drunk one night, had a stand-up row with Mrs Rothwell - finishing with me being sick on her carpet - and walked out. By now we've got it pretty comfortable, though I always feel it somehow lacks character compared with Chris's and David's place, only I can't just put my finger on where it falls down.
'Don't forget to put your clocks back,'David says as we leave them.
'No, we won't. Good night.'
I've got a tune from Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony going through my head for no reason at all as we go down the stairs and once inside the living-room I go to the radiogram and lift the lid. Ingrid looks at me as I take the record out of its sleeve.
'You're not going to put that thing on at this time of night, are you?'
'I thought it'd be nice to go to bed on.'
'You'll have the neighbours complaining.'
'You mean you don't want to listen to it, don't you? Is there any time at all when you don't mind me playing the gramophone?'
'I just said it was too late and it is. You don't have to make a thing out of it. I think you've been clever enough for one night.'
I say 'Oh, how's that?'though I know very well what she means.
'The way you snapped at me earlier on. Trying to show me up in front of Chris and David. I didn't answer back then because I don't like rows in front of other people, but I hope you didn't think you were getting away with it. Didn't you notice how embarrassed they were?'
'Not particularly.'
'No, you don't when you're showing off. Well it might seem clever to you but it doesn't to people listening.'
'All right then, I'm sorry.'
'I wish I thought it'd stop you doing it the next time you feel like it.'
'Well, I shan't feel like it if you don't make stupid remarks, shall I?'
'It must be really awful for you having a wife who's always saying stupid things.'
'We've all got a cross to carry.'
'Oh, what a clever devil you are! Too clever to live.'
With this she begins to move out of the room.
'Are you going to bed?'
'I'm going to have a bath.'
I sit down for a minute or two and leaf through the new Radio Times as the light snaps on in the bathroom and the water begins to gurgle in the pipes. I smoke a cigarette all through, marking up a few concerts I wouldn't mind hearing but don't expect I will, before going to drop the latch on the door and turning the hands of the mantelshelf clock back one hour. The end of summertime. Officially. Remembering the dreary mixed weather we've had all through the middle months of the year it strikes me somebody should be sued for misrepresentation. I adjust my wrist-watch as I'm undressing in the bedroom and wonder if Ingrid's mad enough to have locked me out of the bathroom. But the door opens to my push and I walk into the thin steamy atmosphere and take brush and toothpaste out of the wail cabinet, my back to Ingrid, hearing the whoosh of the water as she finishes soaping herself and slips down to lie full length.
Knowing what she looks like and already wanting her, I de liberately stop myself from turning round till I've rinsed my mouth and spat into the basin. Then I sit down on the little cork-topped chest and cut my toenails, trying to judge from her expression if she's in the mood to get her own back for tonight in the best way she can. But she gives nothing away: her eyes are half closed, her thoughts, from the look of her, on nothing more important than the heat of the water round her body. Her breasts, buoyant in the water, are a lovely shape and I think no, she wouldn't have bathed like this, knowing I'd see her, if she was going to turn me down. She'd have locked the door.
As I'm sitting there, the scissors idle in my hand, her eyes flick up to my face for a second.
'Are you staring at me?'
'Well, I'm looking,'I tell her.'I was just thinking you're better-looking now than when I first knew you.'
'Oh, it's compliments now, is it?'she says, but I know she's pleased.
I go back to cutting my toenails.
'Early night tonight.'
'What time is it?'
I look at my
'Don't forget to put your clocks back,'David says as we leave them.
'No, we won't. Good night.'
I've got a tune from Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony going through my head for no reason at all as we go down the stairs and once inside the living-room I go to the radiogram and lift the lid. Ingrid looks at me as I take the record out of its sleeve.
'You're not going to put that thing on at this time of night, are you?'
'I thought it'd be nice to go to bed on.'
'You'll have the neighbours complaining.'
'You mean you don't want to listen to it, don't you? Is there any time at all when you don't mind me playing the gramophone?'
'I just said it was too late and it is. You don't have to make a thing out of it. I think you've been clever enough for one night.'
I say 'Oh, how's that?'though I know very well what she means.
'The way you snapped at me earlier on. Trying to show me up in front of Chris and David. I didn't answer back then because I don't like rows in front of other people, but I hope you didn't think you were getting away with it. Didn't you notice how embarrassed they were?'
'Not particularly.'
'No, you don't when you're showing off. Well it might seem clever to you but it doesn't to people listening.'
'All right then, I'm sorry.'
'I wish I thought it'd stop you doing it the next time you feel like it.'
'Well, I shan't feel like it if you don't make stupid remarks, shall I?'
'It must be really awful for you having a wife who's always saying stupid things.'
'We've all got a cross to carry.'
'Oh, what a clever devil you are! Too clever to live.'
With this she begins to move out of the room.
'Are you going to bed?'
'I'm going to have a bath.'
I sit down for a minute or two and leaf through the new Radio Times as the light snaps on in the bathroom and the water begins to gurgle in the pipes. I smoke a cigarette all through, marking up a few concerts I wouldn't mind hearing but don't expect I will, before going to drop the latch on the door and turning the hands of the mantelshelf clock back one hour. The end of summertime. Officially. Remembering the dreary mixed weather we've had all through the middle months of the year it strikes me somebody should be sued for misrepresentation. I adjust my wrist-watch as I'm undressing in the bedroom and wonder if Ingrid's mad enough to have locked me out of the bathroom. But the door opens to my push and I walk into the thin steamy atmosphere and take brush and toothpaste out of the wail cabinet, my back to Ingrid, hearing the whoosh of the water as she finishes soaping herself and slips down to lie full length.
Knowing what she looks like and already wanting her, I de liberately stop myself from turning round till I've rinsed my mouth and spat into the basin. Then I sit down on the little cork-topped chest and cut my toenails, trying to judge from her expression if she's in the mood to get her own back for tonight in the best way she can. But she gives nothing away: her eyes are half closed, her thoughts, from the look of her, on nothing more important than the heat of the water round her body. Her breasts, buoyant in the water, are a lovely shape and I think no, she wouldn't have bathed like this, knowing I'd see her, if she was going to turn me down. She'd have locked the door.
As I'm sitting there, the scissors idle in my hand, her eyes flick up to my face for a second.
'Are you staring at me?'
'Well, I'm looking,'I tell her.'I was just thinking you're better-looking now than when I first knew you.'
'Oh, it's compliments now, is it?'she says, but I know she's pleased.
I go back to cutting my toenails.
'Early night tonight.'
'What time is it?'
I look at my
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