Love, Nina by Nina Stibbe Read Free Book Online Page A

and sit with you.
    Will: How will you get there?
    Me: Depends whether you come or not.
    Will: If I come?
    Me: Car.
    Will: If just you go?
    Me: Um, car.
    Will: So, car then?
    Me: I could walk, but that would take longer and Amanda might not have time.
    Will: So car then?
    Me: I could walk quickly—or we could both walk, it’s such a nice day and might clear your head.
    Will: I’ve lost interest. Just tell me when we’re going…or not going.
    At school gate:
    Will: Can I come in?
    Me: No, you’re ill, wait here.
    In the playground:
    Sam: Is Will in the car?
    Me: No, we walked, he’s at the gate.
    Sam: Can we go and see him?
    Me: No, he’s ill.
    Sam: But he walked here.
    Me: For a bit of fresh air.
    Sam: Can’t I just say hello to my own brother?
    Me: No, he’s ill, he doesn’t want bothering.
    Sam: Is he not seeing visitors?
    Outside:
    Will: Huh! Nice of Sam to totally ignore me.
    At home:
    Will: I feel better now—can I go and call for Robert?
    Me: No, he’s off school with a sore throat.
    Will: I’m off too.
    Me: But you’re both supposed to be ill.
    Will: I feel better.
    Me: He might not.
    Will: Why are you isolating me?
    Me: Because otherwise I look irresponsible.
    Will: You are irresponsible.
    Me: I don’t want to look irresponsible.
    Love, Nina
    *  *  *
    Dear Vic,
    Mentioned to MK how much I hate the fishmonger.
    Me: I don’t like the fishmonger.
    MK: How can you not like the fishmonger?
    Me: I just don’t.
    MK: What’s wrong with him?
    Me: He’s tricky to do business with.
    MK: Like fish.
    Discussing this further:
    MK: It’s not him, it’s you.
    Me: No, it’s him.
    MK: It’s the way you approach.
    Me: Like what?
    MK: Barefoot for a start.
    I don’t agree. I think the fishmonger is deliberately difficult with anyone who doesn’t know much about fish—i.e. me. He abuses his power.
    Later, we were watching a film and some music came on the telly and we agreed we didn’t like it.
    Sam: I hate this music.
    Will: Me too.
    Sam: I hate it when music does that.
    Will: What?
    Sam: Comes on in a film and makes the film seem sad.
    MK: I think it’s meant to be happy.
    Me: But it’s that film-style happy that actually seems sad.
    Sam: Yeah.
    Me: I hate emotional music.
    MK: More or less than you hate the fishmonger?
    Love, Nina
    *  *  *
    Dear Vic,
    Had tea at the Lahrs’ as usual yesterday. I don’t know why it’s always so nice. It just is. There’s John Lahr and Anthea and their son Chris—a good friend of S&W and goes to Anna Sher (children’s theater company) with them. Usually Karel and Betsy, plus an assortment of other people.
    The tea itself is a mixed bag. The cake/cookies are nice (Betsy?) and the people are nice, probably due to being mostly American, although Anthea isn’t (American) and is the nicest of all. But the tea (beverage) is always revolting, like tree-bark, and goes like dishwater if you put milk in. It’s either that or orange squash or milk—in a beaker.
    John always brings things up for discussion round the tea table. And everyone joins in with their view. Even me. He likes to know what everyone’s been doing. He means what films or plays have they seen or, failing that, what telly or books. And then he likes to know what you thought of it (the play, film, book, whatever) and he really is interested in whether you thought the actor/actress was funny or not.
    He wears a jacket (either tweedy, beige, cord, or checked), even inside. You never see him without one even on a warm day. Unless he takes it off, briefly, but then he’s got it over his shoulder with his finger in the loop thing. Also, he’s just written a book about the playwright Joe Orton who used to live on Saffron Lane in Leicester, near the Pork Pie library.
    Anyway. They’re nice and we like going there and they love MK and always say how clever and sweet