Read Online The Rotters' Club by Jonathan Coe - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jonathan Coe
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affair with Mrs Ridley,’ Philip stated, with great authority.
‘And who’s Mrs Ridley?’ Barbara asked, in an offhand way.
‘She teaches Latin at the Girls’ School. She and Plumb went on a school trip last year and that’s when it started.’
‘They went to Florence with the sixth form,’ Paul added. His knowledge was second-hand, but he had no intention of being left out. ‘And they had it off in the hotel every night.’
‘Language!’ said Sheila, turning a furious gaze on her son. ‘In front of guests.’
‘It’s only what Lois told me.’
Philip had begun to laugh irresistibly, at the return of some priceless memory. He turned to Benjamin and said:
‘D’you remember what Harding did? The night of the Girls’ School Revue?’
‘Oh yes!’ Benjamin’s eyes shone, as they always did when recounting a Harding story. He savoured the rooted attention of his mother and Mrs Chase. ‘At the Girls’ School Revue last term, Mr Plumb and Mrs Ridley were in a sketch together. And when they got up on the stage, Harding stood up in the middle of the audience, and shouted…’ He paused, looked to Philip for confirmation, and they both exclaimed in unison:
‘Homebreaker!’
Their mothers were gratifyingly shocked.
‘What happened?’ said Sheila, her hand to her mouth. ‘Surely he could have been expelled.’
Benjamin shook his head. ‘Nobody said anything about it.’
‘Harding always knows what he’s doing,’ said Philip. ‘He always knows just how far he can go.’
His father’s voice, meanwhile, was getting louder and louder as the alcohol continued to work its unsubtle magic.
‘I’m not one for making predictions,’ he bellowed, and Barbara groaned inwardly, for this was his invariable prelude to making predictions. ‘But I’ll tell you this, and I’ll stake my life on it: the Irish business’ll be over – over and done with – two years from now.’
‘Anyway,’ Benjamin was asking his mother, ‘why do you want to know about Sugar Plum Fairy?’
‘Oh, he just seemed a bit of a character, that’s all.’
‘Shall I tell you why?’ Sam continued. ‘Because the IRA haven’t got the guts for a real fight.’
‘He’s certainly got the gift of the gab, hasn’t he, Barbara?’ said Sheila, reluctant to drop the subject of Mr Plumb. ‘A bit of a way with words.’
Barbara nodded, distantly. Her eyes were on her husband as he thumped the dining table with the palm of his hand and said: ‘Scratch the surface of one of those bastards and d’you know what you’ll find? A coward. C-O-W-E-R-D.’
‘A way with words,’ Barbara repeated, in a thoughtful, abstracted way. Then she rose to her feet, and her manner was suddenly brisk. ‘Come on, Sheila: let’s make a start on these dishes.’
Benjamin and Philip quickly became bored with their fathers’ conversation. Itching to play Philip some of the records Malcolm had lent him a few days earlier, Benjamin took him up to his bedroom, which he had spent much of that afternoon tidying in readiness. He had hidden away the Letts Desk Diary in which he faithfully recorded the excruciating minutiae of his daily television-watching and homework schedule, and removed, too, all evidence of his unfinished comic novel, not yet daring to admit to anyone, even his closest friend, that he had undertaken this ambitious project, or that in doing so he believed he might have found a vocation, an area of creative obsession which seemed likely to rival or even to overtake his tentative musical activities. A poster of his erstwhile hero, Eric Clapton, remained in pride of place on the wall, next to a picture of Bilbo Baggins’s house at Bag End, drawn by J. R. R. Tolkien himself, and another Tolkien illustration, a detailed map of Middle Earth, whose geography both he and Philip knew far more intimately than that of the British Isles.
‘Have a listen to this,’ Benjamin said, watching with some anxiety as the stylus of his portable
‘And who’s Mrs Ridley?’ Barbara asked, in an offhand way.
‘She teaches Latin at the Girls’ School. She and Plumb went on a school trip last year and that’s when it started.’
‘They went to Florence with the sixth form,’ Paul added. His knowledge was second-hand, but he had no intention of being left out. ‘And they had it off in the hotel every night.’
‘Language!’ said Sheila, turning a furious gaze on her son. ‘In front of guests.’
‘It’s only what Lois told me.’
Philip had begun to laugh irresistibly, at the return of some priceless memory. He turned to Benjamin and said:
‘D’you remember what Harding did? The night of the Girls’ School Revue?’
‘Oh yes!’ Benjamin’s eyes shone, as they always did when recounting a Harding story. He savoured the rooted attention of his mother and Mrs Chase. ‘At the Girls’ School Revue last term, Mr Plumb and Mrs Ridley were in a sketch together. And when they got up on the stage, Harding stood up in the middle of the audience, and shouted…’ He paused, looked to Philip for confirmation, and they both exclaimed in unison:
‘Homebreaker!’
Their mothers were gratifyingly shocked.
‘What happened?’ said Sheila, her hand to her mouth. ‘Surely he could have been expelled.’
Benjamin shook his head. ‘Nobody said anything about it.’
‘Harding always knows what he’s doing,’ said Philip. ‘He always knows just how far he can go.’
His father’s voice, meanwhile, was getting louder and louder as the alcohol continued to work its unsubtle magic.
‘I’m not one for making predictions,’ he bellowed, and Barbara groaned inwardly, for this was his invariable prelude to making predictions. ‘But I’ll tell you this, and I’ll stake my life on it: the Irish business’ll be over – over and done with – two years from now.’
‘Anyway,’ Benjamin was asking his mother, ‘why do you want to know about Sugar Plum Fairy?’
‘Oh, he just seemed a bit of a character, that’s all.’
‘Shall I tell you why?’ Sam continued. ‘Because the IRA haven’t got the guts for a real fight.’
‘He’s certainly got the gift of the gab, hasn’t he, Barbara?’ said Sheila, reluctant to drop the subject of Mr Plumb. ‘A bit of a way with words.’
Barbara nodded, distantly. Her eyes were on her husband as he thumped the dining table with the palm of his hand and said: ‘Scratch the surface of one of those bastards and d’you know what you’ll find? A coward. C-O-W-E-R-D.’
‘A way with words,’ Barbara repeated, in a thoughtful, abstracted way. Then she rose to her feet, and her manner was suddenly brisk. ‘Come on, Sheila: let’s make a start on these dishes.’
Benjamin and Philip quickly became bored with their fathers’ conversation. Itching to play Philip some of the records Malcolm had lent him a few days earlier, Benjamin took him up to his bedroom, which he had spent much of that afternoon tidying in readiness. He had hidden away the Letts Desk Diary in which he faithfully recorded the excruciating minutiae of his daily television-watching and homework schedule, and removed, too, all evidence of his unfinished comic novel, not yet daring to admit to anyone, even his closest friend, that he had undertaken this ambitious project, or that in doing so he believed he might have found a vocation, an area of creative obsession which seemed likely to rival or even to overtake his tentative musical activities. A poster of his erstwhile hero, Eric Clapton, remained in pride of place on the wall, next to a picture of Bilbo Baggins’s house at Bag End, drawn by J. R. R. Tolkien himself, and another Tolkien illustration, a detailed map of Middle Earth, whose geography both he and Philip knew far more intimately than that of the British Isles.
‘Have a listen to this,’ Benjamin said, watching with some anxiety as the stylus of his portable
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