The Disappearance Boy (20 page)

‘Excuse me, sir, might I
help
?’

The waitress had materialised as soon as Reg had got down to the sign saying
Please wait here to be seated
. She was polite, of course, but the edge to the voice in which she made her enquiry made more than clear what she thought of the suitability of this particular customer to her establishment. Luckily for her, Reg was too busy staring at Pam to answer with any of the lines he usually kept in reserve for that particular question.

‘Oh, yes, I –’

That was when Pam looked round. For moment, she looked confused, as if she couldn’t quite believe who had arrived to interrupt her thoughts, and here of all places – but then she lifted a hand, and waggled three fingers in an approximate welcome.

‘I think I’ll just go and join my lady friend – if you don’t mind,’ said Reg, sidestepping deftly.

By the time he reached her table she’d stubbed her cigarette out in the cut-glass ashtray and quietly put her hands back in her lap.

‘Blimey, this is a bit posher than the Essoldo, isn’t it?’ He was half whispering, enjoying the conspiracy. Grinning. ‘Just as well I put on a clean shirt this morning. If I’d –’

‘Madam?’

‘Yes. A cup for my friend, please –’ Pam was editing her voice to go with the room, making Reg smile even more – ‘and some more hot water. Do you have teacakes this morning?’

‘Certainly, madam.’

‘One, with butter, if you have it.’

See
, Reg thought.
That’s put you in your place
.

The waitress retreated.

‘Well, go on then,’ Pam said. ‘What’s your excuse?’

‘Haberdashery,’ said Reg, grinning again, and indicating the staircase. ‘Pins and chalk, so that I can get stuck straight in to the alterations this evening after work. They’re not the cheapest, but it is just round the corner … And what’s yours?’

‘Oh … A cigarette and a spot of quiet before we start work on the new routine. You know. This was the only place I could think of where I wouldn’t bump into anyone I knew.’

‘Sorry. I can always –’

‘No. No, honestly. I’ve ordered your teacake now.’

She still had her hands in her lap.

‘I do know, though,’ he offered, sure that he knew what she was being so pensive about. ‘It’s always a bit daunting starting on a new act, especially when you’re new to the game. Still, nothing ventured, and all that. Brookes does know his business.’

She looked at him oddly, and seemed to think before she spoke.

‘Took the words right out of my mouth again, Reg. I’ll be Mother, shall I?’

She took the hot water from the proffered tray, and helped Reg to milk.

‘One lump, or two?’

‘Two please.’

The days of help-yourself sugar bowls were still a couple of years off even at Hanningtons, and the sugar had come as four small lumps on a plate. Pam dropped three of the four into Reggie’s tea with a pair of silver-plated tongs, and passed him his cup across the table.

‘Where d’you get that then?’ he asked, with a nod that indicated her wrist.

Pam was concentrating on topping up her own tea, but when she saw where Reggie was looking she put the pot down abruptly. A spot of tea slopped out onto the white cloth, and spread.

‘What d’you mean?’

‘That’s a new one, isn’t it? Let’s have a look at him.’

‘Oh, that … Yes.’

Pam looked down at her bracelet as if she had forgotten she was wearing it, and held out her wrist to shake it down to the end of her black wool sleeve. The charms rang together softly, and the little gold cat with his ruby-chip eyes ended up on top, resting his head against the miniature Eiffel Tower.

‘Very nice,’ said Reg, sipping his tea. ‘Where d’you find it?’ He flipped his head towards the window. ‘In one of the little shops round the back there? I like the eyes. He looks like he’s smiling.’

The spot of tea had spread to the size of a half-crown. Pam laid her hand down next to it, and looked from the bracelet to the stain as if they were somehow connected.

‘I didn’t find it anywhere, Reg,’ she said, spreading her ringless fingers flat across the cloth, and bringing her eyes to rest on the little gold cat. ‘Mr Brookes gave it to me.’

Reg laughed.

‘Blimey, did he? … There’s not many people get a present out of that one.’

‘Yes he did, Reg.’ Her voice pressed down firmly on the words, just as the palm of her hand was pressing down firmly on the tablecloth. ‘He gave it to me when I went out with him for a drink again, after the third house on Saturday night.’

