All the Days of Our Lives (13 page)

‘Goodnight to you too,’ she muttered, in Lena Crosby’s whingeing voice.

Then, dithery with nerves, she gathered up her things and hurried to the place where Simon was to pick her up. That was what she called him in her mind already: Simon, Simon . . .

His car came cautiously along with its blacked-out lights and braked beside her. Once again, he jumped out and helped her in, and she liked the way he was so gentlemanly. Not that she had any other males to compare him with except Uncle Patrick.

‘There,’ he said when they were both settled inside. ‘At last! I thought the day would never end. Now – I’m taking you out for dinner.’

‘Dinner?’ she said, startled, picturing her tea drying up in the oven at home.

‘Well, what passes for dinner these days. I’d love to be able to wine and dine you properly, but as it is, there’s a perfectly good British Restaurant in the parade, not far from my house – all right if we go there? Slumming it just a bit, I know, but I can’t drive too far afield and the food’s quite adequate. The main thing is, we can have a chat away from the ranch, as it were.’

Katie wasn’t the least bothered about where they went, she was so amazed at actually being with him, in his car. And it was so dark outside that he could have taken her to Timbuktu and she wouldn’t have known the difference. As they drove slowly away from the factory, to her relief he chatted away, telling her more about his family, his older sister Sue and her little boy Kevin.

‘He’s a smashing little kid,’ Simon said and Katie was warmed to hear the fond tone in his voice. It seemed promising that a man should like children. She enjoyed looking at his profile as he drove, knowing that he could not turn to look at her for long. ‘He’s five now and already keen on football. Richard – that’s my other brother – and I always play with him when we see them. They live out in Bromsgrove fortunately, away from the worst of it. You must have had it bad where you live?’

‘Oh my goodness,’ she said. ‘Every night now it still seems like a miracle that you can get into bed and go to sleep without spending half of it shivering under the stairs!’

‘Under the stairs? Didn’t you have a shelter?’

‘Well, no. The thing is, there’s only Mom and me, and we didn’t have anyone to help put up an Anderson. The understairs cupboard in our house is just about big enough for the two of us, so we made do.’

‘What about those other ones: the cage type?’

‘Morrison – no. We didn’t like the idea of that taking up half the house. Anyway,’ she said lightly, ‘we survived, didn’t we?’

He braked, ushered her out of the car and, taking her arm, led her towards a blacked-out place that she could only just make out in the darkness. As they approached, the door opened and closed again, and for those seconds she saw light inside and heard a burst of voices.

Inside, behind the steamed-up, blacked-out windows, a canteen had been set up and tables arranged round a large space. There were quite a few people eating and there was a fuggy atmosphere, damp and sweat-tinged, along with the smells of the food.

‘Here we are,’ Simon announced. ‘Eating amid the people. Let’s go and see what they’ve got tonight.’

He addressed the women serving the food in hearty tones and Katie wondered what they thought of him. He seemed so superior to them, and she could see that he knew it, but was trying not to show it. She felt proud to be standing here beside him. He’s an engineer, she thought. Like Daddy was. That was really something.

‘Grilled chops and veg and jam tart and custard,’ one of the women informed him in a bored monotone.

‘Lovely!’ he said. ‘Suit you, Katie?’

‘Yes, of course,’ she said.

They carried their plates – dark gravy pooled round mashed potato and cabbage on one plate, wafer-thin jam tart on the other – to a table that was dotted with the remains of other eaters’ meals. A young woman hurried up and wiped the table with a grim grey cloth.

Simon Collinge sat down, unwinding his scarf from his neck and hooking it over the back of the chair. He looked around with what seemed to be a certain amusement, as at finding himself in such a place.

‘You comfortable – got everything you need?’ he asked, leaning towards her. ‘Here, let me pour you some water. The Claret will have to wait for another time!’

Katie smiled, though she had only the dimmest idea what he meant. Wasn’t it wine he was talking about? They started on their meal, eating from tinny-tasting forks. The food was not bad at all, Katie thought, realizing how hungry she was.

