by Brian Aldiss
To be accused thus of having women up in my room – as if I were some common little seducer! – by this vulgarian made me very angry. But he continued, ‘Come in my room a moment. There’s a thing or two you can help me on.’
‘I am a busy man, Mr Lawrence.’
‘Not too busy to help a chap, I hope. I know you’re as thick as thieves with Flossie Meacher. You wouldn’t want me to tell her about the pushers you have up in your room, would you?’
In this there was some truth. Though I had no great liking for Mrs Meacher, I did not wish to be lowered in her estimation. Making the best of a bad job, I stepped into Lawrence’s untidy room.
The room contained an unmade bed, chairs, a table covered with beer and milk bottles, a pile of dirty clothes on the floor, and precious little else. Obviously the man lived a bohemian way of life I found distasteful; my parents had always brought me up to be tidy in all I did.
Lawrence offered me a cigarette.
‘I’ll smoke one of my own, thank you,’ I said. I am a great believer in avoiding unnecessary germs. We both lit up – I condescended to share his match – and he said, ‘Flossie Meacher don’t think much of me, does she?’
‘I have no idea of her opinions on the subject.’
‘Oh yes, you have! I heard her telling you on the landing I was a dirty bastard. I stood here with my door ajar and heard every word you two said.’
‘Mrs Meacher would not use foul language, Mr Lawrence.’
‘Come off it, mate. Who do you think you are?’
Inspiration came to me at this point; I can think very quickly on occasions. It occurred to me that there would probably be other emergencies after Miss Colgrave, of a similar nature, and here I could turn this meeting to my future advantage.
‘I merely came down, Mr Lawrence, to ask you if you could lend me a blanket. The nights are growing chilly.’
This disconcerted him. He looked very silly with his mouth open. I never open mine more than I can help, although my teeth are a good deal more attractive than his.
‘I might have a spare blanket,’ he said at last. ‘But I was going to ask you about Flossie Meacher.’
‘I will be pleased to tell you what I know in exchange for a blanket.’
‘So that’s the way it is! You’re a funny cove, Cream, and no mistake … Well then, tell me this: is her husband, old Tom Meacher, dead?’
‘I understand her husband passed away before she came to live in Institute Place.’
‘Did he now? Poor old Tom! How did he peg out?’
‘Mrs Meacher gave me to understand that her husband passed away due to pneumonia.’
‘I see. I used to know old Tom Meacher. He used to have the occasional pint with me when I was working in Walthamstow. He was a brickie, same as me.’
I thought his coarse disgusting hands looked like a bricklayer’s. I signified I was ready to receive the blanket and go.
‘Not so fast. Here, sit down and have a beer with me like a civilised man.’
‘Thank you, but to my knowledge civilised men do not touch beer. Certainly I never drink it.’
‘You’re a real snob, mate, aren’t you?’
‘Not at all. I will speak to anyone in any walk of life. I just have standards, that’s all.’
‘Standards … Ah well.’ He shrugged his shoulders and went on. ‘Tell me some more about Flossie. She’s a proper martinet, isn’t she?’
‘She observes the decencies, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Comes to the same thing. People who observe decencies never got any time for anything else. I know she drove old Tom to drink, and then spent her life trying to keep him off it.’
‘Mr Lawrence, Mrs Meacher’s private life is entirely her own affair.’
‘Ah, but it’s not, you know. You see, I’m scheming to marry Flossie Meacher.’
Other people’s lives can be so sordid that I really do not care to hear about them. But this man Lawrence’s announcement surprised me to such an extent that I consented to sit by his table and listen while he told me a rambling tale. Several times I lost the thread of what he was saying, for it really was not particularly interesting.
He opened a bottle of beer for himself, as if he could not think without the nauseating stuff.
