No! I Don’t Need Reading Glasses! (15 page)

At this Gene roared with laughter.

‘And I didn't like school the first day, either,' I said truthfully, not adding that I hated every day afterwards until the day I left. Probably best to keep that to myself.

‘But tomorrow we're going to paint the American flag. It's got stars on it. Did you know it had stars on it, Granny?'

‘No!' I said, as if it was the first time I'd heard it. ‘How extraordinary!'

‘It's for the States,' he said, ambiguously.

‘Really?' I said. Honestly, sometimes talking to a small boy is rather like making conversation with some dumb man at a dinner party. You have to do nothing but feign surprise and fascination at all his fatuous remarks. Not that Gene was remotely fatuous of course.

‘Now, darling,' I said, changing the subject. ‘I thought I might knit you a jersey – you remember we were talking last time? – and I could do elephants on it to remind us of the elephant game!'

‘Yes, Granny!' he said, smiling broadly. ‘Do you remember that time with Archie? That was
so
funny!'

‘Yes, wasn't it,' I said. I couldn't say anything else. ‘And as I knit it I can try it on you on Skype and see if it fits.'

‘You'd like it here,' said Gene suddenly.

‘I'm certainly going to try to come over,' I said. ‘I've just got to sort out some dates with Dad.'

‘Great,' he said, staring enthusiastically at the spot above my head. ‘Oh, I just farted. Did you hear my fart, Granny?'

‘No, I didn't, darling,' I said smiling.

‘Oh dear. I can't do another one because I haven't got any farts left at the moment,' he said, rather apologetically, as if I might have been disappointed at missing the last one and living in hopes of another. ‘I'll see if I can do one next time.' He paused. ‘You can't smell them on Skype can you?'

‘No, darling, you can't,' I said.

And for the first time in my life, I rather wished I could.

Funny, isn't it, boys' preoccupation with farts? There was a time when Gene did nothing, I remember, but pull down his trousers and moon at me, shouting: ‘Fatty bum bum!' It didn't upset me because Jack had done exactly the same at that age. Life seemed to consist only of burps and farts, and phrases like ‘I done a plop' after a visit to the loo were deemed as inexplicably amusing. Sometimes Gene could hardly stand, he was so bowled over by his own smells and noises. I tried to go along with it, but just couldn't find it at all funny. It's not because I disapprove, it's just because it leaves me cold. Perhaps it's because I'm a woman. All men seem to find them far more amusing than we ladies do.

I nipped up to the John Lewis store in the West End, and went straight to the haberdashery department. It's amazing they still have these things, all lovely old wool and needles and tapestry kits and a myriad different coloured cottons. Found a pattern for a jersey which actually had a border of elephants going all the way round the bottom. I couldn't
believe it! I snapped it up, bought my needles and wool and thought, oh well, if I can't work it all out I'll ask Marion, who's very good at knitting, and she can show me the ropes.

It's just so lovely to have something to do which connects me to the little chap.

Sylvie rang. The doctor's given Archie some sedatives which stop him being so anxious, so that would explain why he hasn't answered the phone recently, though I've kept trying. Apparently he's doing little else except sleep.

Oh, I do hope he has good dreams and feels at peace. That's all that matters. Dear Archie.

Slaved away all morning to make the most delicious game stew for this evening, because Penny and James and Ned – the tree man – are coming round. I'd bought some potted shrimps to start with and had made a delicious pudding – when James rang me.

‘Just to say,' he said, ‘that Ned's a vegan.'

‘Oh, well that's okay,' I said, through clenched teeth. ‘He can have the baked potato and I can make him a cheese omelette and he can have extra helpings of potted shrimps and there's a lovely fruit fool for pud …'

There was a silence. ‘Oh dear,' said James. ‘I suppose I should have rung earlier. No, he's not vegetarian. He's
vegan
. He won't eat fish, or any dairy products either. And, er, I'm trying to go along with it as well, actually. He said I should give it a go. I've lasted a week so far, though I did sneak in a steak one lunchtime, but I didn't tell him. But we're very
happy with vegetables. I'm sure we'll be able to cope. Whatever you cook it's always absolutely delicious. We don't want you to go to any trouble.'

