The Watchers on the Shore (25 page)

'Aye. Every time you move it costs you money, though.'

'There's only the two of you to think about. No kids. Why
worry? Move around a bit if you want to. Get some experience.
This isn't the end of the line for me. I shall go when the time's ripe.
Pastures new, and all that.'

'It's all right for you.'

'It's all right for
you.
Look, Vic, all due respect to Ingrid, but why should a bloke of your age have to think that every job he
takes is going to last him for ever? Time enough to settle in one spot
when you've got two or three kids and education to think about.
You've made the biggest break - getting out of your hometown
and losing all the people who sit on your back and stop you doing
what you want to do.'

'I know. I've had all this out with myself.'

'You must have. I'm not saying they
tell
you what to do, but
they put pressures on you just by being there. It's harder for you
and Ingrid because her mother's a widow and she feels she's desert
ing her. I know. Suppose you'd stayed on another couple of years,
though, and your old feller had cocked his clog. You'd have felt
you ought to stick around for your mother's sake. The lucky ones
get out while they're still single and have no ties at all. You've made
it just in time.'

I take his empty glass out of his hand and go to the bar for refills.
When I get back to him I say:

That's all very well, Albert, but you make it sound as if nobody ought to want to stop at home. I mean, Cressley's no paradise, but Longford isn't either, is it?'

'You can always go back, Vic. People think better of you if
you've been around a bit. Even moving away from a firm can do it.
If you'd have gone back to Whittaker's when the shop folded
you'd have
been treated with more respect than if you'd stayed on all the time.'

'Even though it'd've looked as if I'd made a mistake?'

You got out. You showed you weren't dependent on them. You stay too long in one place and they'll think you breathe by courtesy of them. If you went back now you'd get on better still because you've had some experience elsewhere. But you still wouldn't get the money you're getting here. Remember that one. It's the same with people outside the job. The thing is to have
choice.
Always keep that power of choice. It's one of my golden rules. Don't let other people put pressures on you and tell you how to run your life.'

At which point, with that letter in my inside pocket, a tight little ironic smile wouldn't be out of place. But I keep my face straight,
smiles ironic or otherwise having no place in my feeling about that
little piece of composition.

'You can't get away from other people, Albert,' I say.

'I'm not saying you've got to kick everybody in the teeth and
look after number one. But you're the only one who can live your
life. You're saddled with it, mate.'

'It's funny ... I was giving almost the same advice to our Jim over Christmas. Only that had to do with a bird.'

'It applies,' Conroy says. 'It applies all the way down the line.'

'Ah well,' I say; 'we'll see what Ingrid thinks of it all when she comes down.'

'You've got no plans for her coming to stay yet?'

'No, not yet.'

'I wondered. There's a nice little bungalow development going
up out on the Colchester Road. They look to be nice houses. I thought about you when I saw them.'

'I was thinking more in terms of another flat for the time being.'

'It's money gone for ever when you pay rent.'

'Aye, but house prices are up a bit down here.'

'You'd get a mortgage. And don't forget that you buy high but
you sell high as well. Higher, if you're lucky. You wouldn't lose
money on it.'

He whips back the bottom quarter of his pint as the barman calls
for last orders.

'Come on, we can just get another one in.'

'Just a half for me.'

'Sure?'

Yeh. I've still got half of this left.'

He weaves his way through the crowd to the bar and I watch him go, thinking again, thinking . . .
No, it's ridiculous. He's got no reason ... But who? Is somebody watching me now? I look round the
room and have the unlikely idea that Donna might just
be there. But of course there's no sign of her
and when Conroy comes back with the drinks I'm busy with thoughts of when I can see her again.

'I'll tell you what,' Albert says, tipping the beer from the small glass into my pint with one quick turn of his wrist, 'I don't mind
running you and Ingrid round in the car for an hour when she
comes down.'

'That's very good of you, mate.'

'No trouble. It'll give her a chance to see more, get an overall picture.'

'Yes, fine.'

'I suppose it'll clip your wings a bit when she gets in residence.'

'How d'you mean?' I say, wary now, watching for signs.

'Well, there won't be as many little sessions like this, for instance.'

'No, I suppose not... I'm quite enjoying playing the bachelor
as well.'

He grins. 'I know you are, you bugger.'