‘So,’ Simon said, while eating enthusiastically, ‘tell me some more about yourself. What d’you like to do – in your spare time, I mean? Are you keen on sport, for instance?’ He laid his knife and fork down for a moment. ‘I’m a keen golfer myself. Nothing like it . . .’

‘Oh, I’ve heard it’s very enjoyable,’ Katie said. She tried desperately to think of any sporting interest she might have or suddenly acquire, but nothing came to her. The last thing like that she had done was in her school gymslip, and then only under sufferance.
I like reading
was all she could think of. But she didn’t need to say anything and sat back, relieved, as Simon chatted away amiably.

‘My father’s always been a golfing man. Never misses a weekend if he can help it. My mother’s a golf widow. So he signed me up as soon as he could – got me some irons when I was hardly big enough to hold them! But that’s the way: start young. It’s fantastic – you should learn. Course at the moment it’s no good – half the courses have got ack-ack batteries and such-like dumped in the middle of them . . .’ He made a woeful face. ‘Not so good that, but needs must! Just as I was really beginning to improve my handicap, though . . .’ He talked on for a time about his favourite golf course, about putts and bunkers and something called ‘teeing’. Katie found her mind straying a little and glanced at the couple closest to them, the woman in a brown pork-pie hat. She and her husband seemed to be arguing. She quickly brought her attention back from eavesdropping, relieved that Simon was still talking. She was warmed by his enthusiasm, but also afraid that he might expect her to ask questions and she didn’t know what to ask. Mostly she didn’t know what he was talking about.

‘That sounds lovely,’ she managed to interject brightly, on a couple of occasions.

‘Oh, there’s nothing like it,’ he enthused, and then he was off again. She became desperate to change the subject.

‘Your dinner’ll get cold,’ she said as he was drawing breath and he stopped, smiled and said, ‘Goodness, yes – you shouldn’t get me onto golf! It’s a bit of a passion of mine. Better eat up.’

As soon as he’d taken a large mouthful she said, ‘You worked in Coventry, didn’t you? What was that like?’

‘Cov?’ he chewed, then swallowed. ‘Oh, well – I missed the worst of the bombing of course. By the time I got there the place was – well, it was in a terrible state. Had the guts blown out of it. I don’t know if you know, but before the war, old man Herbert, who I was working for, had given a fortune: a hundred thousand pounds or thereabouts, to build a museum and gallery for the city. By good luck they’d only built the basement by the time the war got going, and they stopped for the duration – otherwise the place would have been matchwood, like most of the rest. I mean seeing all the cathedral down like that . . .’ He shook his head. ‘Anyway, course Herbert’s is a grand old firm – good experience before I came back under the thumb of the Old Man! I had digs there with a strict old tartar called Mrs White – watched me like a hawk, she did. I’m damn glad to get back to my own place, I can tell you.’ He picked up his spoon. ‘Come on, let’s get this pudding down us. It’s already stone cold.’

Katie smiled and picked up her spoon. She rather liked cold custard. He leaned forward, watching her intently. ‘You know, I think you’re a bit of a witch, aren’t you?’

‘Pardon?’ she asked, startled.

‘Well, you’ve got me talking away, asking me all sorts of questions, and I’m keeping on and on about myself like a proper bore – and you’ve hardly said a word about you.’

‘That’s all right,’ she said with a trace of dishonesty. She had had more than enough of golf. But she did want to hear about him and his family. ‘There’s not that much to say.’

He sipped his water, peering mischievously at her over the rim of his glass. She enjoyed looking into his face. ‘I don’t believe you. You’re like the Dark Lady – full of mystery.’

‘Oh, Shakespeare’s Dark Lady?’ she said, surprised. Here was something they could talk about. Perhaps he loved reading too? ‘D’you like Shakespeare?’

‘Yes – well, I’d like it more if I had more time. To be honest, I had a . . . Well, a sort of girlfriend when I was at the university. She was doing a degree in English Literature and she told me about the Dark Lady. I don’t really have time for that sort of thing.’

