Amis, Martin - London Fields (v1.0) by jwilde

Author:jwilde
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2013-01-26T16:00:00+00:00

Outside, the rain stopped falling. Over the gardens and the mansion-block rooftops, over the window boxes and TV aerials, over Nicola's skylight and Keith's dark tower (looming like a calipered leg dropped from heaven), the air gave an exhausted and chastened sigh. For a few seconds every protuberance of sill and eave steadily shed water like drooling teeth. There followed a chemical murmur from both street and soil as the ground added up the final millimetres of what it was being asked to absorb. Then a sodden hum of silence.Jewellery, precious minerals, intricate glasswCommon sense

Two days ago I changed Marmaduke's diaper. It was right up there with my very Worst Experiences. I'm still not over it.

I guess it had to happen. There are nanny-lulls, still centres in the hurricane of nannies. I am always hanging around over there. I am always hanging around where people are hanging around, or going where they're going, eager to waste time at their speed. In the end Lizzyboo helped me get him under the shower. Then we mopped the nursery wall. And the ceiling. I'm still not over it.

Marmaduke possesses his mother with a biblical totality, and he is always goosing Melba and frenching Phoenix (and watch him splash his way through the au pairs); but Lizzyboo is his sexual obsession. He shimmies up against her shins and drools into her cleavage. He won't have a bath unless she's there to watch. He is forever ramming his hand - or his head - up her skirt.

Of course, and embarrassingly, Lizzyboo is becoming more and more certain that she needn't fear any such nonsense from me. No, in my condition I'm not about to get fresh. She sometimes gives me a puzzled but interrogatory look - the eyes seem to cringe - while Marmaduke is scouring her ear with his tongue. Or trying to force her hand down the front of his diaper. Being human, she is starting to wonder what is wrong with her. I could tell her I'm gay or religious, or just frightened of catching some fatal disease. I suppose I really shouldn't continue to trifle with her affections. Especially now that I don't need to.

I have Thrufaxed all twelve chapters off to Hornig Ultrason, where, it seems, my stock is already rising high. You can tell by the way everyone speaks to you. Unless I am mistaken, even the computerized voice of the reception bank betrays a secret liking for me. 'One momint. I have Missy Harter for you,' said Janit Slotnick, in the tone of somebody preparing a three-year-old for a particularly winsome treat. 'Oh, and have you heard the news that's causing such excitemint here?' I was already romping and tumbling in the zeros of a paperback or book-club deal when Janit said: 'She's pregnint!' But I never did get through to Missy Harter. The computer screwed up and twenty minutes later Janit called and said that Missy would soon get back to me, which she hasn't.

On impulse I said, 'Janit? Say spearmint.

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