The Red Door (7 page)

‘No, I can’t say that I know Bulawayo. Though I’ve a Boxer which I got from an African friend. I mean he’s really European of course. The way they’re treating Ian
Smith is scandalous, don’t you think? These blacks should be shut up somewhere. They’re not fit for human consumption.’

‘My son has three servants in Africa,’ said Harry. ‘They cost five shillings a week. All they want is bicycles, that’s all they want. Do you know what he said to me once?
He said one day he decided to raise the salaries of the Africans, and the Africans walked out. The whole lot of them. Do you know why?’

‘I can’t imagine.’

‘Well, I’ll tell you. They said that if they were worth that money they should have got it in the first place. What do you think of that?’ His lips pursed angrily.
‘They’re not like us at all. They’re not reasonable.’

‘Imagine that! Of course, I quite agree with you. Where are you going now? Home for your dinner?’

‘Pleased to have met you,’ he said, without answering her question. What a glorious day it was! Oh, to be young again and sailing the Seven Seas, away from women with dogs and
lorgnettes, and fat little boys running about with big balloons! For a moment he was stabbed by an incredible pain.

‘We will meet again no doubt,’ she said, avidly watching a little bald man who was making his way delicately across the sleeping bodies with which the strip was littered.

Harry headed for the pub.

‘Hi, Harry,’ said the barman who was a tall, skeletal and tough man, able by use of ju-jitsu to throw out on to the road the biggest bruisers of the town. He had a very small head
set on a spindly body, and he was wearing a black jacket and a violet, if slightly stained, bow tie.

‘How’s things, Harry?’

‘Oh, not so bad,’ said Harry, grinning broadly.

‘Got a car yet, Harry?’

‘Not yet. Looking around, you know.’

‘You do that, Harry, take your time. Reason I asked was you mentioned it. You should get a Cortina.’

Harry sat down in the corner seat which was upholstered in red leather. The place was a bit crowded with boys playing darts and gulping pies in between throws. They were in their shirt sleeves
and had the clicking scoreboard working. Students some of them, perhaps, like Robin had been. It was true he once had a shop, but it was a newsagent’s not a jeweller’s. Sarah was happy
in those days because she was kept busy, and there were always people to talk to. Also, people would look up to you if you had a shop. Only it had lasted for no more than three years and then it
had gone the way of so many other shops when the big firms and the supermarkets came in. Anyway, he had never been a bookseller and he didn’t know much about books. Robin used to work there
during the vacation though he was a bit ashamed of it. He had tried to get better books in and that had been the start of the trouble. In Harry’s experience most people wanted to buy westerns
and romances (especially about nurses and doctors). But, no, Robin had brought in the heavy books, and they lay on his hands. These students reminded him of Robin. In those days they had a car as
well. The barman was new, otherwise he would have known about that. But he had so many insults to put up with now: everyone thought they could say what they liked to him.

As he drank some beer a young naval rating came and sat down beside him, carefully placing his white cap on the table. He took out a copy of the
Evening Times
and turned to the sports
page. Harry thought he looked very young with his close-cropped blond hair.

‘Fine day,’ said Harry, after a decent while.

‘It is that,’ said the rating putting down his paper. He seemed lonely.

‘Nice little town you have here,’ he said politely.

‘Yes. Not been here before?’

‘No, can’t say I have. Come from England myself.’

‘Do you know Portsmouth?’ said Harry eagerly.

‘Do I know Portsmouth? Yes, I’ve been in Portsmouth a lot of times.’

‘Good Naafi there,’ said Harry. ‘Big place. Was there during the war, you know.’

‘Oh, you were in the war, sir?’ Very polite, these ratings, Harry thought.

‘I was. In a cruiser. You wouldn’t know it, I suppose. It was called the
Indomitable
. We were after the . . . ’ He was going to say
Bismarck
but stopped
himself in time. ‘We were in the Atlantic most of the time.’

‘Good for you,’ said the rating, looking out of the window as he licked the foam from his lips.

‘I suppose things have changed a lot since then,’ said Harry, taking another swig. ‘I mean, in the ships.’

‘I suppose so,’ said the rating. ‘Not having been in the old ones, I wouldn’t know.’

‘You’ve got rockets now,’ said Harry.

‘Yes, we have.’

‘Never thought of that in the old days. Just guns we had. I was a gunner myself. Used to get hot on your hands, they did.’

