A Touch of Love by Jonathan Coe Read Free Book Online Page A

explain this behaviour.
    ‘Professor Davis is head of the English department here. He’s meant to be supervising Robin’s thesis. They try to avoid each other as much as possible.’
    ‘I see,’ said Ted, uncomprehending. ‘Are you doing a thesis too?’
    ‘No,’ said Hugh. ‘I finished mine eight years ago. It was about T. S. Eliot.’
    ‘And what have you been doing since then?’
    ‘This and that.’
    He began to read his book.
    ‘I’m an old friend of Robin’s,’ said Ted. ‘We go back several years. Back all the way to Cambridge, in fact. He’s probably told you all about me.’
    ‘What did you say your name was?’ asked Hugh, looking up again.
    ‘Ted.’
    ‘No, I don’t think he’s ever mentioned you.’
    This suggested to Ted that Robin must have been preserving a mysterious reticence on the subject of his early life. Now he leaned forward and said, in a low voice:
    ‘Tell me – would you say that you and Robin were close friends?’
    ‘Fairly close, yes.’
    ‘Then tell me this: what do you think is the matter with him?’
    ‘The matter? How do you mean?’
    ‘Why do you think this has – happened to him?’
    ‘Happened? What are you talking about?’
    Ted could see that he was being stonewalled. Fortunately, four years of selling computer software had, he believed, taught him to understand the psychology of situations such as this. So he asked:
    ‘When was the last time you saw Robin, before today?’
    ‘About two weeks ago, I suppose.’
    ‘Is that usual?’
    ‘Well, it’s not unusual.’
    ‘Where has he been?’
    ‘Where has he been? How should I know?’
    Ted now changed his tone, to one of calm but urgent pronouncement.
    ‘I think Robin is experiencing some sort of mental breakdown.’
    Hugh laid down his book, stared at him for a few seconds and laughed hysterically. Then he stopped, as suddenly as he had begun, and resumed his reading.
    ‘So, you don’t believe me?’ said Ted. ‘So, why hasn’t he been on campus for weeks? Why isn’t he sleeping, or eating, or washing, or shaving? Why does he never leave his flat? Why has he lost so much weight? Why did he try to make an urgent telephone call to me, his oldest and closest friend?’
    ‘Where did you say you knew Robin?’ Hugh asked.
    ‘At Cambridge.’
    ‘Well, that was four years ago. Perhaps he’s changed since then. To my mind, there’s been nothing unusual about him recently. He often disappears for days at a time. He often forgets to shave. He always smells like that. He’s a student. Worse than that, he’s a postgraduate student. What incentive is there to keep up appearances?’
    Ted could not follow the logic of this argument.
    ‘Robin is studying for his doctorate. That is a respectable profession like any other.’
    ‘Profession my arse,’ said Hugh cheerfully. ‘Robin will never finish his thesis. Doctorate my fanny. I’ve seen dozens like him. How long’s he been doing it now? Four and a half years. And do you know why he’s nowhere near finishing it?’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because he hasn’t started it yet.’
    Professor Davis was now approaching their table. He was thin, bespectacled, and almost bald, and had a habit of staring around him as if looking hopefully for someone who he knew, in his heart, would not be there. His progress towards them was painfully slow; at one point he tripped on the carpet and stumbled against a plastic table. Behind him, Christopher (who seemed to be about Robin’s age) was carrying a tray which held two cups of coffee and a macaroon.
    ‘Professor Davis is actually quite a celebrity,’ said Hugh. ‘You’ve probably heard of him.’
    Ted found it convenient to nod.
    ‘In the academic world he has the reputation of being something of an iconoclast. His new book, The Failure of Contemporary Literature , provides a radical and provocative overview of the last twenty years. Critics have hailed it as the logical successor to his earlier book, Culture in Crisis ,