The Life and Loves of Gringo Greene (53 page)

  
You don’t need to wear anything. I’m on the pill.

  
But had she been? And who really was the father of her oncoming child? Could it be me? he pondered. A cold sweat formed in the centre of his back, and remained there for quite some time.

The champagne had disappeared and he knew he’d only drunk a glass. The puddings were on the table and were about to be eliminated. He pointed to her glass.

   ‘Fancy another drink?’

   ‘I’d love a whisky and lemonade,’ she smiled back, licking her spoon clean of lime mousse.

   He clicked his fingers like pompous fools do in the movies, and the girl came running as if it were the most polite summons in the world.

   ‘Whisky and lemonade and a bottle of mineral water.’

   The kid smiled and nodded and ran away.

   Glen took a big breath as if she’d been meaning to tell him something all night. ‘My personal life is so complicated at the moment I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.’

   ‘Yeah?’ said Gringo, though he didn’t really want to know any more, but she took that as his signal to continue. The alcohol had loosened her tongue, and champagne was the absolute king when it came to murdering discretion.

   ‘You know I’ve been going round with Paul for years, since we were at school together, and my problem is I just can’t say no to him. I don’t love him any more, not now, oh I thought I did when I was younger, but now I realise it was all just one big teenage crush, but bloody hell, I still can’t say no to him, when he comes round with that hurt puppy dog look in his eyes. It’s mad I know, but there we are.’

   Gringo tried a weak smile and a swig of water.

   ‘And this Archie guy, well, he must be the funniest, strangest man I’ve ever met. I’ve learnt more about men and the big wide world through knowing him for a few weeks than with all the other men put together.’

   Yeah, I’ll bet, Gringo wanted to say, but didn’t. What had she and the marvellous Archie been up to, as if he didn’t know, and one thing was certain; he didn’t want to know either.

   ‘Then there’s Mike at the club.’

   This was something new. He arched his eyebrows.

   ‘Mike at the club?’ Gringo heard himself saying, fearing that he was being drawn into a thread of conversation he’d rather avoid.

   ‘Yeah. Didn’t I tell you about Mike at the club? He’s an older guy I went out with a few times and just because we did it together, you know just a few times, he thinks he owns me, and gets very jealous when I go out with anyone else. My dad absolutely hates him. Last time Mike came round to ours I thought dad was going to hit him with a huge spanner he leaves in the porch. Mike says my dad’s crazy.’

   ‘He might be right.’

   ‘He’s not. He’s a pussy really. He’s just being protective toward his daughters.’

   An old line came into Gringo’s mind, though he couldn’t remember who said it or where it came from.
The apples are ripe and the pickers have arrived,
though he didn’t repeat it aloud, instead he heard himself issuing a weak: ‘I’ll bet. How old is this Mike?’

   ‘Much older than you, Gringo, much older.’

   That at least was illuminating in a shady kind of way. The ten year gap between Gringo and Glen couldn’t be the ultimate reason why she wouldn’t sleep with him, not if the oh so marvellous Mike was
much older than you.
So what was it? And as he began to think about that she was already talking again.

   ‘And at the back of it all looms Harry like some uncrowned king.’

   ‘Wildenstein?’

   ‘The very same. I love him, Gringo. I can’t help it, that’s the way it is. That’s how I feel.’

   ‘How can you love a man who treats you so bad?’

   Gringo had to rein himself in. His voice had been growing louder for a good few minutes and he’d no wish to create a scene, or broadcast their intimate news and details of her affairs and complicated love life across the restaurant.

   ‘He doesn’t really; treat me so bad, that is.’

   ‘He rearranged your face!’

   ‘Don’t exaggerate, Gringo. It was only a slight cuff, and I probably deserved it for nagging him so.’

   ‘Women always say that about men who smack them.
It was probably my fault.
Well, it wasn’t your damn fault! Wake up girl. Try and see things as they really are.’

   She fixed him with those green eyes that mesmerised him so.

   ‘I love him, Gringo. A girl can’t help that.’

   ‘Love!’ he scoffed. ‘How can you? Really, I mean, how can you?’

   ‘I just do.’

   ‘Has he rung you?’

   Gringo was horrified to see her nodding.

   ‘Every other day. He had a huge row with dad a couple of nights ago.’

   ‘And?’

   ‘Harry wants me back.’

   ‘And you’ll go?’

   ‘Probably.’

   Gringo shook his head. He’d heard enough, far more than enough, far more than he ever wanted to hear. What was it with this crazy kid? Sometimes he wanted to give her such a good smack, and then he thought of Harry Wildenstein; and the black eye and cut brow she’d sported when she came back from New York.

   Did Harry feel the same way about her as he did? Was that what made him hit her? Had she described her affairs to Harry after a good few drinks in some swanky fiftieth floor New York restaurant? Had that made him fighting-crazy jealous, her talking about her lovers as she did with Gringo? At least he could understand that, but did it make Gringo as bad as Harry, a brace of wife-beaters together, except that neither of them had ever been so fortunate as to possess a pretty wife. At least Gringo’s bullying and barbarity had only been in the mind, but how long could that last?

   The unsettling truth was that Gringo couldn’t rule it out. Alcohol contains some mighty strange powers. It can loosen the tongue, and ball the fist. Whatever the truth of it, in his eyes she didn’t deserve the care he felt for her, and worse than that, she had no idea how much she hurt him when telling of her copious affairs.

   ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘I want to go home.’

   ‘But you haven’t finished your meal!’

   ‘I don’t care. Let’s go.’

   ‘But it’s early, yet. You never finish your meals when we go out.’

   ‘Come on,’ he said again, and he stood up and headed toward the exit where the waitresses were gathering hopefully, knowing the tipping season was about to open. He paid the hastily prepared bill, slipped a tenner into the pretty kid’s hand, and smiled as if to say
One night I might come back for you
, and headed into the main bar, Glen scurrying behind, sharing an embarrassed look with the waitresses as if to say:
We’ve had a little tiff, though I’m damned if I know what it was all about.

  
Someone opened the door to the disco downstairs and the thumping beat escaped for a few seconds. It blasted up the stairs, advertising the good times to be had in the steamy and packed basement. Glen took to her toes, her arms automatically coming up, her bag slung over her elbow, her body immediately in time to the music.

   ‘Boogie-woogie!’ she said. ‘Let’s go dancing, Gringo. I love dancing.’

   ‘No way! I’m taking you home,’ and already he was closing in on the main entrance.

   ‘Gringo!’ she shouted, almost trotting behind. ‘Don’t be a spoilsport! What has got into you?’

   ‘Off already, Mister Greene?’ asked Richie, surprised to see them leaving as he opened the door. ‘Come back soon.’

   ‘Sure Richie; thanks,’ mumbled Gringo, as he skipped down the stairs to the car park below, leaving Glen to smile at the lads, who were busy admiring her figure and butt, as she hurried after the guy who clearly had something sour on his mind.

   Back in the car she said: ‘What was that all about?’

   ‘Nothing at all. I want to take you home, that’s all.’

   ‘But I didn’t want to go back to yours yet.’

   ‘We’re not going back to mine! We’re going back to yours!’

   She bit her tongue and slumped in the seat and hooked up her belt.

   ‘I don’t understand you sometimes, Gringo. One day you are all over me, lovey-dovey, as if you are head over heels, and the next, you seem to hate me.’

   ‘Be quiet!’ he said, and that comment and the way he said it produced a desire in her to slap him and tell him to go to hell, but somehow she managed to keep control and say nothing. They drove home in a frosty silence, back to her place, her dad’s big seventies red brick detached house in a decent suburb that wasn’t quite select.

   He pulled the car to a halt around the corner at the end of the close; the exact same spot where he’d collected her four hours before, and switched off the engine. They sat in silence for a few moments, seconds that seemed like hours, until Glen broke the spell, turning in to look at him.

   ‘So,’ she said, ‘are we going to continue this love-hate relationship?’

   Gringo turned toward her.

   ‘The way I feel at the moment, Glen, it’s all hate.’

   He regretted saying those words the instant they’d tumbled from his unthinking mouth, and he would regret them for the remainder of his days, but words once spoken can never be retracted. Sometimes the sound of a human voice can be more hurtful than any sharpened spear. Sometimes the hurt mind will lash out unthinkingly. When the red mist falls, evil words often follow. Her mouth fell open as if she couldn’t quite believe what she’d heard.

   ‘I see,’ she said eventually, reaching out and levering open the door.

   ‘Goodnight, Gringo,’ she said softly, and she stood out into the cold night air, pushed the door gently to, and walked away, turning down the close and out of sight without once glancing back.

   Gringo didn’t say a word. He’d wanted to take hold of her and give her a good shake. He wanted to ask her, no, tell her, how he really felt, though he suspected she already knew. He wanted to ask her to open her goddamned eyes, to appreciate what she really had; to value the love and care he felt for her, but for whatever reason, nothing like that escaped his lips.  

   He wanted to yell. He wanted to scream like that famous painting that summed up all his nightmares. She made him so angry, anger the depth of which he’d never experienced before. It dominated his thinking, his waking hours, his entire body, and no matter what he did, he couldn’t shake the feeling away. It wasn’t her he hated; he hated and detested his total lack of control, and the weakness is showed.  He’d never felt that way before.

   It couldn’t possibly be love, because love was supposed to make you feel like you were living in heaven on earth. Gringo imagined himself permanently cast down into hell. It couldn’t have been more different.

   The red demon reappeared, grinning hideously, giggling, and shrieking:
She’s making a monkey out of you!   

  
‘I know!’ he yelled, as he sat alone in the car. ‘I bloody know!’

   
She’s making a monkey out of you!   

   ‘Fuck off!’ he screamed, as he started the car and pointed it home. That could have gone a whole lot better.

Back in Dryden’s office on Monday morning he kept an eye out for Mel. Twice she walked by his room when he was busy with other people and urgent phone calls. The third time she wandered past, a trifle aimlessly, as if in a daydream, he thought, he called her in.

   ‘Take a seat a sec.’

   She sat down and glimpsed his tired face.

   ‘If you don’t mind me saying, Gringo, you look a little drawn today. Somewhat harassed.’

   It was strange she said that because he thought exactly the same thing about her. There wasn’t so much careful makeup on her face, her shoulders appeared down, and her skin seemed white and listless.

   ‘I had a heavy weekend,’ he said, trying a smile, but he could see she didn’t believe him.