Becoming Strangers (30 page)

Jan raised an eyebrow and shook his head, laid his knife and fork down beside the small neatly tailored piece of steak that remained alone on his oval plate.

'That's why I'm glad you and your missus are all right. See, you got your history, haven't you? That means something when you're getting on a bit.'

'For sure. Shall we get a dessert or some cheese?'

'Lovely bit of meat. Looked like rubbish but it was tender.' Jan saw that George's plate was clean apart from a smudge of mustard. 'I'm full, mate. I'll have a bit of pudding, though. What've they got?' They ordered a
Napoleon de la maison
for George and a coffee for Jan.

George was on his third glass of the dessert wine that Jan had ordered for him and he'd pushed the sugar basket aside. 'Now that's a good wine. Why can't they make them all that way?' He applied himself to the slice of cake set before him, with gusto, licking the spoon carefully, all of it, up to the handle. 'He liked you.'

'Who?'

'Bill. He really liked you, you know. He said some very nice things about you.'

'Yes. Oh, as you say, he was a good sort. A bit out of control, though.'

'He couldn't half eat, you're right there! Cor dear, he could shovel it down like there was no tomorrow, he could. He told me he got terrible heartburn. Shouldn't wonder. One night after dinner I slipped him a Rennies, brought it down from the room and we sat down and had a nightcap. I shan't forget what he said because I thought it was good. He said there were two types of people in the world—he said someone famous had said it but I can't recall who it was—the righteous who are sinners and the sinners who are righteous. He said he hoped he was in the latter but he probably wasn't because he thought about himself too much. He said that
because you thought so little of yourself, God would raise you up. Funny way of putting it but you get the drift. Nice thing to say about a person.'

Jan laughed and put his hand over his mouth. His brow relaxed and he looked across at the open fire, watching the flickering of the flames that was repetitive but never the same. Will I think of fire? Will I think of phrases from certain songs, will I think of Paris? he wondered. What will it be? Will I be here again, feeling this way?

'I couldn't see which category I fell into,' George looked at the smudged glass in his greasy fingers. 'I said to him, well I don't think I'm such a bad old stick, so am I doomed then?'

'What did he say?'

'Said he didn't know. Sod's Law, ain't it?' George shrugged. 'Well, seeing my salvation's hanging in the balance, would it be all right to go on somewhere, do you think? I've always wanted to wander round Pigalle. Pig Alley the Yanks called it in the war, we heard stories of it. Wished we had a Pig Alley in Italy. I'd like to have a stroll down the Champs Elysées too. It's still early, right?'

'Let me pay and we will go there.' Jan signalled at the waiter.

'Do you know what the Jerries called a French breakfast, so I heard, during the war? Do you know? A cigarette and a woman. Dirty sods.' George gave a slow smile of evident admiration. 'I'd like to go to Rome again and all. See what it's like now. There's a few places
I wouldn't mind seeing. Got to get on with it. The wife won't do it, though, so I shall have to go on my own. I want to do it while I can.'

'I will come with you.'

'Will you? What, to Rome? Lovely. When are we going then?'

'How about in a couple of weeks' time?'

'Be sensible, mate.'

'Well, I am being sensible.'

'Oh.' George looked down at the plate and, seeing the stem of his glass, finished the small amount in the bottom of it. His mouth had dropped; it was pulled down by the weight of his jaw, submerging.

'Well, we should go while we can,' he said, 'you and me. We should have some fun.' He looked up at Jan and smiled. After all it's good of a young chap like you to come with me.'

'It's good of a young chap like you to come with me. I only hope you don't get me into too much trouble.'

'Lovely looking lot, those Italian girls. We'll need some spending money.'

'We will. Why not? We'll have a little flirtation or two. We're good-looking fellows, men of maturity and panache.'

'That's right.'

The waiter put the bill between them on a small saucer and Jan reached for it.

'Fair's fair,' said George, pushing a note across the table and getting up. He leant across to Jan and whispered, ''Ere, how do you say goodnight in French?' He
listened with one eye closed, raised a finger and nodded, then went to find his coat and hat, stopping briefly in front of the two ladies to say, with a small bow,
'Bonsoir, 'dames.'

'A
u revoir, mon G
ÉNÉRAL
,' called the owner of the porn shop.

'Hear that,' said George, 'thinks I'm Monty.'

Jan looked backwards. The man was reclining against the window of his store, his mouth opened by laughter, his eyes creased, surrounded by the garish colours of the silly artefacts of an industry in which souvenir shopping meets physical desire.

'I never thought it would be like that,' said George, settling, like Jan, against the cool leather of the immaculate interior of their taxi.

'It's not as interesting as Amsterdam, you would enjoy Amsterdam.'

'Load of rubbish they sell, don't they? Who buys that stuff? Dirty old men?'

Jan laughed, 'Like you and me.'

George balked, his head back against the seat, his chin straightening.

'Nah.'

They were full of fun. They had shared another bottle of wine at a small café on Montmartre and descended the steps below Sacré Coeur at some pace.

Their taxi driver was an old man, with a few strands of grey hair combed neatly over his mottled head. He had an electric hearing aid which was whirring noisily, Jan noticed as the old fellow jumped out to open the door for them. He spoke and Jan laughed again.

'He asks if you were a General. He heard what the man in the shop said.'

George leaned forward between the seats and smiled at the man.

'In Italy,' he said, 'I was a general nuisance.'

The man nodded seriously, tapping with a flat hand at the side of his head, trying to right whatever was wrong with his hearing equipment. The whirring took on a new higher pitch and the man cursed and swerved.

'Dites que mon père était aussi Général, '
he said, turning round to look at Jan, his eyes intent,
'pour la résistance.'

