The Essence of the Thing. Madeleine John St.
Чтение книги онлайн.
Читать онлайн книгу The Essence of the Thing - Madeleine John St. страница 8
Название: The Essence of the Thing
Автор: Madeleine John St.
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
isbn: 9780007391028
isbn:
‘Of course he does. Of course he knows best. Truly to God, Sophie, you’d think he was five years old. Croissants, that’s what he wants. That’s what they eat for breakfast up in London. Croissants, French croissants. Should’ve got some in. What?’
‘Don’t be silly, Hugo. The very idea. Jonathan doesn’t eat croissants. You don’t eat croissants, do you, Jonathan? No, see, he’s having some toast. Have some of that marmalade, darling, it’s from the last lot I made for the WI stall, a bit runny, but you just have to eat it fast before it drips. Oh, but you used to love marmalade! I remember sending it to you at school. Didn’t I? Well, I gave you some to take back with you. I remember. Marmalade. You used to insist on it.’
‘Lot of rubbish.’
‘What?’
‘Lot of rubbish. Here. Listen to this.’
Hugo Finch, JP, began reading from the Telegraph. ‘Senior back-benchers,’ he began, ‘are reported …’ and so it went on: a further chapter in the gruesome, yet frequently hilarious, saga of the island people who had given the planet its common language and virtually all its games. What exactly were they working on now? None could truly say; many were the vain attempts to do so, but the question was beyond the scope of the merely human intelligence. Hugo concluded his reading.
‘Splendid stuff,’ said Jonathan, at the end of his tether. His father stared. ‘What?’ he said. ‘What did you say?’ He looked apoplectic.
‘Splendid,’ said Jonathan. ‘Splendid!’
‘Did you hear that? Did you hear what he said?’
‘Yes, he’s joking, Hugo. He doesn’t mean it.’
‘I’ll tell you what he can do if he does: he can go straight back to London on the next train.’
‘I’ve got a car.’
‘Then bloody go and get into it and drive away, then! Splendid, he says! Splendid! Wants horsewhipping! Croissants! London! Horsewhipping!’ Hugo flapped the newspaper straight with a loud crack and barricaded himself behind it. ‘Croissants!’ he muttered.
‘Excuse me,’ said Jonathan, getting up. He went out into the garden and walked about slowly, happily. It had taken years for him to learn that when they wind you up, the thing to do is wind them right back. Croissants – French croissants! Glorious! Splendid!
The splendour passed; Jonathan was possessed once more by the familiar demon whose dark oppressing wings enfolded his mind. He sat down on a garden seat and leaned back, closing his eyes against the bright spring sunshine, listening to the countryside sounds, trying, failing, to shun thought, recollection, reflection. Why this abiding darkness? Wasn’t the worst over and done? Nicola, for all he now knew, might be gone, out of his sight, when he returned to London the following evening; he might even now be effectively free: free of all the terrible demands of that scrutiny, that intimacy, that sharing of the self. Free, and alone: to be alone was to be free.
Suddenly the weight of a human being fell on to the seat beside him and a voice loudly spoke to him. ‘Ah! here you are!’ It was his mother, whose approach had been silenced by the lawn across which she had advanced. Oh, God. No matter where one was, there was someone, some woman, peering into one’s soul. It was intolerable. He had even (so he fancied) caught his secretary apparently at it. They peered into one’s soul and left one naked and helpless.
He sat up. ‘I was just thinking of going for a walk,’ he said. ‘Oh, but do stay for a moment now I’m here,’ she said. ‘Do tell me how Nicola is getting on. Such a pity she couldn’t come with you, when the weather’s so nice.’ What a pity you are not married: have no children: aren’t happier to be here: but see how tolerant we are, have always been; how tolerant, how patient. All the younger generation seem to be the same, all living together without benefit of clergy. Of course they settle down in the end. Mostly. When would Jonathan’s end arrive, though? It was taking such a very long time. And why no Nicola this weekend, after all? ‘She always enjoys the garden so much, doesn’t she?’ she went on. ‘Yes,’ said Jonathan. ‘I suppose she does.’
‘So she’s quite well, is she?’ Not quite what we would have liked for Jonathan, ideally, but still, quite a nice girl. Quite a nice girl. Highly educated, of course; as they all are these days – funny, isn’t it? ‘Yes,’ said Jonathan. ‘She’s fine.’ ‘Good,’ said his mother. ‘Well, you must make sure you bring her next time.’ ‘Yes,’ said Jonathan. ‘Sure thing.’ Oh ho. You bet. Sorry, Ma.
On Saturday (while Jonathan basked, ate, walked, fumed, bashed croquet balls between hoops, and intermittently gloated) Nicola cleaned out all the kitchen cupboards. She cleaned the gas cooker, especially the oven. She even washed down all the paintwork, including the skirting boards, and she did two loads of washing, back to back. Then she washed her hair.
Mrs Brick had been in a few days before so there wasn’t a lot to be done to the rest of the flat, but she did what there was, and a little more besides. On Sunday morning she polished the mirrors and the insides of the window panes and the television screen, and she washed all the china dogs and put them back on the mantelpiece in slightly different positions. After lunching off a tuna sandwich and an orange (Jonathan had overdone roast lamb and apple pie) she settled down to the ironing. She was getting through the time nicely.
She was just beginning on Jonathan’s shirts (ah! Jonathan’s shirts: God wears the exact same kind) when the telephone rang.
‘Nicola? It’s Lizzie.’
‘Oh, Lizzie.’
‘How are you?’
‘I’m well, thanks, Lizzie. Are you?’
‘Yes, I’m well too. Listen, darling, about next weekend.’
Oh God oh God.
‘Ye-e-es?’
‘Oh, dear, had you forgotten? I know we’ve messed you about so much, but we’ve just decided that we’ll have to make it the weekend following after all. That’s Easter, we thought we’d go down on Saturday and stay till Monday night. Will you be free? We can always defer it again if you’re not but it would be nice if you were.’
‘I’m not quite sure, I’ll have to ask Jonathan.’
‘Oh, of course. Could you ask him now so that we can settle it?’
‘That’s a bit tricky. He isn’t here.’
‘Not there? Well, ask him as soon as he comes in and ring me back.’
‘I’m not sure … I’m not quite sure when he’s going to be back, he may СКАЧАТЬ