Eighteen

Let’s go through to the lounge,’ said Marjorie in her best telephone voice.

‘Allow me,’ offered Donald, taking the tea tray. Best bone china, he noticed. Was she trying to impress, or had the flowers done the trick? Either way, he was in with a good chance of getting Ted off the hook.

As he entered the living room, he almost dropped the tray. That ghastly wallpaper! That hideous furniture! And in such a beautiful house. He felt like crying.

‘Thank you. Put it on the coffee table,’ said Marjorie.

Donald placed the tray carefully on the ceramic-tiled table top, his eyelids flickering rapidly as he caught sight of the design, a flamenco scene, complete with ubiquitous Spanish donkey. His hear sank. Did he really want to bring Ted back to this? He slid on to the pink Draylon sofa, hoping the static didn’t raise his few remaining grey hairs.

‘Milk and sugar?’ asked Marjorie.

‘Just milk, please.’

Marjorie poured the tea, handed him a cup, then settled into the chair opposite. ‘Well, you’ve got a bit of a cheek, coming here like this, haven’t you?’

She made it sound like a compliment, as though she admired him for having the nerve to confront her. He gave her a sly, knowing smile, as if they understood one another. He coughed delicately before speaking.

‘I just wanted to reassure you that Ted and I just enjoy an occasional trip to the theatre. I don’t want to come between husband and wife - especially someone in your condition.’ He stopped to sip his tea. ‘Men have hobbies. What’s wrong with that? And the child needs a devoted father.’ He paused just long enough to give his next words dramatic impact. ‘And uncle.’

‘Uncle?’

‘Yes, I love children. Spoil them rotten, I do. I only wish I could have them myself, but....’

Marjorie looked thoroughly confused now. This was too much to take in. She opened her mouth to speak but her mind was blank. During this hiatus, Donald decided it was time to push his luck.

‘I hope you don’t mind my saying how attractive this pregnancy is making you.’

Marjorie blushed and whispered,’ Thank you.’

Donald congratulated himself. He had taken a calculated risk and it had paid off. If this woman was an Eskimo, he could have sold her a refrigerator.

***

A frosty reception greeted Nigel when he called to see his betrothed. Jackie flung open the door and spoke coolly. ‘Oh, I wasn’t expecting you.’

Nigel beamed at her, then produced a bunch of flowers and a pink envelope from behind his back. ‘Own up: you thought I’d forgotten.’

Feeling guilty, Jackie accepted the flowers. ‘Oh, they’re lovely,’ she said in a soft, whispery voice.

Leaning forward, Nigel gave her cheek a slobbery kiss. ‘Many happy returns, birthday girl.’

Blushing, Jackie placed the flowers on the hall table and opened the envelope. ‘I’m sorry ... I thought ... when the postman didn’t bring a card from my loved one...’

‘Who’s that then?’ Nigel teased.

‘You know very well who.’

‘No, I don’t. For all I know it might be the milkman or window cleaner.’

Jackie tittered. ‘Don’t be silly.’ She removed the card from the envelope and stopped herself from wincing. The design - a large, garishly painted bunch of flowers - left a lot to be desired. Nigel’s taste in such things was sadly lacking. But Nigel was happily oblivious to his beloved’s reaction to the card. Always one to flog a dead horse, Nigel was determined to keep the banter going for a bit longer.

‘I’m not being silly,’ he giggled. ‘Unless you tell me who your loved one is, I might think it’s someone other than yours truly.’

‘All right,’ she sighed. ‘It’s you, my darling. I think I’ll put the kettle on.’

‘Oh!’ said Nigel, dropping back down to earth. ‘I have an appointment in half an hour. I can’t stop. I just wanted you to know I hadn’t forgotten. And I’ve got another surprise for you. I’ll give you your present over a candlelit dinner tonight.’

Jackie made an awkward expression with her mouth. ‘Oh!’

Nigel frowned. ‘What d’you mean “oh”?’

‘I must have told you a thousand times. Rehearsals.’

‘You didn’t mention it.’

‘I did. I told you.’

‘But it’s your birthday, for heaven’s sake.’

Jackie laughed nervously. ‘The show must go on, as Arnold says.’

Nigel put on an unpleasant-smell-under-the-nose expression. ‘Is he this leading light of the amateur dramatics world?’

‘You know very well who he is.’

‘Yes, you’ve mentioned him often enough. I’m sick of hearing his name. Arnold this, Arnold that.’

‘Now, now! Little green-eyed monster.’

‘Well...’ Nigel started to back away to the porch. ‘I’m just disappointed, that’s all. Can’t you cancel the rehearsal?’

‘It’s the last one before the dress rehearsal. We open next week. You want it to be a good show, don’t you?’

Nigel shrugged as if he couldn’t care less.

‘Why don’t we pop out for nibbles after the rehearsals?’ Jackie suggested.

‘What time d’you think you’ll be finished?’

‘Oh ... about ten.’

Without warning, Nigel suddenly metamorphosed into an overworked, overstressed, but very self-important business executive. ‘Sorry, no can do.’ He chopped the air with his hand. ‘I have a presentation first thing in the morning.’ He thrust back his sleeve and gave his watch an aggressive look. ‘And I’m already running behind schedule...’

He turned and strode purposefully towards his car.

‘Couldn’t we go out tomorrow night instead?’ Jackie called.

‘I’m busy. Work to catch up on.’

‘Then why not pop into rehearsals for a while? They know it’s my birthday. Arnold let it slip.’

Nigel turned round, his face a cloud of suspicion. ‘Arnold?’

‘Yes. I told him it’s my birthday. And I suspect they’ve arranged something. A cake, probably.’

Nigel hesitated, his hand on the car door. ‘Oh, well, I’m not promising, but I’ll try and make it. About what time?’

Jackie smiled triumphantly. ‘Oh, about eight-ish.’