Later that evening, after dinner, Leonard hauled his heavy heart to Parley View for some uncomplicated friendship and board games. The good people at Milton Bradley were early pioneers of the kindergarten movement, and many of the classic games that bore the MB brand name over the years were designed with a gentle edifying purpose in mind. This was especially true of the Game of Life, a cheerfully competitive board game that sought to prepare its players for the boons and forfeits that Messrs Milton and Bradley saw as the reality of life. For Leonard the game had a new and special resonance. In recent weeks, he had lost his mother, inherited a house, embarked on a new career direction, and had met, and probably lost, the most special girl he had ever known. As he pushed his playing piece around the board—a car with an empty passenger seat and no blue or pink pegs in the rear—he could see a familiar pattern of ups and downs playing out before him.
Hungry Paul, who respected the privacy of a man’s thoughts, and who ordinarily enjoyed extended calming silences with his friend, nevertheless became concerned at Leonard’s abject mood. At one point Leonard reached past the chocolate and fancy biscuits to take a ginger nut, a sure sign that all was not what it should be.
‘Anything up?’ ventured Hungry Paul.
‘Sorry?’ replied Leonard from amidst the fog.
‘Anything up, I said. It’s just that you don’t seem yourself. You’ve passed up two chances at buying a status symbol, as well as forgoing the opportunity to sue me for damages, and you seem content to fork out for an unsuccessful South Pole expedition and munch on ginger nuts which, to be honest, seem to me to be on the turn.’
‘Oh, yes. I’m not quite myself this evening. I had hoped that I would perk up, but I’m sorry, I’ve had a difficult day.’
‘I see. Roman trouble?’ asked Hungry Paul.
‘No, the Romans are not doing any damage. That whole project is actually going quite well. It’s Shelley. We had a bit of… a bit of a problem and I think I may have lost her.’
‘Oh, I see. What happened?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean I don’t know what happened.’
‘If you don’t know what happened, how do you know it has happened? I don’t understand,’ replied Hungry Paul. ‘And if you don’t know and I don’t understand, then neither of us is really up to speed on any of this. Should we try again? What did she say to you?’
‘She said that I didn’t understand,’ replied Leonard.
‘Well she’s right there.’
‘She said I didn’t understand about her and Patrick.’
‘And do you?’
‘Do I what?’ answered Leonard.
‘Do you understand?’
‘You see, at the weekend I suggested that she might come along to your prize-giving but she was minding Patrick, so I thought that she could bring him along. She didn’t want to do that because, for one thing, he would want to know who I am and all about the situation with Shelley and me. Between all the complications, I think Shelley wanted me to say or do the right thing at the right moment, but I just didn’t know what she wanted me to say, so I ended up making a mess of things and now she probably thinks I’m hopeless and that it was blessed relief that she found out when she did, even if it hurts her feelings in the short run.’
‘The short run can often be full of feelings,’ observed Hungry Paul, sagely.
‘The thing is, she’s a sensitive person, even though she’s quite positive in her outlook. She just has so much more at stake than I do. She has to think of Patrick and the future, whereas I only have to think about whether to bring her to a nice restaurant or to the bog bodies.’
‘Bog bodies?’ asked Hungry Paul, taking his turn.
‘Yes, we had this discussion on the way to the bog bodies. She went home before we got a chance to go in.’
‘That’s a pity—some of them still have hair, you know. So where do you stand on the whole Patrick business? Going from long-term bachelorhood to becoming the father figure in a ready-made family is not straightforward, I would imagine.’
‘I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far. I just wanted to get to know Shelley, find a place for myself in her life, and her in my life, and then deal with the rest whenever it came up.’
‘And what’s wrong with that?’ asked Hungry Paul, who landed on Jury Service and had to miss a turn.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Leonard, ‘But it turns out that it is wrong. It turns out that it’s actually quite a hurtful thing to do.’
‘I see. It’s true that it’s hard not to hurt people. Even doing nothing, you can end up hurting people. It seems that on the question of whether you are damned, there is an ‘x’ in both the ‘do’ and ‘don’t’ columns. Your turn.’
‘I don’t even know what I am supposed to do in the meantime,’ said Leonard, spinning the wheel. ‘I mean, is she waiting for me to ring her or send her a message or what? I wouldn’t even know what to say. But I sense that every minute I let it pass she is slipping further from my life. What would you do in my situation?’
‘This is not my area of expertise, I’m afraid. Although if you do decide to send her a text I could suggest a very handy sign-off phrase.’
‘Sorry to keep talking about myself. How are things going with the wedding? Did you get your suit cleaned after the prize-giving?’ asked Leonard.
‘The wedding plans are going fine I think. Some trouble with an organist driving a hard bargain, but all seems well. Grace is a little tense and judgemental these days but Mam’s trying to offer moral support. To her and to us. I’m not able to get my suit cleaned just yet: I need it for Wednesday, for an interview.’
‘What interview?’
‘Sorry, I never told you. Yes, I have an interview. I was talking to that mime artist at the prize-giving—he’s Dutch, his name is Arno—and he is involved with the National Mime Association. He mentioned that they are looking for a spokesman and he thought I might be suitable, so he asked if I would like to do an interview. He’s moving back to the Netherlands and they need someone to fill the job quickly before he goes. He thought I might bring a bit of profile to the post because of the competition, and that I might get along with the mime community.’
‘Well if it’s silence they are after, their talent scouts are to be commended for finding their man. How does the National Mime Association have a spokesperson? I thought they didn’t speak.’
‘That’s just the thing. They feel that mime is going out of fashion and that all anyone remembers is Marcel Marceau and his walking in the wind, good though it is. These days the guys who just stand as still as statues in the main street are much more popular.’
‘Is that not mime?’ asked Leonard innocently.
‘Good God, no!’ answered Hungry Paul, laughing. ‘The statue people are pretty much at war with the mime artists. There have been a few incidents and the whole thing could blow up any day. The problem for the mime artist is that life is so noisy now, they are being left behind. We live in an age of cacophony. Everyone talking and thinking out loud, with no space or oxygen left for quiet statements and silence. In a way, it’s not just about being a spokesman for the National Mime Association, but a spokesman for silence itself.’
‘What are you going to say at the interview?’
‘I was thinking of asking them if I could still have Mondays off so that I can keep my promises at the post office.’
‘Will that be enough to secure the position?’
‘Possibly not. What kind of things do they usually ask? I’ve never had an interview before—I got the post office job through Dad.’
‘In general, they usually like to know if you’re a born leader, a visionary and a can-do sort of person.’
‘I suppose there are probably lots of things I could do if I were to try them, but generally I don’t try them, so maybe I’m more of a could-don’t person?’
‘I guess it’s a start. Don’t overthink it. These mime artists probably prefer someone a bit, you know, quiet.’
‘Indeed,’ pondered Hungry Paul. ‘Indeed.’