The venerable and great Venetian poet (I forget his name) once said (and I paraphrase here) “Life is sweet like a sweet pear until it turns sour like a sour grape”. It was something along those lines: it definitely had fruit in it.
At the time of which this Chapter tells, Tarquin was enjoying to the best of his ability the sweetness of the pear: he was in regular employ, working in The Pie Shop, serving delicious pies of various denominations to members of the general public who desired pie in exchange for coin, and earning a fraction in excess of minimum wage, but able all the same to afford the rent on what had been advertised as a studio flat but which was in fact a bedsitting room. But it was alright, and Tarquin’s life was further enhanced by the presence of Grace, with whom he had briefly shared an employer before she quit The Pie Shop for marginally better wages at another retail outlet, and with whom he imagined he was sharing a burgeoning romance, insofar as they had chatted amicably over cups of tea three times in The Copper Kettle Tea Rooms. Tarquin in his private mind regretted somewhat Grace’s assertion that physical intimacy and its consequences were putting extra and unnecessary strain on an already overworked and under pressure NHS, but he was nothing if not patient, and Grace’s personal charms were of sufficient allure to persuade him that the potential pleasures were going to be worth the wait.
This particular evening, Tarquin has been killing time, wandering lonely as a one-man crowd along the deserted streets. Now, in his room, he is staring at his newspaper but not reading it, pondering Grace’s disinclination to allow him even a fondle, and the telephone rings. It’s his landlord, who says that owing to unforeseen circumstances Tarquin has to vacate his room by 10 the next morning at the very latest: “I am no longer your landlord; I am no longer the owner of the property; pop the keys back through the letterbox when you leave.” And “Yes”, he says to someone who is not Tarquin, “I’m doing it! I’m doing it now! I’m telling him now!” And he slams the phone down, and Tarquin is left staring, staring at the wall, staring at nothing in particular. He sits in his chair looking at all his worldly possessions. They’re not much. A box of this. A box of that. A bag of some other things. And that night he doesn’t sleep until the dawn chorus kicks in, not that there’s much of it, and then he sleeps late. At 10:01 there’s a knock on the door and there’s two men there. They’re really big men. They’re really big and not very friendly-looking men. Tarquin doesn’t like the look of either of them.
Later, in The Copper Kettle Tea Rooms, Tarquin told Grace he was homeless, and he gazed at her with what he hoped were sad, appealing, charming and irresistible eyes. Never mind, said Grace, once you get looking I’m sure something will soon turn up.
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Conrad Titmuss
Picture Rupert Loydell
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