The Birdcage

Felix watched Lizzie circulating with a certain amount of amusement and an odd kind of pride. The guests, friends of the whole family not just Piers’ particular intimates, were thrilled to have a well-known and popular actress in their midst. They jostled to be introduced, each wanting to tell her their impression of the sitcom or the advertisement – often both – and she received each warm greeting with great charm: a clever mix of humility, gratitude and delight that was irresistible. Almost he could hear Alison gnashing her teeth.

From his position in a comfortably padded chair he observed them all exactly as if they were characters in a play enacted on this midsummer night in this ancient garth, especially for his delectation. Saul was working hard behind the barbecue, wrapped in a long blue butcher’s apron, turning sizzling pieces of steak and sausages, whilst exchanging quips with some young people who had been David’s friends and were glad to have Tilda back amongst their ranks. She would appear at regular intervals to pat him encouragingly, popping a tasty morsel into his mouth, joking with those friends who, guessing the depth of her pain, were careful to keep the conversation light. Her butter-coloured hair fell about her square, brown shoulders, a skimpy soft cotton vest was held in place by narrow straps, her long legs half covered by a filmy sarong in peacock blue.

Felix felt a pang of pity for Saul, who smiled and smiled, dashing his hair back from his hot face with an impatient swipe of his forearm, accepting Tilda’s spasmodic offerings with an over-exaggerated miming of surprised gratitude, which made his friends laugh and which touched Felix’s heart. Saul’s love was there for all to see – though the boy was certain that he was hiding it beneath his play-acting – and Felix shook his head. He wondered if Saul could fill the space that had been left empty by David’s passing. His grandson had been blessed with a quality that drew people like a magnet and held them close: kind, yes, up to a point; aware of the needs of those nearest to him; yet David had added into this mix a ruthlessness that so many women found attractive. The combination had been extraordinary, lending an energizing vitality to anyone who drifted within his orbit, and his early death merely added to the mystique and lent a further unfair advantage: age would not wither David, nor the years condemn.

That deep affection existed between Tilda and Saul was evident, yet was it the kind of love that would capture Tilda’s imagination, ignite passion? Once you’d met with the real thing could anything else ever measure up? Felix wondered whether it would be fair on Saul for it even to be tried; yet there might be more to Saul than any of them suspected. At Michaelgarth, until now, he’d always had to play second fiddle to David’s brilliant virtuoso performance. Perhaps, now, after David . . .

Felix stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankle, cradling his glass carefully. Life after Angel – oh! how bleak the future looked after that last meeting with her in the Birdcage; how heavy his heart. His only future salvation lay in making Marina as happy as he was able, otherwise all was wasted and the finishing of his affair a barren gesture. He was grateful that in the final years there had been that brief late flowering of affection between them: a reconciliation born out of Marina’s suffering and nurtured by his compassion for her.

The long June evening was fading, sunset colours – scarlet and flame – dying down in the western sky to be quenched in the purple waters of the Channel. Dusky blue light was filling the garth and the little lamps, which were fixed at intervals along the high walls, cast tiny pools of golden light amongst the stretched, knobby boughs of the apple and mulberry trees, touching tender green leaves to bronze. Lizzie edged into Felix’s line of vision, conferring now with Tilda, and his heart moved so suddenly in his breast that he became short of breath and grasped at the arm of his chair. Lizzie’s head tilted just so, half in shadow, the bundle of hair, pale in this light, the amused, almost wicked expression reminded him so much of Angel: he could almost hear her voice murmuring some shocking gossip, remembering those funny, bitchy comments breathed into his ear: ‘. . . so she was droning on, sweetie, about this dreary straying husband of hers, whining about the other woman and saying for the twentieth time, “And she knows he’s a married man,” so I leaned across the table and said, “But, darling, so does he . . .”’

Felix winced with the pain of memory and loss and, at that same moment, Tilda threw back her head, shouting with laughter whilst Lizzie grinned. Alison suddenly appeared between them with an expression of self-righteous disapproval, indicating something or some person neglected so that Tilda made a tiny guilty face and hurried away, leaving Lizzie and Alison locked briefly into a social necessity for communication.

