Marrying Off Mother by Gerald Durrell Page A

Margo, wide-eyed. ‘Why, he’s a great film actor. He’s made films in Hollywood. He almost made a film with Jean Harlow. He’s making one in England now. He’s dark — and — and — and he’s dark and he’s . . .’
    â€˜Dark?’ suggested Leslie.
    â€˜Handsome,’ said Margo. ‘At least, some people might call him handsome. I don’t think he is. I think he’s too old, if you ask me. He must be thirty. I mean, I wouldn’t be interested in a handsome film star if he was that old, would you?’
    â€˜I wouldn’t be interested in him if he was handsome, a film star, old and a male,’ said Leslie with finality.
    â€˜When you two have finished this character assassination of my friend . . .’ Larry began.
    â€˜Now, don’t quarrel, dears,’ said Mother. ‘Really, you children do quarrel about the stupidest things. Now, the Beer man, whatever he’s called. Can’t you put him off, Larry? It’s been a very hectic summer with so many people coming to stay and it’s very tiring and then there’s the food . . .’
    â€˜You mean you’re frightened that Lugaretzia’s legs won’t go round?’ asked Larry.
    Mother gave him her most ferocious glare, a glare that might just possibly have given a moment of unease to a fledgling sparrow.
    â€˜Now, don’t go on about Lugaretzia’s veins, Larry, or I will get seriously annoyed,’ she said. It was her favourite threat and we could never work out what the difference was between being annoyed and being seriously annoyed. Mother, presumably, had it fixed in her mind that there were different grades of annoyance, as there were different colours in a rainbow.
    â€˜Anyway, I can’t put him off, even if I wanted to,’ said Larry, ‘this letter’s dated the twelfth, so he’s probably halfway here. I should think he will arrive on the Athens boat next week or the week after. So I should pop those veins into a cauldron and get them simmering if I were you. I have no doubt that Gerry can supply some other ingredients like the odd toad. He has something decaying gently in his room at the moment, so my nose tells me.’
    I was dismayed. He had smelt the hedgehog, and I’d only got as far as the lungs in my dissection. This was the disadvantage of having an elder brother occupying the bedroom next to yours.
    â€˜Well,’ said Mother, conceding defeat, ‘if there’s only one of him, I suppose we can cope.’
    There was only one of him when we last met,’ said my brother. ‘We shall only know if, by some strange alchemy, he has been transformed into twins when he arrives. I should get Lugaretzia to make up two beds, just in case.’
    â€˜Do you know what he eats?’ Mother asked, obviously working out menus in her head.
    â€˜Food,’ said Larry, succinctly.
    â€˜You do make me cross,’ said Mother. Silence reigned, while everyone concentrated on his or her letter or magazine. Magically, time drifted by as it had a habit of doing in Corfu.
    â€˜I wonder whether passion flowers would look nice on that east wall,’ said Mother, looking up from her seed catalogue. They are so pretty. I can imagine the east wall just covered with passion flowers, can’t you?’
    â€˜We could do with a bit of passion around here,’ said Larry. ‘Just recently, the place has been as chaste as a nunnery.’
    â€˜I don’t see what passion flowers have got to do with nuns,’ said Mother.
    Larry sighed and gathered up his mail.
    â€˜Why don’t you get married again?’ he suggested. ‘You’ve been looking awfully wilted lately, rather like an overworked nun.’
    â€˜Indeed I haven’t,’ said Mother indignantly.
    â€˜You’re looking sort of shrewish and spinsterish,’ said Larry, ‘rather like Lugaretzia on a good day. And all this mooning