A Kind of Loving (16 page)

' Has he turned in this morning?'

'I haven't seen him.' She makes a few more steps then a spin
that brings her round to face me. 'I don't like your tie.'

'What's up with me tie?'

'It's not modern, up-to-date,' she says. 'It's an old man's tie.'
She reaches out and flicks it out of my jumper, calm as you please,
so's she can see it all. She shakes her head and dances away with
her hands up and her fingers clicking.

I tuck the tie away again. 'What sort o' tie do you think I should wear, then?'

'Well, a slim jim, or summat else modern. You've seen 'em in the shops.'

'Aye, an' they can stop in the shops for me. I wouldn't be seen
dead in 'em.'

'If you want to walk about looking like your grandfather,' she
says.

'I don't want to walk about lookin' a freak ... An' why don't
you stop jigging about a bit? You'll have St Vitus' dance, if you
haven't got it already.'

Phoebe knocks off dancing and pulls herself up straight,
sticking this lovely chest of hers out, and says in her duchess's
voice, 'If you're going to be insulting, Mr Brown, you may leave
the room.'

I get off the table, grinning at her, and toss her the roll of
drawings. 'Here, run us one off each o' them, will you?'

'When?'

' Oh, any time as long as it's in the next ten minutes.'

A bit later I see Phoebe go out of the print room and I pop
down to catch young Laisterdyke on his own.

'Here, Colin; you know that good-looking dark-haired lass
in the typists'; Ingrid Rothwell her
name is?' Laisterdyke nods.
He knows them all. He's one of these cheeky undersized kids that
women seem to take to, like they want to mother them or some
thing. I take the note out of my pocket. 'Will you give her this?'

He grins. 'I'll think about it.' He takes the note and puts it in
his pocket.

'You know what I mean. On the quiet like.'

'I know.'

I'm a bit uneasy about it as I leave him. Somebody else
knows about it now, and if she turns me clown I'll look more of
a twerp than ever.

There's nothing doing in the way of a reply till after lunch.
Once, in the canteen, I catch Ingrid's eye and she seems to smile
for a second before she looks away. Then about two o'clock
Phoebe walks by and throws a letter on to my board and says in a
loud voice, 'A lass in the typists' asked me to give you that.' I
put my head down and lock my ringers over my forehead. For a
minute or two I daren't look up because I'm sure everybody
heard. I wait till my cheeks stop burning then sneak a look round and see everybody apparently minding their own business. I pop the letter into my pocket and nip along to the river caves where I
can read it in private. I'm so excited I'm all ringers and thumbs
opening the envelope.

It's a very short letter. 'Dear Vic,' it says, 'I'm sorry but I can't
come tonight because we have a cousin of mine staying with us
for a few days, Ingrid.'

And that's that. How many times do you have to be told? I
hear somebody come in and run one of the taps so I pull the chain
before I open the cubicle door and walk back to the office. It's like
a big heavy weight inside me. I'm like that all week, miserable as
sin, going through the motions but hardly seeing what I'm doing,
even though I know it'll all very likely catch up with me later and
get me into trouble. But I can't help it. And I know I'm a fool but
when it gets to Friday I know I'll have to ask her just one more
time. This time the chance comes like a charm. What happens is
I'm by myself in the print room when she comes in to ask about some prints for Miller's letters.

'I don't know,' I say, rummaging about on the table. 'You'll
have to ask young Colin. I don't think he's done 'em yet.'

She says all right, she'll finish the letters and come back, and
she starts to go out.

'I say!'

She stops and turns round and doesn't look at me. I think she
knows what's coming and she's embarrassed because she's going
to say no.

"Are you er ... doing anything special tomorrow night? Have you anything fixed up?'

She says no, she doesn't think so, still keeping her eyes down.

I'm fidgeting my behind on the edge of the table trying to look
casual and snapping my penknife open and shut. I wish she'd look at me so I might guess what she's thinking.

'Well, look, I was thinking ... wondering, would you like to go out with me? We could go to the flicks first, then on to a
dance, if you like.'

It seems like there's about ten years between me finishing and
her speaking. Then she says, 'All right,' and that's all. But it's
enough. Phoebe comes in jigging her hips as if she's got all the office behind her in a conga chain and when I look round again
Ingrid's gone. But she said yes! Yes, yes, yes. I seem to float off
the table and I grab hold of Phoebe and do a few steps with her.

' What d'you know!' she says.' It's come to life!'

CHAPTER 5

I

saturday
night sees me standing with my hands shoved deep
into my overcoat pockets looking in at the suits on the dummies in
Montague Burton's window. I'm wondering how I'm going to
pass the evening on now when a hand drops on my shoulder and
Willy's voice says, 'Now then, tosh.'