‘I suppose they would.’ This rating sounded a bit educated, Harry thought. Not like us.

‘A sight for sore eyes they are,’ said Harry, pointing vaguely out to sea.

‘You mean the Navy? Oh, it’s all right I suppose. Not really much in comparison with the Americans though we wouldn’t say that to them. They’ve got a lot of aircraft
carriers. We’ve only got two.’

‘I was torpedoed once,’ said Harry.

‘Is that right? Well, I expect you’d have been picked up pretty rapid now. All sorts of new equipment. You live here?’

‘Yes. Not all my days though,’ said Harry quickly. ‘I’ve been around. I was in the First World War and then I was in the second one too. That’s where I got my leg
from.’

‘What? Oh, I see. Mean you were wounded?’

‘When we ran into the spot of trouble I was. And my right arm isn’t too good either.’

The rating finished his beer and was about to get up.

‘I’ll get you one,’ said Harry expansively, coming to a decision. ‘Must look after our Navy boys, you know.’ He signalled to the barman to come over.

‘Another pint for my friend here,’ he said.

As the barman was bending down to take their glasses he said,

‘What rank is he this time, Harry? Admiral?’

‘What did he say?’ said the rating after the barman had gone.

‘Oh, nothing. He was only joking. They all know me.’

The barman returned with their beers, and Harry watched the rating drink. Very nice boy he looked, with direct, candid blue eyes.

‘When are you leaving?’ he asked.

‘Not allowed to say that,’ said the rating. ‘But we shouldn’t be here long. There’s a visit tonight. The Prince himself, you know. The good old prince. All the
trimmings. We’re going back about five o’clock. Everyone’s got to be back there by five o’clock. No shore leave tomorrow. Worse luck.’

He reminds me of Robin, thought Harry. The same clean-cut student look. He looked down at his drink.

‘You liked the Navy, sir?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘And what are you doing now, sir?’

‘I’m retired. My son’s in Africa, you know. He’s an administrator. He’s got a top job there. He was in university, you know.’

The rating looked out of the window and drank quickly.

‘There are some people going out to the ships, you know. We’re running boats out tonight. You could come if you wanted to.’

‘I could do that,’ said Harry. The rating looked over Harry’s head, his eyes focusing on the street outside as if he had an appointment.

‘Tell you what,’ he said, looking at a watch with a black leather strap on it, ‘I’ve got to go now, but I’ll be back here at five and you could come out with us
then. Why don’t you do that? Why don’t you? Otherwise it’ll cost you five bob.’ He drank the rest of his beer, looking at Harry with blue, candid eyes.

‘Can I get you something else before you go?’ said Harry. ‘Another pint.’

‘Well, I really haven’t got time. There’s someone out there. But I’ll be here at five o’clock.’

‘You’ll have time for a whisky,’ Harry insisted. Without waiting for an answer, he went over to the bar. ‘A whisky for my friend,’ he told the barman.
‘He’s in a hurry. He’s got an appointment. He’s got to get ready for Prince Philip.’

‘Right, Harry.’ The barman poured out the whisky quickly, and Harry took it over to the table. The rating drank it quickly. ‘This is good of you,’ he said.

‘Think nothing of it,’ said Harry, nursing his beer. ‘I shall expect you then at five.’

‘Yes, that will be all right. I’ve got some shopping to do. What’s your name by the way?’

‘Harry Millar. Everyone in town knows me. Used to have a big business here. I’ve done a lot of trade with them in the past.’

‘Yes. No point in you paying five shillings really.’ He rushed out as if he had seen someone whom he wanted to meet.

The barman came over.

‘What are you up to now, Harry?’

‘It was the commodore’s chauffeur,’ said Harry. ‘I’m going out with him in the ship’s boat at five o’clock. He said I’d have a grandstand view
when they switch on the lights.’

‘Good for you, Harry. I heard people were being taken out. Nice-looking fellow.’

‘Yes, we Navy boys are like that,’ said Harry. He sipped his beer, thinking that he had about eight shillings left.

When he left the pub at three o’clock, he decided he’d go up to the house and leave a note for Sarah, telling her that he might be late. It was a strange experience. He hadn’t
been out past nine o’clock at night for ages, and he knew that he might be a bit later than that coming back. He felt rather frightened informing her of this in cold print, but a lot depended
on what mood she was in. It reminded him of the old days when he used to go out for a Saturday night drink with the boys.

