The Last Word

  But Harry hurried outside and sat in the car for a bit, collecting himself, before driving to Julia’s and picking up the key she’d left for him.

  Sliding up the passage, he saw that Ruth was in the living room, wearing the bright shirt Liana had worn to Mamoon’s birthday dinner. She was sitting at the table with two of her paramours, in a smog of dope smoke, drinking Mamoon’s champagne in beer glasses and, Harry soon made out, discussing some money-making scheme involving forged signatures, which they were practising. Harry greeted them quietly. He interested them, unfortunately; one of the men stood up and shouted for him to sit down for a bevvy, and Ruth called, ‘Harry, Harry, Harry – won’t you grace us for a drink?’

  Harry was sensible enough to continue to the woman he had come to see.

  In the attic Julia was waiting in bed for him.

  He stripped off his shirt. ‘Look!’

  ‘Gorgeous. Thanks – I’ve been waiting for this.’

  He turned. ‘Notice the bruises!’

  ‘Oh my God, who did this? My brother? Is he back?’

  ‘Luckily not. Mamoon.’

  She laughed. ‘Shut up.’

  He took her hand and laid it against his face. ‘He’s dangerous for an old man, Julia, with strong wrists.’

  ‘Jesus, it’ll go a funny colour. You’ll look like an aubergine.’

  ‘That is a vegetable I don’t like. Here’s my phone. Photograph the injury. It’s all gone wrong. I’ve been sacked.’

  She photographed him, before pulling the rest of his clothes off and sitting on top of him. Her kisses were calming.

  ‘I need your love, Julia.’

  ‘I know. Congrats, lover boy.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘You’ve been beaten as well as sacked. You must be doing good work.’

  ‘Yes, well, the old boy pretends to rise above the everyday stupidities, gazing into the immeasurable distance with that superior tortoise blink, presumably regretting all the sexual opportunities he eschewed. Then he goes berserk with the stick I carved for him.’

  She began to fuck him, knowing he would relax. ‘Can I ask you something? I’ve been thinking about it non-stop. How many times did you have Alice while she was here?’

  ‘Just the once. We were going again when we were interrupted by you, thanks. I know you were pretending to work outside the room, ears vibrating. I added some keen grunts to flush you out with laughter.’

  ‘I wasn’t listening!’

  ‘With Alice, it’s only ever on her terms, like being granted an appointment with the queen. Her latest thing is claiming to be allergic to semen. She has the rigidity of a hurt child.’

  ‘I was going to say, abuse. You’ll get it less and less from her, pretty boy.’

  ‘How soon these things wear out. I’m nearly ready for a change.’

  ‘But you don’t like to let people go.’

  ‘Tell me what you really think.’

  She popped a joint into his mouth and lit it for him. ‘You two might have a chance if she can appreciate you. She doesn’t notice that you’re funny and sweet. You say fascinating things, and you’re good company. Unlike the old man, you’re interested in other people. Plus, a gift for cunnilingus puts you in the top one per cent of all men.’

  ‘It takes practice to be such a gourmand.’

  ‘I always put musky perfume there for you, but I won’t ask you to do that for me right now, Harry.’ She turned off the lights, lit candles, and blew on his eyelids. ‘You seem cracked; you look like you’re going to cry on me.’

  ‘I’m down. This is our last night together. If I’m really sacked, I won’t be that displeased, to be honest. I’ve had enough of them both.’

  ‘I’ll set my alarm. I predict I can help you. I’m your girl, remember?’

  ‘If you save me this time,’ he said, ‘you’re a genius. I’ll take you out for an Indian.’

  ‘You will do something for me, Harry. You know what it is. I’ve asked you before. Take me with you, Fizzy Pants.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘London.’

  He laughed. ‘I wish I could. As it is, I’m done for.’

  Twenty-two

  In the morning he cried, ‘Why have they put floodlights outside the window?’

  ‘Er . . . shut up. It’s called the sun,’ she said. ‘Are you ill?’

  ‘Julia, I’m going to give all this up and go back to London.’

  ‘You’re going to Liana now.’

  ‘I can’t face either of them. I can’t face anything.’

