When George came across and spoke to him, Jos felt furious.
‘Enjoy yourself?’ he whispered fiercely.
‘Not ’arf mate,’ she said brightly.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Entertaining, same as you, only my services are free and more appreciated.’
She went off as suddenly as she’d come and was instantly claimed by a fat, middle-aged man who ushered her eagerly into his circle.
‘Georgy-porgy’s going to sing for us,’ he said.
George sang ‘I’m a whole lot of woman’, mimicking and clowning as she went, until the whole room was shrieking with laughter. James beamed and ordered her to give an encore, and when she’d finished took her off for a drink.
‘You’re the best entertainment in town, George,’ he said, ‘you should do it professionally.’
‘Ta I’m sure,’ said George, rolling her eyes and simpering.
‘You make me laugh till I cry,’ said James. ‘Here, have another.’ She took it. ‘Give me a kiss, darling,’ he said, ‘just to show me you still love your Uncle Jimsy-Wimsy.’
George swallowed her rising hysteria and kissed him. She’d been doing it, after all, since she was old enough to reach his great fat lips when he bent down over her pram. But the pattern was changing. The lips lingered now and the eyes leered. He was very drunk.
‘Come on, George,’ he said, ‘it’s hot in here.’
She put her glass down and followed him. He’d make her sing some stupid song just for him, then when she’d made a thorough fool of herself he’d say she was wonderful.
He took her to his sitting room.
‘What shall I sing?’ she said brightly.
‘Do you love your old uncle, Georgy?’
‘Of course. Passionately. Isn’t he the one man who’s crazy about me?’ said George, wondering why the sarcasm never penetrated.
‘That’s right. I’ve done a lot for you, George, and I’ll do a lot more. Give me a kiss.’
George dutifully pecked at him. He usually stood still and let her peck, but now he seized her and kissed her full on the mouth. His hands wandered up and down her body until her laugh sent them swiftly back to his sides.
‘What are you laughing at?’ he said, panting.
‘It’s so lovely,’ said George. She waltzed round him, spreading out her arms. ‘What more could a girl want than a devoted uncle who adores encouraging her to make an absolute idiot of herself and then declares himself passionately. It just makes me feel so happy, Jimsy-Wimsy, to know I haven’t been reared in vain. No, I’ve been specially designed to satisfy the most fussy of perverts.’
James struggled not to strike her. Shakily, he mopped his lips with his handkerchief and cursed himself for touching her. He wanted her very much. He always had, ever since he had realized no one else saw how desirable she really was. The more he made her act the fool, and saw other people thinking what an oaf she was, the more he secretly hugged his possession of her to himself. He wanted her to be utterly rejected before he took her completely for his own. He’d tried too soon, he’d lost his sense of timing.
‘We’ll say no more,’ he said pompously. George’s laughter infuriated him. ‘Stop laughing like that. You’re being a very silly little girl.’
‘Will you smack me?’ lisped George.
Jos saw them go out and come back. He saw how all the women looked pityingly at her and wondered how she’d managed to get herself up to look like an obscenely over-developed twelve year old. He was angry with her. She looked stupid. She had a long row of beads which she swung from side to side like a ruddy pendulum, and a cigarette holder which she stuck between her teeth and made faces round. When she saw him looking at her she shouted ‘Coo-ee’ and waved like a half-wit so that he frowned with embarrassment. He noticed her eyes were very bright and her cheeks flushed, as though she was having the time of her life. He remembered he didn’t know anything about her, so maybe she was.
Chapter Two
GEORGE COULD HAVE hugged them. She was passionate about her youngest class. There were ten of them, all around seven years of age, and they came to her for a dancing lesson twice a week, from their crummy private school round the corner. Each of them had some adorable trait that made her want to pick them up and kiss them.
She pranced into her music room, singing and conducting herself as she went. Then she sat down at the piano, and played a gay tune and whistled at the same time, until the first small face appeared round the door.
‘Come in, come into my parlour,’ she shouted.
