Authors: Jonathan Coe
What a Carve Up! (6 page)
She clutched the nightgown modestly to her bosom.
Kenneth said: ‘Oh, blimey. No. Wait a minute, that’s not my bed, either. I must have got lost. I’m sorry. I’ll – I’ll push off.’
He started to leave, but paused after only a few steps. He turned and saw that Shirley was still holding on to her nightgown, unsure of his intentions.
My mother stirred uneasily in her chair.
Kenneth said: ‘Miss, you don’t happen to know where my bedroom is, do you?’
Shirley shook her head sadly and said: ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t.’
Kenneth said: ‘Oh,’ and paused. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll go now.’
Shirley hesitated, a resolve forming within her: ‘No. Hang on.’ She gestured with her hand, urgently. ‘Turn your back a minute.’
Kenneth turned, and found himself staring into a mirror in which he could see his own reflection, and beyond that, Shirley’s. Her back was to him, and she was wriggling out of her slip, pulling it over her head.
He said: ‘J— just a minute, miss.’
My mother tried to get my father’s attention.
Kenneth hastily lowered the mirror, which was on a hinge.
Shirley turned to him and said: ‘You’re sweet.’ She finished pulling her slip over her head, and started to unfasten her bra.
My mother said: ‘Come on. We’re going. It’s far too late already.’
But Grandpa and my father were both staring goggle-eyed at the screen as the beautiful Shirley Eaton took her bra off with her back to the camera, while Kenneth heroically tried to stop himself from peeping into the mirror which would have yielded a precious glimpse of her body. I was staring at her too, I suppose, and thinking that I had never seen anyone so lovely, and from that moment it was no longer Kenneth she spoke to but me, my own nine-year-old self, because I was now the person who had lost his way in the corridor, and, yes, it was me that I saw on the screen, sharing a room with the most beautiful woman in the world, trapped in that old dark house in that terrible storm in that shabby little cinema in my bedroom that night and in my dreams forever afterwards. It was me.
Shirley emerged from behind my head, her body swathed in the knee-length gown, and said: ‘You can turn round now.’
My mother stood up, and the woman behind her said: ‘For Heaven’s sake sit down, can’t you.’
On the screen, I turned and looked at her. I said: ‘Cor. Very provoking.’
Shirley brushed back her hair, embarrassed.
My mother grabbed my hand and pulled me out of my seat. I let out a little howl of protest.
The woman behind us said: ‘Sssh!’
Grandpa said: ‘What are you doing?’
My mother said: ‘We’re leaving is what we’re doing. And you’re coming too, unless you want to walk all the way back to Birmingham.’
‘But the film hasn’t finished yet.’
Shirley and I were sitting on the double bed together. She said: ‘I’ve a proposal to make.’
Grandma said: ‘Come on then, if we’re going. We’ve got to stop somewhere for dinner, I suppose.’
On the screen, I said: ‘Oh?’
Off the screen, I said: ‘Mum, I want to stay and see the end.’
‘Well you can’t.’
My father said: ‘Oh well. Looks like we’ve been given our marching orders.’
Grandpa said: ‘I’m staying put. I’m enjoying this.’
The woman behind us said: ‘Look, I’m going to call the management in a minute.’
Shirley moved closer towards me. She said: ‘Why don’t you stay here tonight? I don’t fancy spending the night alone, and we’d be company for each other.’
My mother grabbed me underneath the armpits and lifted me out of my seat, and for the second time that day I burst into tears: partly out of real distress and partly, no doubt, because of the sheer indignity of it. I hadn’t been picked up like that since I was tiny. She pushed past the other people in the row and started carrying me down the steps towards the exit.
On the screen I seemed to be uncertain how to respond to Shirley’s offer. I mumbled something but in the confusion I couldn’t hear what it was. I could see Grandma and my father following us into the aisle and Grandpa rising reluctantly from his seat. As my mother pushed open the door which led to the chill concrete stairs and the salty air, I turned and caught a last glimpse of the screen. I was leaving the room but Shirley didn’t know this because she had her back to me and was fiddling with the bed.
Shirley said: ‘I’ll be quite all right on the –’ She turned, and stopped. She saw that I had gone.
‘– chair.’
