My apparent willingness to become Jewish changed the atmosphere so far as Mrs. Lascel was concerned, becoming quite affable, suggesting that it would be easier if I joined the Liberal Synagogue, going so far as to invite me into her large, mock Tudor, house.
All there, husband, in a heavy leather chair, hiding behind the newspaper, the sons, Steven and Lawrence
Mrs. Lascel started to shout at everyone, for no particular reason, striding from room to room, people made themselves scarce, disappearing hurriedly up the heavy wooden staircase. Only Vivien remained, no doubt waiting for the action. Mr. Lascel, still deep in his chair behind the newspaper, could see why Ruth so adamant about leaving 'home'. Viv and her mother started screaming at each other, apparently, Vivien, not coming up to scratch with her homework ... she would be a "Useless, good for nothing ... unlike her two brothers" they , the epitome of everything sons' should be. Vivien started crying rushed up the stairs, the general escape route from the mother, who, having upset one half of the family, turned her attention to the husband.
"Monty, don't sit there."
He put the paper down, waiting for the situation to develop. a slightly pained look about him, his whole attitude one of resignation. Conceivably, he wished that she would go away, disappear down a deep hole. The "marriage", as such, no more than a facade. doubtlessly, he had diagnosed her deep down frustration, his answer to get some peace, simply to give her larger doses of sleeping tablets as the years ebbed away.
Mrs. Lascel, not asleep at this particular juncture ... firing on all six.
"Monty, you have met Peter ..."
He smiled automatically, with half his face, the eyes remaining blank, the face he prepared to meet the dying, hopeless, faces that he met. He was stiff, upright, the smart dark suit, only added slightly to his natural good looks. The man in his early fifties. A doctor, he looked more like an ambassador. Should imagine he would have to fight the woman off... wondered what would happen if his smooth surface was suddenly scratched? apparently completely untouched by his wife's ravings and rapid mood changes. She, momentarily quiet, sitting on the arm of the long leather settee, swinging her leg, lighting a cigarette, lifting her head up, blowing blue smoke at the stucco ceiling. I watched, waiting for the next act. Mr. Lascel said something about tea… had I been offered any tea?
"Yes ... Yes ... it's all been taken care of. What do you think we have an Au-Pair for?" This, standing up, shouting towards what must have been the kitchen. The Au-Pair arrived with a tray, as she put it down on the table, thought her eyes were fixed on Mr. Lascel, wondered how she survived the lady of the house ... so much aggravation for a fiver a week.
"All right, you can start with the dinner now. We can have the rest of the chicken and the lockshen."
Mrs. Lascel curt, the girl not so hard to look at, tall, well built, feet a little large, about a seven, long black hair, sallow dark skin, probably Austrian/German. Never spoke, no one invited her to, disappearing back through the swinging lounge doors.
"She is a waste of time… bloody useless."
This in a voice not slightly subdued. Mrs. Lascel out to give the girl a hard time. Perhaps she too, had seen the look passed between the girl and her husband, however, her attention back to me, the incident forgotten.
Mr. Lascel unimpressed I had agreed to take the Jewish religion. Very quietly he said
"You can't force religion on other people" and he should know.
"We are not forcing anything." She snapped back.
Suddenly a joint effort, like it or not, Monty had been rowed in. .... part of the plan for my conversion.
He looked at me ...
"Do you intend marrying Ruth?"
"Marry! Of course he will marry Ruth. What do you think we have spent the whole evening in that rotten Wimpey bar talking about ... Peter will become a taxi driver, earn a lot of money and look after Ruth as she should be."
Didn't know that I was to become a taxi driver until the precise moment she announced it, completely off the top of her head... didn't know either Ruth and I would be marrying. So many surprises in one day, would have to check my stars and see what else in store for me.
Mr. Lascel subsided back in his chair. Vivien who evidently been listening to all this from the outside the door, came in, pulling her long black hair back with one hand and shaking my hand , I imagine, as some gesture towards the forthcoming ceremony, with the other.
At that moment the street door banged shut. Ruth clomped in, looked first at the expression on my face, then at the rest. Vivien did not waste a second, rushing up to her, throwing her arms round.
"Congratulations ... when are you having the wedding."
The colour, what remained of it, drained from Ruth's face. Immediately having an asthma attack, rummaging through her bag quickly for the inhaler.
An air of expectancy, something more, was, or should be, about to happen.
Drank my tea, the two boys drifted in, vibrations, no doubt, reaching into the rooms above. Steven, the eldest, had all the attributes. Equally tall as his father, with his own good looks, a calm reserved atmosphere about him, the last stages of graduating. Shuddered to think what the women would do to him. The other boy, not quite so fortunate. Shorter, slightly built, nothing brilliant. Nevertheless, completely inoffensive, impossible to like or dislike. His only aspiration, at his mother's intense insistence, to become a dentist.
The mother endeavoured to hold all this together. Her drive, her dream, slowly cracking under the strain. The children no longer children. They were young people wanting to go their way. Only Ruth had dared. Ruth, the eldest, the one holding all their hopes she had dared turn against them.
A large photograph of her, perhaps six years old, the only photograph, stood on the huge sideboard, next to the candle holder.
Mrs. Lascel tried desperately to patch this dereliction, patch it in any way, on any terms, to retain the cohesion. Deep down, she knew it to be over.
Ruth would go her own way, regardless of her own father, who she desperately adored, yet he never showed anything in the way of the affection she needed. He was perhaps, unwittingly, too immersed in his son's and football. Incredible t such a man could be so short sighted. My position in the house, an anathema. Whatever, could not walk out and leave Ruth, after what she had been through to break away. If I left, she would be nowhere. The mother would seize her, shake her like a rag doll.
Colour returned to Ruth's cheeks, she stopped coughing, sat down on the edge of the chair, knees drawn up together, took a cigarette from her bag, lit it slowly, deliberately, spiky tense, a cat wanting to jump, not quite sure in which direction.
"Who said anything about marriage.?"
Her voice hard and controlled, general shuffle in the room, people became very interested in their finger nails, the large clock over the ornate, tiled, fireplace ticked very loudly in the momentary, unaccustomed silence.
Mrs. Lascel cracked. Suddenly standing up screaming.
"You little whore ... Get married."
Momentarily I thought it would come to blows.
"I can't get married ... I don't want to get married ... I just want to be left alone."
"Why can't you get married?"
The mother looked at me with a mixture of unconcealed hatred and contempt.
"I suppose he is married already ... the ginger git."
Ruth never answered, turning her head towards the French windows and the garden.
Thought the whole thing had gone far enough, the melodrama unbelievable.
Went over to Ruth, took her hand, pulled her up. She was trembling.
"Come on, get your things. We're going."
It appeared a very long time Ruth took to shove a few bits together.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The street door banged shut, hard enough to make the lion head brass knocker bounce. To me, nothing unusual, doors banging, the echoing note of finality. Perhaps all Aries people find themselves on the wrong side of street doors. Then, I guess, just me. Other men, without doubt, would have played the hand quite differently, without any hesitation, appeasing the mother, high on the list. Hardly saw why I should do that. No one asked my feelings regarding the situation. Nobody bothered to inquire my point of view... not the slightest mention, as always, as ever…a non-starter.
We clambered in the car. The Rabbi next door must have heard the commotion, clearing some of the piles of rubbish from his garden, looking very hard in our direction. Vivien came running out. Tears, at least she had some feeling. She looked broken up. The whole household disintegrating.
My wife once said, "Why do you go around destroying everything."
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