The Watchers on the Shore (31 page)

'What was that?'

'I was telling Albert and Vic how you keep the domestic ship
afloat.'

'Don't exaggerate,' she tells him. 'I came to see if you were
thinking about going. You know we said we wouldn't be late.

You've got to be up and out in good time in the morning.'

'I know, and we'll go in a few minutes.'

He kisses her on the tip of her nose and Conroy shoots me an
amused look. This kind of thing between two people when others
are there can be irritating but I find the effect now rather touching.
And suddenly, seeing the two of them like that, obviously batty
about each other, Wilf Cotton as Yorkshire as I am and his wife a rather frosty Standard English type, it seems more possible some
how for Donna and me. Except that he's Somebody and I'm just a
common or garden draughtsman. But still... It's as though I've
suddenly opened my mind to the feasibility of a future for us; a
notion that doesn't seem as ridiculous and beyond thinking about
as it somehow did before. Little things ...

The tall feller in the bow-tie comes in looking for somebody who turns out to be Wilf Cotton.

Look, Wilf, what do you think. Don't you think she's absolutely right for it?'

'I think she'd be great, Clive. But she doesn't seem exactly sold
on the idea.'

'Have you talked to her?'

'Yes, I told her the story-line and a bit about the character, but I
detected a noticeable lack of enthusiasm.'

Oh, don't worry. I can handle Donna. Leave it to me. Where is she?'

He darts out into the living-room and Cotton and his wife
exchange a look which ends with him giving a silent shrug.

This Clive's back in a minute, pulling Donna behind him. Almost
literally pulling, with his hand round hers in a grip she can't get free of.

'Here she is. Now you tell Wilf. Put him out of his misery.'

'Really, Clive. I can't just -'

Look, ducky, he's completely sold on you, wild with enthusiasm.'

Cotton looks at them both, saying nothing.

'But I haven't even read the script.'

'There'll be one in the post Wednesday morning. But he's
written it and I'm going to direct, so you can take our word for its
not being rubbish. In fact, it's the best woman's part I've seen in
six months.'

'I really don't think this is either the time or the place to - '

'Oh, stop stalling, Donna. Don't you want to get out of that
flea-pit and do something big?'

A very forceful bloke, this Clive. I wonder if anybody else besides me can see that he's still holding Donna where she's
standing by brute force, his fingers round hers in a way that must be twisting and crushing them something painful. It's there in her
eyes, though she's saying nothing. I reach out and take his arm.

Steady on, mate.'

He twists his head to me, an irrelevant interruption.

'What?'

'You're hurting her.'

'Oh, rubbish.' He turns away. 'Now look—'

But I keep hold of his arm, tightening my grip until he's forced
to take notice of me again.

'Mate.'

'Look, what's the matter with-?'

'Let go of her hand. You're hurting her.'

All eyes are on us now.

'Who the hell are you?' Matey says and a great spasm of anger
and hatred for him shakes me. I don't want to shout so I say low
and hard through my teeth:

'Let go of her bloody hand, and quick.'

He lets go and a cross between a sneer and a smile comes to his face. My heart's beating fast. I hate scenes in public but he's not getting away with that kind of thing. Donna rubs her fingers. They're white where he's had hold of them. I wonder why she hasn't slapped him down. She's got the spirit for it.

'Aren't you the forceful north-country boy?' this Clive says.

'I just don't like blokes who manhandle women,' I tell him.

'Brings out all the chivalrous instincts in you, does it? Is he a friend of yours, Donna?'

'Yes, I am a friend of hers but that's beside the point.'

'I've got the picture,' he says.' Musn't spoil a beautiful friendship. Got to give our friend a chance to play the protector.'

Cotton moves to break it up. 'Come on, Clive. You let yourself
get carried away.'

'He'll get carried out, if he doesn't watch it,' I tell him.

This Clive's half a head taller than me but we're about even
in weight and I'm mad enough to make up for any disadvantages I
don't know about.

'Our friend seems set on a brawl,'he says as Wilf takes his arm.

Never mind that,' Cotton says.' It's time we were off, and you've got to drive us back.'

Such a pity to disappoint him,' Clive calls over his shoulder as Wilf ushers him out, turning his head for a second to wink at me.

Marguerite hangs back for a minute to speak to Donna.

'Are you all right?'

'Yes, of course I am. I don't know why there had to be such a fuss. I'll come and see you out.'

'Don't bother; we can manage.'