The door closed and my family were clattering down the stairway. I shouted, ‘Let me down. Let me
down
!’, and when my mother put me down I immediately tried to run back up the stairs into the cinema, but my father caught me and said, ‘Where do you think you’re going?’, and then I knew that it was all over. I pummelled him with my fists and even tried to scratch his cheek with my fingernails. For the first and only time in his life my father swore and smacked me, hard, across the face. After that, we were all very quiet.
∗
In the car going home, I pretend to be asleep, but in reality my eyelids are not properly closed and I can see the light from the amber roadlamps flashing across my mother’s face. Light, shadow. Light, shadow.
Grandpa says, ‘Now we’ll never know what happened,’ and from the back of the car Grandma says, ‘Oh do shut up,’ and she pokes him in the shoulder.
I am no longer crying, no longer even sulking. As for Yuri, he has been quite forgotten and I can barely even call to mind the film which so excited me a couple of hours ago. All I can think of is the fearsome atmosphere of Blackshaw Towers, and the inexplicable scene in the bedroom where this beautiful, beautiful woman asks Kenneth to spend the night with her, and he runs away when she isn’t looking.
But why did he run away? Out of fear?
I look at my mother and I’m on the point of asking her if she understands why Kenneth ran away instead of spending the night with a woman who would have made him feel safe and happy. But I know that she wouldn’t really answer. She would just say that it was a silly film and it’s been a long day and I should go to sleep and forget about it. She doesn’t realize that I can never forget about it. And it’s in this private knowledge that I lie back and pretend to be asleep, with my head on her lap and my eyelids half-closed so that I can just make out the light from the amber roadlamps flashing across her face. Light, shadow. Light, shadow. Light, shadow.
PART ONE
∗
LONDON
August 1990
Kenneth said: ‘Miss, you don’t happen to know where my bedroom is, do you?’
Shirley shook her head sadly and said: ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t.’
Kenneth said: ‘Oh,’ and paused. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll go now.’
Shirley hesitated, a resolve forming within her: ‘No. Hang on.’ She gestured with her hand, urgently. ‘Turn your back a minute.’
Kenneth turned, and found himself staring into a mirror in which he could see his own reflection, and beyond that, Shirley’s. Her back was to him, and she was wriggling out of her slip, pulling it over her head.
He said: ‘J– just a minute, miss.’
My hand, resting between my legs, stirred.
Kenneth hastily lowered the mirror, which was on a hinge.
Shirley turned to him and said: ‘You’re sweet.’ She finished pulling her slip over her head, and started to unfasten her bra.
My hand began to move, lazily stroking the coarse denim.
Shirley disappeared behind Kenneth’s head.
Kenneth said: ‘Well, a – a handsome face isn’t everything, you know.’
Continuing to hold down the mirror, he tried not to look in it but couldn’t resist taking occasional glimpses. With every glimpse, his face registered physical pain. Shirley put on her nightgown.
Kenneth said: ‘All that glitters is not gold.’
She emerged from behind his head, her body swathed in the knee-length gown, and said: ‘You can turn round now.’
He turned and looked at her. He seemed pleased.
‘Cor. Very provoking.’
Shirley brushed back her hair, embarrassed.
My hand came to rest. I reached for the pause button, but thought better of it.
Kenneth began to pace the room, and said, with a show of bravado: ‘Well, I suppose you must be rather scared, with all the things that have been going on here tonight.’
Shirley said: ‘Oh, not really.’ She sat down on the double bed, with its heavy oak frame.
Kenneth moved rapidly towards her. He said: ‘Well, I am.’
Shirley said: ‘I’ve an idea.’ She leaned forward.
Kenneth turned and began pacing again. As if to himself, he said: ‘Yes, I’ve got one or two myself.’
Shirley said: ‘Come and sit here.’ She patted the space next to her on the bed. ‘Come on.’ An orchestra started playing, but neither of them took any notice. Kenneth sat down beside her. She said: ‘I’ve a proposal to make.’
Kenneth said: ‘Oh?’
Shirley moved closer towards him. She said: ‘Why don’t you stay here tonight? I don’t fancy spending the night alone, and we’d be company for each other.’
As Shirley said this, Kenneth turned towards her and leaned closer. For a moment they seemed on the point of kissing.
I watched.
