by John Braine
"Hello there, Sue," he said. He looked at his watch. "One nine three oh precisely. Operation Supper to begin." He laughed, well pleased with his own facetiousness. "Lord, what a pong," he said. "Don't know how you stand it, Sue."
He looked at me sharply. "This is Joe Lampton," Bob said. "Jack Wales, Joe Lampton. You should have something in common. You were both intrepid birdmen, weren't you?"
Jack laughed and put out a hamlike hand. He tried to outgrip me but he couldn't manage it.
"Speaking for myself," he said. "I'm glad it's over. Flying's fun, but being shot at is most disconcerting."
"Too true," I said. "Not that the fun of flying didn't pall upon me eventually."
"What blasé young men you are," Eva said. "Can we ask you to have a drink, Jack?"
"Terribly sorry," he said, "but you know what a stickler for punctuality Papa Brown is. Some other time, we'd be delighted. Or rather, I'd be delighted -- " he winked heavily at Eva -- "we'll leave the others behind. Just you and me, eh?"
We were all listening to him as if he were royalty explaining graciously that it was impossible, owing to other engagements, to open the bazaar but perhaps some other time . . . When he and Susan left there'd be an emptiness in the room, they'd be travelling into warmth and luxury and gaiety and we, somehow, would be left to a cold Monday drabness.
I didn't add my pleadings to Eva's; though I had an intuition that Susan would have liked to go with us.
"Tha doesn't have to coax me to sup some ale, lass," I said to Eva, deliberately dropping into broad Yorkshire to counterattack Wales's genuine officer's accent, as carelessly correct as his tweed suit. "Coom on." I turned to Susan, giving her my best smile, which I've had to practise a great deal because my teeth, though passable, only remain so by reason of a yearly agony at the dentist's. I would have liked to have teeth as white as my rival's (for so I had already thought of him) but a smile with the mouth closed and the eyes wrinkled a little at the corners can be just as effective with women as the showing of the teeth; or at least so I thought at that moment, seeing her blush. "I'll remember the flowers next time," I said.
"Thank you," she said. Her eyes were shining; I knew that this was due to excess moisture, possibly in her case to the irritation from too generously applied mascara, but it made her look like a child at Christmas. I wondered if she got many compliments from the big lummox standing possessively beside her.
When we were outside in the street Eva gave me another mock-playful blow in the chest.
"You're a very direct sort of a person, aren't you?"
"I always go straight for what I want."
Bob grinned maliciously. "Jack didn't like your promise of flowers. I detected signs of jealousy."
"He's not engaged to her."
"Ah, but he's known her all his life. Childhood sweethearts and all that."
"How pretty," I said.
5
Two months after, I was in the Public Library trying to explain elementary bookkeeping to the Chief Assistant, a dapper little man whom I'd met at the Thespians. He'd made a dreadful mess of his Cash Deposits book; such a mess that for a moment I suspected him of teeming and lading. Then I discovered that he'd overpaid by ten shillings out of his own pocket. Like a great many people who are very bright in other directions he lost all his wits when confronted with a column of figures; it had apparently never occurred to him that the deficit might be due to a simple error of entry.
"I'm no good at this sort of thing," he said querulously when I'd finally straightened the matter. "I'm spending an hour a day on these damned books. Seems a bit of a waste. Not to mention your time."
"That old boy's going to explode soon," I said, watching a white-haired man trying to explain what he wanted to one of the junior assistants, a thin youth, who'd already acquired the librarian's stoop. "Look, Reggie, I'll see Hoylake about the C. and D. There must be some easier way."
Either we could cut down the numbers of different receipts, I thought, or else take over the whole business ourselves, collecting the money and entering it up each morning. Whatever my suggestions were, Hoylake would listen to them. He was a great improvement over the Efficient Zombie. Even now, I don't like to remember the Efficient Zombie. He had a large head with short oiled hair and an absolutely immobile face. It wasn't dignified or even stony, it was dead; he seemed to take all the oxygen out of the air around him. I managed to flannel him into the belief that I approved of his particular brand of efficiency, and he liked me as much as he could like anyone. But working under him was always a strain.
He was one of those local government officers who have a guilty feeling about security of employment and the thirty-eight hour week; he was continually reminding us of the toughness of the world outside. And he was always worrying about what the Council thought of us. He needn't have; the majority of the members of the Council wouldn't have noticed if the entire Town Hall staff had gone to work naked. But there were some who, for the sake of publicity in the local rag, appointed themselves as scourgers of the pampered bureaucracy. Whenever there was a headline in the Dufton Observer (Councillor Hits Out at Conference, Let Town Hall Punch Time Clock, Salary Increase Fantastic) the Efficient Zombie would be stirred to increased activity and there would follow a spate of typewritten notices beginning, It has been brought to my attention, and ending THIS MUST STOP. Worse still, there were what he called Pep Talks which were made especially gruesome by the fact that, since he seemed to be able to speak and scarcely open his lips, his clear metallic voice seemed to come from nowhere.
