The Life and Loves of Gringo Greene (33 page)

   ‘I’m saying nothing,’ he said, ‘but I liked your new look better.’

   ‘Yes,’ she said, unable to keep a coy smile from her face. ‘I noticed.’

   Back in town he kissed her a
have a good day kiss
in the car park and they walked the two blocks together, arms linked; a little self consciously, toward Frobisher Buildings.

Later on at home he ate alone, wading through the fat evening newspaper as he munched some unidentifiable ready meal. Just as he finished eating, the phone rang.

   ‘Nineteen sixty-six!’ he yelled.

   ‘Good grief, do you have to shout so?’

   ‘Sorry Sarah, I didn’t think it would be you,’ and he didn’t, for she rarely rang him at home, ever conscious that with Gringo, she might be disturbing something.

   ‘How’s things?’ she asked.

   ‘Fine, I’m good; I liked the present by the way.’

   ‘I thought you might, but that’s for another day. Gringo, I have something to tell you.’

   Uh, oh, he thought, why is it that when a woman says, and they always say it in a quiet manner:
I have something to tell you,
it never precedes good news,
I have something to tell you,
and it’s often downright bad.

   ‘What?’ he said, unable to keep the irritability from his voice.

   ‘Ronnie’s coming home.’

   Gringo could have guessed as much.

   ‘When?’

   ‘Saturday night.’

   ‘What does he want?’

   ‘I don’t know, but he said he had two important things to tell me, to discuss, to ask me.’

   Gringo didn’t like the sound of that at all.

   ‘Sarah?’

   ‘What?’

   ‘Will you marry me?’

   Where the hell that crazy thought came from, he had no idea, it just fell out of his head, and out of his trap before he had a chance to think of what he was saying.

   ‘What!’

   ‘You heard me, marry me, be my wife.’

   ‘Don’t be so ridiculous!’

   ‘What’s ridiculous about it?’

   ‘I can’t marry you, Gringo.’

   ‘Why ever not?’

   ‘Well for a start, you don’t love me.’

   ‘How do you know?’

   ‘Because you’ve never told me, you dope!’

   ‘You know what men are like, they rarely say such things, it’s harder for men.’

   ‘I don’t buy that rubbish at all. Why can it possibly be harder for men? Real men can express their feelings clear enough, without a problem. If a man really loves a woman he will tell her so.’

   ‘I didn’t see you doubting whether I was a real man on Friday, Saturday and Sunday.’

   ‘Sod off, Gringo! That’s a cheap shot, and you know it. You’re a better man than that.’

   Gringo thought about that for a second and then said: ‘If I said
I love you,
will you marry me?’

   ‘No!’

   ‘Why not?’

   ‘Because for a start, when I’m sixty you will still be in your forties. You will have long since found someone else by then, and secondly, there is no way on earth you could be faithful to me, not even for one month, and thirdly, I can’t give you children.’

   ‘I don’t want bloody children!’

   ‘Yes you do!’

   ‘So you can read my mind now, can you? Listen to me again;
I do not want bloody children!
Is that clear enough?’

   ‘Of course you want children, all men want children whether they say they do or not, all men want a son, even if they say otherwise.’

   ‘Sarah, don’t be ridiculous!’

   ‘I’m not being ridiculous, and I’m not arguing with you.’

   ‘You know what
he
wants, don’t you?’

   ‘Who?’

   ‘Ronnie of course! That’s who we’re talking about.’

   ‘No, I don’t. What does he want?’

   ‘He wants to marry you and take you back to the Middle East. It’s as clear as day.’

   ‘Not to me it isn’t, and is that why you really proposed to me, just to get in before Ronnie does, just to spoil his chances?’

   ‘No, of course not.’

   ‘So why did you?’

   ‘You know why, because I adore being with you.’

   ‘You mean; you like having me on tap whenever you want me.’

   ‘No! Well yes, but there’s much more to it than that.’

   ‘I don’t want us to argue, Gringo.’

   ‘Neither do I, but hasn’t it been good for you, Sarah, what we have together?’

   ‘Well of course it has, that’s the whole bloody point, Gringo, the times I’ve spent with you have been amongst the very best days of my entire life, but nothing lasts forever, I’m only being realistic, pragmatic.’

   ‘We’ve not long met, for Christ’s sake!’

   ‘That may be true, be we’ve crammed a lot in.’

   And in the way she said that, he knew she was smirking at the other end of the line, and that induced a smirk to his face too.

   ‘We have, lover, for sure. Look, can I see you tomorrow night, Friday; we can talk it through, before he comes back.’

   ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Gringo. I’ll ring you on Monday and tell you how the weekend went.’

   ‘Don’t go yet, Sarah, don’t leave it on a sour note.’

   He heard her sigh and then she said: ‘A girl needs some security. I don’t have anyone, Gringo, no one at all. It’s as clear as day that you and I couldn’t possibly last forever, and I don’t want to be left all alone. Life is too scary for that. Loneliness is a killer, Gringo, and I’m frightened of being left totally by myself with just the four walls of my flat for company, with no one to care for, and no one to care for me, to wake up on Christmas morning and be too frightened to turn on the TV, to see everyone enjoying themselves and partying with friends and family. I don’t have that many friends and only a relatively small family, and they are dispersed across the kingdom, it’s truly frightening Gringo. I don’t want to wake up on my birthday and be greeted by a gas bill and no cards on the mat. A girl’s looks don’t last forever. In a year or two men will stop paying me attention, you would stop paying me attention, and I shall become just another dull middle-aged woman teetering on the brink of old age, an invisible being the rest of the population never notices. I can see it all now, Gringo, stretched out before me. If I carry on like this, that will be my future, my only consolation a litre bottle of gin, just so long as I can afford such luxuries, and my liver holds out.’

