‘“Well he isn’t, you fast young madam, having the nerve to come knocking at the door for him! I always thought this would happen, him being out at all hours and never telling me where he’s off or what he’s up to.”
‘A man’s voice called from inside: “Who’s that, Alice?” I felt as I’d always felt at the bottom of my spine, that I lived nowhere and belonged nowhere, was always set on the doorstep between house and street, and that in this home town at any rate there was no hope of ever getting to any fireside where I could really feel safe from the elements. I didn’t even belong to myself, never mind to a house, and I knew that I didn’t deserve to because all my life I’d not only had it too easy in being cradled with every comfort, but that at the same time I’d been trying too hard to get myself into something that didn’t exist. I wasn’t one person, I was two, if not three or four, and nobody in their right minds would want such a disturbing gang at their fireside.
‘I was set on a quiet getaway, but in answer to the man’s question she called back: “Oh it’s just some young trollop calling for our Ron.”
‘The street was dark behind me, but one or two people were walking by. “Is it?” I shouted. “Well, your darling son Ron has been getting off with me, and he’s been up me a few dozen times. He’s got me pregnant, and that’s why I’m here. I’m going home now to tell my parents, and they’ll be back in the morning with my six brothers to settle you lot.”
‘I was shouting and crying, then felt a sharp pain across my face where she’d hit me: “I’ll teach you to show us up in front of the neighbours. If our Ron’s got you pregnant you’ll have to prove it.”
‘I broke free, and walked off. It happened that I wasn’t even pregnant. We started going with each other again, and then I was, beyond any doubt. So I took my fifty pounds of savings from the post office, and packed a suitcase, leaving the house early one morning without saying goodbye, and not even telling Ron what I intended to do, because I didn’t really know myself.
‘That was seven years ago, and as for my work in London, we’ll leave that for another time. I’ve just been to see my parents, and I spent all my money there. They would have given me my train fare but I preferred to be independent, and have the fun of hitch-hiking. I do it now and again for kicks. Not that my life can be called dull, but as I said, that part will have to wait till we meet again. It’s rare, I suppose, but so far in my life I’ve never bumped into anyone I’ve not seen again. It’s impossible for me to lose track of anybody, even if I want to.’
‘It’s taking us so strenuously long to get down this London road,’ said Bill Straw, ‘that I vote we stop for a drink at the next inn that’s still pumping.’
‘That’s a bright idea,’ said June. ‘I could do with cheering up after my sad tale. That’s the first time I’ve told it in a long while.’
‘It almost brought tears to my eyes,’ said Bill.
‘It’s all very well,’ I said, ‘but if I get drunk I shan’t be able to drive, and I want to reach my destination in one piece.’
‘That’ll be a miracle, in any case,’ Bill said, ‘in this crumbling hearse.’ He was right, perhaps, because in the middle of June’s story, part of the exhaust pipe had snapped away, a great sudden clatter that sent the chill of disaster up my spine and left haloes of sparks on the road behind. But Bill’s suggestion of a drink was pleasant nevertheless, and I felt that one or two would do none of us any harm. Besides, it was so near midday closing time that there’d be no opportunity for tanking up later.
The brakes were failing, so as soon as Bill yelled that there was a snug pub to port, I dropped the gears one by one and gently trod the pedals so as to slow down in good time. Even so, I swerved too quickly into the parking lot and bumped into the far wall, jerking the three of us at the neck and bringing grumbles of protest.
It was a place where they served luncheons, and as we disembarked from the car a well-dressed middle-aged man came out of the dining-room door and spewed all over the gravel.
‘Good home cooking,’ said Bill. ‘Still, the whisky can’t be off. I’d rather die in there than on the road.’
‘It bodes no good though,’ I said, and while arguing, we watched the man, pale and harrowed, walk unsteadily to his car and get in, then fall asleep over the wheel.
‘I expect he’ll run some kid down on a pedestrian crossing before the day is out,’ June said with disgust. I liked the moral tone she was taking, because she’d be a safeguard against me having more than one drink. Bill wasn’t with us, and when we went in he was already at the bar.
‘I’ve ordered,’ he said, ‘so get your wallet out.’ Three double whiskies came up. ‘I’ll get your bottle now, sir,’ the publican said, sliding away to his secret and extensive cellars.
‘What bottle?’ I said, expecting the worst.
‘Don’t get gloomy, comrade. If that car of ours breaks down far from civilization we’ll want something to keep us warm and happy. Cheers!’
‘Cheers!’ June said, turning on her stool to look at a middle-aged man sitting over a brandy glass in the corner.
‘Do you know him?’ I asked. He had a thin bony face and a high pink bald head, wore a cravat instead of a tie, and hadn’t shaved for a couple of days.
‘It’s a writer,’ she told me, ‘called Gilbert Blaskin.’
‘Go over and say hello.’
‘I don’t know him that much.’ She turned back to the bar, and swung down the firewater in one gulp of her beautiful throat.
‘I’ve heard of his books,’ I said. ‘I even read one, but I don’t remember anything about it. It’s the first time I’ve seen a real writer, even from a distance.’
‘Don’t stare at him,’ she said, as if having a reason for not meeting him now, ‘or you’ll embarrass him. He’s very sensitive.’
‘Poor bloke! I suppose that’s what comes of being an author.’
The publican put a bottle of White Horse before me, then two packets of Whiffs and a consignment of Player’s. ‘Make it three more doubles as well,’ Bill cried, sliding his glass over like a lord.
‘Yes, sir,’ the publican said, with such obsequiousness that I wanted to put my boot into his lardy face for hating us so much after he’d said it. It helped me to pay up with a smile, treating June and Bill, my boon and travelling companions. There was nothing else to do, since I had money and they had none. I could hardly have walked out when we had grown so friendly with our story-telling in the car, and in any case I didn’t want to.
‘Drink up,’ I said, ‘and have another. I’ll order this time,’ but when I did the three glasses put before us came with no ‘yes sir’ for me.
‘You don’t have the personal presence yet to get that,’ said Bill, who noticed everything. I blushed at hearing this in front of June, and cursed Bill for an inaccurate and bloody liar, feeling I would certainly have got that sort of treatment if he hadn’t been there.
‘Let’s go,’ I said gruffly, ‘out of this clip joint.’ Bill saw a one-armed bandit by the door and, going over to the publican, asked for ten bob’s worth of sixpences, nodding across at me. I paid, and stood behind him as he almost pulled his arm off, but without getting anything back. When he’d wasted half I asked him to let me have a go, and held out my hand for some sixpences, but he told me to push off and get my own, which I did, and at the first pull I heard a dozen tinkle down into the space-mouth below.
‘You see?’ I said jubilantly.
He pushed me aside, trembling with greed: ‘I’ll get that fucking jackpot yet.’ But he lost every last sixpence in the next half-hour, and just as I was getting into my stride to do the same, and we’d knocked back a few more doubles, the publican bawled that it was time to close the pumps, making us feel like real bloody mugs.