Free A Bit of a Do by David Nobbs

saying goodbye, feeling that it would be the least embarrassing thing to do.
    Ted and Rita and Liz and Laurence stood in silence for a moment, and then Clarrie Spragg came forward and asked Ted for the car keys.
    ‘I’m going to sit him in the car,’ she said. ‘He’s had enough.’
    Ted started to fish out the car keys. His hands were shaking slightly.
    ‘I ’aven’t,’ said Percy Spragg. ‘I want to stick it out to the bitter end.’
    ‘I’m not sure if I appreciate that phrase,’ said Liz.
    Clarrie Spragg began to lead Percy out, and everything might have been all right if Betty Sillitoe hadn’t lurched in, with Rodney hanging onto her, trying to stop her. Naturally, Percy stopped to watch.
    ‘No, Rodney, it must be said,’ said Betty Sillitoe. ‘Can’t go without telling them. Rude. It was a lovely wedding. Lovely. Obviously it wasn’t perfect. The tuna fish vol-au-vents were disgusting, and, all right, there were some of the biggest snobs in this town in this room – no names, no dentists’ drills – but it was alovely wedding, give or take a few snobs and vol-au-vents, and that’s the main thing.’
    Betty Sillitoe staggered out of the room.
    ‘Sorry about that,’ said Rodney.
    ‘Never mind,’ said Laurence grimly.
    ‘You don’t mind much, do you?’ said Liz to Rodney.
    ‘Not much, no,’ said Rodney. ‘I love her for her foibles, you see.’
    ‘I envy you,’ said Liz.
    Betty blundered in again.
    ‘Come on, Rodney,’ she said. ‘Can’t you see we’re interrupting a family row?’
    Once more, Betty Sillitoe left the room.
    ‘Goodbye,’ said Rodney Sillitoe. ‘Thank you. Sorry.’ And he too left.
    Rita had watched this display by their closest friends with even more horror than Ted, but it was Ted who felt obliged to say, ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘Please!’ said Laurence, rubbing it in while appearing to dismiss it. ‘You can’t be held responsible for the behaviour of your friends.’
    ‘So our Paul couldn’t wait, eh?’ said the barrel-chested Percy Spragg, who was still only halfway to the door. ‘I’m not surprised. She’s a right cracker.’
    ‘Or your relatives,’ added Laurence, not quite softly enough.
    ‘Go to the car, Dad,’ said Rita.
    ‘Wants to get rid of me,’ said Percy Spragg. ‘Didn’t want me to come.’
    ‘Dad!’ said Rita, pink spots flaring. ‘The things he says!’
    ‘Never has welcomed me in her house.’
    ‘Dad!’
    ‘Pretends it’s Ted, but Ted’s all right.’
    ‘Dad!’ said Ted.
    ‘Come on, Father,’ said Clarrie Spragg.
    ‘A bit different from our wedding, eh, Clarrie?’ said Percy. ‘July the twenty-first, 1938. Long time ago, i’n’t it?’
    ‘Jolly well done,’ said Laurence.
    ‘I never forget the date ’cos it was exactly two months to the day after our Rita was born,’ said Percy.
    Rita gasped, and Ted pulled a chair forward. She crumpled into it.
    ‘Percy!’ said Clarrie. ‘You wicked old man!’
    ‘I wouldn’t have said it if she didn’t want me out of the way. Come on, Mother.’ Percy lowered his voice to a whisper, discreet for the first time now that it was too late. ‘I need to go.’ Out loud, he added, ‘It’s the only good thing in this bloody awful business of growing old. You don’t have to give a bugger.’
    Percy and Clarrie hobbled from the room with agonizing slowness, agonizing to them because of their age and rheumatism and arthritis, agonizing to everyone else for fear that Percy would start up again with further revelations.
    Liz flashed Rita a smooth, cool, social, understanding smile, as of one woman to another who is very nearly her equal.
    ‘There’s no need to look at me like that, Mrs Rodenhurst,’ said Rita.
    ‘I was smiling, Mrs Simcock,’ said Liz.
    ‘Well, I don’t need your smiles, thank you very much,’ said Rita. ‘Your family isn’t exactly as pure as the driven snow.’
    ‘What exactly do you mean by that?’ said Laurence.
    ‘Well, your daughter’s