  She pulled him out of bed, filled him with food, and got him into his car, giving him instructions all the while; he nodded and shook his head silently. She ensured he was back at the house and in the kitchen hunting for haddock, and running up a Bloody Mary to accompany the Arnold Bennett, before Liana finally made her entrance in a satin dressing gown.

  As she stood there, taking in the day, feeling out her head with her fingers and deciding to be jaunty, he dashed across the kitchen to lay her favourite breakfast in front of her.

  ‘Here, Liana darling.’

  ‘Ciao bello, you sweetie, this is too lovely, thanks. How did you know where to find this fish? What a treat.’

  ‘And here – for you.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Some of those things you asked for.’

  He handed her a saucer of pills. There had been a jar full of Es in Julia’s bedroom, as well as some hash, and a bag of mushrooms. She’d told him to take something for Liana. He was kind; he’d taken a lot.

  All night he’d been persecuted by the ghost of Mamoon’s words, coming at him in sinister whispers: over-educated but mediocre, worthless, parasitic . . .

  ‘You can be a fine boy,’ said Liana, dropping them into the pocket of her dressing gown.

  ‘A caress from nirvana,’ he said. ‘But how can Mamoon resist you when you wear that cream silk dressing gown, and pyjamas with high heels? Even I—’

  ‘Shut it, this early, and take your sunglasses off in here! Are you straight with me or any woman? Do you let any of them in? I don’t think you’re an idiot, just difficult, evasive, and probably a fraud. Darling, give me a little morning kiss on the lips.’

  ‘Please, Liana, you smell of fish, and I’ve got a problem that only a diplomat like you can help me with. The day has come – I’ve been fired.’

  ‘Who by?’

  ‘Your husband. Last night he chased me with his stick. He was a little, let’s say, agitated by the Marion material.’

  ‘So was I.’

  ‘Do I leave then?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Okay. I’ll get my things.’

  She said, ‘Not that I believed a word of that filth. Did you? The puttana made it all up for revenge and publicity. Can you imagine for a moment him behaving like that? The British public are decent and will understand. It was obvious he would fall out with you.’

  ‘Doesn’t he ensure a fatal fight with everyone? Particularly the women.’

  ‘Not with me,’ she said. ‘I’m the boss here, tesoro, don’t worry.’

  ‘I’ll ring Alice and give her the news that you will help,’ he said. ‘She’s at home fretting about me.’

  ‘She is delicate, we must take care of her. But doesn’t it worry you,’ Liana said, ‘and don’t take this the wrong way – that she doesn’t find you at all amusing?’

  ‘Thanks for that, Liana.’

  ‘You are very funny, you know.’ She looked at him, and said, ‘As for Mamoon, never ignore him, and never listen to him. You go to work, and I’ll speak to him at exactly the right time.’ She winked. ‘Observe the masterly way I shoot for his G-spot. It’s like feeding a lion while keeping your fingers.’

  Mamoon came in, with a dressing on his forehead. If Harry had wondered whether Mamoon would remember last night’s threat, he needn’t have worried.

  Mamoon scowled, and said with a ferocity Harry had yet to become accustomed
to, ‘My spine aches the entire time, I can’t see a foot in front of my face and I’m dizzy. My knee feels like an envelope full of broken glass and my penis is like a chloroformed slug—’

  ‘Are you constipated? Have you had the dream again?’ asked Liana.

  ‘I am facing this urchin in my kitchen.’ He jabbed at Harry and said, ‘I rang Rob and ordered that you must stand out of my sunshine, sunshine.’

  ‘No, Mamoon.’ Liana pointed the washing-up brush at him, and then flicked it, as she did with the cats when they jumped on the table. ‘Idiot or not, we’ve given him this damn job and he has to complete the paperwork. Your tantrums are ridiculous and interfering.’

  ‘This serpent, the woodworm, insulted me.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He made allegations against my honour.’

  ‘Are you finally saying they’re absolutely and completely wrong?’

  ‘Liana, I’ve told you, he’s beyond a pest.’

  ‘He is. Even Alice has absolutely confirmed the woodworm is a blood-boiler. But he stays.’

  ‘Why defend a fake who actually hasn’t written a word? I think you like him a bit too much.’

