Lover (9 page)

I thought of Frank, and said, ‘I don't want some young man to
carry me off
, as you put it.'

‘You're a virgin, aren't you?'

I was a bit taken aback by that, but determined not to seem shocked, so I said, ‘Well…yes, since you ask.'

He looked at me with his head on one side as if he was considering a picture, and said, ‘Why is that, do you suppose?'

‘What do you mean,
why
?'

‘Exactly that.'

‘I don't know. Because I am. Because…' I realised I didn't really know. I suppose the answer is,
Because it's the right thing to be
, or at least, it's what the world and men—or men like Frank, at least—expect of girls like me. But I didn't know how to explain that, and felt that if I tried it might sound rather petty.

‘Because?'

‘Well, I haven't really wanted to be anything else, and anyway, I don't want to get into trouble.'

He put his hand over mine. ‘You don't have to get into trouble.'

‘But—'

‘No buts, young lady. The question is, do you want to now?'

I knew exactly what he meant, and I couldn't look him in the eye at all. ‘I don't know.'

‘Will you tell me when you do know?'

I was so flabbergasted, I just said, ‘Yes.'

‘Good girl. And will you have dinner with me tomorrow?'

‘In the evening?'

‘I believe that's the usual time for dinner.'

‘But—'

‘That's all right.' He winked. ‘I'm fire-watching.'

‘I see. And what am I doing?'

‘First aid lecture.'

I was thinking about our conversation when Minnie suddenly asked, ‘Why are you smiling like that?'

I couldn't tell her, so I dropped my tea-towel and dashed out of the room with the excuse of fetching a new one.

When I went back to the kitchen, I occupied myself getting Dad's supper out of the oven, so Minnie couldn't see my expression, which must have been peculiar, to say the least. Mums was still talking about her wretched wool when Dad came in, so he tried to take her mind off it by telling her about the lecture he'd been to for the new wardens. He says they are all as old as Methuselah—the lame, the blind and the halt, he calls them. Of course it didn't work, because after about three minutes Mums was going nineteen to the dozen about how we'd all be murdered in our beds and no one was doing anything about it. When Dad pointed out, quite rightly, that the wardens aren't there to
stop
the bombs, she said, ‘It's these blasted aeroplanes. I don't know why we had to go and invent them in the first place, we've had no benefit. Now stop going on about it, you're making me tired.' Honestly, she is
impossible
sometimes.

None of us could think of a thing to say in reply, which wasn't surprising, and after a few minutes of rather stunned silence, Dad said, ‘They're late tonight. You'd best go upstairs and change your clothes.'

We hadn't heard the siren, but while I was putting on my slacks there was the most enormous crash, so loud that all the windows rattled and plaster came down from the ceiling and I lost my balance and almost put my foot through the trouser leg. I was trembling so much I had to sit down on the bed, and then there was another crash, and then the most almighty
whomp!
of something exploding. The entire house was shaking like a tree, and I could hear Mums shouting and then the guns opened up. I don't think I've ever got downstairs so fast in my life—I was practically flying, and I shot straight into Dad's arms and almost knocked him off his feet. When he'd got his breath back, he said, ‘Still in one piece?'

‘Just about.'

‘That's the ticket.'

‘What was
that
?'

‘Gas main, I should think. Good job we've eaten.' Then he said, ‘I'd better get down to the post and see what I can do.'

I watched him putting on his helmet and I suddenly thought, what a good person he is, for the way he puts up with Mums and is always so cheerful and calm and brave. I felt so full of gratitude and love that I wanted to tell him, but I didn't want to be melodramatic and silly so I just said, ‘Be careful, Dad.'

He smiled at me and I thought, perhaps he knew that wasn't what I meant to say at all, and somehow that made it better than if I'd actually said it—can't explain that properly, but it was something between us that was bigger than words. He said, ‘Don't worry, Smiler. We'll pull through. Look after your mother, she's in a bad way. I told Minnie to fetch her some brandy.'

I stood in the passage for a moment after he'd gone and I thought, whatever happens, I'll always remember that. Then there was another huge bang, and I went haring into the kitchen and found Mums and Minnie under the table. Mums had her head in her hands, and was rocking and moaning, really wretched.

Minnie whispered to me, ‘The brandy isn't doing any good. I'm afraid she'll go hysterical.'

Mums kept saying, ‘Oh, Billy, Billy,' over and over again.

I put my arm round her shoulders and said, ‘Dad's going to be fine. He'll be careful. I made him promise.'

‘But he's
gone
.'

‘Yes, but he'll be back as soon as it's over.'

‘He's
gone
. He's not supposed to be on duty, so why did he have to go?'

‘To help, Mums.'

‘I didn't want him to go. I asked him not to.'

‘I know, but he had to.'

Mums started to cry and Minnie put her arm round her, too, and we sat there in a row and listened to the bombs. It seemed to go on for ever—the nearest we've had yet—and every time there was a bang we all jumped. My heart must have missed more beats than it ticked. Minnie and I kept looking at each other over Mums's head. ‘That sounded like Union Road,' Minnie whispered.

‘At least we've still got our windows.'

Mums jerked her head up. ‘Windows? Is the blackout—?'

‘It's fine, Mums.'

‘Oh,
Billy
…'

After a while there was a lull and we crawled out from under the table and across the passage to the cupboard under the stairs. I just had time to rush into the sitting room and grab the cushions from the sofa before it started again with that awful ripping sound like tearing a sheet, which means a high explosive, and I hurled the cushions into the cupboard and myself after them—right on top of poor Minnie—and we'd just about managed to get ourselves into some sort of order when there was another. The noise went on and on, and so did Mums's whimpering, until I wanted to scream. I don't know how she can stand it in this cupboard, night after night—it's like being buried alive, and so airless I thought I was going to suffocate. For the first time, I felt furious that our family, or any human being, could be reduced to this, huddled like animals, quaking in a dark, squalid hole, robbed of sleep and comfort and unable to defend themselves, or even—which I badly wanted to do—spend a penny, but Mums had forgotten the pot.

Every time there was a lull, I tried to get to the toilet, but Mums grabbed me and pulled me back again, and by the time we'd stopped arguing it would be too late because the next lot was coming over. The All-Clear went at four o'clock, by which time my bladder was ready to burst, my stomach was aching like anything and my legs were completely numb. I staggered off to the lav and then went to find a cigarette to steady myself. Minnie was in the kitchen, making tea on the spirit stove. ‘Well,' she said, ‘we're still here. Well done, House, for not falling down.' It was a daft thing to say, but I knew exactly what she meant. Then she looked down and started laughing.

‘What?'

‘Your feet—look! You've got your tennis shoes the wrong way round.' She was right. In all the commotion, I hadn't even noticed. They looked so silly that I started to laugh, too—relief, I suppose—and the two of us just roared.

When we'd pulled ourselves together, I said, ‘Don't you want to go to bed?'

‘I'm not sleepy.'

‘Me neither. Fancy a game of dominoes?'

‘Why not? I'll just take some tea to Mums, first.'

We sat under the kitchen table, just in case. Neither of us said very much, and I could see from Minnie's face that she was listening out for Dad, same as I was. After about an hour, we heard Mums snoring. Minnie went to look and came back with a half-empty brandy bottle. She rolled her eyes at me. ‘Did the trick in the end.'

‘As long as she doesn't make a habit of it.'

‘Be fair, Lucy, it was very close—and with Dad going out like that…' she made a face. ‘I offered her some cotton wool to put in her ears when it started, and do you know what she said? “I won't be able to hear what's going on!” I said, “You don't want to hear what's going on,” and she said, “Yes, I do.” There's no pleasing some people.'

We talked about going upstairs again. I said Minnie ought to, and I'd wait up for Dad, but she wouldn't, and then she said I should, and we were on the point of rowing about it when we heard, ‘Hello! Any more tea in the pot?' and it was Dad, covered from head to foot in dust. He almost fell through the door and collapsed on one of the chairs.

‘What happened, Dad? You look exhausted.'

‘Let me get my breath, I'll be all right in a minute.'

Minnie said, ‘Let me take your helmet,' but he shook his head.

‘Leave it.'

We asked him to tell us what happened, but he didn't say much, except to ask about Mums. I said, ‘Aren't you going to drink your tea, Dad?' because he hadn't touched it, but he just said, ‘You two get some sleep. I'll have to be off again in a minute.' He sounded so tired and defeated, I knew he just wanted to be on his own. I turned back in the doorway and said goodnight, but he was staring straight ahead and seemed not to have heard me. With the white dust on him, and his eyes like craters in the shadow of his helmet, he looked like a ghost.

We went upstairs in silence, and on the landing, Minnie said quietly, ‘He didn't want to see us, did he?'

‘No.'

‘He was
trying
to be Dad, when he came in—you know, be like he always is—but he couldn't, could he?'

‘No.'

‘It must have been terrible.'

I said, ‘Do you want to come in with me?'

‘No, it's all right.' Then she went into her room and closed the door.

I wished she'd said yes. It's frightening how much you rely on people to behave in a certain way, and how unsettling it is when they stop. But it's not just Dad, it's me, too. I looked in the mirror just before I got into bed, and was surprised to see anything there at all. I didn't recognise the reflection behind the plaster dust. That must be what an animal sees when it looks into a mirror, a meaningless shape. I wiped the glass with my handkerchief, but it didn't make any difference. I got into bed determined to pull myself together. It's a bad thing to be too preoccupied with oneself, especially at the moment.

Terribly tired, but it took for ever to drift off and then it was only a half sleep. Gave up at quarter to seven and went out into the back garden in my dressing gown to have a look round. It was light, but everything was grey and damp with drizzle. I could smell gas from the burst main. Not much in the way of damage, except windows blown out a few doors down. Ours look all right, though—must have been just far enough away. I concluded that most of the damage must have been in front of the house, not behind it, and was about to go and see, when I noticed a pair of bird's wings, with soft, downy feathers, spread out in the middle of the lawn. They looked perfect, as if they'd been shed by a tiny angel, but I suppose they must have been torn off a carcass by a cat. Like a sign of some sort. I thought it would be bad luck just to leave them there, so I fetched a trowel and gave them a decent burial underneath a rosebush. They were so light when I picked them up, almost weightless. Strange to think of where they must have been, soaring across the sky—although when I looked up, that was hard to imagine because the sky seemed more like a great metal dustbin lid that had been slammed on top of the world to keep us down here with all this mess and misery, than something bright and clear and infinite. Extraordinary, though, to think that mankind has conquered it with machines. That made me think of what Mums said about aeroplanes. I suppose she's right, in a way, because they
are
only machines—machines for killing. They only
seem
exciting and glamorous, when really they are no different from tanks or battleships. But we owe so much to those pilots…they must be the bravest men who ever lived.

Found myself hoping, idiotically, that my dead bird could stand in place of an airman—its life in exchange for a human life. Said a short prayer to that effect over the rosebush, feeling very foolish, and hurried back indoors to get dressed.