Lover (8 page)

‘Never mind, darling. You come home with Auntie Rene and have some cake instead.'

But he wouldn't—he shoved the telephone into my hands and ran off down the street. Oh, well. He'll get over it, bless him. There's plenty more where she came from, after all.

Good business tonight. I started early, and by ten o'clock I'd made eleven pounds, so called it a night. Bumped into Lily on the way back. She'd had a bit of a time with one man who couldn't satisfy himself and threatened to punch her if she didn't give the money back, and of course her ponce isn't there when she needs him, he's off at the pub. I said to Lily, ‘I don't know why you put up with it, I really don't.'

She said, ‘Oh, you know how it is, Rene. I've got to have someone, I can't get by on my own.'

I thought, well, that's honest, because you get a lot of girls who'll say a ponce is no good and you're better on your own, when all the time they're living with a man and giving him money. But we're only human, same as anybody. I said to Lily, ‘You come on and have a drink with me, that'll cheer you up.'

‘Oh, no,' she said, ‘Ted'll be worried about me.'

I thought, well, he wasn't too worried earlier, was he? But I didn't say it—no point in getting her riled. Instead, I said, ‘Oh, where's the harm? You look as if you could do with it.'

We walked over to the Wheatsheaf, hoping for a bit of peace and quiet, but everyone was talking about how Madame Tussaud's got a bomb. Ale Mary's in there, and she's well away—never mind a whisper of port, it must have been the whole Hallelujah Chorus she'd put down her neck.

The barman said, ‘All the Kings and Queens of England blown to pieces, but old Hitler never even got a scratch!'

Lily said, ‘Well, I suppose they did it on purpose,' and one of the regulars—big drinker, always makes a nuisance of himself— said no, they wanted Baker Street station, but they missed. He told us they'd missed Holborn, too, and got a big scientific place in Lincoln's Inn Fields. His pal had seen the stuff on the road—skulls and skeletons and everything. He said they'd even got men's private parts, pickled in jars, and what did we think of that?

Lily said, ‘Best place for them, if you ask me.'

We went and sat down then, because we know that sort, they want a bit of dirty talk with us and not to pay for it. ‘Mind you,' I said to Lily, after, ‘if they
were
all pickled in jars, we'd be out of a job, wouldn't we?'

Lily said, ‘I daresay, but you still couldn't trust them.'

‘What, the…?'

‘No, the
men
. They're all disgusting. You got your own teeth, Rene?'

‘Eh?'

‘Them your own teeth?'

‘You don't think anyone would pay for this lot, do you? What's that got to do with it?'

‘Man tonight asked me to take mine out.'

‘You mean…?'

Lily nodded. ‘I ask you.'

‘Blimey. Did you?'

She shrugged. ‘Five bob extra.'

Mr Mitten comes by our table and whispers that he's got some proper cigarettes in, and if we come by the shop tomorrow—because Lily's a regular, too—he'll let us have two packets each. Then he taps his metal nose: ‘Don't say anything, or everyone'll be wanting them.'

Lily says, ‘Ooh, you are a pet,' which makes him blush.

I say, ‘Careful,' because I've noticed that him up at the bar is watching all this, and sure enough, he comes over. ‘You ladies seem to be onto something good.'

I say, ‘I don't know what you're talking about.' But he won't go away and I can see we're going to have trouble—he's tipsy enough—so we get up to leave, but he comes crowding in and grabs Lily's arm so hard she spills her drink, ‘I bet you could tell me a thing or two.'

‘I can think of plenty,' I said. ‘Come on,' and I get hold of Lily's other arm and give a good tug, but he's not letting go and everyone's looking and I'm thinking we're bound to be turned out at any minute, and then blow me if Ale Mary doesn't appear. She's clawing at this chap's arm, hissing at him, ‘Listen! Listen!', and screeching out this song, and he's trying to shake her off and at the same time keep hold of Lily, and Lily's walloping his arm with her gas mask case, trying to make him let go… I've pulled Lily right out of the door and into the street, thinking that'd put a stop to it, but all four of us end up out there, lurching along like a conga line with me in front and Mary hanging on at the back. For two pins I'd have left them and gone off back to Frith Street to fetch my things for the night, but Lily's only round the corner from me and I thought, I can't leave her in the blackout with this idiot—anything might happen—I'll get her home and Ted can do some work for once in his miserable life and sort him out.

The man's saying to Lily, ‘You come over to the Swiss and have a drink with me,' because they don't close till eleven over there. Lily said, ‘Oh, go home,' and I was about to tell him the same when Ale Mary suddenly said, ‘I know you,' and she leaned over and gave Lily a great shove in the chest so she fell back against the railings. ‘I know you,' she said, ‘And I don't
like
you.'

The man pushed Mary away from him and said, ‘Come and have a drink, come
on
,' and he must have got hold of Lily again because they were scuffling and I got an elbow in the stomach which knocked the breath out of me, and then Lily said, ‘You can go to hell, both of you!' She must have kicked him, because he said, ‘Bitch!' and we heard him hopping about on one leg. Lily said, ‘That'll teach you, now leave me alone!'

By the time I'd got my breath again—I was doubled over, wheezing away, with Lily rubbing my back—he was off down the street with Mary alongside, quoting from the Bible, no doubt. We could hear her singing and the footsteps getting fainter as they got towards the corner, and he suddenly shouted out, ‘Dirty whores!'

I straightened up and Lily and I leant against the railings, side by side. ‘Rotten bastard,' she muttered, then, ‘You all right?'

‘I'll do.'

‘Thanks, Rene. You're a pal.'

We didn't say much on the way home. I left Lily at her door and went home to collect my blankets and cushion for the shelter.