'He says his father was a General—in the resistance,' said Jan, raising his eyebrows, adding, 'They all say that.' The man said something else and gave a small dry-throated laugh and nod.

'What's he say?'

'He says if we would like to meet some nice girls, he can introduce us. For a fine General like yourself...'

'Nah,' said George, looking out the window as the car took its tour of the Place Concorde, 'at my age I'd rather have a whisky mac. I'd have liked to see some French tarts, you know, miniskirts and high heels, red lipstick. I'd have liked that. I didn't think much of Pig Alley though. Those shops.' Jan recalled how the owner of the last store they had gone into had offered George
a video tape promising
'Folies Anales.'
George had taken his glasses from the top pocket of his zip-up jacket and inspected it closely. He'd not flinched at the cover shot of an engorged penis directed at a young woman's anus. He looked through his lenses and over his glasses, moving the tape in and out of focus before he handed it back.

'No, ta.'

The owner, clearly amused, had headed off to the section marked 'XXX,' returning with two or three other tapes to show to the old man. George was putting his glasses firmly back in his top pocket and shaking his head, 'It ain't a video I need. I know how to do it. You don't forget.'

'Take us up the Champs Elysées,' Jan asked the driver, who nodded,
jusqu'au soldat inconnu.'
After a few moments of silence, gliding underneath the sparkling lighting of the wide street, Jan began to hum
'Alouette, gentil' alouette'
and George picked up on it to sing the words, Jan joined him and soon they were singing the few lines of the song, with exaggerated emphasis on the 'oh' that precedes the refrain, at the top of their voices. The driver fiddled with his hearing aid, apparently tuning it and exclaiming with irritation.

Jan pointed out the tomb of the unknown soldier under the Arc de Triomphe, and asked George if he'd like to take a wander down the Champs Elysées. George shook his head and patted Jan's knee.

'No, son, I've had a lovely time, you done us proud with the tour, but I'm all done in now. Tired. Let's go home, shall we?'

Jan agreed and had to tap the driver on the shoulder to get him to turn his hearing aid back on so that he could hear their instructions.

J
AN WAS SITTING ON THE BED
, his legs crossed at the ankle, the window wide open and the lamp over his bed providing just sufficient light for him to read his book. He had restored his book on European civilization to its original cover and was a few pages into the first chapter. He had been in the same place at least three times before. The pain in his back was bad. Pretty soon he should go on to the morphine shunt. They had told him it would give him control over his pain management, they had implied it would give him some sort of freedom. They had spoken about it, his doctors, as if it were a wonderful thing, as if it would give him new life. He need never feel the pain; he need only squeeze the button to top himself up. It was a one-way street; it was the direct route home. He had taken out a capsule of the morphine he had with him and had poured himself a small glass of water from the plastic bottle by his bed when he heard the knock at his door and George's voice saying, 'Sorry to wake you, mate, it's me.'

He went to the door and stood in front of George who had removed his cardigan and shirt and was now wearing a vest with his trousers. His braces hung down at the sides. He looked distressed.

'Just had a call from the oldest daughter. Dorothy had a stroke today. She's all right; she's in hospital overnight, for just a few days they hope. They put her on some medicine to sort her out.'

'Is she okay?'

'She's lost the use of one side of her face, Jeanette says, but that might come back.' George licked his lips and swallowed. 'Can't stay here, though, with her poorly. I shall have to go back tomorrow, mate, first thing.'

'Of course.'

'I'll get another ticket.'

'For the train.'

'Yes. Carol's going to meet me at Ashford.'

'I will come with you to the station.'

'No, mate, I'll be leaving first thing, before six I expect.'

'That's fine.'

'You need your sleep.'

Jan shook his head and smiled, 'No, I am feeling good, George, after our night out. I shall come with you. Make sure I send you off with a cup of tea.'

'All right.' George extended his hand and Jan shook it firmly. 'Sleep well, son.'

'You too.'

He watched George make his way along the narrow corridor, using his hands against the walls to steady him. He saw the thick fold of pink skin that separated the few rows of short white hair at the back of his head from the white cotton of the vest beneath it. He saw
that his friend's hands were mottled like the driver's head and that the skin behind his upper arms hung loose, like chicken flesh. When George turned about at the end of the corridor to raise his right hand in a goodnight salute, Jan could not see his eyes, just the dazzling reflection off his glasses from the crystal chandelier wall-lamps.

He went back into his room and looked at the bed with its austere blanket and sheeting tucked around the mattress as though it were nailed in place. He chose the chair by the window and sat down in it and reached for the phone. He was going to call his oldest son, and ask him to meet him at the train station in Brugge the following afternoon. 'Bring Ben,' he would say to him and he would buy them a good dinner and let them go their own ways early. He would see their faces in the candlelight of an inn he knew.

I'
D LIKE TO THANK
my friend, Germaine Vooghden, and also Eric and Lieve Landuyt for help with the Belgium details. With thanks for reading to Susan Martin, Mirian and Jason Lamberth, Marie Doig, Fiona Buries, Sophie O'Connor, Babar Javed, Claire Potter, Cliodhna Purcell, Catherine and Paul Lyons, Carol and Eric Houseknecht and Rob Dunbar. For keeping the animals at bay—thanks to Sandra Walker, Nicole Vilhem, Brigitte Dutouquet and Raymond Guisano. For encouragement of a less worldy kind, thanks to Rev. Dan Meeter at Brooklyn Old First. With my thanks to the fantastic team at Simon & Schuster, to Rochelle and Nigel.
I
am seriously indebted to Ben Ball, my editor. Thanks go to Melanie Jackson, Gill Coleridge and her team as well as to Rebecca Saletan and the team at Harcourt who have made this happen in the U.S.A.

This book is for Bette Waller and Iris Soan, for Jim, Denise and for my parents. It is also for John. I'm grateful to you, you see...