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Authors: Jonathan Coe
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what’s the secret?’
‘And what did he say?’
‘He sort of stretched out on my lap, and purred, and took hold of my arm, and moved his claws in and out. It was very reassuring. I took it that he was advocating detachment. Indifference, even. Be idle, like me, that seemed to be the gist, there’s no stigma really. Live life as it was meant to be lived. Half asleep, preferably. That was good enough for me. I dropped the subject. He seemed to be fishing for a short stroke, so I obliged, and then we dozed off together.’
‘Does he remember me?’
‘Oh, definitely. He’s very fond of you.’
‘I miss him.’
Strangely, they continued to talk for many more hours, until ten o’clock, in fact. Bobby then realized that he had had nothing to eat.
‘Is there a chip shop near here?’ he asked.
Maria gave him the necessary directions.
‘Aren’t you coming?’
‘No. I’m not hungry.’
‘You look tired. Why don’t you go to bed?’
‘I might.’
Bobby borrowed his sister’s front door key, and left. Maria, meanwhile, decided to take advantage of his absence by listening to some music. It might be her only chance to enjoy the blackness and the solitude. You should not assume from this that she resented Bobby’s visit. On the contrary, as she made her preparations for bed that night, washing, undressing, choosing the tape, she did so in the consciousness of an unaccustomed warmth, a wholly unexpected rediscovering of kinship. But she was still reluctant to relinquish her midnight treat, the enjoyment of which had become increasingly important to her, now that her relations with Anthea and Fanny had deteriorated, and now that the attentions of Winifred had intensified her need to feel capable of self-reliance. When she listened to Bach, alone, and saw nothing, these people ceased to exist. She suspected that Bobby would not understand this process, and besides, it would not work if there were somebody else in the room. So she listened, for about half an hour, to the first and second violin partitas, and then she fell asleep.
She was awoken by the sound of her bedroom door opening, and by light from the landing. It was Bobby.
‘Hello,’ he whispered.
‘Hello,’ said Maria. ‘I must have fallen asleep.’
Sleepily she looked at her clock. It was four-thirty.
The next morning, as Bobby was toasting bread at the electric fire, Maria said:
‘I had a very strange dream last night. I dreamt I was asleep, and then you woke me up by coming in, and I looked at my clock, and it was half past four.’
Bobby chuckled.
‘What are you laughing at?’
‘What happened after that?’
‘I can’t remember,’ said Maria. ‘What time did you come in last night? I never heard you.’
Bobby laughed again.
‘That was no dream.’
‘Oh Bobby, don’t tease me. You can’t possibly have been out that late. What time was it? I must have gone to sleep very quickly.’
‘I was out,’ said Bobby, ‘until twenty past four. Your clock is ten minutes fast.’
Maria was both confused and alarmed.
‘But where were you? What happened? What was wrong?’
Bobby laughed again, quietly and at length.
‘One day, Maria,’ he said, ‘I shall tell you where I went last night. One day.’
‘Never mind one day. Tell me now,’ said Maria angrily.
Bobby shook his head, and kept his secret, for the time being. He stayed for two more days, cold, happy days. It was a windy afternoon when Maria said goodbye to him at the station. The sun kept making abortive efforts to penetrate dense banks of fast-moving cloud. The train was late, they stood chatting and holding hands, it grew warmer and less windy, and still Bobby would not explain. As his waving hand dwindled, Maria felt a sudden surge of loneliness. And then the sun really came out.
5. Last Days
Of all the Oxford days which Maria ever looked back on, she remembered none so clearly or with so much pain as a blazing summer’s day at the end of her last term. It
‘And what did he say?’
‘He sort of stretched out on my lap, and purred, and took hold of my arm, and moved his claws in and out. It was very reassuring. I took it that he was advocating detachment. Indifference, even. Be idle, like me, that seemed to be the gist, there’s no stigma really. Live life as it was meant to be lived. Half asleep, preferably. That was good enough for me. I dropped the subject. He seemed to be fishing for a short stroke, so I obliged, and then we dozed off together.’
‘Does he remember me?’
‘Oh, definitely. He’s very fond of you.’
‘I miss him.’
Strangely, they continued to talk for many more hours, until ten o’clock, in fact. Bobby then realized that he had had nothing to eat.
‘Is there a chip shop near here?’ he asked.
Maria gave him the necessary directions.
‘Aren’t you coming?’
‘No. I’m not hungry.’
‘You look tired. Why don’t you go to bed?’
‘I might.’
Bobby borrowed his sister’s front door key, and left. Maria, meanwhile, decided to take advantage of his absence by listening to some music. It might be her only chance to enjoy the blackness and the solitude. You should not assume from this that she resented Bobby’s visit. On the contrary, as she made her preparations for bed that night, washing, undressing, choosing the tape, she did so in the consciousness of an unaccustomed warmth, a wholly unexpected rediscovering of kinship. But she was still reluctant to relinquish her midnight treat, the enjoyment of which had become increasingly important to her, now that her relations with Anthea and Fanny had deteriorated, and now that the attentions of Winifred had intensified her need to feel capable of self-reliance. When she listened to Bach, alone, and saw nothing, these people ceased to exist. She suspected that Bobby would not understand this process, and besides, it would not work if there were somebody else in the room. So she listened, for about half an hour, to the first and second violin partitas, and then she fell asleep.
She was awoken by the sound of her bedroom door opening, and by light from the landing. It was Bobby.
‘Hello,’ he whispered.
‘Hello,’ said Maria. ‘I must have fallen asleep.’
Sleepily she looked at her clock. It was four-thirty.
The next morning, as Bobby was toasting bread at the electric fire, Maria said:
‘I had a very strange dream last night. I dreamt I was asleep, and then you woke me up by coming in, and I looked at my clock, and it was half past four.’
Bobby chuckled.
‘What are you laughing at?’
‘What happened after that?’
‘I can’t remember,’ said Maria. ‘What time did you come in last night? I never heard you.’
Bobby laughed again.
‘That was no dream.’
‘Oh Bobby, don’t tease me. You can’t possibly have been out that late. What time was it? I must have gone to sleep very quickly.’
‘I was out,’ said Bobby, ‘until twenty past four. Your clock is ten minutes fast.’
Maria was both confused and alarmed.
‘But where were you? What happened? What was wrong?’
Bobby laughed again, quietly and at length.
‘One day, Maria,’ he said, ‘I shall tell you where I went last night. One day.’
‘Never mind one day. Tell me now,’ said Maria angrily.
Bobby shook his head, and kept his secret, for the time being. He stayed for two more days, cold, happy days. It was a windy afternoon when Maria said goodbye to him at the station. The sun kept making abortive efforts to penetrate dense banks of fast-moving cloud. The train was late, they stood chatting and holding hands, it grew warmer and less windy, and still Bobby would not explain. As his waving hand dwindled, Maria felt a sudden surge of loneliness. And then the sun really came out.
5. Last Days
Of all the Oxford days which Maria ever looked back on, she remembered none so clearly or with so much pain as a blazing summer’s day at the end of her last term. It
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