Love, Nina, page 4
Carmelita (cleaner) started today. She did nothing but clean for about three hours. She had one cup of tea, which she sipped as she worked. She won’t chat (too busy). MK was really pleased when she got home and had a good look at all the clean areas and surfaces and sniffed the air (floor polish) and said, “Hey!” She could tell I was a bit annoyed.
MK: Isn’t it nice?
Me: It’s OK.
MK: Don’t know what you’re so mardy about (with her black eyeliner on).
Me: I feel guilty about the cleaning.
MK: Well, you don’t need to. Yes, it would have been nice if, occasionally, you’d tidied up just a bit. But you do all the important stuff—you idiot. And you feed Lucas.
Me: You mean Jack.
MK: Yes, Jack.
So it’s OK and I can just be glad that, once a week, it’s going to smell of floor polish and the mouthpiece on the phone will have been wiped with a J cloth.
Love, Nina
* * *
Dear Vic,
Noticed a skip in the crescent today, up the posh end. Will and me like skips and Sam was interested to see his first ever skip. So we went to have a look at it. It was quite a big one. I thought it would be funny to put Sam in it (the skip), so I did. We were all laughing and Sam’s laugh was echoing around inside the skip.
Sam: There’s a thing in here.
Me: What is it?
Sam: I don’t know.
Him saying that made me think I’d better get him out, but it was difficult because when I tried to lift him out he seemed about ten times heavier than when I lifted him in. And it was deep, plus we were laughing a lot and that weakens you (as you know from the near drowning at St. Margaret’s). Will was helpful and offered to get into the skip himself and help from the inside, but I wanted at least one of them not in the skip. But in the end, Will had to.
Will: Shall I get in?
Me: No.
Will: Shall I fetch Jonathan Miller? (We were just along from his house.)
Me: No!
Will: Bennett?
Me: No!
Will: Nunney?
Me: No, we’ve got to do this ourselves.
Will: So, shall I get in then?
Me: OK.
Anyway, Will got in and they both got out and I said not to tell Mary-Kay. Later AB said he’d seen us “messing about with Ursula Vaughan Williams’ skip.”
MK: Nicking stuff out of it?
AB: Chucking stuff in, from what I could see.
MK: Chucking what in?
Sam & me: Nothing.
Will: Rubbish from the street.
Good old Will, he always knows what to say, which is amazing when you think he’s only nine.
AB wouldn’t stop going on about the woman whose skip we’d been messing around in.
AB: She’s the widow of Ralph Williams.
Me: Who?
AB: The composer.
Me: A composer called Ralph?
AB: Have you never heard of The Lark Ascending (hums tune)?
Sam: I know that one, it was on Bugs Bunny.
I’m doing lots of cooking too, and beginning to get the hang. The worst thing is knowing when a thing is going to be done. How do you know? A chicken seems to take forever. I know the “juices have to run clear” when you stab the leg, but they never do (run clear). So my chickens can be a bit dried out, but at least they’re not going to kill anyone. The secret is to baste them with oil.
Love, Nina
* * *
Dear Vic,
Will is fed up with an overly strict teacher being a bit horrible. I suggested that whenever the teacher is being shouty, Will should imagine him naked on the toilet.
MK: Why does he have to be naked? Couldn’t he just be on the toilet?
Me: Oh, yes. I meant just on the toilet.
MK: (weary).
Me: I didn’t mean to say naked.
Will: (head in hands) Aargh!
MK: Now look what you’ve done.
Me: (to Will) Sorry, forget him being naked, just imagine him on the toilet, but fully clothed.
Sam: But with his trousers down.
Will: Too late, I can’t get the picture out of my head.
MK: (shaking head).
Me: Is he the maths teacher?
MK: Just leave it.
AB is back and came over just for pudding because he’d had a late snack with Coral. Coral is a friend who AB likes a lot who seems to always be saying funny/clever things that make AB laugh. He says Coral’s as sharp as a tack. And it’s a bit “Coral said this” and “Coral said that” at the moment.
