The Japanese Girl (14 page)

Gibb was feeling a different man, and if only his shoes didn't hurt … That was why he kept the bicycle. He kept the bicycle and bought a map of the district in Shaftesbury and took a road north towards Warminster and then turned right for Wylye. But after a few miles he saw another road block ahead, and he dumped the bike in a hedge and began to cut across the fields. It took him two hours to do four miles and he had gone off course again. A bus came marked Devizes and stopped to let off an old market woman. On impulse he took her place. He was making no progress, but it might shake him free of the police cordon. The bus was full and he was glad of the crowd around him. He understood people so much better than he understood nature.

At Devizes he saw another bus marked Newbury and climbed on that. If he could make this part of the journey he reckoned he had a chance. Once the bus had started he began to feel sleepy. Two or three times he dozed and sat up with a start, dunking that prison officers were standing all round him.

By the time they were through Marlborough the sun was on the slant and from here you could see across miles of open countryside with hundreds of great trees standing alone like monoliths. Not for the first time today, things stirred in the underworld of Gibb's consciousness. Maybe after a time it would be dull; but you wouldn't
feel
the same, living in a place like this, you
couldn't feel
the same.

Imagine being born here instead of among the tall trees of the London warehouses.

There were police at the bus stop at Newbury, but he had got out the stop before. He came quietly through the town, slouched past the bus station. There was a bus temptingly marked Reading but it wasn't worth the risk.

Seventeen miles from Newbury to Reading, and after two he began to lift his thumb, still determined to make London tonight. He was hungry again. A lorry picked him up but it was only going four miles and soon he was out on the road again. His feet were killing him. The sun was low, and the high hedges threw half the road in shadow. Fifty miles more. So near and yet so –

A long black saloon drew up with a slither of tyres. ‘Want a lift?'

A big youngish middle-aged man with a clipped moustache as narrow as an eyebrow, a cap dead straight over his eyes, and a mate-in-three-moves suit. ‘Going far?'

‘Well, London. That's where I'm hoping to get.'

‘Can do you as far as Twickenham, if that's any good.' Cuban cheroot smoke drifted across.

‘Thanks. Thanks a lot.'

They accelerated away with a well-bred whine. The needle dickered up to sixty-five, to seventy. Cor, what luck. ‘Smashing car,' Gibb ventured.

‘Yes, sure. New last week. Just running her in. She'll do well over the ton. Pretty good animal all round.'

‘Aren't you supposed to run a new car in slow, like?'

‘She's all right. And the firm buys me a new one every year.'

They swirled round a corner at seventy. At a 30 sign, the man slowed to 50. It wouldn't be much joy if they were stopped for speeding.

Gibb breathed again as they slid through Reading. He thought he was pretty well safe now. The man cut south to avoid Slough and went on talking about the blondes in his life. Abruptly he said: ‘And what are you doing on the road? You don't look like an ordinary biker?'

Gibb thought quickly. You chose your piece for your listener. ‘I – er – no. I been working in Bristol. Bristol docks, you know.'

‘Ah. Going home for a few days?'

‘Yes. Bit of family trouble.'

‘Ah. Family trouble. What I don't know about family trouble you could write on a visiting card.'

Darkness was falling as they drove through Egham.

‘Wife or girl-friend?' said the man.

‘Eh? Oh – er – wife.'

‘What's wrong?'

‘Gone off with another man, she has.'

Gibb thought that would appeal to his companion. It did.

‘Too bad. Wish mine would.'

‘You wish yours would what?' said Gibb.

‘Go off with another man. Instead of sitting at home waiting for me.'

‘It all depends how you look at it, don't it,' said Gibb cautiously.

The man offered him a cigarette, which he took. It would keep the hunger away. ‘ What are you going to do?'

Gibb's cigarette was lit from a blowing thing pulled out of the dashboard. He tried to sound thoughtful. ‘Me? I don't know. Depends if I can find her, see.'

‘Know the man?'

‘Ye-es. Old flame of hers. Name of Chertsey.'

‘That's odd,' said the driver. ‘ We just passed a signpost saying
Chertsey 3 miles
. Think he's there?'

