‘I’ve decided to give up my degree.’
‘I know,’ she said.
‘Who told you?’
‘Derek. You’re going to go down to London, and become a musician.’
‘Are you surprised?’
‘No. I thought you might.’
I turned to her and said, earnestly, as she munched an egg mayonnaise sandwich, ‘I just think that if I don’t try now, I may be leaving it too late. I mean, chemistry’s something I can always come back to, and — ’
She interrupted me.
‘You don’t have to justify yourself to me, Bill. I know the kind of person you are. I think it’s good.’
I smiled, thankful, and didn’t try to explain further.
‘Have you got somewhere to stay?’
‘Tony — my piano teacher — he’s down there now. His sister-in-law’s got a flat and that’ll do to be going on with.’
‘When are you going?’
‘Soon. Next week some time.’
Stacey said, ‘Let me know when. Will you, please? Will you be going from here?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll take some time off work. I’ll come and see you off at the station.’
‘Don’t be silly, you don’t have to do that.’
‘I want to, though. I think it’s important.’
And so she was there at the station that morning, along with my mother. We didn’t get a chance to talk properly — you never do, on these occasions — and I can’t remember much that we said; but I’d be surprised if she didn’t find time to take me aside at some point and say — smiling, of course — ‘Don’t forget the phone, Bill.’
I hadn’t contacted her once since coming down to London.
*
Stacey had been eclipsed by Madeline; and that seems strange, in a way. Stranger still, though, is the thought that, temporarily at least, both of them had been eclipsed by Karla, and by that single, crystalline image I had of her voice cutting through the half-silence of a London night. I could hardly wait to get up to The White Goat that evening to tell her about it. I stopped off at a hamburger place on the way, bolted down some food, and arrived at the pub shortly after six o’clock.
Unfortunately I had forgotten how crowded it would be, this being Friday evening. She was being kept busy behind the bar, with a whole row of men’s faces lined up in front of her, waving money and barking orders, and although she nodded a friendly ‘Hello’ to me as I asked for my first drink, it wasn’t until I came back for my second that we managed to get talking. Even then, there was a crowd of people around, and I only had half her attention.
‘Can we talk?’ I said in a loud whisper.
‘Sure,’ she answered.
‘I mean — there’s something I want to tell you.’
‘Can’t it wait?’
‘Well… maybe when things have quietened down a bit.’
She shook her head.
‘Fridays are like this all night. What’s the matter, is it something personal?’
‘Well yes, in a manner of — ’
Just then some bloke in a suit with a wad of ten-pound notes in his hand cut across me and started ordering about fifteen lagers. While Karla was pulling them, I followed her up the bar and said:
‘It’s about something that happened last night.’
‘Oh yes?’
I paused, and announced, in a low voice: ‘I heard you.’
‘What do you mean?’ she said, not looking up from her work.
‘I mean I was there. Outside your window, last night.’
She stared at me.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘It was absolutely beautiful. I’ve never heard anything like it.’
‘A few packets of dry roasted, too, while you’re at it, love,’ the customer shouted. ‘And a box of Hamlets.’
‘Are you some kind of pervert or something?’ she said.
‘Don’t be silly. I wasn’t following you, or anything like that. It’s just that I wanted a word with you last night, but after I’d heard you singing I didn’t have to. I just listened and then went away again.’
‘Listen.’ She left the pumps and faced me squarely across the bar. ‘For your information — and not that it’s any of your business — I didn’t get back till two in the morning last night. I was round at a friend’s place. So I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.’ She turned to her customer. ‘How many packets was it?’
‘Four’ll do. Thanks.’
‘I mean — you don’t even know where I live.’
‘Yes I do. You told me you lived right opposite here, above the video shop.’
She went to fetch the peanuts, and when she came back I continued: ‘I stood outside your window — it was open — and there was this woman singing. She was Scottish, she was singing a Scottish song.’ I voiced the awful question: ‘It was you, wasn’t it?’
The customer paid her, she took the money and before going over to the till she said, impatiently: ‘That’s the flat below mine. There are a couple of hippies in there. They’re always getting pissed and playing their bloody folk records at top volume. The whole building stinks of real ale and roll-ups. You’ve only given me twelve, here,’ she added, to the man in the suit.
‘Sorry.’
He gave her the extra money and I stood there, feeling more stupid than I’d felt in a long while.
‘Do you have to stand at the bar?’ she said. ‘It makes it hard to serve the other customers.’
There was a small table free in the corner, so I went and sat down. If I hadn’t arranged to meet Harry, I would have run out of the pub there and then. But it wasn’t just that I had made a fool of myself in front of Karla: that was bad enough, but what really shocked me was the light it threw on my behaviour yesterday. Was my commitment to Madeline really that feeble? Was I really so lazy about putting any work into that relationship? We had had one little argument — our first genuine argument for months — and instead of following her and attempting to resolve the issue I had gone off on my own, full of self-pity, got drunk, behaved like an idiot in Samson’s, and then gone to eavesdrop outside the flat of another woman, someone I had barely met but for whom I had felt, the last time I saw her, a vague physical attraction. It was pathetic. No wonder Madeline had been angry with me. Somehow or other, I was going to have to get back in touch with her and make a big effort: some gesture — a present, perhaps — flamboyant but sincere, which would convince Madeline once and for all that I was in earnest about her.
I put this proposition to Harry, after he had arrived and I had shown him the record (which gave him considerable satisfaction).
‘What was this argument about, exactly?’ he asked. He seemed a bit nervous talking about it, because affairs of the heart weren’t his strong point, and besides (as I think I mentioned) I had never spoken to him about Madeline before.
‘Well, I don’t really know. That’s the problem. She was late arriving, and we quarrelled about that a bit. Then things got even worse and I asked her if something was the matter and she said she wanted… a change.’
‘What sort of change?’
‘A change in the relationship.’
Harry frowned.
‘What sort of change in the relationship?’
‘I don’t know, do I? If I knew that, then I wouldn’t be asking you about it.’
I sipped my Becks angrily while Harry sat there looking sheepish. Finally he said: ‘Perhaps she wants you to get married.’
I looked at him in astonishment.
‘What?’
‘Perhaps that’s what she meant, when she said she wanted a change. Perhaps she meant… marriage.’
I considered this for a moment.