In the Driver's Seat by Helen Simpson

Author:Helen Simpson [Simpson, Helen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-48623-3
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2007-09-09T04:00:00+00:00

“The only appointment they have is at eight twenty,” said Barbara, appearing beside him with a cup of tea.

“What time is it?” he murmured, keeping his eyes shut against her.

“Seven thirty-five. I've been up since five with Daisy, it's her teeth again. But I really think you should go, Tom, he said you should go back within two weeks if it didn't clear up but you've been away so much it's more like two months …”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” said Tom, hauling himself up against the pillows.

The trouble with Barbara was that she made such a production out of being a misery. She huffed, she sighed, her face drooped with reproach whenever she saw him. Or, mute appeal was how she would probably put it. It was a habit she couldn't kick and, as he told her, every bit as bad as his smoking, which she went on about incessantly.

Right on cue he broke into a brief harsh fit of coughing.

“You see? I worry about you, flying all the time and the superbugs in the air-conditioning.”

“But eight twenty. Christ.”

“I'm sorry, darling, it's the only one they had, I had to make it a same-day appointment, they keep a few open every morning and you have to wait in the phone queue at seven thirty to get one,” she intoned, drawing the curtains.

“Okay, okay,” he said.

She had a bloody nice life, part-time and all the rest of it, yet she was ravenous for pity, addicted to it. He even had to commiserate with her, for fuck's sake, he actually had to join in with her moaning on about what a hard row she had to hoe before she'd let him get his leg over.

“And I couldn't make you an ordinary appointment because they're booking three weeks ahead and we never know what you'll be doing in three weeks' time. Couldn't you have a word at work about that? Little Daisy never knows when she'll be seeing you …”

“Shut up,” said Tom softly, eyes closed, sucking in his first draft of tea.

“It's only you I'm thinking of.”

She was hurt now; but then, when wasn't she?

“Reach me my fags,” he demanded, silently daring her to deliver them with a health lecture. He kept his eyes shut. There was a long pause.

“Fuck's sake, I'll go to the quack at eight twenty. Now give me my cigarettes,” he said, opening one eye to menace her with.

With a gusty sigh she brought them to him.

“You promise?” she said.

“Yes,” he said, lighting up.

There came a yell from Daisy in her cot.

“Smoking can cause a slow and painful death,” she quoted, scurrying from the bedroom.

“Careful, darling, don't go giving me ideas,” he muttered.

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