This Coral is an actress but I’d never heard of an actress called Coral, so it occurred to me that AB was just saying it funny and it was actually Carol—I thought it might be the actress Carol Drinkwater (TV wife of Christopher Timothy in All Creatures Great and Small) though I couldn’t imagine her being “sharp as a tack.”
Me: Is it Coral, or Carol?
AB: Coral, Coral.
Me: Like the color?
AB: Well…like the marine organism.
Me: It’s nice.
Will: It sounds a bit sharp.
Me: Yes, like coral.
Sam: Yeah, the marine orgasm.
AB: Org-an-ism.
I wonder if AB will tell the funny/clever Coral about Sam calling Coral an orgasm.
Love, Nina
* * *
Dear Vic,
Mondays are very busy now. I have to go and collect the cleaner (Carmelita—she lives with Karel and Betsy in Belsize Park). And Monday is always Jez’s day for laundry (he only has lectures first thing), so he’s always waiting on the doorstep with his laundry bundle when we get back.
Jez and Carmelita get along very well. Jez makes her laugh. He asks her if ours is the messiest house she’s ever seen and whether she thinks a nanny might usually find time to clean up just a bit and stuff like that and Carmelita laughs. I’ve asked him to stop highlighting my failure to clean, but their friendship seems to be built around it. She loves him and pretty much never stops laughing when he’s around, whereas when he’s not, she’s quite serious.
At supper tonight, extra people came round (Granny Wilmers, the Reiszs, the Lahrs and a lone woman called Caroline) and it was my new recipe for Florida coleslaw versus AB’s watercress and orange salad.
I’d made my salad to go with the supper. AB just turned up with his, unasked.
His is just a bag of plain watercress, one chopped-up orange, with a bit of olive oil and some ground pepper. My coleslaw is:
Shredded cabbage
Grated carrot
Onion
1 tin of mandarins
4 large spoons salad cream
Chives
I think more of mine (salad) would have gone if the two salad dishes had been anonymous—everyone looks up to AB these days since all his success on telly, so they’re not going to ignore his salad. Seeing such a lot of my Florida coleslaw left in the bowl, AB made one of his usual food pronouncements, “You’d be better off with mayonnaise or yoghurt, and perhaps not the tinned oranges.”
My God, Vic, MK has started driving like Mrs. Lucas from Gwendolyn Junior. She stayed in second gear all the way along Arlington Road and then changed into third for a maneuver (which, in case you don’t know yet, is the wrong way round). Plus, she’s right up against the steering wheel. Must be the new car (Saab). Hope so.
I said to her, “I think you have your seat too far forward.” And she said, “I have to, otherwise my feet don’t reach the pedals.”
It can’t be right. Are the Swedes a tall race?
Love, Nina
* * *
Dear Vic,
You’re not going to like this, but I’m telling you anyway.
It’s about Lucas (aka Jack) the cat. At first, I thought I quite liked him, but began to get sick of his food/food bowl. Because the thing with cats (as opposed to dogs) is you don’t have much to do with the actual cat, just the food and the bowl and the leftovers and assorted worries—he hasn’t been fed/let in for his food/let out…he’s got fleas/flu/dehydration. Plus, there’s the thing about them prowling round killing baby birds. Plus, I have assumed much of the responsibility for him since insisting on a name change (from Lucas to Jack).
Saw a notice in the newsagent:
CAT WANTED
Adult cat wanted (neutered) by lonely elderly cat lover
(Mornington Crescent).
Have recently lost my old Tom.
Telephone xxx
Memorized it approximately, told Mary-Kay.
MK: So what are you waiting for?
Me: Shouldn’t we discuss it with Sam and Will?
MK: And have someone else beat us to it?
Me: OK.
