A Kind of Loving (38 page)

She takes my raincoat over her arm and asks where her mother
is.

'Upstairs, tidying up, I think. She won't be long.'

Ingrid goes out and doesn't come straight back. Mr Rothwell
waves me to a chair and we both sit down. He's in the chair
Ingrid was sitting in that night. I look at the couch and remember
her there as bare as the day she was born and wonder what her
old man would say if he knew. I think now I might as well have
made a job of it then while we were warm and private if I only
had to go and do it later in the park, when it was cold and neither
of us enjoyed it.

Mr Rothwell reaches out for a twenty-packet of Players from
on top of the television set. 'Do you smoke?'

'Oh, yes ... thanks.' I take one and we light up.

He's got his eye on me now and I wish Ingrid would hurry
up and come back.

'I don't suppose you've been looking forward to this?'

'Can't say I have. I had to face it, though.'

'Right enough. I'm glad to know you're prepared to face your
responsibilities all round. Ingrid's told us you've asked her to
marry you.'

'Oh, yes ... well, I mean, I did straight away when I... when .
she

'It came as a bit of a shock to you, did it?'

'I'll say it did.'

'You must have known, though, that it might happen ...
didn't you?'

My face feels as if it's on fire. 'Well, I... I suppose I knew it
was possible. But it's not as if we'd ... as if we'd...'
'Made a habit of it?'

'Yes, that's right. There was only the one time, y'see.'

He doesn't say anything to this but just watches me with his
dark eyes. I can't tell what he's thinking, whether he believes me
or not. I suppose what we did the other times is just as bad in
principle like even if it isn't dangerous like going all the way is.
I wonder if he knows about all that, if Ingrid's told him.

'Of course, you know, Ingrid's not of age yet. I believe you've
reached your majority.'

'Oh, yes; six months ago.'

'And you've told your parents about all this?'

I nod. 'Yes, they know.'

'What was their reaction?'

'Pretty much what you'd expect. They were upset. Me father
seemed to take it a lot calmer than me mother.'

'Yes, I expect so. Women are always a lot more emotional
about these things. It's their nature, I suppose. You'll find it the same with Ingrid's mother. A man's too busy thinking what's to be done.'

I'm wondering where Ingrid and her ma have got to. Mrs
RothwelPs certainly keeping me on edge waiting for her.

'I understand you were a draughtsman at Whittaker's before
you went into the shop.'

"That's right.'

'I'm in engineering myself, y'know. As a matter of fact, I
worked for Whittaker's for a few years as a young man. I was
surprised to hear you'd given up a good trade like draughtsman
ship to go into a shop. I shouldn't have thought the opportunities
compared at all.'

'Well, of course, I thought about all that before I decided,' I
say, and begin to try to tell him how it is with me and Mr Van
Huyten. I don't make a very good job of it because it's something
I haven't got really cut and dried myself and I think by the time
I've finished I've given Mr Rothwell the impression that it's
already in the will that I come in for everything when Mr Van
Huyten cocks his clog. Maybe this isn't a bad thing, though,
because he seems to take better to the idea now^

'And what's your salary now?' he asks me.

I tell him and he nods. 'That seems reasonable. You seem to
have found yourself a very good opening. This Mr Van Huyten
must have a considerable personal liking for you.'

'We get on well,' I say, and I'm glad to say it because maybe
this is the best testimonial I could have.

The door opens and Ingrid comes in with her mother. I
remember it's polite to stand when a woman comes into the room and I get up. One look at Mrs Rothwell's enough. I don't like her.

She's a little woman, maybe a bit younger than Mr Rothwell, with blonde hair cut short and pressed tight to her head in little
waves. She's got a turquoise jersey frock on that shows her figure
off - or at least, what's left of her figure, because it might have
been good at one time but now,, it's mostly bust and behind. You
can see she's well corseted in, though, and there's a couple of
rolls of fat she can't get rid of up under her arms. I don't know
straight away what it is makes me take a dislike to her on sight,
and then I realize it's her eyes, pale blue with a sort of crafty
stupid glint in them that tells me I'm going to have some trouble
there sometime if nowhere else. It's awful to think I'm going to
have to see a lot more of her and Mr Rothwell in future, whether I like it or not. I can feel it all closing in round me like a big net.
Oh, what a chump I've been! And if only I could get out of it.
Even now, at the back of my mind, I can hardly believe it's true,
and there's no way out.

' Mother, this is Vic.'