‘I daresay you’re wondering, Cream, why I should I want to marry a woman I know is a young battleaxe, eh? It’s a funny story, really, I suppose. The years go by and things don’t get no different … I’m the sort of man who needs a harsh woman, Cream. I’ve always been the same …’
I had been more fortunate. I had had a harsh mother to show me what the world was really like. That might have been the difference between this man and me; you could see even in the way we dressed which of us had had proper discipline as a child. I could still recall vividly the agony of having Mother clean my nails with the sharp file that dug down into the quick; in fact I think of it most times I bite my nails, even today.
‘I was the youngest of seven kids, Cream. My parents were as kind as could be – never hurt a fly – and my brothers and sisters were kind too. We lived in a place out Dagenham way. Funny thing about their kindness – they never told me what to do, never told me a thing. You won’t believe this, but I grew up in a proper maze, really lost, although there was lots of people all crowded round me all the time …’
Oh, I believe it all right, Mr Lawrence, because you obviously are lost now. It just shows how breeding will tell. I was my parents’ only child. I had their attention all the time, and as a result I have grown up neat and normal and sensible. Although Mother and Father passed away years ago, I often have the feeling they still watch over me. Well, I don’t have to reproach myself for anything. I’ve grown up as they would wish. In fact I think I may say I’m stronger and just a little more respectable than they were. That was almost the last thing I said to Miss Colgrave, I remember, when I finally got her down into the chair. Disgraceful the way their bowel muscles lose control in those last moments. Father was so particular about such things; many’s the whipping he gave me for wetting my bed; I know he would understand how I felt about Miss Colgrave.
‘It was only when I was twelve anyone took any proper notice of me. Funny how it comes back to you, ain’t it? I can see the broken railings round our back yard now … It was when I was twelve I had my first girl friend. Sally, her name was, Sally Beeves. She was so pretty, she was. God, I can see her now! She had a little sister, Peggy. That pair made a dead set at me, Cream. They used to get me in the attic over the old garage her father ran. It’d turn your blood cold, Cream, if I told you all the things those girls did to me! Talk about torture. Why, one day, Sally got some rubber tubing …’
Disgusting men like Lawrence can never talk about anything but women. If I took him upstairs and showed him Miss Colgrave, he might think a deal less of their breed.
And now he was telling me horrible things I did not want to hear. I could not keep my own thoughts separate from them. For a moment I thought in my anger how good it would be if the world were rid of Lawrence. But that was not my job; I had enough work on my hands. Besides, being a fastidious man, I heartily dislike scuffles, and Lawrence was probably stronger than me. When selecting my women, I always make sure they are physically small and on the weak side, so that we avoid any unseemly struggles. Besides, I have my heart to think of.
‘Yet despite all she did to me, I loved Sally Beeves. You see, she was the first person ever to take real notice of me. The general family kindness wasn’t enough. Honest, you may laugh, but I preferred Sally’s cruelty. And sometimes when she made me cry, she’d kiss me, and then I’d swear to myself I’d marry her when I grew up …’
Marriage. I might have known Lawrence’s tedious tale would get round to that. Frankly, marriage is a subject I prefer to avoid. After Mother’s death I foolishly married that woman Emily; if she had been alive to guide me I am sure I should never have done so.
Yet on the surface Emily seemed respectable en
ough. She was older than me and had some money of her own. She insisted we went for our honeymoon to Boulogne, which rather put me out, since I dislike travelling abroad where people cannot speak English. We crossed the Channel on the night ferry. We had hardly got into our cabin before she started making advances in a very obvious way I could not ignore.
I was more shocked and disappointed with Emily than I can say. On some pretext or other I got her up onto the boat deck and pushed her over the rail. It was easy and then I felt better.
Of course, later I felt sorry. I remember I suffered from one of my periodic bouts of diarrhoea. But her parents were so sympathetic when they heard of the accident, I soon got over it.
‘As things turned out, Dad’s business went bust, and we moved, so I never saw Sally again. And somehow after that, well, ordinary girls didn’t have the same appeal. I have found other girls to treat me rough, but not in the same way as dear old Sally Beeves. Funny, isn’t it? I mean I sometimes think I actually prefer being unhappy.
‘Has it ever struck you, Cream, that we never really know ourselves, never mind other people?’
