The Night Watch (49 page)

When she began to dress, she realised how weak she was; she thought she could feel, too, where blood had gathered between her buttocks and was starting to grow sticky. The idea made her nervous. She asked if she could go to the lavatory, and he led her down the passage and showed her where it was. She sat, and felt for the ends of the plug of gauze-afraid of it; afraid that it might disappear inside her. When she peed, she felt stung. The ache in her womb and muscles was awful. Only a little blood showed on the toilet paper, however, and that made her realise that the moistness between her buttocks must just have been water: that Mr Imrie must have washed her, with a cloth or a sponge. She didn't like the idea. She still had the faintly frightening sense of having fallen or been plucked from time: of things having made a jump, with which she hadn't yet caught up…

'Now,' said Mr Imrie, when she went back into his surgery, 'you should anticipate a little bleeding, perhaps for a day or two. Don't be worried by that, that's perfectly normal. I should stay in bed, if I were you. Get your husband to spoil you a little…' He advised her to drink stout; and gave her two or three more sanitary towels, and a tub of aspirins for the pain. Then he took her back out to Reggie.

'Christ,' said Reggie, standing up, alarmed, putting out a cigarette. 'You look awful!'

She began to cry.

'There, now,' said Mr Imrie, coming in behind her. 'I've told Mrs Harrison to expect a little weakness, for twenty-four hours or so. You might telephone me, if you've any anxiety. I do ask you not to leave messages, however… Any fainting, of course; any serious bleeding; any vomiting, fitting, anything like that, you must call your doctor. But that's very unlikely. Very unlikely indeed. And needless to say, if a doctor were to be involved, you wouldn't feel it necessary to mention-' Again he spread his hands. 'Well, I'm sure you understand.'

Reggie looked rather wildly at him, and didn't answer. 'Are you OK?' he asked Viv.

'I think so,' she said, still crying.

'Christ,' he said, again. And then, to Mr Imrie: 'Is she supposed to look like this?'

'A little weakness, as I said. The slightly advanced nature of the pregnancy made things a shade more complicated, that's all. Just bear in mind, about the vomiting and the fits-'

Reggie swallowed. He put on his coat, and then helped Viv to put on hers. She leaned on his arm. It was ten to nine… They all went out into the hall-Mr Imrie closing the door of the waiting-room and then stepping nimbly across the hall to close the other door, to the surgery. He put off the light, unlatched the front door, but only opened it a little-just enough for him to peer out into the street.

'Ah,' he said. 'The moon is still rather bright. I wonder-' He turned to Viv. 'Would you mind very much, Mrs Harrison, just holding your handkerchief across your face, like this?' He put his hand to his mouth. 'That's right. It gives the impression, you see, that you've come for some ordinary dental work; which, after all, is not uncommon… I'm thinking of my neighbours. The war gives people such suspicious ideas. Thank you, so much.'

He pulled the door wide, and they left him. Viv kept the handkerchief across her mouth for a minute or two, then let her hand fall. The cloth, like the piece of paper Reggie had taken from his pocket on the way, seemed almost luminous in the moonlight; but she looked at the cloudless sky now and felt too weak and sore and miserable to be frightened… She began, instead, to grow very cold. She thought she could feel the plug of gauze inside her, slipping out of its place. The edges of the sanitary towel chafed her thighs. She leaned more heavily on Reggie's arm. But she wouldn't speak to him. 'All right?' he kept saying. 'OK? Good girl.' Then, when they'd gone a hundred yards or so, he broke out with, 'That shyster! Christ, what a thing to spring on us! All that stuff about the extra ten quid. He knew he'd got us over a barrel. Christ, what a bloody jew! I ought to have stood my ground a bit harder. For two pins-'

'Shut up!' she said at last, unable to bear it.

'No, but honestly, Viv. What a racket.'

He grumbled on. At Cricklewood Broadway they waited for ten or fifteen minutes, then picked up a cab. They were going to a place Reggie had got the use of-a flat, somewhere right in the middle of town. He had the address they wanted, on another piece of paper. The driver knew the street, but said that some of the roads were up, he had to take them a roundabout route… Reggie heard that, and gave a snort. Viv could feel him thinking,
That's a nice trick, as well
. The cab went slowly, and she held herself in a state of miserable tension all the way. When she thought the driver wasn't looking, she opened the tub of aspirin and took three: chewing them up, swallowing and swallowing to get them down. From time to time she slipped a hand beneath herself-afraid that the gauze and the sanitary towel might not be working after all.