'I'll come with you to the door.'

Bastard,' I say to Conroy as they go out. 'Did you see how he'd got hold of her hand?'

'No, not till you mentioned it.'

'He was nearly breaking her fingers and she was standing there
saying nowt.'

Albert pours himself some more beer.

'I thought you were going to drop him one on.'

'Another word and I should have done. What was it all about,
anyway?'

'I think they were talking about a TV play.'

'And who the bloody hell does Mister Clive What's-his-name
think he is? God Almighty?'

'Carter, they call him. Here, have some more beer.'

My heart's only now beginning to stop thumping. I put my hand
inside my jacket and feel it as Albert passes the bottle over.

'I wouldn't make a fuss about it to Donna, if I were you.'

'What d'you mean?'

'I gather they used to know each other before.'

'What the hell's that got to do with it? He doesn't bloody own
her, does he?'

'No, and neither do you.'

'Look, Albert, he was crushing her hand - hurting her. I had to
go for him.'

'Yes. And now you've made your gesture. I'd let it drop and
mind my own business.'

'Well, for Christ's sake, Albert -'

He cuts me short, taking my arm.

'Come on, let's circulate and find Fleur.'

The Christmas show was Fleur's last with the company and this
party is partly a farewell do for her as she's going back to live in
London. We've timed it nicely because as we go into the living-room
the producer, a chap called Sanderson, is on his feet on the hearth,
calling for attention.

'Listen, everybody ...'

'Order, please,' somebody shouts in a deep voice.

'While we're all here...'

'Let's not get personal.'

Order, please,' the voice shouts again.

'Thank you, Geoff,' Sanderson says.

'Orders
please!
'

'Yes, Geoff.
Thank
you ... I was saying ...'

'Will you kindly give order!'

'Sit on him, somebody.'

'Thank you .. . Now, while we're all here, I've got to remind you that one of our number is leaving us. I don't have to tell you how Fleur has graced the old Palace boards ...' There's a few wolf whistles and calls of 'Good old Fleur.' ' ... But now she's done her last production with the company and she's off to try her luck in the big city. I'd like you to join me in drinking to her and wishing her all good fortune in the future. To Fleur!'

The toast is taken up all round the room and a cove standing at
one end of the sofa turns round and falls gracefully backwards
across the knees of the people sitting there, ending up with his feet
on one arm and his head in Fleur's lap. He looks soulfully up at
her.

Say it's not to be for ever, dearest.'

The three of them push at once, rolling him off so that he falls on
his face on the carpet at their feet. He stays there, looking as if he's
gone to sleep.

I look at Albert.

'What now, then?'

He grins. 'I've got her new address, mate; don't you worry.'

I hang on as the party starts folding up, hoping to be able to
see Donna alone; but finally I find myself going down the stairs
with the last leavers. Once at the car, though, as the others are
going off, I tell Albert I'm going back.

'To Donna's?'

'Aye, I want
to talk to her.'

'Well, if you don't mind walking home, mate.'

I nip smartly back up the stairs and give the bell a short jab. She
opens the door.

'Oh. Have you forgotten something?'

'No.' I step inside. 'I wanted to talk to you.'

She leads the way into the living-room. Her face looks pale and
drawn with tiredness. I suppose a first night is a big strain anyway,
without other things on top of it.

'Look, I just wanted to say I'm sorry about tonight. About
making a scene, I mean.'

'Oh. that's all right.'

'I had to do it. I mean, any decent bloke would've cut up.'

She nods.' Yes. He's all right. A bit... well, impetuous and full
of himself.'

'You knew him before, didn't you?'

'Yes, I know him from some time back.'

She shivers a little as though somebody's walked over her
grave and looks round at the dirty glasses and overflowing
ash-trays.

'The trouble with parties is they're so sordid afterwards.'

'Like casual sex.'

She musters a tiny smile. 'Yes.'

'I'll help you to clear up. It won't take long.'

No, I'll do it in the morning. I'll just make some coffee and go Jo bed. Do you want some?'

'Please.'

She starts towards the kitchen and I look round for a minute
then begin to collect the glasses up. When I take all I can carry into
the kitchen she's got the milk on and is standing at the table meas
uring Nescafe into the cups. I put the glasses down and go to her and put my arms round her from behind, sliding my hands up to
cup her breasts; not in anything like lust, but just with a yearning
to comfort her in some way, because somehow I know this is what
she's in need of.