She’d been expecting him to be angry, but she hadn’t expected the hurt. Seeing it, she flinched, lifting her hand off the tablecloth and laying it at her throat; as she did that, the charm bracelet slipped down over the sleeve of her sweater, exposing what she had hitherto been trying to conceal. The bruise was new – an emerging watermark, just beneath the skin – but you could see the impress of fingers printed quite clearly around her wrist.

Reg’s eyes flicked, then flicked away. He knew the waitress on the other side of the room was watching them, and could have shouted – wanted to, in fact, loud enough to make the woman come running in dismay – but he did the opposite, for Pam’s sake, lowering his voice with his eyes.

‘So he’s hurting you already, is he? That didn’t take long.’

Now it was her turn to collect herself. She rearranged the softly spoken bracelet, and made every effort to keep her voice firm and low.

‘No, not at all. He’s just a bit rough sometimes.’

There was no reply.

‘Would you believe he thinks I’m special, Reg?’

Reg’s hands had started to misbehave. One was plucking at the corduroy of his trouser leg under the table, and now the other reached inside his jacket pocket for the reassuring nugget of his penknife. He was determined not to shout – not at her, anyway – but it was hard. His face worked itself into and out of a frown, and when he finally spoke the words barely emerged. He knew what he wanted to say, but that familiar enemy in his throat was getting a very firm grip.

‘Since when?’

She couldn’t see any point in denying it.

‘Since Friday. Friday night, after the Queen’s Hotel. Listen, Reg –’

Reg had moved his fidgeting right hand up onto the tablecloth, and Pam reached across to take hold of it as she spoke; he snatched it away as quickly as you would from something that might scald you. She looked at him for a moment, biting her scarlet lip, and then turned and beckoned brusquely to the staring waitress.

‘Is everything all right here, madam?’

‘Yes it is. The bill, please, and straight away. I’m afraid my colleague and I are due at work almost immediately.’

She was gathering up her bag as if she took her refreshment in superior places like Hanningtons’ Tea Room all the time. The moves were as clipped as the words, and went well with the painted face and its swinging pearls.

‘Certainly, madam.’

‘I can see you’re upset, Reg,’ said Pam, not caring if the woman heard this time or not, ‘but we can’t talk here.’

She was standing already, opening her purse for a sixpence.

‘Finish that tea, and we’ll go and find somewhere a little more private, shall we? We’ve got nearly an hour.’

‘Reg!’

The shout was raw with exasperation; the edge in her voice was caught and echoed in the cry of a gull as it wheeled away above her head into the blindingly bright sky.

‘I know what I’m bloody doing!’

When they’d left the tea room all Pam could think about was how she was going to tell him about the bruises without sounding impossibly vulgar. She was pretty sure bracing your hands back against the headboard while a man pinned your wrists to the mattress wasn’t something young Reggie was going to know anything about – and it certainly wasn’t the sort of thing she wanted the job of explaining. Now that they were out here on the prom, however, in all this light and air, she just wanted to get the words out of her mouth and have done with them. There was no point in beating about the bloody bush, was there? At least the wind would mean they’d be hurled away at once, rubbish to the gulls.

She tried again, coat flapping and hair flying.

‘Reg! Stop!’

This time, he did, and turned, shouting back at her through the wind.

‘Well I’m glad to hear it. And I’m sure he does too.’

The face was a mask of fury, and his fists were clenching so hard that the nails must be cutting the palms of his hands. He walked back towards her stiffly – was he going to actually hit her? she wondered. There was no mistaking his voice for a boy’s now; it was hard, and dark.

‘He’ll leave you. You do know that? He’ll pick you up and throw you away just like he did Sandra, and the one before her, and the one before. He’ll –’

His mouth twisted and swallowed, as if somebody had just stung his face with the back of their hand. A couple in buttoned-up overcoats walked past them quickly, staring; as they passed, Pam dragged a handful of hair back out of her eyes. Fighting the lump that was trying to close his throat, Reg kicked the asphalt, staring at her painted face just like he stared at Doreen’s stone sometimes: desperately. The blunt edges of his voice had been sharpened, and he turned them on himself; it was suddenly the sound of somebody bleeding inside, miserable and weary with pain.

‘He’ll leave you just like my dad left my mum, Pam. Just like. Just like my dad left my mum –’ He strangled, then swallowed again. ‘It’s what they bloody do.’