His life was a mess. Mine was so neat and self-contained. I had nothing in common with him, nothing at all. He was on his second bottle of beer already. Suddenly I stopped biting my nails and said, ‘About that blanket, Mr Lawrence …’
He said, ‘I was getting round to asking you about Flossie upstairs. Don’t you reckon she’d be the type for me, strict and hard? How old would you say she was?’
‘I have never thought to enquire.’
‘Make a guess, man.’
‘About forty.’
‘Ah. Thirty-eight or nine, I’d have said. And I’m forty-nine, so that wouldn’t be so bad. Mind you, I like comforts with my miseries – does she strike you as having money, Cream?’
‘She has her own furniture.’
‘Ah. Well, old Meacher make a lot of money out of building in the fifties, before he died. Left her quite a tidy sum. I did hear ten thousand pounds mentioned. So she must be hanging on to it tight to be living in a dump like this.’
‘Number Fourteen was perfectly respectable till you came here, Mr Lawrence.’
‘Don’t give me that! Have you ever been and had a sniff down the cellar? No, I don’t suppose you have. It wouldn’t be smart enough for the likes of you. It stinks as if they stored dead ’uns as well as lumber down there. Anyhow, the question is, has anyone else got his eye on our Flossie? And do you think she’d have me?’
‘Since you force me to be honest, I don’t think she’d even consider you, Mr Lawrence.’
‘Then maybe you’ve got a surprise coming, Mister Cream. Nothing wrong with me when I’m sober … Anyhow, what I want you to do is put in a good word for me. How about it?’
‘I can’t promise anything.’
‘Go on, I’ll give you a blanket. Two blankets.’
If the man wished to be foolish, I saw no reason why I should discourage him. I said I would do what I could. Eventually I accepted two very poor blankets from him and proceeded upstairs with them.
For an awful moment, I can’t say why, I thought it was my mother in the chair. I had completely forgotten Miss Colgrave as I came in the door. This made me feel very bad, and I decided to go out for a coffee.
It seems a pity that people who do all they can to deserve to be happy should not be happy all the time.
I sat in a small cafe where I sometimes go, drinking a coffee. I had already decided not to work that day. They did not appreciate my efforts at the warehouse. I would turn up on the next day, and if they make trouble I should simply leave. Money was rather a worry; I hardly had enough for cigarettes. With some surprise I thought over what Lawrence had said about Mrs Meacher having ten thousand pounds.
A girl came in and sat at the next table to me. She was about my type, so I got talking to her. With these girls, you don’t have to say much and they run on and on; they don’t mind if you don’t listen to them. This one said she was working at a nearby draper’s and that she did photographic modelling in her spare time.
Ha ha, my girl, I thought, I know your sort. I hate photography and all art, because they all lead to the same thing. If I had my way, I’d burn all the picture galleries in the world. Then we might have less of all this immorality you read about. I’ve heard Father say that painters and authors were minions of the Devil, although he made an exception for some improving writers like Lloyd Douglas and Conan Doyle.
When I found out from this girl that she came to the cafe at the same time every day, I knew I could get in touch with her when I wished. I told her I was a director of a big blanket-manufacturing firm in the Midlands, and she agreed to pose naked for me if I required it. Then I left the cafe, after bidding her good morning.
On the occasions when I have disposal troubles on my mind, I often take long rambles round London. This I did now, although it was rather chilly. My stomach was a little upset, so that I was forced to visit various gentlemen’s lavatories on my route. When I read some of the things written in the cubicles, they made me very ashamed and excited.
I watched some old buildings being pulled down. Demolition work always fascinates me, but my pleasure was spoilt by the racial people labouring on the site. These Jamaicans and other people should be sent back to Africa where they belong; there must be plenty of room for them there. Not that I believe in the colour bar. It’s just that there isn’t room for them here. I shouldn’t want a daughter of mine to marry anybody at all racial.