She didn't look at the house, when they reached it; she never knew exactly where it was-though she remembered, later, having crossed Hyde Park, and thought that it must have been in some street in Belgravia. It had a porch with pillars, she remembered that, for Reggie had to get the key to the flat they were borrowing from an old lady in the basement, and while he ran down the steps and knocked on the door she closed her eyes and leaned against one of the pillars, and put her hands flat against her stomach to try and warm herself up. Her needs and wants had shrunk, condensed: she could think only of finding a place to be private and still, to be warm. She heard Reggie's voice. He was joking with the lady, in a strained kind of way: 'That's right… I should say so, too… Isn't it?'
Come on
, she thought. He reappeared, puffing, cursing, and they went inside.

The flat was up, on the highest floor. The staircase windows were uncovered, so they had to climb with only the torch to light them. She felt moisture at the top of her thighs and began to think she must be bleeding: with every step it seemed to her that she could feel the soft, hot release of a little more blood. At last she was sure that it was running down her legs, soaking her stockings, filling her shoes… She stood very still while Reggie fumbled with the keys in the unfamiliar locks, then stood still again as he went about from one window to another, kicking bits of furniture on his way, striking his shins, sending china rattling.

'For God's sake,' she said weakly, when something had fallen and he had stooped, swearing, to pick it up. 'Never mind this room. Do the bathroom first.'

'I would,' he said testily, 'if I knew where it was.'

'Can't you see?'

'No, I can't. Can you?'

'Put a light on, it's just for a minute.'

'We'll have Mother Hubbard coming up from her basement. We'll have a warden at the door. That's all we need.'

He had been fined a pound for showing a light, two years before; and had never forgotten it. The beam of the torch swept wildly about. She saw him move, then strike his head, hard, against the edge of a door.

'Christ!'

'Are you all right?'

'What do you think? Hell! That hurts like buggery!'

He rubbed his forehead, then went on more cautiously. When his voice came again, it was muffled. 'Here's the bedroom. The lav's meant to be off that, I think. Just a minute-' She heard a thud, as he struck his head again. There was the rattle of curtain-rings, and then a click, and then another. 'Oh, to fuck!' he cried. The electricity was off. They needed shillings: he made his way back to her and sorted through his change, went through her purse; then blundered around a second time, looking for the meter…

The coins went in at last, and lights sprang on. She made her way, wincing, to the bathroom. When he saw how gingerly she was moving he came forward to help her, and she pushed him off.

'Go away,' she said. 'Go away!'

She had not bled as much as she had feared, there was only a little staining on the surface of the sanitary towel; but the tip of the gauze, which had been white before, was now the colour of rust. She felt it with her fingers: it seemed looser than it had been at first, and again she worried about it travelling about inside her, getting lost. She got a smear of blood on her hand, and stood to wash it. She looked at the bath, and imagined filling it with hot water, soaking away the pain from her hips. But the bathroom was queer and luxurious, done up with a thick, milk-coloured carpet and with tiles made to look like mother-of-pearl. It made her feel grubby; she thought of the manoeuvres it would take not to leave marks or stains… She shivered, suddenly exhausted; she lowered the lavatory lid and sat back down on it, with her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands. She still had her coat and her hat on.

She sat so long, Reggie knocked on the door to ask if she was all right. When she let him in he glanced around with fluttering eyelids, nervously.

He helped her to walk. She had passed through the bedroom before and hardly looked at it; now she saw that, like the bathroom, it was done up outlandishly. There was a tiger-skin rug on top of a carpet, and satin cushions on the bed. It was like someone's idea of a film-star's bedroom; or as though prostitutes or playboys lived here. The whole flat was the same. The sitting-room had an elecric fire built into the wall, surrounded by panels of chromium. The telephone was pearly white. There was a bar, for drinks, with bottles and glasses inside it, and on the wall were pictures of Paris: the Arc de Triomphe, the Eiffel Tower, men and women sitting gaily at pavement cafés with bottles of wine.

But everything was chill to the touch and dusty; and here and there were piles of powder: paint and plaster, that must have been shaken down in raids. The rooms smelt damp, unlived-in. Viv sat, still shivering, in the armchair closest to the fire.

