The Last Girl (14 page)

Seeing she
was taking that attitude, I began to think it would do her no harm to hear a
bit of what I had stored up for her after all. It was either that or have her
go off thinking she could do the same thing again whenever she felt like it.
Added to which, the cake had made me remember I was hungry, and there was a
perfectly good steak dinner going to ruin in the oven.

I began with
a sigh. 'Mandy love, you know me, I'm the last person in the world to complain,
but why oh why haven't you been up to see me all this long time? It's been ever
so lonely up here.'

Well, I could
say this for her, she blushed - red as a schoolgirl. But apology? not a word of
it. Just a few mumbled excuses about being so busy. Strange to say though, I
wasn't disappointed. No, really. You see, in a funny way, it was like being
taken back to the old days, and instead of Mandy, it was June sitting there, a
nipper still, little round cheeks getting redder by the minute. June as a
naughty girl.

Now I know
there are folk who swear that nothing teaches a child as well as the back of
your hand. Well good luck to them. We're all entitled to our opinion. But me, I
never lifted a finger to June. For the simple reason it's all water off a
duck's back to them. It's words you want to use. A clip across the ear is never
going to keep a kid awake at night, but a few well chosen words will. Which is
the best thing you can say about them, kids: they'll believe anything if you
tell them often enough.

Know where I
learned that from? The same place we all learn. From my mother. She never laid
a finger on us either. She didn't have to.
It's
all in the eyes of God
- that's what she used to say - and we'd believe
her too. After that you're never going to go far wrong, not when you know
there's someone up there watching all the time. Never taking their eyes off
you.

She'd have
smiled if she could have seen June sometimes, face all screwed up, trying to
convince herself to the bitter end it was her and not me who was right. Which
was when like as not Doreen would barge in and spoil it all. One half-hearted
clap around the head, and that was June, off scot-free.

(Yet why is
it, when I never lifted a hand to June, it was her mother she sided with in the
end?)

What I'm
saying now is, though, with Mandy sitting there, it was like being given a
second crack at the whip. The challenge was the same, namely to persuade her -
gently - to behave like a good girl should. And this time, no Doreen to butt in
at the crucial moment. It's the angle that counts. See now, Mandy was probably
expecting me to tell her off, and was all ready for that. But that's not what I
had in mind. Oh no.

'You know,' I
said. 'You don't have to worry about keeping on the right side of Larry - I
mean with cakes and so on. It doesn't matter what you do, he's still going to
be here for you, ready and waiting, whenever you think you might have a few
minutes to spare.'

'Larry ...'

'Of course,
I'm not saying I'll always be my old cheerful self. I've seen too much trouble,
and when you're alone so much, you're bound to dwell on things.'

'OhLarry ...'

'But what I
want you to know is, Larry understands. He knows you've got a life of your own,
and it's too much to expect a young girl to spend her time worrying about her
old pal missing the only bit of company he's got the right to hope for. What
I'm saying is - don't think about us. Joey and me will get by somehow.'

'But Larry
...'

'No buts,
Mandy love. The main thing is that you enjoy yourself, while you're young. Some
people never get the chance.'

If I could
only have had a picture of her face as it was then. Eyes bright with unshed
tears, lower lip all of a quiver. I'd known this moment would come - but not so
soon. Yet this was my Mandy for you - all sense and feeling. At least, that's
what I thought.

'Larry,' she
said. And this time, it only seemed right to let the old kid speak. After all,
I thought I knew half of what she was going to say -
Larry I'm so sorry so very very sorry
...

In fact, I
was so sure of it, it took a few seconds to realize what it was she actually
was saying, and even then, I could hardly believe it.

'Larry,' she
was saying. 'Larry, thank you. I should have listened to Francis, and Ethel too.
Both of them said I was coming up too much. They said you didn't need me. Only,
silly me, I didn't believe them. And the cake - well that was Francis's idea.
He said all it needed was a gesture. It would show you that I
do
care and I
do
think about you.
Then maybe you wouldn't mind if I made more time for the rest, for making
friends. After all, you know me. I'm  never going to find it easy. You remember
I told you a little about what happened before, up in Edinburgh? It could so
easily be like that again. But I've been so frightened of making you unhappy.
Because I know how it feels - we both do, don't we, Larry... ? Oh, but I don't
have to explain. You've just told me you understand. Thank goodness you
understand.'

And then
would you believe it, the girl leans forward and plants a kiss on my cheek.

A Judas kiss.
Because we know who put her up to it. He did, and probably Ethel as well. Now
I'm meant to take the cake, and watch her walk away. Then if she has the time,
and if I'm lucky, I'll see her for five minutes in the middle of next week.

Ever heard of
brainwashing?