The face broke into a giggle, and disappeared.
‘All you flies out there,’ she called, ‘you’ve got to come in as though you were all caught up in a web. I’m the spider and I’m playing spidery music.’
One after the other they writhed and crept into the room, each a fly dying a thousand deaths. George burst out laughing and played the music faster and faster, then leapt at them from behind the piano, and they were all caught in her arms. Next, they were machines and clanked their way round her, making whirring noises, until they ran out of oil and broke down. Lastly, they were flecks of dust floating around in the sunshine, which George enjoyed best of all, until she caught sight of the stupid fool in the mirror that was herself. I’m daft, she thought. Crackers. They must be killing themselves laughing at me. She looked at them carefully, but they weren’t laughing. They were deadly serious, and they didn’t see her for what she was at all.
She showed herself being a machine to Meredith when she went home.
‘Look,’ she said, standing on one leg, and moving the other up and down like a piston. ‘I’m a machine.’
‘You’re bloody well telling me,’ said Meredith.
‘No, really. Listen.’ She ground her teeth convincingly and rotated her head. ‘Don’t you think it’s good?’
‘Marvellous.’
‘Do you want to see me being a bit of fairy dust?’
‘No.’
‘You’re rotten. Whackso, jolly jinks, rotten.’
‘Are we going out?’
‘Why – isn’t Jos coming?’
‘No. He’s playing at a party.’
‘Oh – I saw him last night.’
‘Where?’
‘James’s Boozy Binge for Beat-up Bores.’
‘What were you doing there?’
‘Star of honour. I swung naked on a flying trapeze, while Jos balanced a rubber ball on his knees. Hey – that rhymes.’ She started singing the two lines over and over again and then suddenly stopped. ‘Of a Sat-di, I dine out, meself. What do you do of a Sat-di?’ She started laughing again.
‘What’s so funny about that?’ said Meredith.
‘The “of” bit.’
‘That’s not funny. Queen Victoria used it.’
‘That makes it funnier. It’s like “to my mind”.’
‘Everyone says that.’
‘I know.’
They went off down the stairs and were nearly at the bottom when George said, ‘Hey, what about Pegs?’
‘Christ,’ said Meredith.
‘Aw, come on. Let’s ask her.’
She thumped on Peg’s door and then, when it opened, flattened herself against the wall. Peg stood there, large and fat with her permanently quizzical expression mixed up with a grin.
‘I know who it is,’ she announced, her face red and beaming, ‘it’s Georgina Parkin, so stop messing about.’
‘Actually, madam, it’s a private detective. I’ve reason to believe this is a house of ill repute and you’re the ill reputed.’
‘Don’t muck about,’ said Peg, guffawing, and then folding her short fat arms under the large shelf of her bust.
‘Very well,’ rapped George, ‘I must ask you point blank, since you’ve forced things to a head, to accompany me to the Station where we’ll have a large plate of spaghetti Fred.’
‘When you two are finished,’ said Meredith.
They walked briskly
down the road towards Fred’s Caf.
‘O.K., Snowy,’ whispered George, ‘ready to shoot.’
‘Bang bang,’ said Peg.
‘You got him. Behind this boulder, quick – there’s no time to lose.’
She pulled the protesting Peg into the doorway of a chemist’s. Meredith sighed and walked on disdainfully.
‘See that man?’ said George. ‘We’ve got to trail him. We’ve just got to, whatever the risk. If he makes a break for it, you take the left and I’ll take the right. Good luck, Snowy.’
At Fred’s they all ordered spaghetti and George smoked while it came.
‘Disgusting,’ said Peg, frowning at the same time as she laughed, to show that she meant it.
George sighed, and stubbed it out.
‘You’re a hard woman, Peg Feather,’ she said, ‘you have your vices but you won’t let me have mine.’
‘I haven’t got any vices.’
‘Oh no – not much. We all know about her, don’t we Meredith? Drinking, drugs and men. I can tell you, my dear Peg, that if it wasn’t for us guarding your secret so closely it would have all been up with you long ago, my word yes. Wouldn’t it Meredith?’