Rang the old cat lover and was about to take Lucas/Jack round to Mornington Crescent when Will came in.
Will: What’s in the box?
Me: Lucas.
Will: Did he die?
Me: No, he’s going to live somewhere else.
Will: Are you trying to tell me he died?
Me: No, he’s alive, but someone else needs a cat more than we do.
Will: Have you had an offer for him?
Me: Yes.
Will came with me to the woman’s house. She took to him (Lucas/Jack) straightaway and said he was handsome. She liked his “mittens.” Will and I felt quite proud of him.
Woman: (stroking Lucas/Jack) What’s his name?
Me: Jack.
Will: Lucas.
Woman: Jack Lucas?
Me: Yes, Jack Lucas.
Woman: Hmm, I’ll call him Johnny.
Pause while the woman strokes Lucas and says, “Hello, Johnny.”
Woman: (to Will) I’ve just lost my best friend.
Will: Was it a cat?
Woman: Yes, it was Johnny.
Will: I’m sorry.
Woman: (proud) He was eighteen.
Will: What’s that in cat years?
Woman: Eighteen.
Will: Oh.
Woman: If he’d been a dog he’d have been a lot older.
Will: Oh, sorry.
Later:
AB: So Lucas has gone, then?
Sam: Lucas Bunt the big fat runt.
AB: Sam! That’s not very nice.
Will: Yeah, Sam, don’t speak ill of the departed.
Sam: Sorry.
Will: Anyway, he’s called Johnny now.
Sam: Johnny?
Me: It does feel strange without him.
MK: Rubbish.
Sam: I don’t want him to be in Mornington Crescent being called Johnny—I want us to get him back (dramatic gesture, head in hands).
AB: That’s only natural—knowing someone else wants him changes your feelings toward a thing.
MK: Doesn’t me.
Will: Hey, Sam, it’s just like Buckaroo.
Sam: (serious) Oh God! Don’t mention Buckaroo.
Me: Well, we warned you.
Sam: They play Buckaroo night and day round there now.
Me: Perhaps we could borrow it back.
Sam: Lucas or Buckaroo?
Love, Nina
* * *
Dear Vic,
No. I don’t worry about Sam much. Mainly because MK does the worrying and keeps it to herself. It’s no good two people worrying about the same thing unless they want to go on about it and we don’t (unless there’s a practical angle and there usually isn’t). Have done a few experiments with different foods to see if they make a difference and they don’t. Except porridge which is good in every way.
I think Will worries when we rush off to Great Ormond Street. Usually what happens is Sam gets a very (very) high temperature and seems extremely ill and we zoom off and when we get there Sam suddenly seems OK enough for the docs not to be worried and they say we can go home again. And we’re there thinking, Bloody hell!
Last time we went to GOSH Sam had been (very, very) ill at home and then, when we got to GOSH, he seemed quite a bit better. I said to him, “Make sure you’re still ill when the doctor comes.” I know that sounds terrible, but it’s how it is. You want the doctors to see it. He doesn’t put it on and they need to see it. Then later, in the lift on the way up to the ward on a trolley after they’d admitted him, he suddenly sat up and seemed fine and I pushed him back down again, I was so frazzled. He keeps reminding me of that. He says I said, “No fucking way.”
I do worry about his eyes though (my number one concern). Mr. Mackie (eye doc, Scottish) is brilliant. We go there whenever we’re worried and always come away feeling reassured. Sam doesn’t cheat his eye tape for a while afterward either. He’s a bit mad though (Mr. Mackie) and says funny things. Last time he asked if we knew anyone called Marigold and we said no and he said it seemed such a nice name and wondered if it was still in use as a girl’s name. And he said it a few times (Marigold) until we changed the subject.
Another time he advised us to always have our photograph taken in front of a flight of steps (or stairs) and focus just above the photographer’s head, slightly to the right. To get the best-looking portrait.