He sat down at the table and wrote: ‘I have been given an invitation to go out to see the Fleet. The son of an old friend. He’s a sub-lieutenant.’ He signed it
‘Henry’ instead of ‘Harry’. The room seemed to get on his nerves when he was in it alone; its emptiness appeared menacing and dull. It was the absence of Sarah’s
nagging that did it; by God, she was a missile for the Fleet all right! He put the note in an envelope and placed it on the mantelpiece so that she would see it immediately she came in.

As he was descending the stair he met his next-door neighbour who was mowing the lawn.

‘Off again, Harry?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so. I have been suddenly invited out, to see the Fleet. An old family friend. He’s a lieutenant in the Navy.’

The man looked at him seriously through thick glasses, grunted, then bent down to do something to a rose.

Harry limped on to the level and returned to the shore. He sat in a shelter looking out at the brilliant sea, watching the ships which he would soon see close to.

A fat woman sat at the far end of the shelter. She said,

‘It’s a grand sight, isn’t it?’

‘A grand sight,’ Harry agreed, and then added, ‘I know one of the lieutenants on board.’

‘My son’s a priest, you know,’ she said, ‘across the water.’

He didn’t know at first whether she meant that her son was aboard or in a parish on the other side of the firth. She continued,

‘But we Scots have a soft spot for the Navy, don’t we?’ She seemed to have a compulsion to talk.

‘I come here every day,’ she said. ‘Every day. I used to be a conductress in my younger days. I remember the days when the trams had no roofs on them. People used to grab at
the branches of the trees as we went past. That was at the time of the fair, you understand. My niece now, she’s a student teacher. Wouldn’t look at the pay of a conductress. But is she
any happier, is she? Do you think they’re any happier?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Harry. ‘I suppose they’re not.’

‘I used to scrub floors before that,’ she said, ‘and after that, too, during the Depression. We had seven of a family. The poorest of the poor, you could say. But my niece will
take me to a hotel now, and they charge you for rubbish. I know what they do. I said to one of the waitresses, “You bring me more beef than that.” And my niece was red in the face, but
I got it. They think if they stick a piece of cardboard in the middle of the table that they can charge you double. No honesty in anybody these days. No honesty. My son, the priest, he’s as
honest as the day is long. You should see what he’s done for the boys.’

‘What boys?’ said Harry.

‘The hooligans. The juvenile delinquents. He works with them, you know. And they think the world of him. Mind you, he doesn’t get much money, but he’s happy. And that’s
the main thing, I think.’ She added, ‘Look at the poor sailors, there.’ And true enough, there they were parading up and down in pairs following the giggling girls.

In the distance, Harry saw Sonny walking along with his stick. The fool. He should have stayed at home instead of showing that all he had been saying about his son-in-law was a lie. But no! He
saw that Sonny had stopped at a café and was talking to a little bald man and a harassed looking woman who was probably his wife. A boy with a lollipop in his hand was dancing up and down
between the two of them. So they had come to see Sonny after all. But then again, perhaps they hadn’t gone to the hotel for their dinner, perhaps they had only been to the café, for
sausages and chips, tea, and pieces of stale soggy bread. And he was glad again till he saw them going into a small green car which was parked just in front of the café. So Sonny had been
telling the truth: he felt desolated.

‘I was saying that priests nowadays don’t get the respect they deserve,’ said the woman, ‘nor teachers either. My niece was telling me the other day about this little boy
who spat at her. Imagine it. He just spat at her. The wee hooligan.’

Harry got up, and, excusing himself, limped down to the shore. There was no wood to be seen, just waves coming in across wiry seaweed. A little dog panted for a ball which his master held in his
right hand.

Harry made his way along to the café and ordered a cup of coffee. There was a play on the TV set, but he couldn’t hear a word, he could just see figures gesticulating. It seemed to
be a western, set in a sandy desert. He toyed with his coffee for a long time, and nibbled a Blue Riband when he caught the waitress looking at him. Who was she anyway? This was his town, he had
lived here much longer than she had. He felt the anger rising in him as he looked at the café owner, that greasy Italian. Why was he making money hand over hand while he, Harry, a native of
this place, was destitute? After fifteen minutes he went into the lavatory and sat down.