Childish Things. Robin Jenkins

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      I was wary. ‘I’ve not got much time left, Millie.’

      ‘You’ve got tonight. I want you to come now.’

      All I could think to say was ‘But it’s pouring rain.’

      ‘Are you trying to insult me, Gregor? But I know it’s not the rain you’re afraid of. It’s Tulloch, isn’t it? Well, you needn’t be. He’s not here. He’ll never be here again.’

      ‘So it’s finished between you and him?’

      ‘Absolutely finished. I’m getting a divorce as soon as I can.’

      ‘How long have you been married, Millie?’

      ‘Thirty-four years.’

      ‘Isn’t it sad when a marriage of that length of time ends so miserably?’

      ‘What’s miserable about it? It’s not a bit sad. I’ll expect you in half an hour. Have you eaten?’

      ‘No.’

      I should have lied and said yes. Millie was not a good cook.

      ‘Good. Then you can eat with me.’

      Half an hour later, with rain slotting on my umbrella, as I was walking along the avenue to Millie’s, I made a discovery. The prospect of being alone with her and so seeing at long last that delicious rump, perhaps in naked pulchritude, did not delight me. I was like a child who, having longed for a toy in a shop window, found, when it was in his hands, that much of its magic had disappeared.

      The alacrity with which the door opened alarmed me. She seized my arm and dragged me in. This was not the timid little Millie I had known; this was a rapacious little Millie that I had never seen before. She was wearing a pink jumper and skin-tight pants that were yellow with black stripes: imitation ocelot, she was to tell me later.

      To show her an example of calmness, I shook my umbrella, folded it, and placed it in the stand. Then I took off hat and raincoat and hung them up.

      Impatiently she grabbed my hand. ‘We’ll go through to the kitchen, Gregor. It’s cosier there.’

      In the kitchen, a most untidy place, there was an unpleasant smell. It came from a pot on the cooker.

      ‘What are you cooking, Millie?’ I asked.

      ‘Goulash. I’m good at goulash.’

      ‘It smells as if it’s burning.’

      She laughed. ‘That’s a secret ingredient, Gregor. You see, I’ve bought wine. Is it good wine?’

      There were two bottles on the table. Yes, it was good wine. My heart rose a little.

      When her back was turned, I peeped into the fridge and saw cheese, cold meat, and beetroot. If the goulash was uneatable, I would still have something to eat with the wine.

      She was stroking her rear. ‘What do you think of my pants, Gregor?’

      ‘Very attractive, Millie.’

      ‘Imitation ocelot. I’ve got a nice round bottom, haven’t I?’

      ‘You have.’

      ‘Susan Cramond accused me of showing it off. She was jealous. She’s got nothing here at all. It’s not womanly to have a skinny bottom, is it?’

      ‘No, it isn’t.’

      ‘Mind you, I had an awful job getting into them, and I expect it’ll be an awful job getting out of them, unless of course I have assistance.’

      There was that giggle again.

      I sat down at the table and poured wine into the two glasses. I only half-filled hers.

      ‘More for me, please, Gregor.’

      ‘But wine makes you sad, Millie.’

      ‘It won’t tonight, I assure you. I’m very happy, haven’t you noticed? Isn’t it funny, Gregor, I’m going to get a divorce and you’re a widower.’

      What was funny about that?

      ‘We’ll both be free.’

      What was she getting at?

      ‘Ready for your goulash, Gregor?’

      ‘Thank you, Millie. Not too much, though. My stomach’s been bothering me these last two or three days.’

      ‘Is it nerves, do you think?’

      ‘It could be.’

      She heaped my plate with the nauseating stuff.

      She sat down and ate with relish. She drank her wine as if it was water.

      ‘Drink it slowly, Millie,’ I said.

      I was beginning to feel alarmed. At any moment she might break down.

      ‘I said I had something very important to say to you, Gregor.’

      Whatever it was, I tried to put it off. ‘If you divorce Bill, do you think he’ll marry this Mrs Cardross?’

      Too late I realised that that was a damned tactless thing to say.

      She answered calmly enough. I should have been warned. ‘I don’t care if he marries her or not. I expect he will, for he’s always wanted children and I couldn’t have any. Did you know, Gregor, that I couldn’t have children?’

      ‘No, Millie, I didn’t know.’

      To humour her, I was eating the goulash as if I liked it.

      ‘We won’t bother with them, will we, Gregor?’

      ‘Not a bit, Millie.’

      ‘We won’t bother with anyone, when we get married.’

      I was pouring wine when she said that. So great was the shock that I missed my aim and spilled it on the table-cloth. This was plastic, in green-and-white squares. I could never have married a woman that put a plastic cloth on her table.

      But I had to be serious and very careful. In the war, I had had experience of mines. Here was one seated across from me.

      ‘I’m not saying I’ll make you as good a wife as Kate, but I’ll do my best.’ She dropped her voice and smiled lewdly. ‘After we’ve eaten, we’ll go upstairs. I want you to prove to me that making love should be done tenderly. Tulloch stabbed at me with that awful thing of his as if he wanted to hurt me. He did hurt me too. You won’t, will you, Gregor?’

      She had to be stopped, she had to be told that what she was saying was hysterical nonsense, but how to do it without hurting her feelings or causing her to scream, like a wounded ocelot?

      ‘But, СКАЧАТЬ