She’d never seen his eyes so black – knapped flints, in a sad, angry face – and now that it had been said, she understood.
So that’s why he minds so much
, she thought.
That’s why he minds so much about what happens to me. Why did I never think of that before?
She stared at him, blinking, feeling the wind wreck her hair.

‘Oh, Reg –’

It was almost a moan. She stepped forward to take hold of his arm.

‘Don’t.’

The arm was pulled away brusquely, and the eyes went dead. There was a woman stalking past them, this one pushing a great boat of a pram. She glared at them, judging their messy public intimacy with her mouth and sharply lifted chin, but Pam didn’t care. She reached for Reggie’s other arm; the wind was making a mess of his hair too, and it was all she could do to stop herself from reaching out and stroking it. She grabbed his jacket, pulling him close, getting her face as close to his as if she meant to kiss him.

‘I know, Reg. I know that’s what they do. But it doesn’t mean you can stop trying.’

His eyes were closed and his face averted, but she wasn’t taking no for answer.

‘Does it? … Does it, darling? … And sometimes … I don’t know about you, but sometimes …’

Now it was Pam’s turn to feel a hand trying to squeeze her throat shut.

‘Sometimes what?’

She tried to laugh it away, but it was too late for that.

‘Sometimes I’m as much of a fool as the next girl. You of all people must be able to understand that.’

‘Why?’

‘Oh come on Reg, you know. Being alone. You think you’re fine with it one night, but the next night you’re not. It’s nothing to be ashamed of –’

He pulled back, but Pamela refused to let him get away.

‘Oh for Christ’s sake I don’t mean your foot, Reg. Look at me. I said look at me.’

She lowered her voice to an urgent, steady stream, and spoke straight into his face, releasing his arms now and holding his head between her hands as if she really was going to kiss him.

‘And I don’t mean because you’re bloody queer either. I mean your mum. You’ve been alone all your bloody life – well I’ve been alone too, Reg, just in a rather more crowded way. So trust me, I know. I know.’

The crisis seemed to have passed; she breathed, and released his face. She was still fighting the urge to tame his hair – like a mother would – and so she stepped back as if she wanted to be able see him better, and shoved her hands into her pockets.

‘You can talk about her, you know. If you miss somebody, then it’s good to talk about them.’

Reggie still wasn’t looking at her, but at least his eyes were open now. She fought to stop herself holding him, because she knew that wouldn’t help.

‘How do you miss somebody you never had?’

‘Oh … all the time.’

‘Really? You’ve never even bloody mentioned a mother. You –’

‘No, Reg, but I’ve been one.’

It came out of her so directly, so without hesitation, that Reg thought he’d misheard. A gull screamed and flashed overhead, asking for something, and Pam bit her lip. She stared, then laughed, then cut herself off. She turned quickly half away, as if she’d suddenly remembered she ought to look out at the sea. It dazzled her, and she threw up her hand to shade her eyes.

‘I don’t understand …’

‘I’m sure you don’t. Forget I mentioned it.’

She sniffed hard, and started rooting in her handbag, and almost laughed.

‘Christ! What a time to discover you’ve left your fags in a bloody tea room.’

‘Pam –’

Something uncontrolled about her face as she rummaged in her bag made Reggie realise how very wrong a turning had just been taken. He mirrored her earlier gesture, and reached out to put his hand on the sleeve of her coat.

‘Pam? What is it?’

‘You know I was sure I put them in here somewhere. Shit!’

The handkerchief she was trying to use on her nose bowled away down the promenade, and now it was Reggie’s turn to understand. The nanny who had passed them earlier was now walking back towards them, and as she approached the whirling accent of the lost handkerchief led Pam’s eyes back to the great black pram the woman was pushing. Reggie saw them widen, and her teeth clench – he’d seen a man break his arm onstage once, and that man had done almost exactly the same thing with his mouth as Pam was doing now, clamping the sides down to try to keep himself silent. The woman passed them, tutting at the spectacle, and wheeled her charge safely away towards the Hove Lawns. Pam’s eyes followed it.

Reggie stared too, but at Pam.

He waited for her outside the newsagent’s, and then followed her as she hurried up a narrow side street to get out of the wind. Neither of them had spoken. When they spotted the sign announcing
Home Made Cake Available Today
they both knew that a backstreet cafe was a ridiculous place in which to try to understand what had just happened to them, but what options did they have? Neither of them could face Mr English, and it was too far to walk to either of their rooms before they were due at work.