But we've
been here once or twice before, haven't we. There's been the Mandy who's been
doing all the talking, and the other Mandy, deep down inside, telling her what
she's doing is wrong. The true Mandy, the one I know better than she does
herself. And she's still there, just. Bad Mandy is smiling at me, and the look
in her eyes tells me she thinks she's already out of here, but watch her
closely, and you'll see someone there who's not quite sure.

And that's
who I talk to.

'Well love,
that Francis of yours, you've got to hand it to him. He certainly knows all
about the old folk. Where did he learn it from? Some poor old soul tucked away
in a home somewhere? His ma, I expect. I mean, he knows all about the
"gestures" as you call it. I expect he told you it's the little
things that count, and all. And he's right, of course. You'll never catch an
old person complaining. They wouldn't dare. Better something than nothing at
all. Eh, Mandy?'

'Larry ...'

But I haven't
finished, not by a long chalk. 'The funny thing is though, love, you never do
learn to live with the shock.'

'Shock,
Larry?' Whatever she meant to say is gone. She sounds now as if she needs to
sneeze, or cough or something.

'The shock, love.
What comes after years of struggling to do your best, only to wake up one
morning and find you're on your own. Not a blessed soul around who gives a
damn. All there is to look forward to is
the
little things
.'

I stop there.
No need to go on. Look at her, just look at her. It's all coming rushing to the
surface. Those eyes. It's only a question of seconds now. Deep breath, count
the moments until...

'Larry, oh
Larry. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I didn't know.'

And finally,
whoosh! Here come the tears, streaming out of her eyes, pouring off her cheeks.
Guilty tears, and tears of something else, unless I'm very much mistaken. But
mostly guilt. She can't speak, can't even utter a word. Sentences are quite
beyond her. Mandy is feeling really awful.

I can let her
go now, see if I can rescue that dinner of mine. She'll be up again tomorrow as
usual and the day after, no two ways about it. That's my Mandy for you.

So you tell
me. Who knows her better - him or me?

After that, what can I say about the last three weeks that
you won't have guessed already? That we haven't looked back since? That we get
on like a house on fire? That we're as happy as two bugs in bed? Well all that.
But I'll tell you what it's really like. It's feeling that for the first time
in his life, Larry's got everything. When Mandy's sitting up here, and there's
me there beside her, you could offer me the moon and I wouldn't take it.
Because it's all here. The place is complete. I even thought the other day
about that ornament of the porcelain girl with the wind up her skirt, and you
know, I had to smile. She's not needed any more. You can't add to perfection.

And Mandy's
happy, you can tell. She hardly says anything now that's worth the mention.
What she likes doing is sitting on the settee next to me, listening to me
chattering on. She doesn't even seem interested in Joey any more, which annoys
him no end. He sits there on his perch practically shouting for her to come
over and talk to him, till in the end I have to throw the cover over the cage,
which serves him right for trying to muscle in on what has nothing to do with
him. She comes up here to see her Larry, not some old bird.

Of course
there's another reason. There always is, even with the best of them. She comes
to take her mind off other things. Such as the fact that in all this time she
hasn't received so much as a letter or a card from his nibs. I know she's
thinking about him, sitting there with a tiny part of her listening out all the
time for Ethel at the bottom of the stairs, telling her there's a phone call
for her. But there never is. Or hardly ever.

So a new
Mandy then - regular, reliable, a little quieter if that were possible, ready
to listen all night long if you asked her. But that's not all; there's been another
development. Those little treats I keep putting out for her, stuff she never
touches when she's here, have started turning up downstairs in her cupboard.
And don't look at me. She's been buying it all herself. Packets of fig rolls
and Battenberg, glacier mints, what have you, all appearing and disappearing a
lot faster than you would expect. What beats me is why she can't come out and
admit she's developed a taste for them. Because give credit where credit is
due, none of it would be there if it weren't for Larry putting ideas in her
head. You'd think she'd start filling out a bit really, but there's no sign of
it yet.

Which brings
me up to the middle of this week, and the one little wobble we've had so far.
But before anyone wants to go saying I told you so, wait till you've heard the
whole story. It all turns out beautifully in the end.

On Tuesday
night we had that telephone call we've been waiting for all this time. Well
that was it - our Mandy was off, down those stairs so fast you'd have thought there
was someone handing out free fivepound notes at the bottom. And - you've
guessed - I didn't see hide nor hair of her for the rest of the evening.

As for the
next night, forget it. Her mind was somewhere else completely. And this time,
in view of the circumstances, I wasn't prepared to be that forgiving. What's
more, she didn't even come out and tell me she was expecting a visitor. She
just sat there with a half-baked smile all over her face, and let that speak
for itself. Thursday morning I had a peek in her cupboards. No sign of the
Battenberg now. It was all man's food - gentleman's relish and Stilton and
little bits of upmarket snacks, all salt and foreign flavours.