‘Ha, ha,' said Gibb, sweating. ‘That's funny, that is. No, I reckon he wouldn't be there.'

‘You're not pulling my leg?'

‘No. No, of course I'm not.'

‘Maybe you're well out of it,' said the other, dragging his cap a half inch more over his eyes. ‘Women always try to tie you down. Even blondes – you only have to know 'em a fortnight and they start getting their hooks in.' He made a racing change and overtook a Bentley which was proceeding at a comfortable sixty.

After that silence fell, and to Gibb's relief his friend did not speak again until they were in Twickenham.

It was easy from there. You said goodbye to the type and watched his numerous tail-lights disappear; you walked along the main street looking at the shops and the people, thankful you were back in your own surroundings and that darkness had brought you safety. You had a snack meal at a café and then you got on a red double-decker – two years since you had seen a red double-decker; and you dozed all the way into central London. Then you changed to another bus and dozed again while you bobbed and swayed out to Shadwell.

The windows of the bus were open, and it was a different smell out here. A smell of weed and water and tar somehow crept through all the ordinary city smells of an early summer night. It might be no beauty spot, not like all he had seen today, but it was home.

After he got off the bus he walked right past the warehouse they had broken into. Everything had gone wrong from the start, that night. Then Alf had panicked and slugged the night-watchman. You could never tell how a man would be in an emergency, not until the emergency came. Alf had been the biggest mistake of his life.

Across the Highway and up towards Cable Street. Now it meant going slow again. They'd be on the watch for him round his old haunts. They'd keep a sharp watch round the Basin, expecting he might try to stow away on one of the ships. He stopped at a stall and bought one or two things, then went up the narrow street beyond like a cat slinking towards its own back yard.

Half-way along the street he turned down an entry, picking his way among the broken milk bottles and the cans. A dustbin gave him a convenient lift over a wall. About him the shabby houses were lighted, but a little mist had drifted off the river and was smearing the sharp outlines; a baby was crying; somewhere a man and a woman were having a flaming row.

On the roof of a wash-house he slid off his shoes, moved along the ridge; then he began to climb a drainpipe with his feet pressing into the angle of the wall.

The window was lighted. He tapped but there was no answer. He got his hand under the sash and shoved it up. It made a screech, and by the time he was in the kitchen an old woman had opened the door opposite and made a dried-up noise exactly like the opening window.

‘Les!'

‘ 'Lo, Beat, you not expecting me?'

She took a hand away from her mouth to shut the door behind her. It cut out the music from a radio. ‘Well …'

‘Mean to say you hadn't heard?'

‘ 'Course I 'ad, but … I didn't know if you'd
try
… I didn't think you'd dare try. I thought they'd be sure to catch you before you got 'ere.'

‘I'd like to see 'em. Where is she – here or …?'

‘Sal? She's 'ere. They sent 'er 'ome this morning.'

‘What's she like? Is she bad?'

‘They say she'll be O.K. It was a lucky escape. I near died … Now
careful
, don't give 'er a shock. Let me go first.'

In the next room a girl of ten was in bed listening to the radio. She had a bandage round her head. ‘ Dad!' she screamed.

‘Now take it easy. Take it easy. What you been up to, you little monkey, then – getting into this sort of mess. Cor, how you've grown!'

She tried to put her arms round his neck, but grimaced and lay back on the pillows and let him kiss her.

‘I'm bristly,' he said. ‘Haven't had time to clean up. Been travelling, y'know.'

‘I said Dad'd come, didn't I? I did, didn't I! I said you'd come, Dad … I said he'd come. How did you? … Have they –'

‘Never mind about that, then. What about you? Tell me about it.'

‘It was a van,' said Beat from the doorway. ‘ Come round a corner and skidded. Crazy fool driving. Crushed 'er against a lamp-post. They thought she was badly 'urt.'

‘She
looks
hurt,' said Les, peering sourly at his daughter's thin face.

‘She's got two ribs broke. But nothing else, they says. I says they should have kept 'er in 'ospital another day, but they says she's O.K. to come ' ome.'