'Whose flat is this?' she asked.

'It's no-one's,' said Reggie, squatting beside her and fiddling with the fire's controls. 'It's a show-flat.-I think one of these elements has gone.'

'What?'

'It's just for show,' he said. 'It's just to show you what your place would be like, if you bought one. They did it all up before the war started. No-one's interested now.'

'Nobody lives here?'

'People come to stay, that's all.'

'What people?'

He turned a switch, back and forth. 'Pals of Mike's, I told you. He was one of the house-agents and he's still got the key. He leaves it with the old mother downstairs. If you've got leave, and nowhere to spend it…'

She understood. 'It's for you blokes to bring girls to.'

He glanced up, laughing. 'Don't look at me like that! I don't know anything about that. But it's better than a hotel, isn't it?'

'Is it?' She wouldn't smile. 'I suppose you'd know. I suppose you bring girls here all the time.'

He laughed again. 'I wish! I've never been here before in my life.'

'That's what you say.'

'Don't be daft. You saw how I charged about, didn't you?' He rubbed his head.

She looked away, feeling desperately sorry for herself. 'It's always the same,' she said bleakly. 'It ends up nasty, every single time. Even now.'

He was still working the switch. 'Like what? What is?'

'Like this.' Her voice dissolved. The show of bitterness, the flood of self-pity, had worn her out. She began to cry again. He left the fire and rose; came to her and sat awkwardly beside her. He took her hat from her head and smoothed her hair and kissed her.

'Don't Viv.'

'I feel so awful.'

'I know you do.'

'No, you don't. I wish I were dead.'

'Don't say that. Think how I'd feel if you were… Does it hurt?'

'Yes.'

He lowered his voice. 'Was it horrible?'

She nodded. He reached, and put his hand on her stomach. She flinched, at first. But the warmth and weight of his palm and fingers were comforting; she placed her own hands over his and held them tight. She remembered her dream about the bull, and told him.

'A bull?' he said.

'A German bull. It was sticking its horn in me. When all the time I suppose it was Mr Imrie-'

Reggie laughed. 'I knew he was a dirty old man the moment we went in. What a sod though, to hurt my girl!'

'It's not his fault.' She got out her handkerchief and blew her nose. 'It's yours.'

'Mine! I like that!' He kissed her again. 'If it wasn't for you, driving a fellow crazy…' He rubbed his cheek against her head. The weight of his hand on her lower belly began to feel different. He had moved his fingers. 'Oh, Viv,' he said.

Now she pushed him away. 'Get off!' She laughed, despite herself. 'It's all right for you-'

'It's hell for me.'

'The thought of- Oh!' She shuddered.

He laughed, too. 'You say that now. We'll see what you think in a week or two.'

'A week or two! You're loopy. A year or two, more like.'

'Two years? I will be loopy. Let a man hope, at least. That's more than they give you for desertion.'

She laughed again; then caught her breath and shook her head, suddenly quite unable to speak. They sat for a minute or two in silence. He moved her hair with his chin and his cheek, and now and then put his mouth to her brow. The room began gradually to warm up. The pain in her stomach and back subsided, until it felt like the deep but ordinary ache one got, every month, with the curse. But she felt utterly without strength.

In time, Reggie stood and stretched. He looked at the bar and said he fancied a drink. He went and picked out a bottle; when he opened it up and smelt it, however, he made a face: 'Coloured water!' He tried another. 'They're all the same. And, look!' There were cigarettes in a box; but they were made of pasteboard. 'What a dirty trick. We shall have to make do with this, I suppose.'

He'd brought a little bottle of brandy with him. He pulled the stopper from it, and offered it to her.

She shook her head. 'Mr Imrie said I ought to have stout.'

'I'll get you some stout later on, if you like. Have a nip of this for now, though.'

She hadn't eaten all day, because of the anaesthetic: she took a sip, and felt the liquid as she swallowed it, travelling down her throat to her empty stomach, warm as a tongue of fire. Reggie drank some too, then lit up a cigarette. She couldn't quite manage that; but the smell, at least, didn't make her sick…
I must be better
, she thought-realising it then, in that moment, for the first time.
I must be OK
. The thought spread through her like the brandy. She closed her eyes. There was only the pain, now; and that, compared to everything else, would be easy.