‘No, well, I’ve never seen any of the plays or anything,’ she said, ‘except an amateur production of
Twelfth Night
in a village hall. Mom and I were invited. It was absolutely terrible!’ She put her hand over her mouth, giggling at the memory. ‘But I like reading the plays – and the sonnets.’

‘You like reading? That’s nice. You’ll have to show me some of them.’ She was fairly sure that he was not really interested, but appreciated his humouring her. She was surprised. She had thought that was what people did in universities. But of course, Katie told herself, Simon was a busy man, running an engineering company, not footling about with poems. It was a shame, all the same.

‘Not really my thing,’ he went on. ‘Any spare time I get, I’m out on the golf course – or cricket in the summer of course. Now that’s another marvellous game . . .’

‘I go to the library a lot,’ she said quickly. ‘My uncle . . .’ But she ground to a halt. Why talk on about this when he wasn’t interested in it?

‘Go on?’

‘Oh nothing – he’s dead now. But I borrow a lot of books.’

Simon leaned forward, bringing his face as close to hers as he could. ‘You don’t make it easy to concentrate in the office.’

‘Me? Why?’ She felt like giggling, almost as if she’d been drinking something stronger than the tap water they were sipping. She was aware only of him now, not any of the other diners around.

‘Oh, Katie – do you really have no idea how lovely looking you are? There’s me trying to keep my mind on . . . on flaming drawings and motor parts, and there you are across the room looking absolutely ravishing!’

His use of this word made her laugh all the more. He reached across, saying, ‘May I?’, serious now, and took her hand. ‘I really do want to know about you,’ Simon said. ‘I’m not just making conversation.’

So she told him, a little – the bare facts – drawing a veil over quite how poor they had been and Uncle Patrick’s difficulties and how he died. She portrayed a gentle, sheltered upbringing. Out of her usual reserve, she did not talk for long. Soon afterwards he suggested they leave, and they put on their coats and went out into the freezing night.

‘Ooh,’ Katie said, her chest clenching with the cold. ‘My, that’s a shock.’

‘Let me get the engine on – that’ll warm us up . . . Come on – you get in and get warm.’ He ushered her considerately into the car and she was warmed by this as much as being out of the frosty night.

They drove home, Simon talking a little more about his family. He pulled up just along the street from her house. Only now, Katie was suddenly seized with dread. What on earth was the time? Could she go in looking as if she’d been toiling away at the works all this time?

But a second later she realized angrily that she didn’t care. Why shouldn’t she have some life? She felt she was being swept along, as though in a fast-moving stream. Nothing and nobody was going to stop her seeing Simon, if he wanted to see her. It felt exciting to be wanted by someone.

He turned and looked at her through the darkness. She couldn’t see his expression.

‘This has been the best night of my life,’ he said.

‘Really?’ She was so amazed by this that she almost laughed. Her heart was pounding hard. He was having more and more of an effect on her. Was she really that special to him? Surely he couldn’t mean that, not with all the busy life he had had . . . the other girls?

‘Well,’ she dared to say, ‘it’s certainly been the best
I’ve
had.’

There was a silence, during which they looked at each other across through the gloom.

‘May I kiss you?’ he asked.

Timid, but wanting the kiss more than anything, she moved towards him and felt herself taken into his arms. She wrapped hers round him, acutely aware of the weave of his jacket under her hands. It all felt astonishing, miraculous. Their lips found each other’s gently, then passionately. She didn’t know how long they sat there. All she could feel was the closeness of him, the warmth and slight roughness of his cheek, his searching lips, until they drew back for a moment. Katie felt dazed.

‘It’s so fast – all this,’ he said. ‘But my goodness, you’re so beautiful. I do believe I’m in love with you, Katie.’

‘I – I love you too,’ she said, feeling astonished, crazed even, at bringing out these words for the first time ever, and so soon. Was it wrong to say such weighty things so easily? Or was this whole evening just in her imagination? But he was here, she could feel him. It was all real. ‘I don’t want to let you go . . .’ she whispered. ‘And have to see you tomorrow and pretend I hardly know you.’