Memento Mori

those shaking hands.

He was right, for Percy spilled a lot of his tea on the cloth. ‘He ought to be in a home,’ thought Godfrey. Tempest glanced at their table every now and then and tut-tutted a lot, but she did this all round, as if it were a children’s beanfeast. Percy was oblivious of the mess he was making or of anyone’s disapproval. Two others sat at their table, Janet Sidebottome and Mrs Pettigrew. The poet had taken it for granted that he was the most distinguished and therefore the leader of conversation.

‘One time I fell out with Lisa,’ he roared, ‘was when she took up Dylan Thomas.’ He pronounced the first name Dyelan. ‘Dylan Thomas,’ he said, ‘and Lisa was good to him. Do you know, if I was to go to Heaven and find Dylan Thomas there, I’d prefer to go to HELL. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Lisa hasn’t gone to Hell for aiding and abetting him in his poetry so-called.’

Janet Sidebottome bent her ear closer to Percy. ‘What did you say about poor Lisa? I don’t hear well.’

‘I say,’ he said, ‘I wonder if Lisa’s gone to Hell because of her—’

‘From respect to my dear sister,’ said Janet with a hostile look, ‘I don’t think we will discuss —’

‘Dye-lan Thomas died from D.T.’ said the old poet, becoming gleeful. ‘You see the coincidence? — His initials were D.T. and he died from D.T. Hah!’

‘In respect for my late sister —’

‘Poetry!’ said Percy. ‘Dylan Thomas didn’t know the meaning of the word. As I said to Lisa, I said, “You’re making a bloody fool of yourself supporting that charlatan. It isn’t poetry, it’s a leg-pull.” She didn’t see it, nobody saw it, but I’m telling you his verse was all a HOAX.’

Tempest turned round in her chair. ‘Hush, Mr Mannering,’ she said, tapping Percy on the shoulder.

Percy looked at her and roared, ‘Ha! Do you know what you can tell Satan to do with Dye-lan Thomas’s poetry?’ He sat back to observe, with his two-fanged gloat, the effect of this question, which he next answered in unprintable terms, causing Mrs Pettigrew to say, ‘Gracious!’ and to wipe the corners of her mouth with her handkerchief. Meanwhile various commotions arose at the other tables and the senior waitress said, ‘Not in here, sir!’

Godfrey’s disgust was arrested by fear that the party might now break up. While everyone’s attention was still on Percy he hastily took up a couple of the Cellophane-wrapped cakes from the top tier of the cakestand, and stuffed them into his pocket. He looked round and felt sure no one had noticed the action.

Janet Sidebottome leaned over to Mrs Pettigrew. ‘What did he say?’ she said.

‘Well, Miss Sidebottome,’ said Mrs Pettigrew, meanwhile glancing at herself sideways in a glass on the wall, ‘as far as I could comprehend, he was talking about some gentleman indelicately.’

‘Poor Lisa,’ said Janet. Tears came to her eyes. She kissed her relatives and departed. Lisa’s nephew and his wife sidled away, though before they had reached the door they were summoned back by Tempest because the nephew had left his scarf. Eventually, the couple were permitted to go. Percy Mannering remained grinning in his seat.

To Godfrey’s relief Mrs Pettigrew refilled his cup. She also poured one for herself, but when Percy passed his shaking cup she ignored it. Percy said, ‘Hah! That was strong meat for you ladies, wasn’t it?’ He reached for the teapot. ‘I hope it wasn’t me made Lisa’s sister cry,’ he said solemnly. ‘I’d be sorry to have made her cry.’ The teapot was too heavy for his quivering fingers and fell from them on to its side, while a leafy brown sea spread from the open lid over the tablecloth and on to Godfrey’s trousers.

Tempest rose, pushing back her chair as if she meant business. She was followed to the calamitous table by Dame Lettie and a waitress. While Godfrey was being sponged, Lettie took the poet by the arm and said, ‘Please go.’ Tempest, busy with Godfrey’s trousers, called over her shoulder to her husband, ‘Ronald, you’re a man. Give Dame Lettie a hand.’

‘What? Who?’ said Ronald.

‘Wake up, Ronald. Can’t you see what has to be done? Help Dame Lettie to take Mr Mannering outside.’

‘Oh,’ said Ronald, ‘why, someone’s spilt their tea!’ He ogled the swimming tablecloth.

Percy shook off Dame Lettie’s hand from his arm, and grinning to right and left, buttoning up his thin coat, departed.

A place was made for Godfrey and Mrs Pettigrew at the Sidebottomes’ table. ‘Now we shall have a fresh pot of tea,’ said Tempest. Everyone gave deep sighs. The waitresses cleaned up the mess. The room was noticeably quiet.

Dame Lettie started to question Mrs Pettigrew about her future plans. Godfrey was anxious to overhear this conversation. He was not sure that he wanted Lisa Brooke’s housekeeper to look after Charmian. She might be too old or too expensive. She looked a smart woman, she might have expensive ideas. And he was not sure that Charmian would not have to go into a home.

‘There’s no definite offer, of course,’ he interposed.

‘Well, Mr Colston, as I was saying,’ said Mrs Pettigrew, ‘I can’t make any plans, myself, until things are settled.’

‘What things?’ said Godfrey.

‘Godfrey, please,’ said Lettie, ‘Mrs Pettigrew and I are having a chat.’ She slumped her elbow on the table and turned to Mrs Pettigrew, cutting off her brother from view.

‘What is your feeling about the service?’ said Tempest.

Godfrey looked round at the waitresses. ‘Very satisfactory,’ he said. ‘That older one handled that Mannering very well, I thought.’

Tempest closed her eyes as one who prays for grace. ‘I mean,’ she said, ‘poor Lisa’s last rites at the crematorium.’

‘Oh,’ said Godfrey, ‘you should have said funeral service. When you said the service, naturally I thought —’