could almost see us both, like a pair of statues, me up here and
she down there, and everything so still we could practically hear each other
breathing.
Then at last,
it came. Her knock. Like I knew it would.
'Evening
stranger,' I say, just to make a point.
Which she
surely gets because at once that pale face of hers colours ever so slightly and
she says, 'Oh Larry, I'm sorry not to have been up. And I can't even stay now,
I'm so tired.'
Lucky for her
then that Larry's got the answer to everything. Not to mention the cure. 'Oh
yes, love?' I said. 'If it's that bad, you'd better sit down before you fall
down.' A kindly little push towards the lounge, and what can she say? Hardly
that it's not relaxing here, not with deep plush to take the weight off her
legs, and everything she could wish for there for the asking.
Anyway, it
just so happens that I was feeling a bit peaky myself - before I set eyes on
her, that is. But it's as anyone could have told her: there's nothing like a
chat with an old pal to put the life back into you.
The truth is,
I'd been looking forward to this moment all day.
I'd been
thinking, you see. There are things that up to now I haven't told a single
person - one, because it's none of their business, and two, because you were
only bound to be disappointed by their reaction. But Mandy is different. We
might not have known each other more than a few days, but believe me when I
say, you could tell that girl anything. Not only will she listen, but most
important of all, she'll understand. You can see it in her eyes, you can hear
it in her voice. That's the sort of girl she is. If you didn't have a trouble
in the world you'd want to make one up, like Ethel, just to have her listen and
look at you the way she does.
But Larry
doesn't have to make up his troubles. He's seen enough for all of us. And
tonight I was going to pay that girl the ultimate compliment - I was going to
tell her things I hadn't told another living soul.
But you know,
a decision like that, it's a hard one to make. And once you've made it, you
don't much feel like beating around the bush, not when you've finally got her
sitting there. The temptation is simply to turn to the old kid and say, 'All
right Mandy, brace yourself. What do you think of a woman who lives with you as
your lawful wedded wife for thirty-five years, then all of a sudden says she's
off to live with a fancy man half her age in a caravan in Waltham Abbey? And as
if that wasn't bad enough, the one person you'd expect to be on your side,
namely your own daughter, lets you down. Turns out to be visiting them both on
the sly. As if none of it had happened. I mean, I ask you, is that the sort of
thing a man's expected to rise above, eh Mandy?'
The fact is,
of course, you can't do it. You've got to choose your moment, hang on till the
time is right. The trick is to bring the conversation round slowly to the
object in mind. Then you let her have it. And that's what I did. I made her
comfortable and carried on talking about this and that, but all the time edging
closer and closer to the big moment. I even started to enjoy myself. It meant
me telling her about the olden days, before the war, when a man could grow old
with a bit of dignity intact. Granted, pensions weren't what they might have
been and doctors wanted to see the colour of your money before they'd give you
so much as an aspirin, but people knew how to look after their own. Compare
that with today, I told her, and weep, because there's nobody left who cares.
A pause, and
a sigh. I reckoned it was Mandy's turn. And sure enough, after a little start
as if she's realized just that, she looks at me, eyes wide, and says: 'But
Larry, don't you have any family?'
That was my
cue. I took a deep breath - I'd need it. Because talk about Family, I could
write a book.
' Amanda. There's someone on
the phone wants a word.'
Made me jump.
Made both of us jump. It was Ethel Duck's voice reaching up on the wings of a
squawk
she down there, and everything so still we could practically hear each other
breathing.
Then at last,
it came. Her knock. Like I knew it would.
'Evening
stranger,' I say, just to make a point.
Which she
surely gets because at once that pale face of hers colours ever so slightly and
she says, 'Oh Larry, I'm sorry not to have been up. And I can't even stay now,
I'm so tired.'
Lucky for her
then that Larry's got the answer to everything. Not to mention the cure. 'Oh
yes, love?' I said. 'If it's that bad, you'd better sit down before you fall
down.' A kindly little push towards the lounge, and what can she say? Hardly
that it's not relaxing here, not with deep plush to take the weight off her
legs, and everything she could wish for there for the asking.
Anyway, it
just so happens that I was feeling a bit peaky myself - before I set eyes on
her, that is. But it's as anyone could have told her: there's nothing like a
chat with an old pal to put the life back into you.
The truth is,
I'd been looking forward to this moment all day.
I'd been
thinking, you see. There are things that up to now I haven't told a single
person - one, because it's none of their business, and two, because you were
only bound to be disappointed by their reaction. But Mandy is different. We
might not have known each other more than a few days, but believe me when I
say, you could tell that girl anything. Not only will she listen, but most
important of all, she'll understand. You can see it in her eyes, you can hear
it in her voice. That's the sort of girl she is. If you didn't have a trouble
in the world you'd want to make one up, like Ethel, just to have her listen and
look at you the way she does.
But Larry
doesn't have to make up his troubles. He's seen enough for all of us. And
tonight I was going to pay that girl the ultimate compliment - I was going to
tell her things I hadn't told another living soul.
But you know,
a decision like that, it's a hard one to make. And once you've made it, you
don't much feel like beating around the bush, not when you've finally got her
sitting there. The temptation is simply to turn to the old kid and say, 'All
right Mandy, brace yourself. What do you think of a woman who lives with you as
your lawful wedded wife for thirty-five years, then all of a sudden says she's
off to live with a fancy man half her age in a caravan in Waltham Abbey? And as
if that wasn't bad enough, the one person you'd expect to be on your side,
namely your own daughter, lets you down. Turns out to be visiting them both on
the sly. As if none of it had happened. I mean, I ask you, is that the sort of
thing a man's expected to rise above, eh Mandy?'
The fact is,
of course, you can't do it. You've got to choose your moment, hang on till the
time is right. The trick is to bring the conversation round slowly to the
object in mind. Then you let her have it. And that's what I did. I made her
comfortable and carried on talking about this and that, but all the time edging
closer and closer to the big moment. I even started to enjoy myself. It meant
me telling her about the olden days, before the war, when a man could grow old
with a bit of dignity intact. Granted, pensions weren't what they might have
been and doctors wanted to see the colour of your money before they'd give you
so much as an aspirin, but people knew how to look after their own. Compare
that with today, I told her, and weep, because there's nobody left who cares.
A pause, and
a sigh. I reckoned it was Mandy's turn. And sure enough, after a little start
as if she's realized just that, she looks at me, eyes wide, and says: 'But
Larry, don't you have any family?'
That was my
cue. I took a deep breath - I'd need it. Because talk about Family, I could
write a book.
' Amanda. There's someone on
the phone wants a word.'
Made me jump.
Made both of us jump. It was Ethel Duck's voice reaching up on the wings of a
squawk
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