  ‘Too much for what?’

  ‘It’s repulsive in a woman of your age. You resemble a mutton chop.’

  She started to laugh. ‘Eat me then!’

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘Watch it.’ She repointed the brush in his direction.

  Harry wouldn’t have wanted that brush pointed at him, and could see that a younger Mamoon, at this point, could become mightily annoyed and cranky. He appeared to be looking about for something handy to heave in her direction. Then his breathing slowed, he closed his eyes and caressed his battered forehead.

  ‘Remove him for ever from my sight.’

  She said, ‘We made a decision, you and I together, and we should follow it through without this mad fatwa against him. Otherwise I won’t feed you.’ She picked up the saucepan from the Aga and walked to the bin. ‘Dal makhani, your favourite. And your paneer – say bye bye, paneer.’

  ‘Liana—’

  ‘And you love my salty raita. It was going to be followed by apple crumble and cream. Choose now – food or mood.’

  ‘Food or mood? Don’t throw that away! I choose food.’ He was hurriedly tucking his napkin into the neck of his shirt. ‘Will there be tomatoes? I love how you cooked them last time.’

  ‘Did you?’ she said, winking at Harry. She went and kissed Mamoon, sliding her hand down the front of his shirt. ‘Did you like that, habibi, my love?’

  ‘It might be more tasty if you cooked everything that way.’

  ‘I will do it like that – if you make me.’

  ‘One more thing.’ He thrust his finger at Harry. ‘Where is Alice?’

  ‘Why?’ asked Liana.

  ‘She has calming hands,’ he said.

  Liana rolled her hands over Mamoon’s belly. ‘Don’t I?’

  ‘She’s professional.’

  ‘I’ll do what I can,’ said Harry.

  ‘Looks like you’ve been given a last chance,’ said Liana. ‘You’d better get that book done. Soon we will read some of it. And we had better like it . . .’

  Twenty-three

  Alice and Liana sat in the heat on the lawn, passing a tub of vanilla ice cream between them and conspiring to bring young people to Prospects House. Her face hidden under an umbrella to protect it from the sun, Alice had her feet up on a stool; when she wasn’t scooping up Ben and Jerry’s, she laid the back of her hand on her overheated and worried forehead, and sighed deeply. Then she noticed Harry and started on the considerable business of sitting up.

  Liana was writing lists and thinking aloud; she used the words ‘young’ and ‘artist’ a lot, as well as ‘yoga centre’ and ‘writers’ retreat’. In contrast, Mamoon didn’t look like a man whose home would soon be open to the public. Sitting in the shade a decent distance away, working on the proofs of his collected essays, Means and Ends, he couldn’t hear his wife. Occasionally, he would interrupt his humming of a tune by Everything But the Girl to groan and complain about his irrelevance, but no one listened. On Liana’s instructions, Julia bustled over with tea until he accused her of trying to poison him with Lapsang Souchong. Despite the sight of Harry pacing up and down outside the back door, Mamoon was cheerful. He had been active: recently, with a few remarks, he had made a lot happen.

  Alice had been there for two days, swimming in the river and resting, while Mamoon was working again. Harry, after his conversations with Marion, had been settling back into his work. It had become difficult and frustrating as he fought to find clarity in the chaos of his research. For days he had read letters and written to friends, colleagues and possible lovers of Mamoon, while considering the work in relation to the life, making links across the decades.

  But Rob had been attempting to harry Harry, as Mamoon had insisted he should. Harry might have been reinstated as official portraitist, but only on condition, Mamoon had concluded, that Liana get tough with Rob. It was time, Mamoon had said, for Harry’s work to be thoroughly inspected by the editor before Harry became waylaid or dangerous to literature, perhaps going too far in a ‘strange direction’, or becoming ‘self-indulgent’ with the book. Mamoon wanted to look like himself.

  Mamoon might be annoyed, but it wasn’t as if Rob had been unprovoked by the biographer. For some time Harry had been ignoring his communications, claiming he was ‘out of range’. However, that morning, waking up late with Alice, Harry had pulled the curtains and stopped dead. Rob was stumbling up the track bearing a large suitcase and rucksack. It wasn’t long before Rob had walked into the house, demanded breakfast from Julia, and, when Harry went to greet him, insisted on seeing his laptop.

