Boys and Girls (31 page)

‘Mm. Right. See what you mean. Well where, then? Where can we do it? Bloody short notice …'

‘Ah well now here again, Blackie my friend, you are backed up against a wall. She has it in her mind, you see, that the sacred union must not only be seen in the eyes of God – and hence the defrocked and ludicrous scandal that is Father Johnnie Flynn – but also that it must take place on the very site of all our futures. Symbolic, you see? Touching, in a lumpish and rather predictable way.'

‘What – you mean you're telling me that she's going to insist on going through with it –
there
? But Alan – you haven't
seen
the place. It's just – I can't
describe
what it's like there. It's just—!'

‘Nonetheless. That's what's going to happen. You know it is. It's Susan we're dealing with here, you know. And if you don't, you'll soon learn I assure you. Me, I'm a postgraduate. If signally lacking in honours.'

So that was that, really. And Alan, give him his due, he tried to get me to, I don't know – buck up, rally round sort of thing, I suppose – kept on telling me that in less than four or so hours it would all be over. Mm, well … over for him, very possibly – over for Amanda and the madman father and the dissolute priest, oh yes, assuredly – but Susie, well … she has made it very horribly clear to me that tonight, the very first night in
our House of Dreams was to be, oh dear God, Our Very Special Journey Into Paradise. I mean I
ask
you …! What does she expect of me at all? Well whatever it is, she won't be getting it, that's for bloody sure. Nervous as hell about the whole damn thing, you want the naked truth of the matter. Tried not to think of it. And especially not the naked part. Even taking my shoes off, that'll be frightening enough. Extraordinary, really – when you consider, Jesus, the only reason I ever paid her any attention, asked her to lunch, asked her to dinner – employed her in the first fucking place … was because I really did want to subject her to, well – all manner of rudeness, really. But maybe I just assumed I would never have a cat's chance of getting even close. Because look at her. And now look at me. Quite. The odds were never in my favour. And up till now, it's just been the occasional little bit of kissing, a grateful fondle, the crush of something warm and scented. And an upping of that is truly all I crave: a warming blush of cheeky affection, followed by maybe a blissful release. That would suit me down to a … But as to Our Own Very Special Journey Into Paradise …! Oh Jesus. T. It would. Suit me down to a … yes well. Oh Jesus.

Alan had explained to me, quite as if I were an idiot, how he had thought that to give all the rubble where the floor used to be, to give it a really good hosing down, were his words to me – he had thought that a
good
idea, you see. And not for the first time with Alan, it quite naturally had proved to be a very bad idea indeed.

‘Well Alan now look. I don't really have the
time
, you know, to explain it slowly to you, and in the sort of detail an imbecile would require. I can't really go into it now, how only
a very dim and foolish person could imagine that
wet
rubble, rubble that is as we speak deep and running with rivulets and tributaries – how anyone less than altogether sane could have imagined that this would be immeasurably preferable to the
dry
sort. You and Black will be wearing patent shoes, yes? I myself shall be wearing a pale-rose satin high heel – Amanda, white leather pumps. It's not, is it –
conducive
, Alan? It doesn't strike the right note. It verges, Alan, upon calamity. I should have expected nothing else.'

‘It was the dust, you see. But there are druggets in the builders' Portakabin.'

‘Druggets, Alan?
Druggets
?'

‘Sort of canvas things. Heavy numbers. Could drag them out and sort of, I don't know – cover it, maybe?'

‘Do it, Alan. Just do it. Do whatever it takes. I am now going upstairs to dress. Where is Black? Where is Amanda?'

‘Amanda … not too sure. Last time I saw Blackie, he was flat on his back in his bedroom cursing the shortness of his socks, the tops of which he couldn't quite seem to be able to reach. I was happy to oblige.'

‘I can't imagine what you're talking about. Now at least reassure me, Alan, that everything else is in order. God Almighty, you know – I really shouldn't have to be doing all this. This is
my
day. Mine. It's a very special moment in the life of a woman, Alan, surely you must see that. It is my wedding day. The least one might expect is a little support from one's bloody
husband
, God's sake.'

‘And Best Man. Don't forget that bit. For today at least, I am multi-tasking.'

‘Oh yes and talking of that – you have, haven't you Alan?'

‘Have? Have what, my peach?'

‘Don't play about, Alan. Just don't. I'm nervous enough as it is. You have, haven't you? Got it.'

‘It? Got it? Got what exactly, cherub of mine?'

‘
Christ
 … you
know
what I mean. You know
exactly
what I'm asking you. The ring. The ring. The bloody
ring
. You have got it safely?'