We were expected to work all the time, which appears reasonable enough. The drawback was that we were always beginning jobs and then being forced to break them off, which in the long run wastes more time than the odd ten minutes spent smoking or flirting with the typist. And we worked overtime at least one evening a week; this pleased him very much, especially if a member of the Council heard about it, but had his staff been allowed to establish their own rhythm of working it wouldn't have been necessary.
Hoylake was eveything that the Efficient Zombie wasn't. He was short and tubby and amiable with an odd little toothbrush moustache and black library spectacles; he always reminded me of Robertson Hare except that he had a slight Yorkshire accent. He left us to our own devices; he didn't give a damn how the work was done as long as it was finished when we'd promised, and he refused to be bothered with details. His department in consequence was much more efficient than the Efficient Zombie's: we were a team of professionals, not a collection of adding-machines.
That was, so to speak, another gift from Warley: I was for the first time completely happy in my work. And I'd joined the Thespians and was beginning to mix with people of a kind I'd never mixed with before. The Thespians was like a club -- one which, particularly if you were a young man, was very easy to join. It was exclusive too; though there was nothing to stop working-class people joining it they somehow never did. Apart from that, the Thespians gave me something which I'd never enjoyed before: the sense of belonging, of being part of a community. Perhaps that sounds portentous, but let it stand. All in all, I was happy and contented; too much so perhaps. I'd already forgotten the resolution I made that afternoon at Sylvia's Café.
We were going over the C. and D. in the small room by the Lending Library counter which the Chief Assistant liked to call his office, though in actuality it was only a workroom. I saw Eva though the glass partition. The Chief Assistant beckoned her inside.
"Come and testify to my character, darling," he said. "Joe's practically accused me of cooking the books."
"My favourite man is never wrong."
"I thought I was your favourite man," the Chief Assistant said.
She patted him on the hand. "Until Joe came along, Reggie dear." She looked at the rows of new books. "Have you anything really shocking, Reggie? I adore mucky books, and you never have any in stock."
She was wearing a scent like burnt roses; it seemed to fill the room, overlaying the smell
of books and Pollywog paste.
"Do you know any good ones, Joe?" she asked me.
"I like my pornography in real life," I said.
"Well, what are we waiting for?"
Reggie was watching us with a curious intentness; the Library was the clearing house for all the town's gossip. I decided to change the subject.
"Did you know I'm playing Joshua?" I flexed my biceps and threw out my chest. "The strength of a giant and the heart of a child. Led away by a wicked woman -- "
"Damn the Casting Committee," she said, " I wanted to lead you astray, why didn't they give me the part?"
"The housekeeper's much nicer," Reggie said. "Needs real acting. Anyone can play Leda."
"Maybe," Eva said gloomily, "but I'm fed up with being wholesome. I long to be seductive and tempting. What's Alice got that I haven't got?"
"Who's Alice?" I asked.
"You've met her, you dope. Tall and slim and blonde. Used to act in Rep. You might have noticed her if you hadn't been making eyes at Susan."
"Is she married?"
"I hope so, she's been living with him nearly ten years. George Aisgill; you've met him too, he came to the last Social Evening. Lots of money. They seem happy enough -- " She stopped, as if she were on the verge of indiscretion.
"I remember her now," I said. "She seemed a bit offhand. In fact, definitely cold."
"You mean that she didn't succumb immediately to your charms," Reggie said. His tone was light, I couldn't take offence but I resolved to be more careful in front of him in future.
"You should never look at one woman when you're talking to another," Eva said. "No wonder the poor darling was offhand. Alice is a very sweet person indeed and I won't hear a word against her, so there."
"She's a damned good actress," Reggie said. "God, she was wonderful in The Playground. Absolutely exuded sex. Two old dears walked out in the middle of Act Two."
"Well, not quite as wonderful as all that," Eva said. "I saw it in London, and she'd pinched a lot of La Thomas's business -- you remember the way she took off her shoes? But she'll manage the part. She'll teach Joe a lot."
"Tall and slim and blonde. Goodgoodgood, I'm willing to learn."
"You'll have to keep an eye on him," Reggie said. His dark little face seemed rather wistful.
"Ee, lad, doan't tak on soa," Eva said, quoting from the play, "T'world's not ended 'cos tha's made a gurt fooil of thisen. We'll mak summat of thee yet."
Reggie put away the C. and D. "I'd better make sure that my staff isn't making a gurt fooil of itsen," he said, as he went out of the room to where the white-haired man was still trying to explain what he wanted to the junior assistant.
"Come and help me pick my books, Joe," Eva said, taking my arm. "Our Mr. Scurrah's quite agreeable, isn't he? A trifle flabby though. It's no job for a man."
"They're not all the same," I said.
Eva felt my biceps with hard little fingers. "You're a strong brute."
