they hoped for would be arriving any time now. Edwin had not objected to Deborah continuing her work after their marriage, but family life would naturally be much tidier when she no longer could, when the children were born. Eventually they’d have to move into a house with a garden because it was natural that Deborah would want that, and he had no intention of disagreeing with her.
‘Another thing is,’ he said, moving from the window to the open doorway of the kitchen, ‘how come you haven’t had a reunion all the years I’ve known you? If it’s an annual thing –’
‘It isn’t an annual thing, Edwin. We haven’t had a picnic since 1975 and before that 1971. It’s just when someone feels like it, I suppose. It’s just a bit of fun, darling.’
‘You call sitting down with teddy-bears a bit of fun? Grown-up people?’
‘I wish you wouldn’t keep on about grown-ups. I know we’re grownups. That’s the whole point. When we were little we all vowed –’
‘Jesus Christ!’
He turned and went to pour himself another drink. She’d never mentioned it because she knew it was silly. She was ashamed of it, which was something she would discover when she grew up a bit.
‘You know I’ve got Binky,’ she said, following him to where the drinks were and pouring herself some gin. ‘I’ve told you hundreds of times how I took him everywhere. If you don’t like him in the bedroom I’ll put him away. I didn’t know you didn’t like him.’
‘I didn’t say that, Deborah. It’s completely different, what you’re saying. It’s private for a start. I mean, it’s your teddy-bear and you’ve told me how fond you were of it. That’s completely different from sitting down with a crowd of idiots –’
‘They’re not idiots, Edwin, actually.’
‘Well, they certainly don’t sound like anything else. D’you mean Jeremy and Peter are going to arrive clutching teddy-bears and then sit down on the grass pretending to feed them biscuit crumbs? For God’s sake, Jeremy’s a medical
‘Actually, nobody’ll sit on the grass because the grass will probably be damp. Everyone brought rugs last time. It’s really because of the garden, you know. It’s probably the nicest garden in South Bucks, and then there’re the Ainley-Foxletons. I mean, they do so love it all.’
He’d actually been in the garden, and he’d once actually met the Ainley-Foxletons. One Saturday afternoon during his engagement to Deborah there had been tea on a raised lawn. Laburnum and broom were out, a mass of yellow everywhere. Quite pleasant old sticks the Ainley-Foxletons had been, but neither of them had mentioned a teddy-bears’ picnic.
‘I think she did as a matter of fact,’ Deborah mildly insisted. ‘I remember because I said it hadn’t really been so long since the last one – eighteen months ago would it be when I took you to see them? Well, 1975 wasn’t all that long before that, and she said it seemed like aeons. I remember her saying that, I remember “aeons” and thinking it just like her to come out with a word people don’t use any more.’
‘And you never thought to point out the famous picnic site? For hours we walked round and round that garden and yet it never occurred to you –’
‘We didn’t walk round and round. I’m sorry you were bored, Edwin.’
‘I didn’t say I was bored.’
‘I know the Ainley-Foxletons can’t hear properly and it’s a strain, but you said you wanted to meet them-’
‘I didn’t say anything of the kind. You kept telling me about these people and their house and garden, but I can assure you I wasn’t crying out to meet them in any way whatsoever. In fact, I rather wanted to play tennis that afternoon.’
‘You didn’t say so at the time.’
‘Of course I didn’t say so.’
‘Well, then.’
‘What I’m trying to get through to you is that we walked round and round that garden even though it had begun to rain. And not once did you say, “That’s where we used to have our famous teddy-bears’ picnic.”’
‘As a matter of fact I think I did. And it isn’t famous. I wish you wouldn’t keep on about it being famous.’
Deborah poured herself more gin and added the same amount of dry vermouth to the glass. She considered it rude of Edwin to stalk about the room just because he’d had a bad day, drinking himself and not bothering about her. If he hadn’t liked the poor old Ainley-Foxletons he should have said so. If he’d wanted to play tennis that afternoon he should have said so too.
‘Well, be all that as it may,’ he was saying now, rather pompously in Deborah’s opinion, ‘I do not intend to take part in any of this nonsense.’
‘But everybody’s husband will, and the wives too. It’s only fun, darling.’
‘Oh, do stop saying it’s fun. You sound like a half-wit. And something’s smelling in the kitchen.’
‘I don’t think that’s very nice, Edwin. I don’t see why you should call me a half-wit.’
‘Listen, I’ve had an extremely unpleasant day –’
‘Oh, do stop about your stupid old day.’
She carried her glass to the kitchen with her and removed the chops from beneath the grill. They were fairly black, and serve him right for upsetting her. Why on earth did he have to make such a fuss, why couldn’t he be like everyone else? It was something to giggle over, not take so seriously, a single Sunday afternoon when they wouldn’t be doing anything anyway. She dropped a handful of noodles into the hot oil, and then a second handful.
In the sitting-room the telephone rang just as Edwin was squirting soda into another drink. ‘Yes?’ he said, and Angela’s voice came lilting over the line, saying she didn’t want to bother Debbie but the date had just been fixed:
