Lover (23 page)

‘But if they know it's Ted that's done it, why do they need to bother with me? I can't tell them anything.'

‘I'm not saying they will, just that they might, that's all.'

I said, ‘I'll never go in the Black Horse again. I couldn't bear it—the idea of Ted standing there, covered in blood, saying he'd killed Lily…it's horrible. I honestly don't think I could bring myself to go through the door.'

Harry said, ‘I don't think…well, nobody said anything about him being covered in blood, and it isn't something you'd forget in a hurry.'

‘Well, that's what I heard. They might have been making more of it, but even if it was just a bit of blood, it's still horrible. And they still don't know what happened to Edie. Not that they'll care. They're only bothering with this because Ted was caught red-handed, and that makes it easy for them.'

Harry said, ‘Look, Rene. Why don't you come up and have a drink with me, tomorrow? We don't have to go near a pub if you don't want to. We can go to a café.'

‘That'd be nice. Shall I come to the post?'

‘No, come to my flat. In the afternoon. I'll have a bit of time then. We can have a cup of tea.'

When we were at the shelter, he said, ‘Now, you will stay here till the All-Clear, won't you?'

‘Oh, don't worry. I'm not going anywhere tonight.'

‘Good. You look after yourself, and I'll see you tomorrow. And remember…' he put his finger to his lips, ‘don't breathe a word about those spoons.'

Despite Lily and everything else, I couldn't help laughing.

N
o chance of going anywhere in this—you can't even see across the airfield. Shame, I'm in a perfect mood to go up and get stuck in. Got stuck into bacon and eggs, instead. Gervase is at the end of the table, pecking at his plate. He looked up and saw me, blushed like fury, then ducked his head again. Ginger wandered in and pulled up a chair. ‘You wouldn't be hungry, by any chance?'

‘Starving. Get some more coffee, would you?'

He tilted back his chair and signalled a waitress. ‘By the way,' he said, ‘Where did you get to on Thursday night?'

I shrugged. ‘Went for a walk.'

‘Bloody long walk. Got a popsy tucked away somewhere?'

I winked. It was enough. Gervase could hear all of it, but I knew he wouldn't say anything. He didn't even look up.

‘What about you?' I asked Ginger.

‘Popsy.'

‘Who's the lucky girl?'

‘From the village. Name's Mona. Actually, it wasn't much fun. She was a bit cut up.'

‘Why? What did you do to her?'

‘Oh, it wasn't me. It's this friend of hers. Got herself attacked a couple of weeks ago, and now she won't leave the house. Mona wouldn't stop talking about it. God knows why—I don't know what she expects me to do.'

‘Who attacked her?'

‘Some man. Pilot, Mona says.'

‘What, from here?'

‘Nowhere else, is there?'

‘Did he hurt her?'

‘Not badly, I don't think. More of a scare than anything.'

‘Really? What did he do?'

‘Not really sure.' Ginger looked uncomfortable.

It was queer. When Ginger said it was a pilot, I thought:
It must have been me
. I knew it had happened, but it hadn't really registered. I couldn't remember what I'd done, or anything. Not details. I'd chalked it up as a failure, and that was that.

I felt excited. I wanted Ginger to talk about it, to know how much the girl had told his girl, but also to have the pleasure of hearing about it, knowing I'd done it, even if it hadn't gone according to plan. ‘Well, he might have throttled her, or hit her, or—'

‘I don't know. Let's leave it, shall we? I had a bellyful of it last night.'

‘But what did he do?'

‘Oh, you know…' Ginger rolled his eyes. ‘Wanted to have his way with her.'

‘Did he get it?'

‘Not by the sound of it. Megan—'

‘Is that her name—Megan?'

‘Yes. She told Mona he tried to kill her.'

‘Why would he want to do that?'

‘Exactly. That's what I said—doesn't make sense. She probably made the whole thing up.'

‘Sounds like it.'

‘Was she a bit tipsy at the time?'

‘Oh, probably.'

‘Well, it'll teach her to be more careful in future.'

‘Look, I don't know.' Ginger shrugged. ‘What I do know is that Mona's worried sick, and I was bored sick, listening to it.'

‘So are we.' Davy, sitting backwards on his chair, flicked a spoonful of porridge at him.

‘Hey! Cut it out!'

Davy flicked another spoonful. ‘Right on target! I knew it was good for
something
.'

‘Piss off, Dunlop.' Ginger snatched a napkin and mopped at his jacket.

I wondered if Ginger's girl was the one in the car, with the lipstick. I hope it was—if it put the wind up her, all the better. She won't be so cocky anymore, will she?

I said, ‘I was reading about an attack where a man strangled a woman, in London. I think I've still got it, somewhere.' It was strange. I'm not sure if I meant to say that, but I wanted the conversation to continue, to hear more about Ginger's girl, and the other one, Megan, and I wanted to see Ginger's reaction to my piece of newspaper.

He stopped wiping his jacket, and looked up. ‘Don't fancy that much.' A third spoonful of porridge hit his cap. Davy whooped, then slipped off his chair and ducked under the table as Ginger picked up the milk jug and stormed after him.

I decided I'd try and show it to him later. I swung my feet up on his chair, out of the way, and reached for my cigarette case. Wrong pocket—the only thing in there was a scrap of material. When I pulled it out, I could see that it was a very small envelope, made of blue material, with something inside it. It felt like paper. A cigarette card. Robert Taylor. I turned it over—no message on the back, just the usual business. For a moment, I wondered why someone should have slipped it into my pocket, but then I remembered: I had it from the brunette. Who knows, it might be lucky.

A heavy body rolled against the legs of my chair, and then a hand appeared over the side of the table and pitched the now empty milk jug towards me. I managed to duck in time and it sailed over my head and smashed against the wall. Davy's head emerged, on a level with an empty plate—‘Howzat?' and immediately disappeared.

I had another look at the cigarette card.
Robert Taylor
…girls like film stars. I thought that if I had a girl, like Ginger, I could give her this—might be rather funny, knowing where I got it. I could make up some story… Oh, yes, that sister of mine who died, I could say it was hers. What Mathy said about his sister in the car crash, that'd do. And I've got that photograph, as well. Better slip that in my pocket, next time I go to London. I'll have a look round for something that looks the part—shouldn't be too difficult. What was it that astrologer said in the paper the other day?
Do not hesitate to try something new
. Well, that's what I'm doing. Lots of new things, in fact.

My cigarette case was in the other pocket, empty. No idea I'd smoked so many. I glanced down towards Gervase, but he'd gone. Davy and Ginger were still pummelling each other under the table, but I could see Corky at the other end of the room, with the paper.

‘Corky? Corky!'

He didn't answer, so I went and stood in front of him. ‘Corky!'

He jumped. ‘Oh, sorry. Gone a bit deaf.'

Davy emerged from under the table, with Ginger in an arm-lock. ‘Try blowing your nose.'

‘What?'

Davy pointed at him, then reached down and pinched Ginger's nose. Ginger blew. ‘Bloody hell!' Davy let go of him and he ran out of the room.

‘I've tried that,' said Corky. ‘Doesn't make any difference.'

‘Well, what do you expect?' grumbled Davy, wiping his hands on his trousers. ‘Up and down like a whore's drawers all week. Have you tried poking them?' He put his finger in his own ear to demonstrate, and wiggled it about.

‘That doesn't work, either.'

Ginger put his head round the door, gave Davy a quick burst with a soda siphon, and made a run for it. Davy dashed off in pursuit. I looked round the room to make sure there was no one else there, then pulled up a chair beside Corky. ‘I killed a girl last night,' I said, casually. ‘I can recommend it. Quite as much fun as killing Germans. No flying, of course, but it has its compensations. You should try it.'

Corky stared at me. ‘Riveting. At least, it would be if I'd heard a bloody word of it. Now bugger off.' He went back to his newspaper.

I wandered back to my room and lay down on the bed, turning the cigarette card over and over between my fingers, thinking. It shouldn't be too difficult to find a girl. Might even kill two birds with one stone, ha, ha. I'm sure I caught sight of a redhead in that pub on Thursday…she'd do all right. Perhaps they're not so thin on the ground as I thought.

Ginger banged into the room, cursing and looking as if he'd been dunked in a horse-trough. ‘Pass me that towel, will you?'

‘I saw something in the paper, a woman attacked—'

‘What?'

‘A woman. Attacked. What you said, before. I've got it, here.'

Ginger twitched the paper out of my hand and glanced at it. ‘Bit morbid, isn't it?' He threw it down on the bed, followed by his wet shirt. ‘Have to wear this, I suppose.' He picked up his pyjama jacket and put it on. ‘Bloody Davy.'

I leaned over and retrieved the newspaper cutting. It was damp, but you could see the type well enough. ‘Did you read it?'

Ginger nodded. ‘Chap must be cracked. Don't know why you're hanging round in here, Goldilocks—you're on duty. Yellow section's at available.'

‘What, in this?'

‘It's clearing.' He nodded in the direction of the window. ‘Look.'

He left, and I lay down on the bed again and stared at the newspaper cutting. I suppose the brunette will be in there soon. Don't know why I showed it to Ginger. Don't really know
why
anything, any more.

No point thinking about it, anyway.

I
had to go round to Dora's on the Saturday morning to give her some money for Tommy, and I thought I'd better warn her that there mightn't be much coming in for the next couple of weeks. I wasn't going to go into details, because…well, partly because I didn't have the energy for it, and partly because she knows what I do, but she doesn't like it and she certainly doesn't want to hear about it. If I don't bring up the subject, she can pretend I get the money from a respectable job, and that keeps her happy. Anyway, she'd only worry for me if I told her, and I couldn't see the sense in that.

First thing I noticed when I got there, Dora's eyes were all red, so I said, ‘I can see you didn't get a lot of sleep last night.'

‘Oh, you know what it's like. I'll be all right when I've had a cup of tea.' So we did that, and I explained about the money. I said I'd been feeling a bit poorly—nothing serious, but I wasn't up to doing much, and she looked a bit down at that, so I was thinking, what can I do to cheer her up? Then I was looking in my handbag for Tommy's sweets—I always bring some for him—and I suddenly realised I'd never taken out that blessed chop Mrs McIver gave me, so I said, ‘Joe's not coming back for his dinner, is he?' because I wanted her to have it and I knew she'd only give it to him if he was there.

‘Oh, no,' she said, ‘he's working.'

‘Good.' Then I held up the parcel with the chop and I said, ‘Now, I've only got the one, but it's a little treat for you.'

So she opened up the newspaper, and the minute she saw what it was, she burst into tears. Dora's not one for crying, so I didn't know what to make of it. She kept saying, ‘Oh, Rene, you're so kind, that's so kind, you shouldn't,' on and on like that, all teary, so I said, ‘There's no need for all that; it's only a bit of meat, not the crown jewels.'

‘Oh,' she said, ‘It's not that. Well, it is, but it's not—and, and, I don't know what it is—oh, I'm lying, I do know—but I don't know what to do, I really don't.' And she sat there, all red in the face and crying, shoulders heaving, the lot. I waited till she'd pulled herself together a bit, then I said, ‘What's the matter?'

‘It's Joe.'

‘He's not been called up, has he?' That was the only thing I could think of, but I thought it couldn't be right because Joe was in the navy when they married, but then he got this tubercular knee, and I was pretty sure they wouldn't have him again, because of that. In any case, they haven't started taking the older ones yet.

‘No, nothing like that. I don't like to speak badly of him, Rene, he's a good man, really, but I don't know how I'm going to manage…' and off she went again, sobbing.

I said, ‘What is it? What's he done?'

‘It's the housekeeping. He's been doing it for a time, keeping me short, and I haven't liked to complain, but now it's worse, he's keeping everything back that he can and there isn't enough, I can't make it stretch, and then he shouts at me, and I can't sleep for worrying…'

‘He's doing all right at the dairy, isn't he?'

Dora nodded. ‘Well then,' I said, ‘Why don't you ask him for more?'

‘I've tried. It's hopeless. He just says I've got to manage, and I'm spending too much. If it wasn't for what you give me, I don't know what I'd do—I can't think about anything else, it's always on top of me, and if there's nothing decent on the table he gets so angry, Rene. I tell you, how it's got to, some days, if I had a shilling for the gas I'd put my head in the oven.'