Injury Time - Beryl Bainbridge [23]
‘Does George do much in the garden?’ Edward asked.
‘No,’ said Muriel. ‘Not much. He works late most nights, and then he has trouble with his back.’
One day, thought Edward gloomily, Simpson was going to be caught out. They were all going to be caught out – Simpson, himself, those other foolish men drinking in public houses, jingling the loose change in their pockets and boasting of affairs. It was astonishing how fashionable it was to be unfaithful. He often wondered if it had anything to do with going without a hat. No sooner had the homburgs and the bowlers disappeared from the City than everyone grew their hair longer, and after that nothing was sacred.
Flushed with the wine and wanting to make amends to someone, Edward leaned towards Muriel and said softly: ‘You got me out of a hole, you know. I’m very grateful.’
Muriel didn’t quite catch what he’d said. She thought perhaps he was offering her another drink. ‘No,’ she protested. ‘I can’t take any more.’ She raised her hand and made a little gesture of refusal that Edward found charming.
‘Seriously,’ he murmured, twisting round in his chair so that Binny wouldn’t hear, ‘I can’t tell you, Miriam, how much I appreciate it. She’s a wonderful girl, but in the past she’s sneered at people. People I’ve mentioned. You know . . . friends of mine. She says I don’t know any people, not real people, not ones with flesh and blood—’
‘Yes, of course,’ agreed Muriel.
‘When she says “blood”, she sort of curls her lip back . . . over her teeth . . . like a vampire.’ Here Edward gave a facial imitation of Binny in one of her more contemptuous moments. ‘See what I mean?’ he said.
Muriel noticed that he had a fragment of watercress lodged in his teeth at the side. ‘I think I saw it on television,’ she said, but he was leaning back in his chair and watching Simpson.
How lucky, thought Edward, to have such friends. Look at the way Simpson was putting himself out to be nice to Binny – cracking jokes, taking off his jacket, talking to her quite naturally. Perhaps there was some way round that business of the office cleaning expenses. He knew Simpson probably thought Binny a bit of an oddity. He’d met Simpson’s latest woman – she was tall and brisk and called Simpson ‘sweetie’. She had a flat somewhere off the Kilburn High Road, which she shared with two men, one of whom was a Liberal party candidate. Though it wasn’t likely that Helen would know him, it was a bit of a shock when he’d first heard about it. He inclined his head and listened to what Simpson was saying.
‘. . . so she went to the surgery first thing in the morning and she said, Doctor, Doctor, is there something radically wrong? Whenever my husband makes love to me, he puts his ear to my chest and hears music. Unbutton your blouse, my good woman—’
‘Good Lord,’ cried Edward, greatly excited. ‘I heard that joke only this morning.’
‘Perhaps you should tell it then,’ said Simpson.
‘It’s jolly good,’ Edward told Muriel. ‘I’m not sure how it ends, but this woman goes to the doctor because she—’
‘I’ve lost the pudding,’ said Binny. She rose from the table and went into the kitchen to look inside the cupboard.
‘Won’t it be in the oven?’ asked Edward. He shambled after her, holding his trousers up with his hands.
‘I didn’t put it in the oven,’ said Binny.
Edward called loudly, ‘She’s lost the pudding,’ but Muriel was standing beside her husband with her hand resting on his shoulder. They both appeared to be discussing the picture of The Last Supper that hung on the wall.
‘Have you looked properly?’ Edward said. He bent down and peered inside the oven.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Binny. She squatted beside him and whispered, ‘I thought you