   He heard her voice cracking up.

   ‘It doesn’t have to be like that, Sarah.’

   ‘It does! It bloody does! I’ll ring you on Monday, Gringo,’ she said in one hurried breath, ‘I promise, I promise!’ and then the line went dead.

   He sat in silence and reflected on what she had said. Maybe, just maybe, Ronnie was coming back to tell her he had married someone else, but Gringo instinctively knew that was not the case. And why had he, Gringo Greene, proposed marriage to the woman in the first place? She had been right of course, what she had said, he did not love her, brilliant in bed though she was, right up there amongst the very best, he just wanted her there to screw whenever the feeling took him. He certainly didn’t feel undying love for her; he couldn’t, because he had never known such feelings. What was he thinking of? What the hell would he have done if she’d accepted?

   The thought of taking Sarah Swift to Shropshire to meet his parents with news of their upcoming marriage brought a shiver to his spine. God almighty, he would rather take Maria Almeida, and that was saying something. He reprimanded himself for being so stupid, and reminded himself that in future he must never speak before engaging the brain. Think boy, think. Every man, every woman, should think most carefully about their own futures, because no one else will ever do it for you.

   It was the third time he’d issued those crazy words:
Marry me
, and one of these days some crazy tart was going to say yes. The two previous occasions had long since been wiped from his memory banks but now came flooding back, only to be immediately and thoroughly buried. If that wasn’t bad enough, the crazy demon deep within his head jumped to the forefront of his mind and began screaming.

  
You nearly fucked up there, pal.

   What were you thinking of?

   You nearly fucked up there!

   Ha, ha, hah!

  
Now he had no Melanie, no Brenda, no Julie, and it was highly likely that his favourite bedroom companion of the moment would be abandoning him too, and if she did that, what was he going to do with the golden earrings he’d bought her?

    Perhaps he ought to make more of a fuss of Maria for a while, for the alternative was unthinkable, and maybe it was time to cast his nets out further, and the one pretty kid whose face kept flickering back into his brain was Rebecca Walker. Perhaps this was the moment to return some of the glad eyeing she was still sending his way, even after he’d admonished her so. Yes, that was the plan, formulated in a second, to be acted on within the week. If Sarah Swift abandoned his bed, Rebecca Walker could damn well jump aboard.      

That night before he fell asleep he began thinking of Norma from long ago. Recently he had been thinking of Norma quite a bit, though why he should do so, he had no idea, what was her name now… Norma, Norma… what was it? Whitlock, that’s the one, Norma Whitlock, and suddenly he was reliving his life from sixteen years before.

One of his duties as Junior Clerk was to take documentation around the various local companies who shared the same trade, and that was how he first met Norma Whitlock. She worked for a business called The Carnac Welding Company, and one morning on his rounds he popped into their office and tapped on the sliding fuzzy glass windows, and without waiting to be invited, slipped them open.

   Norma was sitting in a swivel chair on the far side of a small musty office. She was gabbling on the telephone and typing on a word processor at the same time, but still turned about when she heard Kevin, as he was then, enter their office. He gawped down at the short skirt on the girl, and couldn’t help but see the flash of blue knickers as she crossed her legs. She saw in his eyes that he’d been staring that way, and that amused her.

   ‘I’ve some papers for you,’ the still un-moustached youth said, a smile on his quite handsome face.

   ‘Hold on a sec,’ she said. ‘Do you work for Dryden’s?’

   ‘Yep.’

   ‘Can you take these back?’ she grinned, rustling through some papers and producing a handful of returning mail. Kevin issued his stock answer whenever any girl or woman asked him anything.

   ‘It’ll cost you.’

   ‘Oh aye,’ she said, grinning. ‘And what will that be?’

   ‘Well, you could take me to the pictures.’

   He’d often say that to young kids and usually they’d giggle and run away, not thinking him serious.

   ‘You’re a cheeky little sod, aren’t you?’ and then much to Kevin’s amazement Norma said: ‘All right then, you’re on.’

   ‘When?’

   ‘Tomorrow night. Meet me after work.’

   ‘Okay,’ said Kevin, wondering if he’d done the right thing, for when she stood up he saw she was much taller than she appeared at first glance, and certainly taller than him. Not bad looking though, he thought; if a bit gangly. He liked her slim figure and the skirt of course, and the neat page-boy haircut that suited some girls and certainly not others.

   ‘I’m Norma, by the way,’ she said, as they swapped papers.

   ‘I know. I’m Kevin.’

   ‘I like that name,’ she said, and that was a rarity in itself, for anyone to like the name Kevin. ‘I love that Kevin Kostner, he’s a dream.’

   Kevin flashed his best youthful toothpaste ad smile, a smile she automatically returned, and then he was gone.

It was trying to rain when he met her the following evening, so they went in the first café they came to and scoffed an unhealthy fry up. After that they set off for the ABC picture house, Norma linking his arm, something he both liked and disliked, in case any of his mates were to see him, as they stood in the queue outside the cinema.

   Then they were inside, on the balcony, half way back, far left seats that she’d insisted on sitting in. He gained the distinct impression she was a regular customer of the ABC, indeed maybe even a regular sitter on the very seats they were now occupying, but so what. Who cared?