‘I'm glad they did,' said Gibb, ‘else maybe I wouldn't have seen her.'

‘But you're going to stay now, aren't you, Dad?' Sally said. ‘ I heard about you on the radio! They gave it every news! Can't you stay now you've come? It's been so long …'

‘I got you a present,' said Gibb, taking out the thing he had bought at the stall. Then he looked at the length of the figure in the bed. ‘But I reckon I made a mistake. I …'

He handed her the doll he had bought, and while she exclaimed over it he looked across at Beat, who was still in the doorway. ‘You don't notice time passing where I been. Honest to God, you don't. Least, not in the same way. You don't realize Sal‘s getting too old for dolls. It'll be fancy hair-do's and high heels before you know where you are.'

‘Lay off it. Sal's never too old for dolls, are you, Sal?'

‘It's fabulous,' said Sally. ‘ It's fabulous.'

‘Think you can risk it 'ere tonight?' asked Beat. ‘They won't think you'll be 'ere yet.'

‘I don't know. I'd like to, but …'

There was a photo on a table by the bed. It was the old newspaper cutting framed: ‘Max and Maureen, Melody with a Smile'. His wife. She hadn't changed much. And Max with that smile. He'd knock it right off his bloody face if he got the chance. Gibb slapped the photo over on its glass and stood up.

‘I want a word with you, Beat.'

He followed her into the kitchen and shut the door and stood with his back to it, looking at the old woman.

Beat said: ‘ She's coming back, Les. I had a wire this morning. She should be 'ere tomorrow.'

‘So she went off with him after all.'

‘What d'you mean, went off with 'im? Who told you that?'

‘I got a letter.'

‘Who from?'

‘It wasn't signed.'

‘Ah …' The old woman wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. ‘Don't it make you
sick
– always somebody ready to make trouble.'

‘It isn't them that's made trouble,' he said between his teeth.

‘It's Maureen, the bitch. I knew all these years she was dying to go back to her act – and him. Well, now she's gone – left Sally, left me. I suppose she couldn't do without a man.'

‘Les, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! She ' asn't
left
you. She only left Sal temporary. You know how Max was always plaguing 'er to go back. Well they got this offer of a three-week tour in Scotland. Good money. She thought she'd do it – earn a bit extra. She took ' er 'oliday and the Dock Board give 'er a week extra. That's all.'

‘
All
! And three weeks with Max!'

‘Man, don't you know 'e's
married
! His
wife's
with them.'

Gibb slowly rubbed his hand up and down the bristles on his chin. He glared at Beat and then rubbed the other side of his chin.

‘You can't 'ave fairer than that,' said Beat.

Gibb looked round the room. Two more pictures of ships from calendars on the wall. The clock had stopped and the minute hand was broken. The tin where he used to keep his cigarettes was still on the shelf. It all smelt the same.

‘Why the hell didn't she
write
me?'

‘Les, you know what she's
like
. She says, I
must
write to Les, and then she don't. She gets out paper – often I've seen 'er – and she writes three lines and then she sits biting the end of 'er pen. There she sits, and she says, I can't think what to
say
. You ought to know what she's like by now.'

Gibb rubbed his nose for a change. ‘Maybe yes and maybe no. But it sounds different in that place and she
ought
to've written.'

‘Yes, of course, she ought, but –'

There was a knock on the door. Gibb's attitude, which had been slowly easing, tensed up again. He jerked his thumb at the old woman and slid quickly into the other bedroom, which was in darkness. Beat went to the door.

A plainclothes man with two policemen behind him. ‘Good evening, Miss Royal, we've come for Leslie Gibb. I have a warrant here, and all ways out of the house are guarded.'

‘Why, I don't know what you're talking about! The idea. Forcing your way in!
Reelly
…' Protesting, Beat was pushed aside. In a few seconds the men were in both rooms. Gibb stood by the open window of one, looking down at the policeman in the area below.

‘Well, Gibb …'

‘Looks like a fair cop, don't it.'

‘ 'Fraid so. I hope you're going to come quietly.'