Nick Hornby - High Fidelity

High Fidelity
http://www.fictionbook.ru/author/hornby_nick/high_fidelity/hornby_high_fidelity.html
Page 62 of 112
6/20/2006
the gesture—he wants me to realize that this is a symbolic moment, that he is forgiving me for my
misdemeanors of all those years ago. Jesus, I think, it’s supposed to be elephants that never forget, not
British Telecom customer service people. But then, what am I doing here, if not to meddle around with
things that most people would have forgotten about years ago
Jackie and Phil are the most boring people in the southeast of England, possibly because they’ve been
married too long, and therefore have nothing to talk about, apart from how long they’ve been married. In
the end, I am reduced to asking them, in a joky sort of way, for the secret of their success; I was only
saving time, because I think they would have told me anyway.
“If you’ve found the right person, you’ve found the right person, it doesn’t matter how old you
are.” (Phil)
“You have to work at relationships. You can’t just walk out on them every time something goes
wrong.” (Jackie)
“That’s right. It would have been easy to pack it in and start all over again with someone else who’s
swept you off your feet, but then you’re still going to get to the stage when you’re going to have to work
at the new one.” (Phil)
“There aren’t too many candlelit dinners and second honeymoons, I can tell you. We’re beyond all
that. We’re good friends more than anything.” (Jackie)
“You can’t just jump into bed with the first person you fancy and hope that you don’t damage your
marriage, no matter what people think.” (Phil)
“The trouble with young people today is … ” No. Just kidding. But they’re … evangelical about what
they have, as if I’ve come up from north London to arrest them for being monogamous. I haven’t, but
they’re right in thinking that it’s a crime where I come from: it’s against the law because we’re all
cynics and romantics, sometimes simultaneously, and marriage, with its cliches and its steady low-watt
glow, is as unwelcome to us as garlic is to a vampire.
I’m at home, making a tape of some old singles, when the phone goes.
“Hi. Is that Rob”
I recognize the voice as belonging to someone I don’t like, but I don’t get any further than that.
“This is Ian. Ray.”
I don’t say anything.
“I thought maybe we should have a chat Sort a couple of things out”
This is … something … gone mad. Blank gone mad. You know when people use that expression to
communicate the fact that something OK has got right out of control “This is democracy gone mad.”
Well, I want to use that expression, but I’m not sure what the something is. North London Life The
nineties I don’t know. All I do know is that in a decent, sane society, Ian wouldn’t be ringing me up to
sort a couple of things out. Nor would I be ringing him up to sort a couple of things out. I’d be sorting
him out, and if he wants to be eating dungarees for a week, he’s going the right way about it.
“What needs sorting out” I’m so angry my voice is shaky, like it used to be when I was on the verge
of a fight at school, and consequently I don’t sound angry at all: I sound scared.
“Come on, Rob. My relationship with Laura has obviously disturbed you a great deal.”
“Funnily enough I haven’t been too thrilled about it.” Sharp and clear.
“We’re not talking joky understatement here, Rob. We’re talking harassment. Ten phone calls a night,
hanging around outside my house … ”
Fucking hell. How did he see that
“Yeah, well, I’ve stopped all that now.” Sharp and clear has gone; now I’m sort of mumbling, like a
mad guilty person.
“We’ve noticed, and we’re glad. But, you know … how are we going to make the peace here We
want to make things easier for you. What can we do Obviously I know how special Laura is, and I
know things can’t be good for you at the moment. I’d hate it if I lost her. But I’d like to think that if she
decided she didn’t want to see me anymore, I’d respect that decision. D’you see what I’m saying”
“Yeah.”