I felt a bit fed up so I tried to take my mind off it by looking round at all the people in the shelter. There were one or two I hadn't seen before: a young chap with big eyes and buck teeth, and a couple of soldiers. Then a pilot came in, with a girl. I noticed him first, because he had one of those faces you can't help gazing at: bright blue eyes and golden hair that most women would kill for. Early twenties, I suppose, but he seemed older, not because he looked it, but he had something about him, a sort of presence. Tall, too, and a lovely build, broad shoulders and slim hips—all the women were staring at him, wondering who the lucky girl was, no doubt. He didn't stay long, just got her sat down and went away again. Lovely to look at, but you wouldn't want a man like that. Far too dangerous—women round him like flies on a honey-pot. You'd never get a moment's peace, and that sort usually get above themselves from all the attention. She was quite a bit younger than me, but the same coat—blue wool. Suited her, and it would have been smart if it hadn't been for the marks. Whereas he'd been very tidy, she had all mess, dark, like soot, round the shoulders, and her hat, too. Looked like it was singed. Dirt on her face, all streaky, made me wonder if she'd been crying. Probably been in a raid, poor thing. She looked all in, slumped on the bench with her eyes shut, but she came to after a bit. Looked a bit flustered, like she couldn't remember where she was, but then she pulled a powder compact out of her handbag and opened it, then wetted her hankie—very ladylike— turned away towards the wall and started dabbing at her face. Nice hands. Soft-looking. Not married. She must have seen me in her mirror, because she suddenly turned towards me, and it was a quick up-and-down with the eyes and then…oooh, such a look. I don't know if it was the coat—no, I do know, because her face said it all:
I know what you are.

That really put the lid on it. There I was, ready to give her a smile, but no, she was too stuck up for that. Made me think of that man calling us dirty whores—he'd said it, and there she was, thinking the same. I looked at her, and I thought, you think you know everything, but you'll find out: life's not like the pictures.

Ordinary women never know what men are really like, and I wish I didn't, either. Even married women—we get lots of men that don't want to bother their wives too much, but of course they can do what they like with us. I tell you, some of the wives, if they knew what their husbands were after, they'd be horrified. Beating and chaining up and all kinds of things. Took me a while to cotton on to it myself—the first time a man asked me, I didn't know what he was talking about, and when I got the message, I didn't have anything to beat him with, so in the end I got my umbrella and walloped him with that. Didn't seem much good to me, but he must have liked it, because he gave me five pounds. But sometimes I look at the men and I think, if people only knew…and it's taking the money away from their families, isn't it, going with a street girl? When I think how I save every penny I can for my little Tommy, I don't think that's right at all, what they do, but they've got to have a woman. Miss Toffee Nose over there, that's what she doesn't know: a man's got to have a woman or he goes like a wild beast, and that means attacks on decent women—like her.

I caught her staring at me again—seen that look before, too, plenty of times. Curiosity
. How can she do it?
That's what she was thinking. I felt like saying, blimey, dear, want me to draw you a picture? They think we do it because we enjoy it. Men do too; you get some that'll say to you, ‘But you must get some pleasure out of it…' It's a business, that's all—same as any other.

Then she got up and rushed out of the shelter as if she was afraid she'd catch something off me. That really got on my nerves, and I thought, if I don't think of something else quick, I'll want to go after her and give her a piece of my mind. So I thought about my Tommy, instead, all upset over that girl, poor little lamb. I decided to get him a present to cheer him up. I'll nip down to Hamleys first thing tomorrow. I saw the other day they'd got Red Indian headdresses with all the feathers and that, so I'll buy one of those, only one and eleven, and take it round to him. It's bound to bring a smile to his face.

I
felt bad, lying to Mums on Wednesday, but all through supper— gluey grey fish cakes, oh dear—she'd kept on and on about how she'd been to buy wool and there's no more three-ply and two-ply is no good, and even though I was hating myself for not sticking to my resolution to be nicer to her, by the end of the meal I was absolutely fed up to the back teeth. Dad was late, so Minnie tried to cheer her up by telling her about a girl at her work who'd dyed her hair with henna. It was only supposed to be left on for ten minutes, but there'd been an air-raid and she'd had to rush to the shelter with her hair in a towel—four hours later, she had a bright orange head! I thought it was funny, but Mums just pursed her lips and said, ‘I didn't know you worked with
that
sort of girl,' then carried on with her pet subject. Minnie's so much more patient than I am. She kept nodding sympathetically and saying, ‘What a shame,' when I just wanted to shout, ‘It doesn't
matter
!' Because it's so
unimportant
to be worrying about wool when there's everything else.

I said that to Minnie afterwards, when we were washing up, and she said, quietly, ‘Well, it matters to her.'

I said, ‘I don't know why you have to be so
nice
all the time.' I knew it was childish, even before I said it, and wished I hadn't because she looked so hurt. It wasn't fair to snap at her, because she was doing her best and anyway, she's only seventeen—too young to understand about love, or anything, really.

Seeing her bent over the sink, she looked such a kid that it suddenly made me feel like a woman of the world, which I'm not, but I thought, she can't even imagine the conversation like the one I had with B when we sneaked out to the Corner House this afternoon. Well, I couldn't imagine it, either. If somebody had told me a month ago that was going to happen, I'd never have believed them, because it seemed so impossible that even while we were talking I couldn't quite believe it. The tea room was pretty crowded, but we got a little table behind a pillar where no one could see, and I was telling him about the queer feeling I'd had in the corridor with the world all melting away, because I was sure he'd understand, when he suddenly said, ‘You're a lovely girl. I can't believe that some young man hasn't carried you off.'