Being able to amuse myself has always been one of my virtues. I’m never lonely, and I don’t depend on other people. Father used to hate me playing with other boys; he said they might teach me dirty language. When I write filthy things on cubicle walls, it’s always to make other boys ashamed. So when I saw by a jeweller’s clock that it was half past four, I remembered I was invited to have tea with Mrs Meacher, and I directed my footsteps back towards Number Fourteen, Institution Place.
In the hall it was very dark. A slight smell drifted up from the cellar, dampish, mouldy, not unpleasant. Lawrence’s door was ajar, but by the silence there I guessed he was out. As I began to ascend the stairs, a voice from above called my name. It was Mrs Meacher.
When I reached her landing, I observed she was looking distraught.
‘I am afraid I am a little late for our tea party, Mrs Meacher,’ I said politely.
‘You’ll have to prepare yourself for a shock, Mr Cream. Something awful has happened.’
I dislike awful things happening. They are apt to happen where women are. I said, ‘I’m afraid I have to go out in a minute, Mrs Meacher.’
She became very wild.
‘You can’t go out. You can’t leave me. Come in here, please! It’s that Mr Lawrence. He’s dead!’
In her excitement, she had taken hold of my arm and half dragged me into her room.
The place was in a disgraceful state. I saw at once that it was well furnished, even down to having a nice carpet on the floor, and lampshades and pictures and things. But a table and an armchair had been overturned. A tray with a cup and saucer and such lay on the carpet, with lump sugar spilling out in a curve. Some of these lumps were red, sucking up the blood that lay in pools or splashes here and there.
The cause of the blood lay in one corner under the window, bent double with his head hanging over a small work table. It was Lawrence.
Though his face was turned away from me, I recognised him by the pattern of his shirt, and the width of his fat back. The shirt was disfigured with blood. A pair of scissors stuck out of it. I saw at once that these scissors were the weapon used, and congratulated myself on the fact that the scarf I employed during my upsets with Miss Colgrave, Miss Robbins and the others, was so much less messy.
I sat down on an upright chair.
‘Some water, please, Mrs Meacher. I feel quite faint at the sight of blood. You shouldn’t have brought me in here.’
She fetched me the water. As I was drink
ing it, she began to talk.
‘It wasn’t deliberate, really it wasn’t. I’m scared of men, I’m scared of men like that! He’s a boozer, just like my husband was – just the same. You never know what they’ll want next. But I never meant to kill him. I got so scared, you see. I could smell the drink on him. He scared me down in the dark hall, and then he followed me up here. I was scared out of my wits, really I was – but it wasn’t deliberate.’
‘I feel better for that,’ I said, putting the glass down. It was a nice clean glass with a leaf pattern cut in it. ‘You’d better tell me what happened, Mrs Meacher.’
She seemed to make an effort to calm herself, and sat down facing me so that she could not see Lawrence and the scissors.
‘There’s nothing much to tell, not really. Like I say, he followed me upstairs. He’d been drinking. I know the smell of beer all right, and you could tell by the way he acted. I couldn’t get this door shut in time. I had to let him in, he was so insistent. Oh, I got all scared. And then he got down on his knees and – and he – oh, he asked me to marry him.’
‘So you stabbed him with the scissors?’
‘I lost my head. I kicked him and told him to get up. He begged me to kick him again. He seemed to get all excited. When he grabbed my skirt, I know what he was up to. Drunken, filthy brute! My sewing things were left out on the table. Without realising what I was doing, I took hold of my big pair of scissors and drove them into his back as he knelt there.’
I noticed with distaste that there were a few splashes of blood on her blouse and skirt.
Her eyes were wide as she added in a whisper, ‘He took such a long time to die, Mr Cream. I thought he would never have done with blundering and falling round the room. I ran out until I heard he was quite still.’
‘He didn’t actually attack you, Mrs Meacher?’
‘I’ve told you what he did. He grabbed my skirt. I felt his knuckles on my stockings!’
‘He was touching your skirt in the process of proposing matrimony, I take it.’
‘Mr Cream, he was drunk!’
I stood up.