I look round. 'Howdo, Willy.'

' What you doin'?' Willy says.

"I was just wonderin' where to go. Where you off to?'

'I was just plannin' on bavin' an odd 'un an' then catching this new Western at the Ritz.'

'By yourself?'

'Aye. Fancy it?'

'Okay.' It doesn't matter much one way or the other what I
do now the evening's spoiled. But I reckon I'll be better off with Willy than moping on my own. Not that I'll be much company,
the way I'm feeling.

We walk past all the shops lit up on Cooperative Street. One of
Granger's windows blazes at us across the junction and a copper
on the beat stops a minute to look at a few hundred quid's
worth of fur coats.

'Who's in this picture?' I say as Willy nudges me to cross over the street.

'Burt Lancaster and Kirk Douglas,' Willy says. 'In colour an'
all. Should be good. I like a good Western.'

Willy likes nearly any kind of picture. He goes three and four
times every week and you can hardly mention a flick he hasn't
seen. Beer and the pictures are Willy's hobbies. If you can't find
him in a pub you know he's at the pictures. We're crossing the
road towards the lights and this jangly piano coming from the
Weaver's Arms.

'Let's find a quiet 'un,' I say when Willy makes to go in.

'It's good ale here,' Willy says.

' Mebbe it is; but I don't like pub pianos.'

Willy shrugs. 'Okay, I'm easy. I think there's another round the comer.'

We set off again.

'Didn't she turn up, then?' Willy says after a few steps.

'Who?'

"This tart you were waiting for.'

'Who said I was waiting for a tart? I was just looking in Burton's window and wonderin' where to go.'

'I wa' talking to a mate o' mine on the corner for five minutes
afore I came across,' Willy says. 'I saw you walkin' up an' down
an' looking at your watch.'

'All right, I was waiting for a bint, then.'

'And she didn't turn up?' Willy says. 'Well, it's not the first time it's happened.'

'It's the bloody last time it'll happen with me!' I say, letting
some of it come out, though it's not mad I feel at all really.

'Famous last words,' Willy says, then stops. 'They've shifted
it.'

'What?'

"That pub ... I'll swear it was here a fortnight sin' ... Fancy me losing a pub in the middle of me own home town. I must be getting soft in the head.' He stands looking round a minute, then gets his bearings. 'I know.' He starts off again. 'C'mon.' I follow him.

'Oh, why did she do it?' I'm thinking as I catch up with Willy and get into step again. Why, why, why? Why couldn't she say no straight out instead of having me waiting twenty-five minutes with nothing at the end of it? All day I've been thinking about it. Knowing I was going to see her was like having a jewel in my pocket and every now and then I'd take it out and turn it over and gloat over it. Minutes like that I could remember just exactly what she looked like when I asked her in the print room. Shut my eyes and I could see how the light fell on her hair, and her face, and the way she wouldn't look at me (and I know why she couldn't now, the deceitful bitch... No, I don't mean that really, either. I'm not mad, just miserable, and I'd run to her tomorrow if she wagged her ringer at me). She had a pale pink blouse on
with a high neck that came up on her throat, her plump little throat that I wanted to stroke, like I'm always wanting to stroke her, soft and gentle and quiet. And now ,.. why? Why should she do this to me? Where did I go wrong? That's what I want to know.

We go into this pub - I believe it's called the Cherry Tree -and get a couple of pints of bitter and take them to a table.

'Have you been out with her afore?' Willy says. 'Or is this the
first and last time?'

'I've been out with her twice,' I tell him. "Three times really,
only I don't count the last time.'

'How's that?'

I see straight away I've said too much and I run my fingers up
and down in the moisture on the outside of the glass before I say anything else. 'She brought a mate of hers with her.'

A big grin breaks on Willy's face. He drinks from his glass and he's still grinning when he puts it down.

'Would you believe it?' I say, putting on a show for him. 'Brought her mate!'

'You should ha' called round for me,' Willy says. 'I'd ha' taken
care of her for you.'

I shake my head as I remember Dorothy. 'You wouldn't ha'
liked this one, Willy. Feet little fiddle cases, mouth like a crack
in a pie. You'd need a strong stomach or too much ale to make
a pass at her ... Imagine what I felt like, though, walking up an'
finding two of 'em.'

'Didn't she say why she'd brought her?'

'Oh, she spun me a cock an' bull tale about this pal turning up for her tea and she couldn't get rid of her without offending her.
Course, I didn't fall for that one.'

'Doesn't look like it,' Willy says.

'How d'ye mean?'

'Well, you must've asked her again or you wouldn't ha' been
stood up tonight.'

'I wanted to test her like. You know, sort of find out where I
stood.'