Old Filth - Jane Gardam [68]
“Ma’s pretty much all right,” he said. “You can bury your childhood. Not that I want to.”
God, but I miss him, he thought, and watched Vanessa marching forward from the church, hopping the graves, laptop tightly clutched.
“There’s a boy in there dressed up as a Vicar and he came up and asked if I wanted him to hear my confession. And I swear—I swear—he looked me over to see if I was pregnant.”
At the George they went straight in to dinner, Vanessa first twirling off her shirt to reveal a black silk camisole beneath, the size of a handkerchief. Her sloping white shoulders and tiny white neck against the panelling turned heads. Claret. Roast beef carved from the silver dome. Vanessa shone and talked, oblivious. The waiters admired. She nattered on about the Vicar and the marble babies crying and holding shields against their private parts. It hadn’t seemed a Christian monument to her, three stars or not.
“Did you say so?”
“Yes, I did. And I told him I had nothing to confess and he said, “My child, then you are in a bad way.” I nearly socked him. What are these people doing in the church now, Oliver?”
“He sounds a bit of a throw back to me. You don’t see them now in the church at all. It’s a rare sighting, a clergyman in a church, out of hours.”
“I think he hides in there all day, and then he pounces. He sees guilt all the time. He’s a monster.”
“He’s a friend of Ma. She likes him.”
“Oh no! Then that’s it.”
“That’s what?”
“She’ll want him to marry us.”
“What did you say?” They were in their grand bedroom after the coffee and the crème brûlée, both of them happy with wine. “Marry us?”
But she was somewhere else now. “Oliver, what room is this? It’s the bridal suite. Look at the hangings, and the drapes. It’s obscene. And whatever is it costing us?”
“A hundred and fifty pounds—so what? It was all they had left.”
“But we could have gone to a B&B. We’re supposed to be going to Thailand.”
“We can afford it.”
“Well, you might have asked me first. Oh, well. Never mind,” and she took off her handkerchief top and cast off the rest of her clothes. She lifted her legs high in the air. “Haven’t I wonderful feet?” she said.
(God, Oliver remembered, I forgot to bring any condoms.)
“OK,” she said. “Pass my purse.”
“Why?”
“I’ll give you my half of the hundred and fifty pounds.”
“No. Let me do this one,” he said. “I let you in for it. Only young once.”
Remembering the old fossil who’d thought she was past the age of childbearing, she said, “Why are you still in your clothes?”
When they went back to Oliver’s mother the following morning Vanessa was surprised to find how disappointed she was that the old chap was no longer there. The hammock, which had stood out all night in the dew, now hung empty and Claire, still in her dressing-gown, was standing looking at it.
“Yes,” she said. “He’s gone. I couldn’t keep him, although it’s Sunday and he’ll have a terrible journey. He asked me to say goodbye to you. Now I do hope” (untruthfully) “that you’ll stay for lunch?”
“Yes, we’ve brought it,” said Oliver, smiling about. “Supermarket.”
“We’ll have to stay, anyway,” said Vanessa, “until Oliver’s taken the hammock down. And what about that umbrella business in the garage? I said it was too big when he bought it. Shall we get it changed for you?”
Claire blinked. “How very kind of you. As a matter of fact the church could do with it. For fêtes.”
(Oh, Ma—oh, Ma! Don’t push her.) Oliver started to fling things out of bags and into the microwave. (Keep it cool. Keep off the Vicar!)
“I met your Vicar yesterday,” said Vanessa.
“I’m afraid he’s all over the place,” said Claire.
They eyed each other.
“Oh, and by the way,” said Claire, when they began to go. “Would you take this parcel with you? I think it’s only recipe books. Eddie wanted me to have them. His wife’s. She never used them. I don’t want them. They were meant for someone else. Betty was a dreadful cook, so they won’t be thrilling, but they’d be her mother’s. Quite historic. Old Raj puddings from Shanghai. Tapioca.”
“Ma, I’ll put them