer already. An au pair doesn’t cry these kind of desperate tears just because she misses Mutti’s apple strudel.
This is man trouble.
Lena is silent for a while. Then she looks up at the ceiling, her mouth and chin trembling, her eyes suddenly full of tears.
“I just want someone who is going to love me forever,” she says quietly, and I feel a surge of sadness and fear for her.
Forever? There’s one thing wrong with forever. These days it seems to get shorter and
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