Ted.
‘What a mess,’ said Rita.
‘Yes,’ said Ted.
‘Oh well,’ said Liz.
There was a brief lull, as if their loquacity had exhausted them.
‘So how did you feel, Ted?’ asked Rita. ‘Sad? Happy? Triumphant?’
‘Rita! As if I … I mean! Really! I felt embarrassed. For you. For Gerry. For me.’
‘For you?’ said Liz.
‘Rita made some rather nasty insinuations about my prowess as a lover.’
‘Ted!’ said Liz. ‘Not now.’
‘No, no. I know. Subject closed. Not the time or place.’ He paused. ‘But. Well, it was, wasn’t it? A bit below the belt. As it were.’
‘No, Ted, it wasn’t below the belt,’ said Rita. ‘I was referring to your emotional commitment, not your physical prowess. You’re all right in that department, and there are people in this room who could second that, I’m sure.’
Liz blushed. She was thoroughly disconcerted. Ted was astounded. He didn’t realise that Rita’s abrupt return to acidity had made her feel angry and confused about her dramatic new role as Rita’s friend and saviour.
‘I really must go and … er …’ Liz couldn’t find any way of ending her sentence.
Ted, not known for his social rescues, leapt to her aid. ‘See if Neville’s all right?’
‘Yes! Exactly! Thank you, Ted!’ Ted wished that Liz didn’t sound so surprised.
Ted and Rita looked into each other’s eyes and saw only the past, their marriage, the painful separation and divorce. The duty manager, Mr O’Mara, trim, precise, prissy and finger-clicking, was fussily organising the drawing of the curtains. It was that moment, on late winter afternoons, that is the most magical of the day for those who are happy at home, as they enfold themselves in a womb chosen and furnished by them; but which, for the lonely, the bored, the inadequate, the defeated, the frightened, is the bleakest moment of all, as they face the long dark evening, and welcome into their homes a group of Australians because, empty-headed and indifferently acted though they may be, they are better than loneliness, or more fun than their nearest and dearest.
Ted, feeling the bleakness, shivered, and reached out to touch Rita.
‘No,’ she said. ‘No. I have to say, Ted … we have to get this straight … my not marrying Gerry has nothing to do with any feelings for you. I’m not coming back to you, ever.’
‘Oh no,’ said Ted. ‘No, no, I know. No. I’ve … er …’ Corinna walked past behind Rita and flashed Ted a quick invitational smile. ‘I’ve … er … I’ve reconciled myself to that.’
‘So I see.’
‘What?’
‘That rather striking woman who just passed.’
It wasn’t the first time that Ted had wondered how Rita could see behind her.
‘Do you notice everything?’ he said.
‘I’m a woman.’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re worried about your sexual prowess, and here you are surrounded by your conquests.’ Rita shook her head at the absurd neuroses of men.
‘Rita! Don’t exaggerate.’ But Ted couldn’t help looking slightly pleased.
‘Me. Liz. The striking woman. The waitress.’
‘Waitress? What waitress?’
‘The one you’re living with. The one you’re so busy trying to keep secret that everybody knows about her.’
Ted was appalled. ‘Rita! You mean …? Oh heck.’
‘I even saw Doreen from the Frimley Building Society going into the other bar. All we need now is the blonde Swedish nymphomaniac and Big Bertha from Nuremberg and we’d have the full set. Ted and his women.’
‘Rita!’ said Ted, desperately trying not to think, ‘Well, yes, I’ve had me moments,’ even more desperately trying not to think, ‘What a pathetic list, compared to Don Juan and President Kennedy and Simenon.’ ‘Why rake over cold ashes, Rita? Why spoon up dead custard? The past is dead. Dead. How is Doreen? How’s she looking?’
Rita gave Ted a long, hard stare, and didn’t tell him how Doreen was looking.
The immaculate Neville Badger of Badger, Badger, Fox and Badger approached. Liz followed, as if on this occasion she were his lapdog.
‘Well, here we are,’ said Neville. ‘Almost like … well, no, not really very like old times.’
‘No,’ said Rita with feeling. ‘Not really.’
It was as if Neville’s approach had been the signal for the full social rescue of Rita Simcock to be put into operation. Elvis and Carol arrived next. Rita’s mind whizzed. Would Carol talk about tomato purée? Did Elvis know that she had never been able to love him quite as much as she loved Paul?
‘Hello,’ said the great philosopher.
‘Hello, Elvis,’ said Liz, and a stranger would have sworn that she was pleased to see him. ‘I heard your sports bulletin yesterday. Very pithy.’
Elvis swelled with pleasure. ‘Thank you, Liz,’ he said. ‘I aimed for … pith.’
‘Then you succeeded.’
Was she mocking him? Could he avoid blushing? Luckily Simon and Jenny scurried up, Simon breezily, Jenny more warily.
‘Hello!’ said Simon. ‘Everybody gathered! Almost like … well, no, not really at all like old times.’
‘No,’ said Ted. With what depths of regret he invested the monosyllable.
‘I’m very grateful to you all for rallying round,’ said Rita, ‘but I think I ought to face the massed ranks of Gerry’s friends and relations now.’
‘I don’t think you should,’ said Ted. ‘They might lynch you.’
‘Thank you, Ted.’
‘No, but is there really any point?’ said Jenny. ‘Will anything you can say to them make anything any better? You’ve explained already. Can you add anything?’
‘Perhaps not,’ admitted Rita. ‘Perhaps we should just go home. “Home”!’
And indeed a few people were beginning to drift off, now that the curtains had been drawn. It was dawning on them that it wasn’t appropriate to linger to the end of such an occasion. Others were staying because they weren’t quite sure how to leave. Should one just drift away? That seemed rude. But was it appropriate to
