The Stranger's Child - Alan Hollinghurst [129]
“Goodness,” said Peter.
“So that, my dear,” said Corinna, with a sharp frown, “is why I need to take him to the cricket club,” and she fired off the first bars with a snap of the jaw before he was nearly ready.
5
“I CAN’T BELIEVE you’re doing this,” said Jenny Ralph.
“Oh, I don’t mind, honestly.”
She approached him awkwardly over the gravel in her high heels, her glass held away from her. “They’re using you again!”
“It’s only while people are arriving—I like having something to do.” Paul stood in the gateway and watched a large black Rover 3-litre coming very slowly along the lane, like a car at a funeral. He said as happily as he could, “I’m a bit of an outsider here, anyway.”
“Well, you needn’t be shy,” Jenny said. She was wearing a wide-skirted dress like a ballroom-dancer’s and a lot of eye-shadow, and the fact was she did make him feel a bit shy, despite his greater age. He was wearing his work suit, and wished he had something else. “And you’ve obviously hit it off with Granny.”
“Oh … well, she’s interesting, I like her.”
“Mm, well, she adores you,” said Jenny, rather tartly.
“Oh, does she?”
“ ‘The bank clerk who quotes darling Cecil!’ ”
“Oh, I see …,” said Paul, laughing as he stepped out from the gate, but wondering again if he was just a figure of fun to them all. He smiled and waved at the car. The visors were down against the lowering sun, and the deafish old couple inside seemed a little bemused. The plan was that they were to go on past the house and leave their cars in the field opposite, walking back across the lane and in through the further entrance to the drive. If they were extremely frail, they could park in the drive proper. It was delicate work deciding if the numerous quite elderly arrivals were frail enough to qualify. In the field itself there was a further just possible hazard from cow-shit, which Paul thought it better not to mention explicitly. “Do mind your footing,” he called out, as the car crept off.
“No,” he said, “we had to learn ‘Soldiers Dreaming’ by heart.”
“I beg your pardon …?”
“The poem by Valance.”
“Okay …,” said Jenny.
“ ‘Some stroll through farms and vales unmarked by war, / Not knowing in their dreams / They are at war for just such tranquil fields, / Such fleet-foot streams.’ ”
“I see …,” said Jenny. “By the way, you know there’s a dance at the Corn Hall tonight.”
“Yes, I know—well, I know someone who’s going.”
“Oh really … do you want to go later?”
“Would you be allowed?” Geoff had been talking about it, he was taking Sandra, and Paul felt suddenly heavy with the idea—then saw in a second that he couldn’t possibly take Jenny.
“It’s the Locomotives, a group from Swindon … Too thrilling. Actually don’t say anything about it,” said Jenny, turning round to smile at young John Keeping, who was crossing the drive, also with a tumbler in his hand. He had changed into a dark double-breasted suit, with a red silk handkerchief in his breast pocket, and looked immediately like a successful businessman. “My grandmother thought you might care for a drop of the fruit-cup,” he said. He brought a heavy irony to being, for a moment, a waiter.
“How kind of her,” said Paul, taking the glass, not sure what fruit-cup was.
Jenny made a sharp little face. “I just caught Granny tipping in another half-bottle of gin, so I should be a bit careful, if I were you.”
“Oh lord, well, watch out,” said John, with a lazy guffaw.
Paul blushed as he took a sip. “Mm, not bad actually,” he said, trying not to cough as the gin cut through the momentary illusion of something like orange squash. He took another sip.
John looked at him narrowly, then swivelled on his heel to take in the view down the lane, the half-circle of the drive. He said, “When my grandfather gets here, do you know? Sir Dudley Valance?”
“Oh, yes …,” said Paul.
“Can we save a spot for him by the front door. He won’t appreciate being made to walk.”
“Right