Overall, with Sam, though, it’s not like looking after someone ill. He just is ill occasionally and usually at night unfortunately.
Pippa’s eyebrows have gone wrong. She’s been plucking from the top, which you should never do—it ruins the natural line (apparently). The rule is: only pluck from underneath. If you pluck at all, which I don’t.
Hope all’s well with you. Sorry to hear about curling-tong burn, always a risk with hot instruments (and early morning usage).
Love, Nina
* * *
Dear Vic,
My April Fool joke on S&W didn’t go to plan. It was based on Elspeth’s old “there’s an elephant in the garden” but scaled down for a very small garden.
Me: Oh my God, there’s a sheep in the garden.
Sam: (looks out) It’s probably a cat.
Will: (goes to French window).
Me: There’s a sheep in the garden.
Will: What are you on about? (Pause. S&W go about their business.)
Me: OK, it’s an April Fool’s joke.
Sam: So there isn’t a sheep?
Me: No, it was an April Fool.
Will: It was rubbish.
Me: My mum used to say there was an elephant in the garden and we always fell for it.
Will: But you said sheep.
Me: It’s a smaller garden.
Sam: An elephant would’ve been better than a sheep.
Will: An elephant would’ve been cool.
Me: But a sheep is more believable.
Will: You should’ve said elephant.
Sam: Yeah.
Said I’d do Bolognese (Sam likes it). Fried up some turkey mince and added a jar of Dolmio. Pippa always does it like that and it seems OK. (No AB, he’s in Egypt or Yorkshire or somewhere miles away and no chance of turning up and criticizing the turkey Bolognese.)
At supper:
Sam: (digging about in his food) You said Bolognese.
Me: Yes.
Sam: (inspecting) Is this Bolognese?
Me: Of course.
Will: (digging about) Wait a minute, is it turkey Bolognese?
Me: Does it taste like turkey?
Sam: Yes.
Will: Yes.
MK: Is this what happens when Bennett’s away?
Told S&W about how I like cold toast.
Me: I like it cold with butter and marmalade.
Will: Why?
Me: Makes me think I’m in a hotel.
Will: Or prison.
Sam: You don’t have toast in prison.
Will: What do you have?
Sam: Porridge.
Love, Nina
* * *
April/May 1983 (General Election soon)
Dear Vic,
It’s the total opposite here—they all absolutely HATE her guts (they call her Mrs. Thatcher). When they see her on the telly someone will say, “Look, Mrs. Thatcher.” In a disgusted-but-interested way.
MK and AB used to be Labour but they’ve gone over to the SDP. Sam and Will used to both be Labour, but now Sam’s gone over to the SDP. Stephen is Labour (apparently) and hasn’t gone over so far. Sam and Will are taking the General Election very seriously. They want to know how you lot are all going to vote. I’ve said you’re all Ecology to keep it neutral.
Yesterday Sam asked if the SDP will win the election.
Me: It’s unlikely.
Sam: (worried) I might switch back to Labour.
Will: You can’t keep switching—I’m Labour, you’re SDP now.
Sam: I want to switch back to Labour.
Will: You can’t.
Sam: Yeah, I’m going to. I’m Labour again.
Will: You’ve got an SDP strip in your window.
Sam: I’ll take it down.
Will: I’m ringing Mum. (Will rings MK) Sam, Mum wants to talk to you.
After the phone call:
Me: What did MK say?
Sam: She said I should stay true to my beliefs.
Will: Whatever the hell they are.
Me: What are your beliefs?
Sam: I believe in Paolo Rossi.
Love, Nina
PS Nunney’s to and fro to Ickenham to do with the Labour Party. Knocking on doors, asking people about their intentions and trying to convince them over, if necessary.
* * *
Dear Vic,
Will’s got a cold, so was at home groggy. This has been our day.
Will: What will I do when you go to do Sam’s drops?
Me: You can either come with me or I’ll ask Amanda to come and sit with you.
