The Coming of Age .November Part 2.

24th November. Val is deeply upset about Guy Prodger. I tell her not to give up; Niles in Frasier is almost definitely gay and he is in love with Daphne Moon. I decide to give her in advance the Christmas present I have bought for her because I think her need is great. I am quite pleased with myself, as I hand over the Video Set of the Complete Frasier. It was the last one on the shelves at Safeway and I managed to whip it from almost under the nose of Vivian Ashpole, the food snob. I was surprised to see her in a supermarket at all; I thought she only bought food these days from specialist shops and the farmers’ market, at least that’s what she tells everybody. She pretended not to notice me. I don’t care any more.

The Complete Frasier takes the edge off Val’s grief, though it may be only temporary. As soon as she stops thanking me, I can start talking about my daughter, my son-in-law and The Actuary.
Val, who has been on her own for a long time, says she has never been able to mention any of her male friends to her daughters.

‘We never talk about anything but the children.’

‘That is just what it is like with me,’ I say. ‘It’s as if I’m not supposed to have a life any more except being a granny.’

‘But it’s all right for him to have women friends.’

Him is her ex-husband.

‘And a sex life’ I say.

‘And,’ she goes on sadly, ‘now he and that woman are together, they are always arranging family get-togethers and I am left out. I feel so excluded.’

Except, of course, I think but do not say, when they want baby-minders.

‘Mine are the same. Martin living with Lolita is perfectly all right. They even go and celebrate her birthday but as soon as I have a male friend, they are all decidedly cool.’

‘And they don’t know the half do they?’ says Val.

I giggle and we have another drink.

‘I wonder if I’ll ever do anything but suffer from unrequited love. Julia has her old codger, Poppy has a series of men and now you.’ She looks glum.

‘I am very happy for you,’ she says, ‘Don’t think I’m not. When am I going to meet him?’

‘I don’t know. He’s quite shy. Besides if you don’t like him either, I shall feel awful.’

We are into our third glasses of wine each when Crispin Velge and Piers Hackett come in. I do not think I can coherently carry on a conversation about internal assonance in the poetry of Crispin Velge or even say anything about Napoleon at the moment so bend quickly down under the table as if in search of my handbag.

I hiss to Val, ‘Look the other way, it’s Velge and Hackett.’

‘Hinge and Bracket,’ she says, ‘What are they doing here? I love them.’

I had forgotten Val’s remarkably wide range of love objects. From underneath the table, I can imagine her staring round the room with interest, so I grab her leg.

‘Ow, what are you doing that for?’ She bends down to look at me.

‘Crispin Velge and Piers Hackett. Not Hinge and Bracket. I thought they didn’t like each other. I don’t want to talk to them.’

‘So did I. And neither do I,’ she says. ‘I think I’ll come down there too.’

The effect of the red wine and sorrow combined somehow cause her not to merely bend down and hide her head, but to crawl beneath the table.

I hear the door open again and some more people come in. Val is still under the table. I peer beneath my armpit. Velge and Piers Hackett are at the bar with their backs to us but looking in my direction, with interest, is The Actuary. He is accompanied by his son, a pompous man, I thought when I met him first, who is somehow into politics.

‘Have you lost something?’ The Actuary enquires politely.

Val, hearing an unfamiliar male voice, tries to stand up but cracks her head on the table and laughs wildly.

‘Yes,’ I say, ‘but she has found it now.’

Eventually she emerges from beneath the table, only a little dishevelled, and we both manage to straighten up and try to look dignified.

‘This is my friend Val, ‘I say, ‘Val, this is The Actuary.’

‘I’ve heard all about you,’ says Val, offering her hand. She doesn’t stop there. ‘All about you, all…’ and bursts into giggles. The pompous son looks startled and steps back two paces.

‘This is my son Jeremy.’ says The Actuary as if he had noticed nothing.

Val’s eyes open wide. ‘Oh, you’re him, Jeremy er ..er..’

Who can she be thinking of? I try to concentrate and not laugh. The latter becomes easier as I am starting to feel slightly odd. Jeremy the pompous smirks slightly.

‘I think Val and I should go home,’ I say and stand up, smiling brightly. Which direction was the door? I take Val’s elbow and tug at it. She pulls away.

‘I’ve always wanted to meet you.’ she says to Jeremy.

I wish I had my glasses on. I must have missed something. I look significantly at The Actuary and he is smiling at me in a kindly way.

‘I think we should go home,’ I say.

‘Can’t I buy you both a drink,’ he says.

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Can I give you a lift home?’

‘No, no, you must enjoy a drink with your son. We are well, well able to…’

My voice trails off and I flap my hand vaguely towards the door. I wish Val would come. I am alcoholically disadvantaged. The Actuary must be shocked. I shall never see him again. I think I might cry any minute.

