All the Way Home and All the Night Through (25 page)

“Eh up, Harry,” I said, “how come that chickie always seems to be on her own?”

“I dunno, I dunno, I dunno,” explained Harry.

“Come on, fat sod. You know everything.”

“I know. No, I think it's because she had some great romance some years ago and she never bothers now.”

“Bet his name was Mark and I bet he was a young civil engineer—

and he had a quizzical twist of hair falling incongruously across his generous forehead—”

“—and his dark troubled eyes bored questioningly into her spinning brain—”

“—and it was written by Dodie Fadge—”

“—and serialized in
Woman's Scarcely
.”

“She works on telephones.”

“Who?”

“That chickie.”

“Oh. What's her name? I do know but I can never remember.”

“Jack Benny.”

“Come on.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because when you've told me I'm off to have a word with her. Do you mind? It is my party.”

“I thought you gazed on none but Janet.”

“That's right. What's her name?”

“Caroline. You deserve whatever you get.”

He walked away in disgust. I went after him.

“What's the matter with you then?”

“Well, I reckon you're a soft sod. I mean there's you and Janet and everything's going fine and you want to chat birds up all the time.”

“I've only been with two birds since I've been going out with Janet.”

“I mean.”

“What's come over you all of a sudden? You know as well as I do that I was drunk the other times. It didn't mean anything.”

“Supposing Janet found out. You'd be surrounded by crap then.”

“Christ, I'm only going to have a chat.”

“Yeah.”

“Nothing's going to happen. I don't know why I'm going to these bloody lengths anyway. I
know
it's innocent.”

I turned and walked over to Caroline.

“Hello,” I said.

She turned toward me.

“Hello, Victor.”

“Surprise. You know my name.”

“You'd have been surprised if I hadn't,” she said, smiling pleasantly without effort.

“Surprise for you. I know yours.”

“My!” She put her hand against her chest, “I
am
honoured.”

I smiled. She smiled back.

“I've seen you round a lot and yet this is the first time I've ever spoken to you.”

“And now you're leaving town.”

“Sad but true.”

“I often wondered what you were like,” she said frankly.

“Now you know.”

“Yes and no. Are you as in love with Janet Walker as people say you are?”

“Is that what people say?”

“All the time.”

“Then they must be convinced they're right.”

“Are they?”

“I don't know them that well to judge.”

She took a drink from her glass.

“You look very nice,” I said.

“Thank you.”

She put her glass down on the sideboard. I put my arms round her and kissed her. I closed my eyes. I tried not to feel anything but clinical interest, but the moment was unfairly pleasant. I drew back. We looked directly into each other's eyes.

“I wish I wasn't leaving this place,” I heard myself saying.

“Because?”

“Because I would have liked to have known you.”

“You love Janet.”

“I did until two minutes ago.”

This was unbelievable.

“And now?”

“You know.”

“Yes.”

“What a pity. What a great pity.”

“It doesn't have to be.”

“Doesn't it?”

“No.”

We kissed again. The feeling was comparable to when I kissed Janet. My stomach turned over with fear, yet I wanted this to happen at this moment. I felt as if I had been in love with this girl for a long time and I wanted to cry and tell her that I loved Janet. Yet I felt relaxed and I was enjoying the strange feelings which had so effortlessly taken control, even the great sadness of my thoughts about Janet.

It was like a dream. I took her up the stairs to my room and we lay on the bed holding each other tenderly with the window open and the soft night air coming in and stroking us. She told me about the person she had loved and what had happened to them both. Everything seemed perfectly natural and acceptable when I told her how much I was going to love her and when she told me how much she wanted that to happen and when we kissed, we cried, and that seemed natural, joyful and sad all at the same time. We didn't make love and after some time, she fell asleep. I lay there staring out of the window.

I got up from the bed and wandered slowly down the stairs. The party had thinned out but people were still slowly dancing and it was still hot; I looked at my watch. It was quarter to four.

In the front room I discovered Harry. He was sitting in an arm-chair next to the record player, smoking a cigarette and staring into space. A girl was curled up at his feet, asleep, her head on his knee. I sat on the edge of the table next to him.

“Fag?” Harry said. I took one of his cigarettes.

Then it was all over. The girl upstairs became as she was before --- a girl. Just like that, everything snapped back. I knew it had been an illusion inspired by the drink, the fact of my last party, the end of my four years, the girl's loveliness, the warm summer night. A terrifying, sad, lovely illusion that I didn't regret because strangely it didn't detract one bit from my feeling for Janet. It was almost as if the girl had been Janet. It was strange that it should happen while we felt for each other the way we did then, rather than at a time when we were no longer together, when it could be explained by my wanting to compensate for the loss of Janet.

Caroline came into the room and walked toward me.

“Hello,” she said, and smiled.

I couldn't tell her it was over. I took her hand.

“I'll have to go,” she said.

“I'll get you a taxi.”

We walked down the street. The day was already beginning to arrive. We waited on the main road at the end of the street. Ten minutes passed. She gave me her telephone number and I lied to her when I said I'd phone her tomorrow. A taxi rolled up and I kissed her and she got in. I walked back to the remains of the party. I've never seen her since then.

I met Janet the following afternoon.

“Let's not go to the pictures,” I said. “It's too nice.”

“Yes, it is. What will we do?”

“Let's take a bus out to Hetton Foreshore and lie in the sun.”

“That would be lovely. Just you and me.”

We walked to the bus stop.

She looked dazzling. She had on a midnight blue shirt-style blouse and a white flared skirt. Her dark glasses flashed in the hot sun.