‘Well, frankly, I don't think there's a single thing I've prepared that you can eat, James,' I said, rather tartly. ‘Even the pudding's full of cream. I suppose that's out?'

‘I'm afraid so,' said James. ‘Would it be easier if we brought something?'

The idea that the guests had to bring their own food just didn't sit right with me. ‘No, don't worry,' I said, ‘It'll be fine.'

The moment I put the phone down I shouted ‘BLOODY VEGANS' at the wall, crammed the game stew into the freezer, shoved the potted shrimps back in the fridge (I could always have them for lunch for the next six days) and stared bleakly at the whipped cream and blackcurrant fool that I'd made in four individual little ramekins. I didn't think they'd last for more than a couple of days and I couldn't eat them
all
by myself.

I felt like Job who was, as I remember, plagued by locusts, boils, frogs and rats – or was that someone else? No, Job was plagued by Satan, who took away his children, his wealth and his health … well, frankly, I'm worse off than Job because although I still have my health, up to a point, I am now not only about to be plagued with the absence of my wonderful, quiet, charming Polish neighbour (she moved out last week) but with the arrival in my life of a wretched vegan. Or, rather, vegans.

Rushed off to the corner shop and managed to buy some tomatoes and basil for a salad starter, then I bought some nice bread, vegetables to roast, followed by oranges in caramelised sugar.

Just about to have a snooze to recover before they come round.

Thought I'd try to reread
Anna Karenina
before I put my head down, but discovered, after four pages, that it was unreadable. So odd, that. When I read it the first time I thought it was brilliant. Second time, adored it. But this time, it's just dust. Weird.

Later had a ghastly dream that I'd had my facelift, and afterwards when I looked in the mirror there was my mother looking out at me. She (or was it I?) had mad eyes, badly put-on lipstick, far too much blusher and bottle-blonde hair. Crikey. What a shock.

Afternoon snoozes. Not all they're cracked up to be.

Well, they came and now they've gone. By them, I don't mean the dreams, unfortunately, I mean James and Ned.

There's no question, old Ned is a dish. And he's not that old. His complexion is surprisingly good for a vegan, he smells very strongly of soap (though I'm sure soap isn't
allowed for vegans so it must be something else) and he's got a really nice natural smile.

‘I'm so pleased to meet you in a more personal setting,' he said, starting to take off his shoes.

‘Don't take off your shoes!' I found myself screaming. ‘This is a shoes-on house!'

He looked a bit put out, and then I noticed he was wearing plastic sandals. No wonder he wanted to get them off. Well, tough, I say.

We all sat down with a drink. I gave up my usual spot on the sofa so Ned and James could sit next to each other, and Penny and I perched on the slightly uncomfortable uprights. Pouncer, deprived of his habitual seat, lay curled up on the floor in the middle, his ears flat back, his tail swaying with simmering rage even as he slept, furious at being ousted from his spot.

Ned insisted on a glass of simple tap water, and refused the stuff that I keep in the fridge because he said that fridges give off too many carbon emissions or something – but luckily the conversation quickly turned to planning law and trees. He's found out more about what's going on with the Common – he has spies at the council apparently – and it seems they're sending out letters asking for comments on the plans tomorrow, so we've all got to get busy objecting.

I was delighted to see his face darken at the mention of all the shenanigans, and he definitely wasn't pleased about the prospect of the trees having to come down.

‘I'll certainly write a letter on your behalf saying what I think,' he said finally. ‘But now,' he said, changing the subject, ‘I hear James is doing a portrait of you.'

My heart rather sank, but I tried to look as bright as I could. ‘Isn't it wonderful!' I said.

‘I've been trying to persuade him to do an installation that represents you, instead,' he said.

‘Isn't that a super idea!' said James, moving up close to Ned and running his hand through his hair. ‘All
objets trouvés
. Don't you think that would be fun, darling?'

Then James turned affectionately to Ned and planted a kiss on his cheek, before putting a hand on his knee and kneading it significantly as he worked his way up his thigh. Ned, to his credit, looked mildly uncomfortable and shifted away.