I shan't even
bother telling you what was going through my mind. Suffice to say, come Friday
morning, if I could have gone to sleep and not woken up till the Monday I would
have been happy. Bumping into Ethel in the hall, then, only seemed like the
final straw.

The two of us
don't talk much now; apart from when she needs something. But sometimes she
gets desperate - and who wouldn't with only the Living Skeleton for company?
And then, as in this case, there's always something cropping up she wants you
to know about. She must have been lying in wait because the second my foot
comes off the bottom step, there she is beside me, beady little eyes gleaming
with what she's got in mind.

'Mr Mann,'
says she. 'I'm in such a state, you can't imagine.'

That was a
matter of opinion. The woman was visibly shaking - and enjoying every minute.

'It's bad news
for Amanda. I just don't know how I can tell her.'

You can
imagine the effect that had on me. News for Mandy, and Bad News at that. Before
I knew it I was opening my mouth to ask for more, but I'd forgotten: Ethel has
a couple of scores to settle, and this was her chance. Without another word she
sweeps straight past me, up the stairs to the middle landing, as if daring me
to follow her this time. As it happened, just this once I had a few important
errands to run outside, so I let her go, but there's no denying it, she'd left
me in a proper stew - exactly as she'd intended.

Bad news for
Mandy - whatever did she mean by that? Well, the choice was endless. Family's
what you think of first, or maybe not if you're Mandy and me. The fact is,
there's a whole world of bad news out there, and it was useless to try and
guess.

'Never mind,
Mandy love.' I actually said it loud. 'Larry's here. Whatever it is, this will
only bring us closer together. We'll be happier than ever after, just you see.'

And with
that, all I could do was wait until Ethel saw fit to let me in on the secret.

She took her
time though. In the end, we met - almost by agreement- at three o'clock in the
afternoon in the hall again, though I might add I'd been in and out of the
front door at least five times by then. Fortunately, there was always going to
be a limit to how long Ethel could restrain herself.

I opened the
batting. 'So what's all this about bad news for Mandy?' I said. 'Nothing too
serious, I hope.'

'Who knows,
Mr Mann? You must know how girls do take on. I'm not sure what she'll make of
it.' After that, a brief struggle to stretch it out. Which she lost. 'It's
Francis,' she said, and now it all came out in a rush. 'She was expecting him
to come tonight; But he telephoned this morning, just after she'd gone off to
college. Left a message to say that he can't make it after all. Said he'd phone
again tomorrow to explain.'

You know how
it is when you hear good news when you've been expecting bad. It takes a minute
or so for it to sink in. I must have been a complete blank to look at until
slowly, I felt a great big grin spreading all over my face. Daft is how I must
have looked, and Ethel when she sees it starts climbing up on to her high
horse.

'Well, really
Mr Mann. I wouldn't have thought it was any laughing matter - not with Mr Duck
looking forward so much to seeing the young man again himself. And as for
Amanda...'

I can't
remember the rest. I don't know if I even stopped long enough to listen. It was
the best news I could ever have wished for. Sad for Mandy, naturally, but if it
helped her see the sort of man he was - namely, unreliable, not be trusted -
then I could only rejoice.

And rejoice I
did, all the way up the stairs and back to my kitchen. I even poured myself a
little glass of port, and toasted the man who was so far away and couldn't be
bothered to make the journey.

And there was
more, though you must believe me when I say I never would have wished this part
upon Mandy. Remember last time he came she never bothered to come home until
after he'd arrived? Well it was the same today. She must have stayed on until
it was time to meet his train, then gone straight to the station. So she never
got the message. She must have waited for the next train too, and the next,
because it was well after eleven when finally I heard her little footsteps on
the landing. Ever so slow they sounded, as if she was tired out. Closed the
kitchen door behind her so quietly you could barely hear it. By now of course
Ethel had gone to bed.

And talking
of Ethel, that reminds me. When I said I'd gone straight upstairs after hearing
the news, that wasn't quite right. Because now that I think about it, didn't I
say something to her about leaving a little note on the kitchen table for the
old kid, just in case? I did, you know, and blow me if it hadn't clean slipped
my mind.

No point in
disturbing her now though. Mandy is down there, sobbing away about something.
If you ask me, she must be having one of those famous blips. Which means she'll
just have to hear about it in the morning when she's feeling a bit more
herself.

But you know how it is: you spend the whole day
meaning to get round to something, and you never quite manage it. That's
exactly what happened to me today. I don't know how many times I thought about
her down there, and reminded myself that I had something to tell her. Still I
just couldn't seem to find the time. And anyway, what was wrong with Ethel? She
could have given it to her straight from the horse's mouth. Only I had
forgotten, you see. Today was the one day in the month she goes off to see her
sister in Greenwich.