I put my hand on her arm. She stopped walking and turned toward me.

“Janet,” I said.

She stood there looking at me. She smiled at me, waiting for me to go on. I couldn't. There was nothing I could say. Nothing could atone for the night before, and there were no words to describe it. She would have to have been me to understand that it meant nothing, nothing at all.

We lay in the grass on the river bank. The river swept softly away in its great still curve and the seven o'clock evening sun hung high and firm in a sky of uniform pale blueness. A slight breeze stirred the luminous grass and pleasantly tickled our foreheads. The hard, dry earth between the blades of grass smelled of the sun itself.

“Vic,” said Janet.

“Mm?” I rolled over and shaded my eyes against the sun.

“Nothing really. I just wondered how the party went last night. Did you enjoy it?”

“Well. For a start you weren't there, were you?”

“No.” She leant over me and tickled my nose. “But apart from that, how was it?”

“Not bad. I had plenty to drink.”

“Of course.”

“Of course.”

“And?”

“And I thought of you.”

“And?”

“And I thought of you all the time.”

“And did you think that you missed me?”

“Of course.”

“Did you?”

“Yes, I did. I wanted
you
to be there very much.”

“How much?”

“As much as always. I couldn't more.”

She sat up and stared in the direction of the river. She didn't say anything for some time.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked.

“You.”

“What?”

“I was thinking: if we weren't to go out together, if you didn't want to see me anymore, I'd still like you. I mean, as a friend. I can't imagine your not being in love with me, but even so, I couldn't help but like you, even if it finished badly.”

“Don't be soft,” I said quietly. “It's not going to finish.”

“I hope so.”

“Of course, it won't.”

“But even so. What I meant was, you're too likeable not to like. Too—too nice.”

“No, I'm not nice enough. By far.”

She carried on looking at the river.

I thought of the night before.

“You help me, too,” she said. “You help me to see things properly and to be good and to enjoy life. I didn't know where I was until I met you. People could influence me terribly easily, you know. I'd hold some private opinion and be afraid to voice it because I'd be afraid of the reception it might get. I felt inferior. Now I feel proud.”

“But...”

“Yes?”

“But I'm not good. And I'm only nice because I couldn't be any other way when I'm with you. But when I'm away from you—”

She said nothing.

“When I'm away, I'm different.”

“Everyone's like that. But since I've known you, when I am away from you, I can feel you, sense what you do for me, the benefit of you being the way you are just for me.”

I lit a cigarette and thought about the next week. The end of term, the end of college, the end of seeing Janet everyday.

My thoughts wouldn't crystallize because the days without Janet were incomprehensible.

“Don't change when I'm in London, will you?” I said. “Please don't.”

She turned toward me.

“How could I? I'd never need to.”

“Janet,” I said. “Come here.”

She came and lay by my side. We lay there for another hour and made love and looked at the sky and then we went back into the city. Janet went with me to the pier and I caught the ten-past-nine ferry to home for the rest of the weekend.

I went for a drink with my father on Sunday lunchtime. The sun outside made the Wheatsheaf doubly brown and dark green on entering.

“What is it, Vic?”

“Pint please, ‘ad.”

“A pint and a brown, Len, please.”

We stood at the bar. Len passed us the drinks.

“Good health,” said my father.

“Cheers.”

We drank. My father nodded at me and smiled his knowing smile.

“Better for that, I should say,” he said.

I nodded. He produced twenty “Seniors” from his twill jacket and offered me one. We lit up and inhaled.

“Last week, then,” said my father.

“Yep, that's right.”

“I expect you'll be feeling a bit funny round about now.”

“Yes, I expect I will.”

“Still, the world's in front of you. Set your stall out properly and you'll have nothing to worry about.”

“Yes.”

“That's all your mother and I want, you know. For you to get on and have a good life. We want to see you happy and successful.”

“I know. I—I appreciate all you've done. All your help. I hope I can get on well enough to deserve it.”

“You will do. You will do. We did it because we wanted to.”

He took a drink.

“What's the next step?” he asked.

“My tutor's given me some addresses for interviews in London and he reckons I should spend a week down there sorting them out.”

“When were you banking on going?”

“Give it a week after I've left college, see if my diploma comes through and give it a try
then
.”

“Sounds a good enough idea.”

We stood in silence for a few minutes, considering our worlds.

“How does Janet fit into your scheme of things? Or doesn't she?”

“Well, I don't know. I mean she's got another three years to do at college, and she's only seventeen. I know what I'd like to happen, I think. It's just that the time's so long. I don't know.”

“Well, I can speak for your mother as well in saying that nothing would please us more. If you're meant to be together, you'll finish up together. You get something behind you. You've plenty of time.”

I took another drink.

“I think I should be all right,” I said.

“You've plenty of time,” said my father.

“Well,” said Angela. “How does it feel to be leaving?”

“Strange, I suppose,” I said. It was the last day. “You never quite believe it, really.”

“What about Janet?”

“What about Janet?”

“Well, I don't suppose you'll be seeing much of her from now on.”

“Of course, I will. Not every bloody day, but I'll be home most weekends. Why do you ask?”

“Just wondered.”

“Give over. It's the last day. Give it a rest for five minutes.”

“Have you moved out of your flat?”

“Yes, most of the stuff's at home. I've just got what I need for tonight. I'll take it when I go tomorrow. I'm playing the final Steam Packet session tonight.”

“Any regrets?”

“No, not really. I—well, yes, of course, there are. Leaving the people I know, leaving the band, leaving the town. I've enjoyed these four years.”