Funny Girl by Nick Hornby

Author:Nick Hornby [Hornby, Nick]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
ISBN: 9780241965214
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2014-11-05T23:00:00+00:00

13

When Bill had become used to the idea, and was no longer quite so dismissive of the first and depressed by the second, he liked to joke that Tony was responsible for two pregnancies in the same month. Tony didn’t spoil the joke by pointing out that the paternity of the other child was in doubt: Tom Sloan was a suspect, and Dennis, too. And Bill himself could hardly be considered blameless. But yes, fatherhood. There was suddenly a lot more of it in Tony’s life than he could ever have predicted.

He and Bill had moved into a bigger office now, one which could accommodate Hazel while allowing them to work in the room at the back. When June came to see him to tell him the news, she didn’t walk straight through, as she usually did when she dropped in; she stood by Hazel’s desk and waited while Hazel came through to tell him she was there. He knew what it was about as soon as he saw her.

He took her outside on to the street, away from curious eyes, and hugged her tightly.

‘Can you believe it? You’ve knocked me up,’ she said, and Tony laughed at the implication of violence, or at least vigour, in the phrase. He hadn’t knocked her up. There had been a lot of patience, coaxing, maybe-tomorrows, never-minds and I-think-sos. Just recently, there were signs that it was getting better, or at least less complicated.

‘We’ll have to move,’ said Tony. ‘A house with a garden.’

‘Hold your horses,’ said June. ‘We’ll be all right for a bit.’

They lived in a flat in Camden Town, and June loved the shops, the cinemas and the market.

‘Somewhere leafy and quiet. Pinner or somewhere.’

‘Really? Oh, dear. Anyway, there are other things to worry about before that.’

‘What have we got to worry about?’

‘Childbirth, for a start. I’m terrified.’

‘Sorry. Yes.’

‘And whether I’ll be a good mum.’

‘You’ll be a wonderful mum.’

‘You’ll be a wonderful dad.’

‘Oh, God,’ said Tony. ‘And here’s me worrying about gardens.’

‘How do you feel?’

‘I feel great.’

And he carried on feeling great, until he told Bill.

Perhaps it was healthy, and great things would come of it, but he and Bill were in the process of becoming two different people. At the end of a working day Tony ached, in the way that he’d ached after all those stupid training exercises he’d endured during his National Service. Up until now it was as if they shared a brain, or at least had created a new one that hovered between them, and they filled it with stuff, lines and stories and characters, like two taps might fill a bath. Sometimes one was working better than the other, and sometimes the bath needed more hot than cold, but the process of adjustment was self-evident, obvious. They just talked and then wrote.

During this series, however, the shared brain was becoming harder to find. Now they were two men yoked together by talent and circumstance, trying to speak with a single voice, and suddenly every

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