The Thin End

I don't mind. I really don't. It's my pleasure it really is. If you knew her you'd understand. And after 27 years you get into your patterns don't you. And although our patterns might look odd unfair even to an outsider, to us they work.

We fit.

We complement each other.

So no, I don't mind that in the bedroom she has her bobs and bits out on the top of the chest of drawers and across the mantelpiece and arranged over the surfaces of the dressing table.

I never use the dressing table so I don't need any space on there, do I. I mean, I've only got one or two bits I need to have out anyway.

I've got my hairbrushes that were Dad's with the ivory inlay. Ebony they are and I like to keep them out because, well, they remind me of him.

And the statue of the Virgin.  That's mine. Dead centre on the mantelpiece. She doesn't mind that.  It's... I mean... she's got her own place, the Virgin. You can't really think of devotional things belonging to a person anyway, can you - it doesn't seem quite fitting.

So yes. I've got my brushes, oh, and my nail clippers.

I used to use scissors, of course, which are fine for toenails but clippers are better for fingers because you can do both hands. And besides with me being left-handed scissors are tricky especially when I'm doing my wrong hand, if you see what I mean. If I've got them in my wrong hand, ie my right hand, I can't get them to function at all. So clippers, yes. Clippers are best.

So she lets me have the corner of the tumble dryer for my things. And then we both know where we are. 'Course, the wash basket – clean wash, that is – that lives on the tumble dryer too, so I don't have much room. But it's enough.  It's enough for me.

Downstairs it's a bit different. She doesn't like it if my shoes are out and not on. On my feet that is.

'On or away,' she says.

So I get one shelf of the shoe rack for my three pairs and she gets the other two shelves, and the bottom of the coat cupboard for hers, oh, and a box in the attic. And the suitcase. The old blue one we don't use. At least not for travelling. She uses that for her old shoes. The ones that she doesn't wear any more because – well – I'm not quite sure why she doesn't, but... well, she doesn't... But they're too good to go to charity.

We tend to use the two small suitcases now. Well she gets one, and half of mine. I can usually manage with just the appropriate number of pairs of jockeys and an equivalent number of socks but of course it does depend where we're going and for how long.

She likes a river cruise.

And I do too.

I'd like a sea cruise, you know, to exotic climes, but she likes to be able to see land at all times. She gets bilious if she can't see land. So we tend to do the river cruises now so we're both happy then. She gets to see land and I'm happy she's not bilious.

We met Marcel on the trip along the Rhine – it was fabulous. And he seemed such a pleasant chat such good English too. Spoke it better than Jean, truth be told. And she loved his accent, didn't she – and of course he played up to her.

'Bonjour, ma cherie,' he'd say - well I can't do it - but he'd call her 'mon amour' and 'la belle femme' and such like - she loved it.

'Oh, Phil!' she says. 'Why aren't you French? Why do you never say such things to me?'

'Well I don't know the lingo, do I Jean. How could I?'

'You should learn it, Phil. You should get some lessons. I'll get you a CD for Christmas.'

Anyway on the last night they organised a dinner dance thing, you know, because they're big boats these cruisers. They're a fair size, they really are.

And they decked out the Officers' Mess, as they called it. Bunting and such and so forth.

And a little band was playing dance classics, you know, slow ones that sort of thing, proper dance tunes, Blue Danube, some Napkin Cole. That's what Jean calls him. And you know, they had a keyboard so they could go for the swirling strings and such like - the Mantovani sound, you know.

And towards the end they played My Funny Valentine as a smoochie number and, well, that's been our tune forever, so I took her hand and we moved across to the dancefloor.

But then we'd just started and I feel this tap on my shoulder and it's Marcel.

'May I?' He says.

So I say 'Mais oui...'

Well, you can't really refuse, can you – and Jean's keen and kind of pushing me back a little so he can get in.

And the two of them go gliding off across the floor.

He's very good.  Well, you know, he's all right.

So I watch them go and then wander back to the table.

But I lose track...

And then the band finishes and everyone claps and when I look for them I can't see them. Even when everybody starts to leave and the waiters are starting to clear up. They are nowhere to be seen.

So I thinks I'd better check around on the viewing deck or else I'll go back to the cabin. And as I'm walking up to the prow I can see them leaning against the railing looking out at the city lights.

And as I get closer I see he's got his hand on her back. And I'm just walking up – they haven't seen me – and I see his hand slip down to her bottom. And I'm, well, I'm a bit surprised really.

I mean, Jean is not really one for a lot of physical contact but I can see she's not pushing him off or anything and then he turns her to face him and I can see him move in and then he's kissing her. And it's not just a peck either, you know, it's a full Bogart-Baccall job.

Well I don't know where to put myself so I think I'd better head back to the cabin.

I'm in bed when she gets back but I pretend to be asleep.

She gets ready just before she turns the light out she leans over and gives me a little kiss on the cheek.

I can feel it's a bit of a wet one.

But I don't want her to know so I just let it sit there unwiped until she settles.

Next morning she is getting dressed and she says 'Oh, Phil, Marcel asked if he can come and stay at ours in a month's time. He's got a conference thing in Birmingham and I said it would be nice. That's okay, isn't it? If he comes to stay?

'Oh. I should think. I… Yes, I'm sure that'll… Well I'll check the diary when we get back but I'm... Because I said I'd pop to mums, but…'

'Well you could still do that even so, couldn't you?'

'Yes I suppose…'

'I've bought a nice piece of brie,' says Jean on the Thursday night. The man says it's a bit under at the moment but by Saturday it'll be fine, you know… I thought Marcel would like that.'

'Are you not going to buy him a nice piece of English cheese?'

'It is English – I bought it in Sainsbury's.'

'Don't be daft... English would be better. He can have brie whenever he likes, can't he, in France.'

'Oh no!' she says.

'You know, proper English cheddar. Some Cathedral City or something. Cracker Barrel...'

'Oh no! He's French! He won't want them. He'll want proper cheese.'

On Saturday, she's made stew and dumplings. She's a good cook, I can't deny it. And apple crumble. Fantastic. And proper custard. You know, not out of a tin. Proper Birds.

Then out comes the cheese.

'Look brie,' she says. 'Brie, Marcel, I bought it special.'

'Merci, madame, you are trés gentille! Mais... I have eaten so much I could not possibly…'

'Oh,' she says.

I can see she's a bit crestfallen.

'Well,' I say, 'I don't mind if I do.'

'Oh, well go on then, Phil,' she says.

'But just a taste. I prefer an English cheese truth be told. Tell you what, I'll just take the very tip the thin end.'

'Aha,' says Marcel, 'that is considered the very finest part of course, the toe.'

'Oh!' says Jean, 'the toe! Oh la la! Well don't take that then, Phil! Marcel, really, you should have that – you're the guest.'

'But madame! I…'

'No, I insist you have it – the toe, Marcel. Go on – give it him, Phil. He is the guest.'

So I slide it onto his plate with my knife and Marcel cuts it with his, and he pulls a grape from the bowl in the middle and pops them both into his mouth.

Jean looks at him.

He looks at Jean.

I look at Jean, too.

She is smiling.

That's nice.