"I used to box."
"Don't you any more?"
"I didn't see the point of getting bashed up for nothing and I wasn't good enough to be a professional."
"You be a professional," she said, "and I'll run away with you. I couldn't resist a big, brutal, sweaty boxer."
I glanced quickly round the Library. We'd gone over to the Drama section, an alcove on the far side of the Lending Library. No one could see us, even if they'd been looking that way.
"I thought you were going to run away with me," I said. "Just for a weekend."
"I don't know what you mean." Her voice had lost its flirtatiousness.
"You said on Sunday -- "
"So that's it. Merely because I let you give me a beery kiss in the Props Room, you think the balloon's going up . . . No, dear, but no definitely."
"What did you promise for?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "You seemed to expect it. Besides, I'm not sure that I did promise you anything."
I felt a spasm of lust and anger. When I had kissed her on Sunday it had seemed that everything was going my way. At last, I thought, feeling her body against me, soft and scented, clean all over, above all, expensive, I was going to have a woman who would neither weep with shame afterwards nor eat fish and chips while she was doing it. I would have done better for myself at the Dufton Locarno.
"You're a genuine flirt, aren't you, honey?" I said to her. "Hasn't anyone got really annoyed with you?"
"I only mix with civilised people," she said coldly.
I took a deep breath. Being angry wouldn't help. "Don't worry. I won't bother you." I forced a smile. "You're too attractive, that's the trouble."
There was a pause. When she spoke again her voice had softened. "Joe, you're very inexperienced. You can't get everything you want all at once. Will you remember that?"
"I'll remember," I said, not knowing then what she really meant.
6
It was the first reading of Meadowes Farm that evening. When I arrived at the Thespians the producer, Ronnie Smith, was already there. He worked in a bank, though you wouldn't have believed it at first sight. He was wearing green suede shoes, a very old pair of flannels, a yellow crew-neck sweater, and a golf jacket; with his seamed face and brilliantined hair thinning at the temples he looked like a middle-aged actor, which I suppose was exactly what he wanted.
"Hello there, Joshua," he said or rather shouted, that being part of the theatrical pose. "God, you've got a lovely part. Out of this world." He repeated the phrase with relish. "Yes, out of this world. You'll have to work though, God, you'll have to work!"
"You're scaring him," said Eva, who'd just entered with Alice. "T'lad's cum to enjoy hisen, 'aven't you, luv?"
"Hello, Eva," I said, "Hello, Alice. You look most seductive, I must say."
"That's very kind of you," she said. "Actually I feel terrible." Her voice wasn't very friendly; she certainly wasn't succumbing instantly to my charm.
At the side of Eva, who had a rosy complexion and a bouncing vitality, she did in fact look pale and haggard. She had honey-coloured hair which at that time she wore in a bun, and thin features. She had an angular fashion-plate figure, to which her big breasts didn't seem to belong; in the white sweater she was wearing, they seemed to sag with their own weight. In a way this appealed to me more than firmness; it was a guarantee of reality. I could imagine myself touching them.
I repressed the thought. It wasn't any use. I remembered Eva rubbing herself against me: You're wonderful, we must do something about this, we'll go away -- a lot of good it had done me. I remembered Susan at the last Social Evening: Jack had never let her out of his sight and had whisked her straight home in a shiny new M.G. Alice wasn't for me; I might as well abandon that idea before it took too firm a hold.
I looked at the rest of the cast. Herbert Downs owned a small weaving mill, Johnny Rogers's father owned a coal business, Anne Barlby's father owned three groceries; Jimmie Matthews, the youngest, was attending classes at the Leddersford Technical College; Jimmie was going to help his daddy in the family firm, as no doubt Johnny was. Anne's big brother was learning the grocery business, of course, right from the bottom just like anyone else: Anne was going to the Leddersford School of Art which would keep her out of mischief till she got married, possibly to Johnny, whose father's business was expanding rapidly under the wicked Labour government. They all had more money than I, but it wasn't big money. It was all too easy to reach their grade, so consequently I didn't respect them very much. I looked at them gesturing freely but jaggedly as they talked in their best accents about The Lady's Not for Burning , and jeered at them mentally, one of the landed gentry watching the tradespeople ape their betters. But my feeling of superiority was short-lived; the first reading went very badly. Perhaps because I was still irritated about Eva and Susan, I made a thorough hash of my lines, mispronouncing the simplest words and emphasising almost every sentence incorrectly. We had to stop for a moment when I referred to a roadman's brassiere; I joined in the lau
ghter but it was a considerable effort.
"D'Eon Rides Again," said Alice. "What a thought -- erotic voices among the working classes." She spoke directly to me. "I am working class," I said sulkily. "And you needn't explain your little quip. I know all about the Chevalier. I read a book once."
She flushed. "You shouldn't -- " she began, then stopped. "I'll tell you afterwards." She smiled at me and then turned back to her script.