‘Oh the
ring
 …! Hm. Now let me see … I know I saw it knocking around here somewhere …'

‘Alan …!'

‘But that must have been Tuesday, or so. Don't think I've glimpsed it since, though. Why? Were you needing it?'

‘
Alan
 …!'

‘No no. Don't worry. Just a little
jeu d'esprit
, my flower. The ring is safe and sound. All ready for Blackie to slip upon your finger. Have you got one for him?'

‘I wanted to. He said he wouldn't. Said rings were for girls and gigolos.'

‘Quite right. Well at least you know he's of sound mind, anyway. Solid beginning, that. Who's, um … who's that fellow over there? Hanging about. Do we know him …?'

‘Where …? Oh him. He's the one who's sitting with Father Flynn until we, you know – get going.'

‘Oh I see. And so why, um … isn't he?'

Susan's face then clouded, suspicion shading darker into dread and slugging it out with fury to gain the upper hand.

‘You! Yes you! Whoever you are. Come over here. Well come on! What are you doing here? Why aren't you sitting with Father Flynn? There's over an hour to go.'

‘Well I were. Sitting with him, like. But this girl, she come over, right? Says it's OK. Says I can like shove off. So I been
having a bit of a nibble, hope you don't mind or nothing. Sausages is great.'

‘Alan. See to it. Now, Alan – before it's too late. Amanda, got to be. What does she think she's doing? Am I that bad a mother? Am I, Alan? Have I truly failed her completely? Why does she – hate me? What is she
doing
 …? What does she think she's …?'

‘Mm – well I'm sure our friend here doesn't want to listen to all my answers to that, assuming I had the time to give them. Where did you last see them? I'm sorry – I don't know your name. Where were they? Flynn and the girl? Amanda.'

‘Amanda …? No – Dave. Dave, my name is.'

‘Right, Dave. So where did you leave them?'

‘Short for David.'

That's when Susan got him by the throat.

‘Look you. Take my husband right this minute to the place where you left them, Is that perfectly
clear
 …?'

Alan gently extricated the man from a grasp he knew to be deadly, cooing quite softly the while, and ignoring his amazement, steered him away.

‘It's quite all right, Dave-short-for-David. Woman's nerves, you know. It is her wedding day, after all. Which way? Upstairs? Garden? Where?'

‘Just by the bar in the wotsit room. But she said you was her husband …'

‘The bar. Of course. Where else? Dear dear. Yes, but she's getting another one today, you see. Not instead of, but as well as. Now look – I think you might as well pop off now, you know. The cat is out of the bag. Been paid and everything, have you? Good good. Few more sausages, maybe? No? Well
bye then, Dave-short-for-David. A brief acquaintance, but none the less memorable for that.'

Yes well. So much for all the flannel – but I've really got to be shot of the oaf now and get to Flynn with all God's speed. Because if his habitual shade of plum has already deepened into anything approaching imperial purple, then we might be requiring all of the good Lord's support just in order to keep him upright. Ah yes – I see them now. I am conscious of a lowering sensation in the pit of my stomach. I have to admit that it's all looking rather far from good.

‘Amanda. What are you doing here? You should be dressing. Why did you send that man away? What is in that glass? Are you drinking? And why, Amanda, is Father Flynn lying on the floor with what could easily be a vol-au-vent sticking out of his mouth?'

‘He wasn't a couple of minutes ago. We were just chatting about the possibility of me becoming a nun. Like, how cool would that be? Big turn-on for some guys. He made a like really crap joke about dirty habits, and next thing you know – wham. Flat on his back. Crazy. It is a vol-au-vent. They're pretty good, actually.'

‘You've done this deliberately, haven't you Amanda? It's unkind. Put that glass down. You're a child. And what do you mean, a big
turn-on
 …? Jesus. How much has he had to drink?'

‘I'm fifteen. Give me back that glass.'

‘A child. Turn-on indeed … Here – help me up with him, can't you? Jesus, you're in nearly as bad a state as he is – look at you. Come on Father Flynn – up we get. That's it. That's right. Just get you on to this chair, here. That's the way. How are we feeling? All right? Not too bad? How about a drop of
coffee, yes? Amanda – those flasks. Coffee. And you'd better have one yourself. I'm disappointed in you, Amanda. This was not the time.'

‘Oh balls, actually, Dad. Of course this was the time. Because like tomorrow, OK? This all isn't happening. So of course it's the time. Isn't it? Oh God. I do feel a bit sick, actually …'

‘Go upstairs. Shower. Dress. I'll be up in a minute. Come on, Amanda –
help
, for God's sake. You owe it. You owe it to your mother.'