Val comes after what seems like an age chatting rather over-vivaciously it seemed to me to Jeremy, and we make a concentrated effort to reach the door without knocking into anyone.

Piers Hackett and Crispin Velge are forgotten. They are the least of my worries.

‘Your Actuary is lovely,’ says Val, as we make our way through the town.

‘I don’t expect he will be my Actuary any longer.’ I say tearfully.

‘Why on earth not?’

‘He must be so shocked to see me like this?’

She peers at me. ‘You look all right. Not bad at all actually.’

‘No, I mean drunk.’

‘You’re just a bit squiffy that’s all.’

Val stares at me again. She seems to have sobered up remarkably quickly. Perhaps it was the bang on the head.

‘He’s not Martin you know. He didn’t stand there looking disapproving or anything. He was looking at you very affectionately.’

I am just about to burst into tears when Val says
‘Hinge and Bracket’ and starts giggling. I remember that I am over sixty and cannot weep in the street like a lovelorn teenager and start laughing as well.

My mobile phone starts to ring. I have had the phone for over a year and it has never rung before. It takes some time before I realise what is happening. I pull it out of my bag and look at it helplessly.

Val takes it from me and presses a button. I am impressed by her technical know-how.

‘Jessica Hazeldene’, she says in a funny voice.

She passes the phone to me. ‘It’s for you,’ she says in a surprised tone.

‘Did you leave some Frasier videos behind in the pub?’ It is The Actuary.

I look at Val. She is empty-handed. ‘Yes. They are Val’s.’

‘We thought they must be. If you give me her address, Jeremy says he will drop them into her in the morning.’

Val looks baffled as I start reciting her address.

‘It’s that present I bought you which you left behind…’ I say, a little miffed, ‘…Jeremy will return them to you in the morning.’

The Actuary goes on. ‘Are you free tomorrow evening? Perhaps we could go out to dinner? Eight o’clock?’

‘Yes, oh yes. yes’

Val is looking smug. ‘You know who he is don’t you?’

‘No. Who?’

‘Jeremy of course. He is the spokesperson for the Mauves. He’s always on Newsnight. He’s quite dishy isn’t he?’

I am always asleep by the time Newsnight comes on.

‘I’ve no idea who he is. You’re old enough to be his mother.’ I say.

25th November. I decide to sweep leaves from front path in an attempt to clear my head. Fran, (Gerda seems to have been quite forgotten, thank goodness) sees me there and comes to tell me about some young man she is trying to rehouse.

‘He has very funny teeth,’ she says. ‘He seems to have two sets.’

‘Gosh,’ I said, ‘I think I know who you mean. It’s Alex’s best mate’s girl friend’s brother. Well, I think she is ex girl friend now.’

‘I can’t think why his parents didn’t do something about them when he was young.’

‘Perhaps they thought they would be useful for biting the neighbours or chewing twice as fast. Have you met his parents?’

She looked at me very severely. ‘No.’

I decide I had better stop being facetious and suggest that Fran could really help him by getting a dentist to remove his extra row of teeth. I get quite enthusiastic and say that I am sure he should have his extra penis removed by the National Health too. He only needs somebody who is compos mentis to take him in hand and bully the Health Service. His sister is unhinged, the other brother is in prison and the parents are mentally retarded.

Fran-not-now-Gerda has not heard of his extra appendage and is so dumbfounded that she does not even tell me off for describing the parents as mentally retarded. Which is a polite way of putting it.

It is about 6 p.m. I have just put a face masque on and cucumber slices over my eyes in an attempt to repair the ravages of last night before I go to dinner later when the phone rings.

Thank goodness phone and not doorbell, as I look very strange. It is Val. Jeremy came at 11 am to deliver the Frasier videos and has just gone. She tells me that it was wonderful and I am not, repeat not, to tell The Actuary.

How could she, with my new lover’s son? My best friend. Who is supposed to have a broken heart and be constant in her affections. And Jeremy looks nothing like Niles in Frasier, her usual yardstick, and he doesn’t have wild eyes either.

‘You are old enough to be his mother,’ I say.

‘I told him that,’ she said. ‘But it only seemed to inflame him further. It often does. Have you noticed? Besides, he is well over forty. Anyway, you mustn’t get hot under the collar. He’s off to America for six months. That’s why he was here, to see his father before he went. He’s not really pompous you know. It’s just that he finds you terrifying.’

‘Me? How could anyone be terrified of me?’ I ask. I am the most ordinary, harmless person.

‘His father told him how clever you were. How brave and resourceful. I almost thought he was talking about someone else,’ she says, ‘like Ellen MacArthur and Carol Vorderman rolled into one.’

I cannot digest this. Nor the fact that Val seems remarkably calm for someone usually so susceptible. I have to go and make myself some camomile tea. I think Earl Grey would be too animating.