So I did feel
bad about it, but then, she couldn't have it all ways, could she? One of the
reasons I was so busy was because I spent half  the day making sure that, come
this evening, I'd be able to surprise her with the nicest tea she could
possibly imagine. I reckoned she'd forget about moping the moment she set eyes
on what I had for her: all the old favourites - fig rolls, Battenberg, gypsy
creams. And if she turned her nose up at that, I had half a mind to ask her
why, seeing as I knew she was eating exactly the same on the sly.

Come seven
o'clock then, it was all waiting for her. Tea
and
sympathy. Then again, when I heard her knock, I thought she must have rallied a
bit. It was louder than usual, as was the sound of her feet on the stairs.
Probably just the thought of her old Larry had cheered her up no end.

Then what
happens but I turn and find it's not Mandy there in my kitchen door, but Harry!
Harry who'd sat there like a big lump all those weeks ago when I'd said to him,
'Why not drop the visits for a while, eh?'

'Ethel let me
in,' he says, as if that explained everything. And if that wasn't enough, he
walks straight past me into the lounge and sits down as if it was any normal
day of the week. Starts eyeing the cake and plates of biscuits spread out in
front of him. Of course, what I should have done was point out that we don't
hold open house here. People come by invitation only. But the trouble is, when
you're confronted with that sort of brass neck in someone, words have a habit
of failing you.

My way of
dealing with it is to say quite politely that I'm expecting a visitor any
moment. To which he nods, and stays sitting there anyway. I didn't say a word
after that, thinking if I kept quiet he'd get the message. But that was always
the problem with Harry, sitting in silence never did worry him one jot. All
that happens is that after five minutes he leans forward, picks up a gypsy
cream and says, 'Where is she then?'

'Who?' I
said, too busy wondering how I was going to get rid of him to think what I was
saying.

'This friend
of yours. The one you. said you was expecting. Where is she?'

Now I knew
what he was thinking; folk like Harry, they just love to feel they've caught
you out.

'She'll be
up,' I said. And left it there. You see I thought she would be, I really did. A
while later though, after he's polished off another· two gypsy creams, I
couldn't help myself. 'She's not expecting me to have visitors, you know.' To
which he says nothing.

Purely to
take his mind off things, I switched on the TV and there we both sat. For two
hours. In the end, I didn't have to say anything. He got up of his own accord,
brushes the crumbs off that great belly of his, and says:

'Ah well,
looks like she's not coming.'

You can
imagine. I opened my mouth to ask whose fault he thought that was. Then I saw
the look on his face.

Do you really
need to hear any more of this? So far as Larry's concerned, wild horses
couldn't make him waste any more words on Harry. All I can say is, who does he
think he is? His life is a wreck, his wife is dead, he runs a fruit stall and
he can't stand fruit. He looks ten years older than he is. Yet he thinks he can
go giving me a look like the one he tried giving me tonight. Me. It's himself
he should be feeling sorry for. That's all.

After he went
- not long after, as you may guess - I cleared away everything that was there.
Stuck it in the kitchen pail. He'd ruined it all anyway. But that wasn't the
reason. The reason was that for the first time I was angry, absolutely
stamping. And not just with Harry. It was Mandy. In a funny way this was the
worst thing she'd ever done to me, not coming up when she was expected. Because
just look at the result. She'd let me down in front of a no-hoper like Harry,
sent him away thinking Larry Mann was no better off than he was. The way I saw
it, the last thing she deserved now was tea and sympathy. She could just keep
on moping as far as I was concerned. And I turned up the TV loud, so that if
and when she did come knocking I wouldn't have to hear her.

She didn't,
though. I never even heard her come out of her kitchen all evening.

Bang in the middle of the night I wake up, mind clear
as a bell. The girl is simply feeling left out. First His Lordship fails to
show, and then her old pal from upstairs goes and makes himself unavailable all
evening. No wonder she was down there, too miserable to put in an appearance.
Looked at in that way, it makes you want to jump right out of bed and put the
smile back on her face.

And that's what I did. This morning,
soon as I reckoned we were both decent, I knocked on the kitchen door and
opened it, just a little. I must have made her jump, because she turns around,
eyes wide, her mouth cram full of something. Evidently I'd caught her in the
middle of a little early-morning snack. At least, I call it a snack, but I
doubt that anyone else would. The whole place was littered with all sorts of
wrappers and papers, and I don't know what. The old kid must have been having a
feast. Well, I didn't say anything. It was nice to see her indulging herself.
And she certainly didn't have to look so guilty about it. So I kept it short.
'Morning, love,' I said to her. 'Missed you last night.'