Kenneth turned away. He said: ‘Yes, it’s – quite a good plan, miss, but, well …’ He got up and began pacing again. ‘… I – we don’t know each other really very well …’
He made for the door. Shirley seemed to say something, but it couldn’t be heard, and then she started turning down the sheets on the bed and fluffing up the pillows. As she did this, she was seen in reflection again, this time in a full-length mirror opposite the bed. She didn’t notice that Kenneth had reached the door. He turned to take a final look at her and then quickly sneaked out.
Still fussing over the bed, Shirley said: ‘I’ll be quite all right on the –’ She turned, and stopped. She saw that Kenneth had gone.
‘– chair.’
I pressed the rewind button.
For a moment Shirley froze: her mouth was open and her whole body shuddered. Then she turned, smoothed down the bed, Kenneth walked backwards into the room, Shirley seemed to say something, sat down on the bed, Kenneth seemed to say something, sat down beside her, they seemed to talk, he got up and paced backwards, moved rapidly away from her, she got up, Kenneth paced and talked, she fiddled with her hair, he looked away from her, she hid behind his head, began to take off her nightgown, Kenneth’s face contorted repeatedly and he lifted the mirror up and down, Shirley put her bra back on, emerged from behind his head, started to pull her slip back over her head, said something, Kenneth hastily lifted the mirror, said something, glanced in the mirror, and Shirley began to wriggle back into her slip.
I pressed the pause button.
Kenneth’s face and the back of Shirley’s body were reflected in the mirror. They shuddered. I pressed the pause button again. They moved slightly. I pressed it again and again. They began to move in jerky stages. Shirley moved her arms. And again. And again. She was wriggling. She was taking off her slip. She was pulling it over her head. Kenneth was watching. He knew he shouldn’t watch. The slip was nearly off. Shirley’s arms were above her head.
My hand, resting between my legs, stirred.
Kenneth mouthed something, very slowly. He lowered the mirror, out of his range of vision. He continued to hold it down so that he couldn’t look into it.
Shirley turned to him, and mouthed something. There were only two words but it seemed to take a long time. Then she continued to pull her slip over her head. She finished pulling it off in seven jerky stages. She put her hands behind her back. Her fingers worked at the clasp of her bra.
My hand began to move, stroking the coarse denim.
Shirley turned. She took the beginnings of a step. She disappeared behind Kenneth’s head.
Kenneth began to mouth something.
Somebody knocked at the door.
I said, ‘Oh shit!’, and leapt out of my chair. I turned off the tape. The screen changed from monochrome to colour and the volume came back: a male voice, very deep and loud. There was a man on the screen. He had his arms around a child. Some documentary. I turned the volume down on the television and checked that my trousers were buttoned up. I looked around at my flat. It was very untidy. I decided that it was too late to do anything about that, and went to answer the knock. Who could it be, at nine-fifteen on a Thursday evening?
I opened the door a few inches. It was a woman.
∗
She had piercing and very intelligent blue eyes, eyes which would certainly have held mine in a strong and steady gaze had I not deliberately avoided them, preferring instead to take in the details of her pale, slightly mottled complexion and rich coppery hair. She smiled at me, not fulsomely, just enough to offer a hint of nice even teeth, and to make me feel that I had to smile back however difficult this might prove to be. I managed to produce what I think must have looked like a sort of sinister half-grin. It was exciting and unusual to find this person standing on my doorstep, but my pleasure was tempered not only by the awkward timing of the interruption but by an uneasy, insistent sense that I had seen the woman somewhere before: that I might, in fact, have been expected to recognize her and even remember her name. In her left hand she was holding a sheet of A4 paper, folded down the middle; her right hand dangled restlessly at her side, as if she was trying to find a pocket in which to hide it.
‘Hello,’ she said.
‘Hello.’
‘I’m not disturbing you, am I?’
‘Not at all. I was just watching the television.’
‘It’s just that – Well, I know we don’t know each other very well or anything, but I thought I might ask you a favour. If that’s all right.’
‘Sounds fine. Would you like to come in?’
‘Thanks.’
As she crossed the threshold to my flat I tried to remember how long it had been since I last had a visitor of any description. Probably not since my mother came down: two, maybe three years. That would also have been the last time I had dusted or vacuumed. What on earth did she mean, anyway, ‘We don’t know each other very well’? It seemed an eccentric thing to say.