  When he began to read through Harry’s work both aloud and to himself, Harry said, ‘I’m not ready for this, Rob. These are notes. Why are you doing it?’

  ‘Liana is right. I have got to know.’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘That man out there is an artist.’ Rob pointed out of the window where Alice and Ruth were trimming a tree to Mamoon’s instructions. ‘He met Borges in Paris in the mid-seventies. They had dinner two or three times. What did they talk about? Kafka? Adjectives? Their agents? Why don’t you tell us?’ He rapped his knuckles dangerously against the screen of Harry’s computer. ‘Talent is gold dust. You can pan among a million people and come up with barely a scrap of it. Commitment to the Word stands against our contemporary fundamentalist belief in the market. Have you forgotten that?’

  ‘Rob, I’m telling you, he’s vile to ordinary people and charming to fascist monsters.’

  ‘Put that in.’

  ‘He’s insane. He attacked me with a stick.’ Harry pulled up his shirt and showed Rob the site, still visible. ‘Joyce didn’t do that to Ellmann!’

  ‘Jesus, that’s bad. Still,’ he sniffed, ‘any simpleton can be good. Mamoon has the balls to be a sinner. Liana has been phoning me. She says among other things that you have inflated ideas about yourself.’

  ‘She said that?’

  ‘It was reported by Ruth: Alice and you – the long, blond boy, with his impossibly tall and thin platinum fashionista girl, strolling with the dogs around town, in fashionable raggedy clothes and scuffed boots, disappointed you couldn’t find somewhere that served nettle fettuccine, staring at the tattooed chavs as though you’d just discovered an African tribe. I heard you even photographed a chav’s dog. Liana had to personally apologise.’

  ‘To the dog?’

  Rob removed his skull ring before taking aim and slapping Harry across the face. He stared at him, daring him to respond. ‘Tell me, how come you haven’t been beaten up more?’

  ‘Should I be?’

  ‘The party’s dead. We’re on truth time.’ Rob lowered his eyes to Harry’s efforts on the screen. ‘You sit close enough to inhale every emanation of me, and we will examine what you’ve been doing. Are you having a breakdown? You look crazed and see
m sad and manic.’

  It was true: since Alice had found herself pregnant with twins, her anxiety had entered the red zone, as had Harry’s. Harry’s father had even summoned his youngest son to London for a talking-to. It was like visiting a mischievous cardinal and, cheerfully, Dad had been glad to repeat his homily that a baby in a family, or worse, two babies, was like a hurricane hitting a crowd. All that which had been blown apart had to be put back together, in a new, broader configuration: this was the work of a man, not a boy. Being a father was not a given; one had to assume the throne, stated Dad the throne-sitter. ‘There will be difficulties,’ he added, dabbing his eyes in amusement. But he was also pleased; Harry, with his easy cleverness and tendency towards arrogance, dissipation and frivolity, particularly when it came to women, had given his father good reason to believe he’d achieve zero. In fact Dad had almost become reconciled to it.

  Now, having finished her ice cream, Alice came across the lawn towards Harry. If Rob had already wrung him out, it was Alice’s turn.

  Not only feeling sick and faint, Alice now found Harry too noisy, overbearing, with his breath too oniony, his fingers sweaty and his eyes suddenly too beady. Meanwhile he was forbidden, of course, from finding her repulsive though she described herself as ‘just sludge’.

  She touched him gently on the back and they walked. Worrying about where they would live, she hadn’t been sleeping at all. They would require, at least, a much bigger place, a house in a safe neighbourhood with a garden. How would she look after the children? For that she would need help since he couldn’t expect her to do the housework and childcare while he was in a library, no doubt sipping espressos with publicity girls who would bring him croissants.

  ‘I am going to be working even harder, Alice. As Mamoon knows, earning a living for life at this game is difficult. We will have to go where the money is – America, where I hope I’ll be able to get work teaching—’

  ‘Teaching what?’

  ‘Creative writing.’

  ‘You know nothing about it,’ she said. ‘I’ve been thinking we should move to Devon.’