Fair Do’s. David Nobbs

held an audience spellbound for the only time in his inglorious political career. The irony escaped him.

      ‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ He stood where Rita had delivered her emotional speech. Gerry’s speech was carefully unemotional. His face was pale and pinched. He looked very young, and so very, very old. ‘Ladies and gentlemen. I’m off now. I’d just like to apologise for the way the day has turned out, and to thank you all for coming, and for all the presents, which were just what we … would have wanted, and will be returned. I’m off to Capri. I had hoped that my bride would be with me, as I understand that this is customary on these occasions. But I’m going anyway; it’s all paid for, and I deplore waste of every kind. It says so in my bloody manifesto, so it must be true.’

      Gerry Lansdown looked neither to left nor right as he walked past his wedding guests. He didn’t so much as glance at Rita. He strode out of her life forever, with his head held high.

      Rita trembled.

      ‘Feel up to facing everybody?’ said Liz gently.

      ‘Oh yes. I don’t think I should run away now. And … thank you, Liz.’

      Rita kissed Liz, and Neville, watching, beamed.

      

      ‘Our Liz is turning into a real trooper,’ said Rodney Sillitoe, watching from their position beside the apple juice.

      ‘Well she doesn’t see Rita as a threat, now she’s made such a fool of herself,’ said Betty.

      ‘That’s a bit ungenerous, isn’t it?’

      ‘No. It’s realistic. I don’t believe anybody ever does anything except for selfish reasons.’

      ‘Betty! You do.’ Rodney was astounded. ‘You’re a very sentimental person.’

      ‘Sentimentality is selfish. When I pat a little boy on the head and go, “There, there! Who’s a clever boy, then?”, who loves it? Me. Who hates it? The little boy. Selfish.’

      ‘But you’re an incredibly wonderful wife to me.’

      ‘Because you’re such an incredibly wonderful husband to me that it’s in my interest to be an incredibly wonderful wife to you.’

      ‘Aaaah! Let’s clink juices and drink to us.’

      ‘To us.’

      They clinked juices.

      

      With Liz at her side, Rita felt able to face her ex-husband at last.

      ‘Well!’ said Rita.

      ‘Yes,’ said Ted.

      ‘What a mess,’ said Rita.

      ‘Yes,’ said Ted.

      ‘Oh well,’ said Liz.

      There was a brief lull, as if their loquacity had exhausted them.

      ‘So how did you feel, Ted?’ asked Rita. ‘Sad? Happy? Triumphant?’

      ‘Rita! As if I … I mean! Really! I felt embarrassed. For you. For Gerry. For me.’

      ‘For you?’ said Liz.

      ‘Rita made some rather nasty insinuations about my prowess as a lover.’

      ‘Ted!’ said Liz. ‘Not now.’

      ‘No, no. I know. Subject closed. Not the time or place.’ He paused. ‘But. Well, it was, wasn’t it? A bit below the belt. As it were.’

      ‘No, Ted, it wasn’t below the belt,’ said Rita. ‘I was referring to your emotional commitment, not your physical prowess. You’re all right in that department, and there are people in this room who could second that, I’m sure.’

      Liz blushed. She was thoroughly disconcerted. Ted was astounded. He didn’t realise that Rita’s abrupt return to acidity had made her feel angry and confused about her dramatic new role as Rita’s friend and saviour.

      ‘I really must go and … er …’ Liz couldn’t find any way of ending her sentence.

      Ted, not known for his social rescues, leapt to her aid. ‘See if Neville’s all right?’

      ‘Yes! Exactly! Thank you, Ted!’ Ted wished that Liz didn’t sound so surprised.

      Ted and Rita looked into each other’s eyes and saw only the past, their marriage, the painful separation and divorce. The duty manager, Mr O’Mara, trim, precise, prissy and finger-clicking, was fussily organising the drawing of the curtains. It was that moment, on late winter afternoons, that is the most magical of the day for those who are happy at home, as they enfold themselves in a womb chosen and furnished by them; but which, for the lonely, the bored, the inadequate, the defeated, the frightened, is the bleakest moment of all, as they face the long dark evening, and welcome into their homes a group of Australians because, empty-headed and indifferently acted though they may be, they are better than loneliness, or more fun than their nearest and dearest.

      Ted, feeling the bleakness, shivered, and reached out to touch Rita.

      ‘No,’ she said. ‘No. I have to say, Ted … we have to get this straight … my not marrying Gerry has nothing to do with any feelings for you. I’m not coming back to you, ever.’

      ‘Oh no,’ said Ted. ‘No, no, I know. No. I’ve … er …’ Corinna walked past behind Rita and flashed Ted a quick invitational smile. ‘I’ve … er … I’ve reconciled myself to that.’

      ‘So I see.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘That rather striking woman who just passed.’

      It wasn’t the first time that Ted had wondered how Rita could see behind her.

      ‘Do you notice everything?’ he said.

      ‘I’m a woman.’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘You’re worried about your sexual prowess, and here you are surrounded by your conquests.’ Rita shook her head at the absurd neuroses of men.

      ‘Rita! Don’t exaggerate.’ But Ted couldn’t help looking slightly pleased.

      ‘Me. Liz. The striking woman. The waitress.’

      ‘Waitress? What waitress?’

      ‘The one you’re living with. The one you’re so busy trying to keep secret that everybody knows about her.’

      Ted was appalled. ‘Rita! You mean …? Oh heck.’

      ‘I even saw Doreen from the Frimley Building Society going into the other bar. All we need now is the blonde Swedish nymphomaniac and Big Bertha from Nuremberg and we’d have the full set. Ted and his women.’

      ‘Rita!’ said Ted, desperately trying not to think, ‘Well, yes, I’ve had me moments,’ even more desperately trying not to think, ‘What a pathetic list, compared to Don Juan and President Kennedy and Simenon.’ ‘Why rake over cold ashes, Rita? Why spoon up dead custard? The past is dead. Dead. How is Doreen? How’s she looking?’

      Rita gave Ted a long, hard stare, and didn’t tell him how Doreen was looking.

      The immaculate Neville Badger of Badger, Badger, Fox and Badger approached. Liz followed, as if on this occasion she were his lapdog.

      ‘Well, here we are,’ said Neville. ‘Almost like … well, no, not really very like old times.’

      ‘No,’ said Rita with feeling. ‘Not really.’

      It was as if Neville’s approach had been the signal for the full social rescue of Rita Simcock to be put into operation. Elvis and Carol arrived next. Rita’s mind whizzed. Would Carol talk about tomato purée? Did Elvis know that she had never been able to love him quite as much as she loved Paul?

      ‘Hello,’