He couldn’t hear Lizzie’s voice and could only imagine the words that accompanied the expansive gesture and smiling look of pleasure which indicated that the party was going well and the guests were enjoying themselves. Alison’s expression was more complicated: common courtesy demanded a civil response but, even at this distance, he could see that she grudged making it. The unwillingness to meet Lizzie’s eyes, the slightly curling lip, which was intended to show that Lizzie was an outsider, suggested that Alison was telling her that this annual event was always a success and this year was no different. It was clearly important for Alison to put herself firmly within the family group, to show superior knowledge, thus distancing herself from this unwelcome intruder.

Felix watched, shocked by the power that the past continued to hold. During these later years of his life he’d punished himself, wondering how he could have betrayed his wife and child, condemning his own actions. Now, as he looked between Lizzie and Alison, he knew exactly why; he remembered the icy silences, the bitter comments on one side, and saw the loving generosity on the other. Marina’s jealousy had revealed itself in the early years of their marriage and his love for Angel – or, rather, hers for him – had been food and warmth after years of deprivation. Weak? He shook his head: let others try living in a freezer of condemnation and suspicion before judging. Of course, his affair with Angel had merely confirmed Marina’s view of him but, by then, what did it matter any more? His only defence was that he’d never before taken comfort from any other woman, never looked aside; only Angel had been able to fuse tenderness, humour, passion into one irresistible whole – and only the threat of being separated from Piers had had the power to persuade him to turn his back on that magic; only his son’s security and confidence had made the sacrifice worth the candle.

Watching Lizzie and Alison he prayed fervently that Piers would not find himself in a similar situation. In Alison’s proprietorial glances, her attempted, persistent presence by Piers’ side as he moved amongst his guests, the apparently casual little touches on his arm, he saw the sticky, binding tendrils of expectation, which, if not torn off, would twine and embrace closer and ever more strongly until there was no escaping their weighty burden. Lizzie had a light touch: she approached with a smile, might even thrust an arm within the other person’s with a friendly warmth, before turning away as swiftly and easily as she’d arrived: there was nothing burdensome about Lizzie.

He saw that Piers had joined them, holding a drink, relaxed and at ease. Once or twice he’d seen him wearing a different expression and known that Piers was thinking of David: the first Christmas without him, the first birthday, all these were painful moments to be lived through, learning all the while of the inevitability and terrible, icy finality of death. Felix was glad to see him smiling, saw Lizzie murmur something in his ear and the natural way he leaned a little – only a little, for Lizzie was tall – to hear it, whilst Alison strained, watchful and alert, ready to bring Piers’ attention back. It looked like an accident that, in the slight movement towards Lizzie, Piers spilled some of his wine over her hand and wrist so that she gave a little jump, a squeak. He hastened to bring out a handkerchief, mopping at her outstretched hand, laughing with her, and neither saw Alison’s angry, vexed face.

It was precisely at this moment that the puppy arrived. He was brought in – amongst cries of apology for the delay – perched in a wicker basket lined with a soft blanket. All floppy ears and huge paws, he watched with no little alarm as he was borne through the delighted group and heard the ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ of sentimental guests. Piers glanced up from his drying operation, puzzled, whilst Tilda slipped between the watching figures to stand between Lizzie and her mother. The little procession now halted before Piers, the puppy held aloft in his basket, whilst the breeder and her husband burst into the first line of ‘Happy birthday to you’. The tune was taken up willingly by the other guests, their shouts ringing round the garth, echoing in the quiet night, and culminating in a chorus of ‘For he’s a jolly good fellow’.

Felix found that his eyes were full of tears as he watched surprise, gratification and tenderness dawning in his son’s face as he stared at the puppy and heard the voices of his friends. They crowded near to pat him on the shoulder, to shake his hand, until finally he was able to reach out to receive the basket that held the golden Labrador puppy: Joker’s great-great-nephew. Tilda and Teresa stood together, arms entwined, Tilda’s face wet with tears. She turned her head briefly, hiding it in her mother’s neck, and Teresa laid her cheek upon the bright hair, holding the girl close in an attempt to comfort and to shield. Then Piers was looking for her, acknowledging that it was she who had planned this surprise, and Tilda was smiling again, albeit shakily, embracing Piers and the puppy together, whilst Lizzie smiled mistily and Alison bit her lips with mortification.