Amanda stood there, swaying like a single and careless sheaf of corn, stirred by a summer breeze.

‘I just don't know how you can say that, Dad. After what she's doing to you. Doing to us. I like so don't owe her
anything
.'

‘You do. You do. More than you know. That's it, Father Flynn – one more big gulp. That's the fellow. And anyway, Amanda – Black, he's not a bad bloke. Is he? You said so yourself, one time.'

‘Not the
point
though, is it? Oh God look, Dad – he's all, like –
dribbling
 …?'

‘Leave him to me. Do it, Amanda – go upstairs and do what I told you. Save all the issues for later. It's your mother's day. Let's all try to make it, well – a bit less horrible than all of this. Yes? All right?'

‘You're funny you are, Dad. I just don't get.'

‘No. Well I maybe just don't get either. Go on, Amanda. I'll talk to you later.
Now
, Father Flynn – that's better, isn't it? Course it is. One eye wholly open now, look. Excellent. Let's just see if we can't just prise up the lid of the other one, shall we? Then we'll have a full matching set, up and working. Can you hear me? Do you know what I'm saying?'

‘Urrrgh … I feel really sick, Dad.'

‘Mm, you said. Well add that to your list of things to do then, Amanda. Off you go. Now Father Flynn – I'm going to slap your face for you now. All right? Won't be too hard. Don't take it as a criticism at all – it's a gesture of kindliness, really. Remind your blood to keep on the move. Not to go on hogging the face. Get a little animation into these icy fingers of yours. All right?'

The sudden phlegmy rumble of his voice, when it finally came, caused Alan to his annoyance to bloody slop some of this coffee down and over the man's already disgusting old clerical collar.

‘Yous lay a finger on me, my boy, and the wrath of the Lord will show no mercy. Lightning will – eh …'

‘Smite me down? Mm, yes, thought so. Smite me down. Well OK then, Father Flynn. We'll override the spanking just this once. Want something to eat? No, didn't think so. Well the thing is now, Father Flynn – are you aware of what is supposed to be happening here in – ooh, just under an hour, now? Got it all off pat, have you? Know the words?'

Father Flynn eyed him rheumily.

‘Pat … is he coming over?'

‘No no. There's no Pat. Just us. And the two you're going to marry.'

‘Pat. Sure haven't seen him in a long time …'

‘No no, Father Flynn. Let's get it right. Walk around a bit, will we? That's the way. Now we have met before, Father Flynn, though I would wholly understand if you didn't recall. I am Alan. My name is Alan. The young lady who has gone off to be sick – remember her? Yes? Well her name is Amanda. My daughter. And also the daughter, I might add, of the woman – that's Susan – that you are here today to marry.'

Father Flynn was shocked.

‘It is against the laws of the church for a priest to marry!'

Alan sighed. ‘Oh dear. We don't seem to be making an awful lot of progress, do we …'

‘Ah – don't you worry, my lad. I'll be fine. Done this a thousand times. Dry your eyes. His suffering is at an end. Gone to a better place.'

‘Oh God in heaven …'

‘Exactly. Now tell me, boy – when's Pat coming over, the little devil.'

Alan shook his head. What to do with the Irish whisky priest? A comic myth, a thing of fable, stock and stereotypical … and yet here he sits before me, just about alive and breathing right into my face really the most unutterable vapour. All I could think of was to lock him into a bedroom with some Alka-Seltzer and a bottle of Malvern and warn him to be a good Father and then hare along the corridor to see to Amanda – seemed more or less all right now, and well into the process of covering her face with all the smacked and brazen allure of a harlot. Blackie next: he was standing stock-still in the centre of his room, dinner suit on, bow tie not too bad – pitched a bit forward on quite the most ridiculous shoes I have ever seen (I don't know what it is about Blackie and his shoes) and so very stiffly as if held rigid in a full plaster body cast. I said to him you could sit down – little while yet. He said Joking. I said, so I'll see you downstairs then, yes? Ten minutes? And he said, those architects, dozy cunts – going to get them to put in a lift. And then he said Jesus, let's just get this bloody thing over and done with, shall we? Yes yes, I said: best of, um – luck then, Blackie: I'll be right beside you. And I went up to him and – well, sort of gave him a bit of a hug, really, not to put
too fine a point on it. The look in his eyes, it was nothing but tender. And then of course, there was Susan to attend to: she might, I conjectured, be in need of big assurance.