I'm quick to rise. 'I don't mean I'm - '

He lifts his hand. 'I'm not saying anything. Only that it's nice
to be able to chat up an attractive bird without the wife looking over
your shoulder.'

I hesitate. Then I say, 'If it isn't the wife it's likely to be somebody else.'

'As long as you're far enough from home.'

'It sometimes doesn't matter how far you are,' I say, keeping
my eyes on him and not able to fault his casual puzzlement as he
says:

What d'you mean?'

'This sort of thing, for instance.'

I bring the letter out, slipping the sheet out of the envelope and
handing it to him.

He takes it in one hand, his glass in the other hand travelling
towards his mouth as he starts to read. He lets it come down again without drinking, then glances quickly behind him for somewhere to stand it. He reads the note properly now, letting his eyes rest on
it when he's finished. He says nothing, turning a solemn look on
me and holding his hand out. I give him the envelope and he looks
at that.

Hell fire!' he says finally.' Hell fire!' Soft, just over Ms breath, and wondering.

'When did this arrive?'

Middle of last week.'

'Did she take it bad?'

I shrug. 'You know how it is. However much you convince
them there's bound to be some doubt left; else why would anybody
write the letter?'

'Malice,' Conroy says. 'Why else?'

That's what I told her. No friend of either hers or mine would write a thing like that.'

''You're right there. Did you get out of it, though? I mean, it's not done any real damage, has it?'

'I don't think so. I admitted I knew Donna, of course. No use
denying that. Trouble is, there's just enough truth in what it suggests
to make me feel uncomfortable.'

'I can see that. I'll bet it makes you feel creepy as well.'

'Aye. Knowing somebody's been watching me, sizing things up,
wanting to do me some harm.'

'Who, though?'

'Aye, who? Who do I know down here outside you and Jimmy and the crowd from the theatre?'

'And how did they know your address?'

'Yeh, that's another thing.'

You've never seen anybody from home down here, have you?' Conroy asks. 'A rep. maybe.'

I shake my head. 'No, nobody.'

'Have you ever given your address to anybody?'

'No . .. But it's in the office files, I suppose.'

'But who in the office would want to -?'

'Look Albert, I don't know why anybody would want to. But
it's happened. If you can't think of anybody you begin to suspect
everybody. If it comes to that, you're the only one who knows my
address and that I like Donna.'

He looks at me, real startled, for a moment.

'You don't mean to say you've been thinking ...?'

'I haven't been thinking owt, Albert. I've been wondering.'

He blushes suddenly, the only time I've ever seen it happen to
him, a great red flush spreading up from his collar on to his face.

'Well, by bloody hell!'

He turns away from me and picks up his glass, gripping it hard
as though wondering whether to let me have it in the face.

Look, 'course I don't think you did it.'

'Thanks very much.'

'Oh, bloody hell... Would I have shown it to you if I'd really
suspected you?'

'Confrontation,' Albert says. 'Watch for me to make a slip.'

'Well, if you're going to carry on like this ...'

I look into my glass, my face set and my own temper rising.

'How the hell do you expect me to behave?'

I snap at him. 'Oh, bollocks.'

We drink together, glasses up and down in unison as though our
arms are geared to the same piece of mechanism. He stands there, sideways on to me, looking across the room, his face hard, the
colour fading from it now, leaving it, if anything, a shade paler than normal.

'Albert,' I say in a minute. 'Don't be a nit.'

He's a second or two before he speaks and he empties his glass before saying in something like a growl:

'Aye, I suppose you're right. I've never had a letter like that so I
can't really know what it's like.'

'No.'

He turns then and looks me straight in the eye, as though he's
determined to shift every last shadow of doubt about him out of
my mind.

'They certainly do their work, though, don't they?' he says.

In the middle of Monday morning - or climbing up the hill to lunchtime to be more exact -I happen to be nearest to the office phone when it rings, so I pick the receiver up and have the pleasant surprise of hearing Donna's voice at the other end of the line, asking for me.

Speaking ... How are you this dreary old Monday morning, then?'

'Oh, you know who it is?'

I knew your voice straight away. Are you having another party?'

'No, not just yet.'

'We can always think of something if you need an excuse.'

'Yes, I'll bet. Can anybody hear you speaking?'

'Well, there are people in the office but nobody's taking any
notice. What's up?'

'Listen, were you planning to come to the Mitre tonight?'

'I was thinking I might well do that.'

'I want to talk to you about something.'