Lucky Jim

Dixon didn't trust himself to speak. Quite apart from his own convictions in the matter, his experience of Margaret had been more than enough to render repugnant to him any notion of anyone having any special needs for anything at any time, except for such needs as could be readily gratified with a tattoo of kicks on the bottom. Then he realized that Christine must, perhaps unconsciously, be quoting her boy-friend, or some horrible book lent by her boy-friend, whose desire to range himself with children, neurotics, and invalids by thus specializing his needs was not, at the moment, worth attacking. Dixon frowned. Until a minute ago she'd been behaving and talking so reasonably that it was hard to believe she was the same girl as had helped Bertrand to bait him at Welch's arty week-end. It was queer how much colour women seemed to absorb from their men-friends, or even from the man they were with for the time being.

That was only bad when the man in question was bad; it was good when the man was good. It should be possible for the right man to stop, or at least hinder, her from being a refined gracious-liver and arty-rubbish-talker. Did he think he was the right man for that task?

Ha, ha, ha, if he did.

'Jim,' Christine said.

Dixon's scalp pricked sharply at this, the first, use of his Christian name.' Yes?' he said warily. He shrugged his bottom along the seat a little way.

'You've been very decent to me tonight, letting me ramble on about myself. And you seem to have your head screwed on the right way. Would you mind if I asked your advice on something?'

'No, not at all.'

'You must realize, though, that I'm asking you just because I want to hear your advice, not for any other reason.' She paused, then added: 'Have you got that?'

'Yes, of course.'

'Well, it's this. From what you've seen of us both, do you think it would be a good thing if I got married to Bertrand?'

Dixon felt a slight twinge of distaste he couldn't quite account for.

'Isn't that rather up to you?'

'Of course it's up to me; I'm the one who's going to marry him or not marry him. I want to know what you think. I'm not asking to be told what to do. Now, what do you think?'

This was clearly the moment for a burst of accurate shelling from Dixon in his Bertrand-war, but he found himself reluctant to fire. A reasoned denunciation of the foe, followed up by a short account of his recent conversation with Carol, would stand a good chance of bringing total victory in this phase, or at least inflicting heavy losses. He felt, however, that he didn't want to do it like that, and only said slowly: 'I don't think I know either of you well enough.'

'Ah, to hell, man* - had she picked that up from Uncle Julius? Dixon wondered - 'you're not being asked to do a thesis on it for your doctorate.' As Carol might have done, she pinched his arm too hard, making him cry out, saying to him in vocal italics: 'What do you think?'

'Well, it's… I must say what I think, you know,'

'Yes, yes, of course, that's what I asked for, isn't it? Do get on with it.'

'Well, then, I should say No.'

'I see. Why not?'

'Because I like you and I don't like him.'

'Is that all?'

'It's quite enough. It means each of you belongs to the two great classes of mankind, people I like and people I don't'

'It sounds a bit thin to me.'

'All right, if you want reasons, remember they're my reasons, though that doesn't mean to say they oughtn't to be yours as well. Bertrand's a bore, he's like his dad, the only thing that interests him is him. On any issue you care to mention he can't do otherwise than ignore your side of things, just can't do otherwise, see? It's not just him first and you second, he's the only bloody runner. My God, what you said about him putting you in the wrong by starting rows shows you've got his number. I don't see why you have to have someone else to say it for you.'

She said nothing for a moment, then spoke rather hi her censorious manner:' Even if that were true, it needn't prevent me from marrying him.'

' Yes, I know women are all dead keen on marrying men they don't much like. But I'm saying why you oughtn't to marry him, not whether you want to or are going to or not. I think that once the things that are supposed to wear off wear off, you'll have a hell of a time. You couldn't trust the fellow with your best… I mean, he'd always be having rows, and you say you don't like rows. Are you in love with him?'

'I don't much care for that word,' she said, as if rebuking a foul-mouthed tradesman.

'Why not?'

'Because I don't know what it means.'

He gave a quiet yell. 'Oh, don't say that; no, don't say that It's a word you must often have come across in conversation and literature. Are you going to tell me it sends you flying to die dictionary each.time? Of course you're not-1 suppose you mean it's purely personal - sorry, got to get the jargon right -purely subjective.'

'Well, it is, isn't it?'