Dexter Mayhew Character Analysis

‘I suppose the important thing is to make some sort of difference,’ she said. ‘You know, actually change something.’

‘What, like “change the world”, you mean?’

‘Not the whole entire world. Just the little bit around you.’

‘Be nice, won’t you?’

‘I am nice, I’m always nice.’

‘But not too nice. I mean don’t make a religion out of it, niceness.’

Scott blew air out through his mouth and waited for the groaning and fake retching to subside. A small, pale pink-eyed man with a degree in Business Management from Loughborough, he had once hoped to be a captain of industry.[…] He was thirty-nine years old, and it wasn’t meant to be this way.

‘I mean if people treated, I don’t know, nursing or social work or teaching with the same respect as they do the bloody media—’

‘So be a teacher then! You’d be a fantastic teacher.’

‘I think our moment passed some time ago.’

‘Why didn’t you wake me, Dad?’

‘There didn’t seem much point. Also I tend to think that I shouldn’t have to.’ He turns another page. ‘You’re not fourteen years old, Dexter.’

‘Ian, don’t do that,’ she said sharply.

‘What?’

‘Slip into your act. You don’t have to, you know.’

IS THIS THE MOST ODIOUS MAN ON TELEVISION?

‘Dexter, I love you so much. So, so much, and I probably always will.’ Her lips touched his cheek. ‘I just don’t like you anymore. I’m sorry.’

Absurdly, she hides the lit cigarette behind her back.

‘How are you, Miss?’ Sonya is looking a little ill at ease now, eyes flicking from side to side as if regretting coming over.

‘I resign.’

Then, without quite knowing how it happened, Dexter finds that he has fallen in love, and suddenly life is one long mini-break.

A thick envelope of heavy lilac paper. Emma took it gingerly, and peered inside. The envelope was quilted with tissue paper and the invitation itself had hand-torn edges and seemed to be made of some sort of papyrus or parchment. ‘Now that—’ Emma balanced it like a table on her upturned fingertips ‘—that is what I call a wedding invitation.’

Suki is wealthy now and ever more bubbly and famous and loved by the public, and even though they never got on and had nothing in common, he feels nostalgia for his old girlfriend, and for the wild years of his late twenties when his photo was in the papers.

‘I thought I’d finally got rid of you.’

‘I don’t think you can,’ he said.

He unlocks the heavy padlock that holds down the metal shutters, already hot to the touch on this radiant summer’s morning. He pulls them up, unlocks the door and feels, what? Content? Happyish? No, happy. Secretly, and for the first time in many years, he is proud of himself.

‘Promise you won’t force me to have sex again.’

‘We grew up together.’

Then Emma Mayhew dies, and everything that she thought or felt vanishes and is gone forever.

‘So,’ said Emma. ‘What are we going to do with the day?’

Fun, fun, fun – fun is the answer. Keep moving and don’t allow yourself a moment to stop or look around or think because the trick is to not get morbid, to have fun and see this day, this first anniversary as – what?

‘Very nice,’ he allowed himself and they kept climbing towards the summit, wondering what would happen when they got there.

There’s a general sense, as in all the calls, that the worst of the storm has passed. Dexter will probably never speak to Ian Whitehead again and this is fine too, for both of them.

‘Beautiful day,’ he mumbles, ‘No rain today. Not yet.’

This is where it all begins. Everything starts here, today.

And then it was over. ‘So. I’ll see you around,’ he said, walking slowly backwards away from her.

‘I hope so,’ she smiled.

‘And I hope so too. Bye, Em.’

‘Bye, Dex.’

‘Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye. Goodbye.’

‘I suppose the important thing is to make some sort of difference,’ she said. ‘You know, actually change something.’

‘What, like “change the world”, you mean?’

‘Not the whole entire world. Just the little bit around you.’

‘Be nice, won’t you?’

‘I am nice, I’m always nice.’

‘But not too nice. I mean don’t make a religion out of it, niceness.’

Scott blew air out through his mouth and waited for the groaning and fake retching to subside. A small, pale pink-eyed man with a degree in Business Management from Loughborough, he had once hoped to be a captain of industry.[…] He was thirty-nine years old, and it wasn’t meant to be this way.

‘I mean if people treated, I don’t know, nursing or social work or teaching with the same respect as they do the bloody media—’

‘So be a teacher then! You’d be a fantastic teacher.’

‘I think our moment passed some time ago.’

‘Why didn’t you wake me, Dad?’

‘There didn’t seem much point. Also I tend to think that I shouldn’t have to.’ He turns another page. ‘You’re not fourteen years old, Dexter.’

‘Ian, don’t do that,’ she said sharply.

‘What?’

‘Slip into your act. You don’t have to, you know.’

IS THIS THE MOST ODIOUS MAN ON TELEVISION?

‘Dexter, I love you so much. So, so much, and I probably always will.’ Her lips touched his cheek. ‘I just don’t like you anymore. I’m sorry.’

Absurdly, she hides the lit cigarette behind her back.

‘How are you, Miss?’ Sonya is looking a little ill at ease now, eyes flicking from side to side as if regretting coming over.

‘I resign.’

Then, without quite knowing how it happened, Dexter finds that he has fallen in love, and suddenly life is one long mini-break.

A thick envelope of heavy lilac paper. Emma took it gingerly, and peered inside. The envelope was quilted with tissue paper and the invitation itself had hand-torn edges and seemed to be made of some sort of papyrus or parchment. ‘Now that—’ Emma balanced it like a table on her upturned fingertips ‘—that is what I call a wedding invitation.’

Suki is wealthy now and ever more bubbly and famous and loved by the public, and even though they never got on and had nothing in common, he feels nostalgia for his old girlfriend, and for the wild years of his late twenties when his photo was in the papers.

‘I thought I’d finally got rid of you.’

‘I don’t think you can,’ he said.

He unlocks the heavy padlock that holds down the metal shutters, already hot to the touch on this radiant summer’s morning. He pulls them up, unlocks the door and feels, what? Content? Happyish? No, happy. Secretly, and for the first time in many years, he is proud of himself.

‘Promise you won’t force me to have sex again.’

‘We grew up together.’

Then Emma Mayhew dies, and everything that she thought or felt vanishes and is gone forever.

‘So,’ said Emma. ‘What are we going to do with the day?’

Fun, fun, fun – fun is the answer. Keep moving and don’t allow yourself a moment to stop or look around or think because the trick is to not get morbid, to have fun and see this day, this first anniversary as – what?

‘Very nice,’ he allowed himself and they kept climbing towards the summit, wondering what would happen when they got there.

There’s a general sense, as in all the calls, that the worst of the storm has passed. Dexter will probably never speak to Ian Whitehead again and this is fine too, for both of them.

‘Beautiful day,’ he mumbles, ‘No rain today. Not yet.’

This is where it all begins. Everything starts here, today.

And then it was over. ‘So. I’ll see you around,’ he said, walking slowly backwards away from her.

‘I hope so,’ she smiled.

‘And I hope so too. Bye, Em.’

‘Bye, Dex.’

‘Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye. Goodbye.’