‘Now, now,' said Ned.

‘About the installation,' I interrupted, in a rather schoolmistressy way. But they remained entwined.

‘It would be much more ecologically viable than using up canvas and oil paints which are made, of course, from precious oil,' said Ned, removing James's hand from his neck and then rather prudishly, shaking his head when I offered him a top-up of his glass as if I were trying to get him drunk on tap water.

Eventually we filed into the kitchen, and James was terribly pleased that I'd bothered to make this ghastly meal of vegetables, and Penny and I managed to choke down our baked beetroots and roasted courgettes – which I persuaded
her to slather with butter. Ned, of course, ate them entirely butter-free. No idea how he could actually get it all down his gullet.

‘Have you got solar panels, here, by the way?' he said. ‘It might be worth thinking about. And did you know you can get an insulating grant from the council?

At some point I suddenly remembered that in order to encourage the very few – about three – of the seedlings I'd planted that had survived, I'd left the sprinkler on, so sneaked out into the garden to turn it off and hide it away, realising that watering the garden would not be on Ned's list of approved activities.

When I got back, hoping I didn't look as if I'd been drenched by Gene's joke button-hole, I carefully switched the conversation round to acupuncturists, which meant I got a lot of Brownie points from Ned who believes that all doctors are in the pay of the Devil, and that inoculations actually make you ill and, even worse, that most of them actually contain timed drugs to turn us all into mindless slaves in the future. Although come to think of it who knows? No doubt the
Rant
will enlighten me on the subject.

And eventually they went home.

‘Stay a moment,' I said to Penny, going to the fridge and rummaging around for some real food. ‘Bacon sandwich before bedtime?'

‘Oh God, yes!' she said, peering into the fridge. ‘And what are those delicious little puds I see in there?'

‘Ooh, wow, yes!' I'd forgotten all about them. ‘Surely we could manage a couple each?'

‘He's a bit of an eco-fascist isn't he?' said Penny, as she got out the spoons.

‘He certainly is,' I said, grim-faced as I threw several bits of bacon into the pan. ‘And I do wish they weren't all over each other all the time, don't you? Though actually, Ned didn't seem to be that enthusiastic, did you notice?'

‘Yes, I did,' said Penny. ‘But even so, it's disgusting! It's not a prejudice thing, either. I hate all that public slobbering, even in heterosexual couples.'

‘It just rubs it in that they've got each other while we've got no one.' I said.

The bacon sizzled and crackled.

‘Well, you've got Archie,' said Penny.

‘I'm afraid the Archie I knew and loved has long gone,' I said, sadly. I felt so upset about Archie, that I couldn't actually talk about the situation at the moment, not even to Penny. I knew I'd just go to pieces. ‘But it's clear that James is in love, so we'll have to put up with all this lovey-doveyness for the moment. And Ned's a nice enough bloke. And he'll certainly be useful in the planning battle.'

‘Or not,' said Penny. ‘He might be a mole working for the other side. I bet there's a pay-off for the council in this scheme. There usually is. We ought to organise a petition. That would help.'

Then: ‘Mmmm!' we both said as we savoured the smell of frying bacon. ‘Now that's more like it!'

Was waiting hours this morning to get into the bathroom to have a long soak, organise myself for the day, dress and put my make-up on, but because it was Michelle's day off from her studies she had decided to have what seemed like a day-long spa experience. When she finally emerged, smothered in bath towels, with a great swaddling turban on her head, she looked at me and said, ‘Ooh là là! Your 'air look vair' naice, Marie!'

It was only then that I realised that even though I was still in my dressing gown, I'd got up unusually early and already had a bath and washed my hair.

I think I probably ought to ring Sylvie and ask her to book an extra place in Archie's nursing home.

I must say the garden's looking sensational. All the roses are out, and the climbers have climbed everywhere. Funny, that plant. I bought it ten years ago at a car boot sale and it was out in the front doing absolutely nothing. I was just about to dig it up and throw it away when I thought I'd give it another chance at the back. Since then, it's almost overtaken the entire garden. Gorgeous.