This owd yowe was whetting her pegs, She run at the butcher and broke both his legs …
slowing down
This owd yowe went to fight for the prince …
to a funereal decrescendo:
And no living man has … heard … of … her … since.
The sound of hesitant applause could be heard. But Norman was off again, with a
ooooooooooooHHHHHHHHHH,
there was an owd yowe wi’ only one horn,
Fifty naw me nonny.
And she picked up her living among the green com,
So turn the wheel so bonny.
The nine-stanza cycle was repeated five times. Then there were some shuffling noises and banging of doors. When I came out half an hour later Norman was on the landing, patiently waiting to use the bathroom. He came forward and put his hands on my shoulders, as if in order to steady me.
‘Your father’s gone so I’ve made up a bed for you on the couch.’
He stared at my face and suddenly threw his head back in a roar of black, anarchical laughter. I groaned halitotically at him.
‘773 4417.’
‘Hello, good morning, I mean afternoon. May I speak to Rachel Noyes, please?’
Silence.
‘Hello, Rachel ? Ah. My name is Charles Highway. You may remember we met at a party you gave last month. Then, some days later, we —’
‘Yes, I remember.’
I gave her time to whoop with delight and say, ‘And I don’t mind telling you it’s fucking great to hear your voice.’
‘Well!’ I said. ‘And what are you up to these days ?’
As if to an elderly relation, she said, ‘I’m cramming for A Levels.’
‘What a fantastic coincidence. I’m cramming for Oxford! Where’s yours?’
‘Bayswater Road.’
‘NO.’ So’s mine! Whereabouts?’
‘The Holland Park side.’
‘Oh, huh, the right side of the Bayswater Road.’
‘No it’s not. It’s on the left.’
‘No, no.’ I chortled uncomfortably. ‘I meant right side as opposed to wrong side. The “correct” side.’
‘What?’
Hangup?
No. Get flash.
‘Er, listen, forget it, forget it. Say, are you going to be there tomorrow afternoon? Fine, then why don’t I pick you up when they close, which is what? four-thirty? … Four? So okay. I’ll come pick you up and we could maybe have some tea together.’
There was a pause. My armpits hummed. ‘What do you say?’
Normally I would have given an easy-refusal clause, such as ‘unless of course you’re working’, or have fixed on a day further ahead which she could plausibly be evasive about. But I wanted another chance. All the homework I had done on her. Then she spoke.
‘All right …Why not.’
Why not. She would probably insist on paying for her own tea. ‘I haven’t a clue why not. You’ll be there at four, right?’
‘Yes, and —’
‘Right. See you then.’ I slammed down the telephone and stood there tensed, almost crouching. How had my final abruptness gone down ? Applying Norman’s Law, what would I feel if someone had just said that to me ? Stand the rude little oaf up, obviously. But you never knew.
Noon, Tuesday. I lay immobile in the bath, like a dirty old alligator – not washing, just steaming and planning.
What clothes would I wear? Blue madras shirt, black boots, and the old black cord suit with those touching leather elbow-patches. What persona would I wear? On the two occasions I had seen her last August I underwent several complete identity-reorganizations, settling finally somewhere between the pained, laconic, inscrutable type and the knowing, garrulous, cynical, laugh a minute, yet something demonic about him, something nihilistic, muted death-wish type. Revamp those, or start again?
Why couldn’t Rachel be a little more specific about the type of person she was? Goodness knew; if she were a hippie I’d talk to her about her drug experiences, the zodiac, tarot cards. If she were left-wing I’d look miserable, hate Greece, and eat baked beans straight from the tin. If she were the sporty type I’d play her at… chess and backgammon and things. No, don’t tell me she’s the very girl to show me what egotistical folly it is to compartmentalize people in this sad way; don’t tell me she’s going to sort me out, take me on, supply the cognitio and comic resolution. I couldn’t bear it.