I say good evening and kind of half-lift my hand. She nods,
real short like, and says good evening back. I feel as if I ought
to say something.
^'
Er ... I'm sorry we have to meet in circum
stances like these.' The truth is I'm talking because I'm as
nervous as hell and I know straight away it's come out in the
wrong tone of voice, just as if I think it's really all a bit of a lark.

'It's a bit late to think about that, isn't it?' she says straight out.

Ingrid looks at the floor and I feel this smile, that's absolutely
out of place anyway, fade off my face.

They come round the sofa and sit down. Mrs Rothwell's
frock's a bit on the short side and she shows a lot of leg while
she's settling herself. I'm looking at it an' all. I couldn't care
tuppence about Mrs Rothwell's legs actually but you know how
it is when a woman's showing a lot. You can't keep your eyes off
it. Nearly any woman - she doesn't have to be attractive. Any
way, just for a minute I'm looking at her legs, which aren't any
thing to write home about at all, and she's looking at me looking
and I feel myself coming up in a huge blush. I can imagine her
talking to Mr Rothwell when I've gone and saying something
like, 'Did you see the way he couldn't keep his eyes off my legs?
He's nothing but a young sex-maniac. He'll be trying to get into bed with
me
if we have him about the house!'

I hear a voice talking to me and see Ingrid's dad holding the
packet of Players out again. 'Cigarette?'

'No, here, have one of mine.' I get my case out and offer it
to him. Then I remember Mrs Rothwell. 'Sorry, do you smoke?'

She hesitates for a second before she takes a cig out of the case.

'That's a very nice-looking case you have there,' Mr Rothwell
says. 'D'you mind if I have a look?'

I pass the case over and he takes a good butcher's at it, opening and shutting it and turning it over and back, feeling the weight of it.

'V.A.B.,' he says. 'What does the "A" stand for?'

'Arthur - after me father.'

'I see ... Yes, it's a very nice case indeed. It must have been quite expensive.'

'I've no idea how much it cost. It was a present, y'see.'

'I bought it,' Ingrid says, 'for his twenty-first birthday.'

'You bought it?' her mother says, and holds her hand out and
takes the case from Mr Rothwell. 'Rather an expensive present
for you to buy, wasn't it?'

'Oh, it wasn't all that expensive,' Ingrid says, and she colours up a bit as though she expects her mother to ask how much.

But her ma passes the case back to me without pressing the point.

'How long have you known my daughter?' she says now, like
a duchess asking a gardener for his references. I nearly expect
her to say 'Brown', but she doesn't call me by any name all
evening.

'Well we've known one another by sight for a long time, but
we've been friendly about eighteen months.'

'Friendly!' she says, screwing her little mouth up. 'I suppose
you realize that this business has upset Ingrid's father and I very
much.'

'I suppose it must have. It's only natural.' I try to look shame
faced and it's not so hard because I'm feeling that miserable.

'I expect your parents have had something to say about it as
well?'

'Oh, yes, well, I mean...'

'And I suppose they're trying to pin all the blame on Ingrid,
saying she enticed you into it.'

'Oh, no, I wouldn't say that.'

'Well I'll have you know that we think there's very little blame
on Ingrid's side at all. I know the way I've brought my daughter
up and I know what sort of a girl she is. She'd only do a thing
like that under extreme persuasion.'

(Oh, not too much persuasion, Mrs Rothwell. Not too much
when it came to the point.)

'I've brought her up to be a decent, honourable girl who could
be at ease hi the very best company,..'

(So she thinks she's got class, does she? Why, she hasn't a
quarter of the class our Chris has!)

'We have very good connections and we've always had high
hopes of the match she might make. We don't like having the
pistol levelled at our heads in this way.'

She's talking as though I've deliberately put Ingrid in the
family way so's I can marry her, when all the time it's
me
the
pistol's pointing at. It'd be funny if it wasn't so bloody tragic.
I look at Old Man Rothwell but he's watching his missis and letting her have her say.

'You realize that Ingrid is well under age and needs our per
mission before she can marry?'

'Now just a minute, Esther,' Mr Rothwell chips in. 'I don't
know much about the law but I don't think you could get away
with that in court. I think they'd give permission straight away
if only for the sake of the child.'

As if I'd ever take them to court to make them let me marry
Ingrid! Why, the best thing that could happen would be for them
to stand up straight and say, 'We don't give our permission.

'In
grid won't marry you.' They wouldn't see me for dust! The
kid, though... I've never really stopped to think about it before.
I wonder if it will be a boy or a girl. Whatever it is it'll be mine,
mine and Ingrid's. And I'm not ready to be a father yet. I'm just
not ready.