‘So here’s my list,
And I’m not even pissed.
In my mess-of-pottage cottage you will find
French letters on a clothesline
Greek letters on the wall,
A pot dog on the shelf
Hopscotch on the floor
Girlie-mag pix on the ceiling
And a hi-fi in the bog.’
‘I have a dog called Fido, by the way, and when I call “Hi, Fi!” he comes running in for his daily popsong.’ Laughter for at least ten seconds. ‘To resume my list:
‘Eccles cakes in a bag
Pencils in a row —’
He changed gear, a priestly booming in his voice:
‘A knife fork and spoon
To eat up the moon –
And a tinlid for an ashtray.
A typing machine,
With old man ribbon
Who just keeps rolling along.
A table of planks
That I made with these hands,
And an orange box to sit on.
A row of books held up by a wire:
When I choose one for the fire
I read poems from the smoke.
An old fag packet
And a dead beer bottle
Newcastle Brown, I think it was
But most of all
The bed I lie on’s
Made at birth
And can’t be got from
But whose clean sheets I share
With Ettie and Betty and Phyllis and Dylis.
Yet when I’m alone I share a bone
With my randy Panda
(Don’t I, pet?)
And watch the snow come down the window
All
Winter
Long.’
The last three words had half a minute between each, and the effect was tremendous. Nobody thought they had been robbed. The interval had come, and before leaping from the stage he reminded us that books of his poems were on sale by the door — and drinks available at a bar downstairs. He would sign any we wanted him to, even Blake’s or Shelley’s, or T. S. Eliot’s, and sink any pints that were offered.
There was a luscious girl at a table by the head of the stairs, with piled blond hair, a broad high forehead, almond-shaped eyes, a small curved nose, full lipsticked lips and a face narrowing to a dimpled chin. She wore rimless glasses and smoked a cigarette from a black holder. There was the faintest sheen of fair hair on her upper lip. She wore a purple high-necked blouse with small white buttons down the middle going between her breasts to a slim waist. A stock of books burdened the table and a tin to one side contained a few pound notes and coins.
I was immediately in love with her because, apart from her obvious qualities, she struck me as being the most intelligent person I had ever seen. She glowed intelligence, as well as mystery and beauty — but above all intelligence. How I could tell, I didn’t know, unless it was by looking at other faces around me, especially Ettie’s and Phyllis’s. I wasn’t even interested in seeing what her legs were like, but stood in front of the table as people were going downstairs for their drinks. ‘I’ll buy three books.’
She didn’t look up, but passed them over and took my tenner.
‘Will you come down and have a drink?’
She smiled. ‘I’m with Mr Delphick.’
‘You can both come.’
‘You’ll have to ask him.’
‘Are you his girlfriend?’
‘In so far as he can have one.’
‘Is he impotent?’
She laughed again. ‘He’s somewhat promiscuous, as you can imagine.’
‘I wouldn’t be, with someone like you.’
‘You don’t have someone like me. At least I don’t imagine so.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Frances Malham. Why?’
‘You’ve bowled me over.’
An even heartier laugh showed her clean and lovely teeth. I’d never been so close to such a person. ‘It’s nice of you to say so,’ she said.
I could feel my elbow plucked from behind. ‘Where do you live? Where do you work?’
Thank God my questions amused her. ‘I’m at Oxford. Doing a medical degree.’
‘You’re going to be a doctor?’ I was ready to faint.
‘I hope so.’
‘Are you coming, or aren’t you?’ Ettie squeaked.
I was ready to turn round and deliver the most vicious but enjoyable smack at her chops, and tell her that if she persisted in pestering me I would rip off her drawers and strangle her with them, but that would undoubtedly have destroyed the good impression I was attempting to create before Frances Malham. I had never known myself to be in such a trap. ‘Just a moment, darling,’ I said.
‘I must see you again,’ I told Frances. ‘I want to talk to you about Mr Delphick’s work. I’m a writer, and I may be able to do something for him.’
Her face became even more intelligent, if that was possible. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Michael Cullen. But I have another handle, and I’ll tell you about it when I see you.’
She scribbled something on a scrap of paper and slipped it in one of the three books I’d bought. That was enough. I was satisfied.
‘Hello, pet.’ I heard Delphick’s horrible Yorkshire twang behind me, the sort he put on when in London. ‘Having trouble?’
I turned, and at the same time he recognised Ettie. The half smile went off his face. She had been entranced by his reading, but the fact that it was over, combined with the callous neglect just evinced by me, wiped out the effect of his performance with surprising speed. ‘I’ve been waiting to meet you, you fucking thief. Where’s my ten quid?’
‘Ten quid?’ he laughed. ‘I’ve yet to meet a person who got even ten pee back from me, never mind ten quid. Anyway, I don’t owe it to you. I’ve never seen you in my life, you filthy little trollop. Piss off.’
The only thing wrong with Ronald Delphick, basically, was that he could speak, and he might just have been all right if he hadn’t added that unnecessary dose of invective. I suppose he got carried away, and even I couldn’t fault Ettie for the way she reacted, nor could I argue with Phyllis’s heavy-handed response. Ettie reached across the table, and put her fingers in the box to take out what she considered her property, even though I had repaid the ten quid at lunchtime, and Phyllis caught Delphick a fairly comprehensive swipe across his complacent mug. Then another smack sounded when Frances Malham, that superb creation of beautiful intelligence, clipped Ettie so hard that she spun several feet backwards and barely stopped herself toppling down the stairs.
Quick as a flash, as they say, I got hold of Delphick’s hands and pushed him beyond range. He’d been intent on battering Phyllis with clenched fists, which I couldn’t allow, though it was hard to say why. He hit the wall with an impact that caused him to think twice about bracing himself for more. Before Ettie and Phyllis could join forces to go for lovely Frances Malham I grabbed their arms and dragged them kicking and screaming down the stairs.
Perhaps I was saving them from a mauling, because Frances may have more than held her own. Their obscene threats I will not put down on paper, though I suppose Frances must have heard them, which gave me a pain at the heart, until I remembered that she was a medical student, and had heard far worse already, or if she hadn’t she would have to get used to hearing it in the future. I also remembered, when I had Ettie and Phyllis pinned against a wall downstairs, and was threatening to knee them both if they moved an inch, that I had left my books upstairs, one of which had Frances Malham’s address inside. ‘Wait here,’ I said, ‘or I’ll kill you both.’
I went up four at a time, scattering people still coming down. ‘I’ll never be able to write again. Look what you’ve done!’