Bed of Roses. Daisy Waugh

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СКАЧАТЬ Robert,’ they say. ‘Welcome back. Good journey in?’

      Robert lives in a village almost ten miles from Fiddleford, and he usually has a little observation to make about the traffic, or the inconsiderate behaviour of his fellow drivers. Today, most unusually, he says the journey was ‘very good indeed’.

      Mrs Haywood offers to make him coffee.

      ‘Oh, that would be splendid!’ he cries, rubbing his hands together. ‘What a splendid idea, Mrs Haywood. Yes, please. Much obliged.’

      ‘Glad to see you’re feeling so much better,’ Fanny says drily. Among all the other problems spinning around her head this week, the problem of Robert’s absenteeism has not been forgotten. On the contrary, with every day he has failed to appear she has grown more resentful. She discussed it over the weekend with Louis, who was no help at all. On Friday night, after she reeled back to the limbo, she even found herself discussing it with old General Maxwell McDonald.

      ‘Our real obstacle is Dr Curry,’ General Maxwell McDonald had shouted over the calypso music. ‘Robert White’s sister is Dr Curry’s wife, of course. Excellent doctor, but weak-minded. That’s the problem. He knows perfectly well his brother-in-law is a good-for-nothing layabout. I’ve spoken to him about it. But then Robert White turns up in the surgery, snivelling like a girl and asking for a “sick note”.’ The General shuddered at the words. ‘Curry won’t tell the man he’s an idle bugger and pack him off back to work. I should, certainly. But then again,’ he chortled, ‘I’m not married to Dr Curry’s wife…’ At which the General had tapped his nose and added, incomprehensibly, ‘Silent but deadly, see? Courageous work with Mrs Guppy, by the way. Thought you looked marvellous! Great success. Well done!’

      Fanny smiles to herself, remembering the General’s kind words, and Robert, hovering beside Mrs Haywood for his coffee, feels a squirt of glee. Fanny Flynn is looking very relaxed, he notes. She clearly hasn’t seen the paper yet. Which means he can be the one to show it to her.

      So. He looks thoughtfully at Fanny. With an effort, he suppresses the smirk he’s been wearing all the way in to work – ever since the Western Weekly Gazette first plopped on to his doormat this morning – and pads, with his coffee, across the room to sit beside her. Meticulously, silently, he unfolds the newspaper and lays it out on the coffee table at her feet. Fanny ignores him, irritated by his proximity. She continues to stare at her magazine in the hope that he might move away, which he does not.

      Silence. The gentle tinkle of Mrs Haywood stirring coffee. The passing of air through Robert’s agitated nostrils. The squelching of tuna and watercress between Linda Tardy’s teeth.

      It is Linda Tardy who notices the article first.

      ‘Oh, my gracious Lord!’ she screams, making Mrs Haywood jump. ‘Fanny! Mrs Haywood! Robert! Everyone! Fanny, you’re famous! We’re all famous! LOOK AT THIS! This was—Oh, Robert, we were THERE! Fanny took her shirt off and—It’s such a shame you didn’t come; I know it’s a journey for you but my goodness, look what you missed! What does it say?’

      Robert watches Fanny’s face as she glances up from Private Eye and slowly registers what is laid out before her.

      ‘Oops,’ she says. She lets out a sigh. ‘Oh, dear.’

      ‘I’m so sorry, Fanny, to be “the messenger”,’ Robert murmurs softly, ‘only I thought you would probably want to see…’

      ‘What does it say?’ demands Linda Tardy impatiently, trying to nudge Robert out of the way.

      ‘Bloody hell,’ mutters Fanny. She takes the newspaper and stands up. ‘Robert, I think you’d better take assembly this morning. It looks like I need to make a few calls.’

      But as she speaks the telephone rings (as, in fact, it will continue to do incessantly now, for the rest of the morning; something about that picture has awoken the snake in every prude and pervert in the county). Robert doesn’t notice the telephone at first, he’s too busy watching Fanny. Unfortunately, the handset is on the window sill beside his elbow and no one else can get to it.

      ‘Pick it up then!’ says Mrs Haywood.

      ‘Mmm? Oh!’ He picks it up. ‘Fiddleford Primary,’ he snaps, his eyes fixed on Fanny, watching her as she digests the ribald picture caption at the bottom of the page. ‘Pardon?’ He frowns. ‘No. This is Fiddleford Primary School. I think you’ve got the wrong number…Who? I can’t hear you properly. You’re sounding—Fanny Flynn? Oh,’ he looks hesitant, ‘I’m not sure. Who may I say is calling?’

      In a rush of irritation – she’s not sure if it’s with the gloating Robert or with herself – she reaches across and snatches the receiver.

      ‘Fanny Flynn here,’ she says briskly.

      She hears breathing. Panting.

      Fanny Flynn used to do shifts on her university student helpline. Unlike Robert she knows at once what she is hearing. She ought to hang up, but she can’t. Something’s frozen.

      Panting. And then her name.

      Still, it doesn’t sound like him. It isn’t him. And yet somehow—

      ‘Say something, Fanny.’ And then nothing. Breathing. A long sigh. ‘I’ve written you a poem, Miss Flynn. Want to hear it?’

      ‘Fuck off,’ she says at last, ‘or I’ll call the police.’ She slams down the receiver, and without looking left or right, heads straight for the door.

      The telephone starts ringing again at once.

      ‘Don’t answer it,’ she says blandly. ‘Nobody answer the telephone this morning, please. OK? Let this stupid thing blow over. And I’m sorry, everyone, about my terrible language.’ She leaves the room in such a hurry that Brute is caught in the staff room behind her.

      Alone at her desk, the first thing she does is to call Louis. Again. She hasn’t heard a word from him since he headed back to London on Sunday and she’s lost count of the number of messages she’s left. She imagines he’s already swallowed up in some new bloody ‘love’ marathon, since Louis is always falling in love, and it makes her wretched to think about it, even more wretched than she was before.

      Louis’s answering service picks up, as always, and this time Fanny hangs up without bothering to leave a message. The bell goes for the start of lessons but she doesn’t react to it. She sits there, feeling sick. Was it him? She doesn’t know. She can’t even remember what he sounds like any more. Was it him? She doesn’t know. But it might have been.

      Half an hour later Robert follows her to her office. The school telephone has been ringing solidly, and though he isn’t entirely clear what happened back in the staff room earlier, it had been disconcerting enough, annoyingly, to ruin his enjoyment of the scene. He taps on her door, waits, and when she doesn’t answer, lets himself in anyway.

      Fanny is sitting behind her desk, as before. She looks exhausted; pasty, tiny, vulnerable, unhappy. He feels, in spite of himself, a surge of pity for her. She doesn’t look up, or invite him to sit down, so he rests his bottom against the radiator on the wall directly opposite her, and waits.

      He clears his throat. ‘Are you OK, Fanny?’

      ‘I’m СКАЧАТЬ