Meredith ate in silence. She didn’t know which was worse: George jolly or George gloomy. She laughed in spite of herself once or twice, but mainly she just ate and looked cynically at the pair of them. She was sorry for Peg too, who wouldn’t be, but she thought it unhealthy for George to go around with her too much. She used her as a sort of ‘Count your blessings’ talisman which didn’t do Peg any good either.
‘Tomorrow is Sunday,’ said George, ‘thank God.’
‘Why?’ said Peg.
‘Because I don’t have to work. Fancy asking that. Don’t you live for Sundays?’
‘Nope.’
‘Well, you have Saturday off too, and all those holidays.’
‘Don’t like Saturdays either or holidays,’ Peg was still laughing and frowning at the same time to such a mixed up extent that Meredith felt all churned up inside.
‘Why not?’ said George. ‘Come on, Peg Feather, why not, eh?’
‘Boring.’
‘Don’t you do anything?’
‘Nope.’
‘Don’t you go to the pictures?’
‘Nope.’
‘My God, how do you live? Read then?’
‘Don’t like reading.’
‘Go for walks?’
‘Not by myself.’
George began to sweat with desperation. Please, please, she prayed, don’t let her be so miserable. I couldn’t bear it.
‘A likely story,’ she said, gaily. ‘Out on the tiles every night, Peg Feather, and trying to kid on you don’t do anything.’
Before Peg could insist, she ordered some coffee and gave a spirited imitation of James kissing her the night before. Even Meredith laughed. Peg couldn’t stop, and eventually braced herself with both arms against the wall.
‘Heh,’ said George, ‘look at Peg Feather’s arms.’
‘One’s wonky,’ said Meredith.
‘Keep still,’ said George, ‘don’t move until I get the doctor.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ said Peg, delightedly, ‘you can feel if you like. Broke one of them.’ They both felt the bony knob above one elbow while Peg proudly related the story that went with it.
‘I’ve got to go,’ said Meredith.
‘Where? I thought Jos was at a party?’ said George, in surprise.
‘He is. I’m not going with Jos. Cheerio.’
Hurt, George groped for another cigarette. Meredith could have told her earlier. It didn’t matter, but she could have bloody well have told her, instead of leading her on to think they were going to spend the evening together.
There was no alternative. She had to ask Peg back for coffee. Dreading it, she invited her and they walked back, this time without any games, and at a much slower pace. George dried up. She tried hard to think of something inane to say, or do, to stem the flood of moans that Peg was bound to let go when they were alone. As she felt her own reluctance to play father confessor, it struck her that maybe people felt like that when she was moody. But they could never feel as sorry for her as she felt for Peg.
They went past Peg’s door and up to George’s flat. George made some coffee and put a very noisy record on. Even under cover of that, there was an uncompanionable silence.
‘Where’s Meredith gone?’ Peg said.
‘With some fella I expect.’
‘Wish we could get boys as easily as she does,’ said Peg, still giggling through her air of gloom, ‘but who’d have us?’
‘Who indeed?’ murmured George, horrified. She had an almost painful urge to go and look at herself in the mirror. Instead, she furtively looked at Peg. She was enormous – not just fat, but enormous so there must be something wrong with her glands. Her large round face was red and shiny and her small nose was turned fiercely up so that you looked straight into her nostrils, which luckily she kept very clean. This unfortunate nose left permanently in view the top row of her teeth, which were very small, and widely spaced, and set in a broad gum so that there was much more gum than teeth. Her hair was thin and black, scraped back into a bunch of scrawny curls at the back. She sat like a farm yacker, knees well apart, and had a habit of punching herself on her fat thighs with her clenched fist as though chastising herself.
George smiled.
‘What are you laughing at?’ said Peg, and then without waiting for a reply, ‘You’re always laughing at me.’
George flushed crimson.
‘I can’t help it,’ she said, ‘you’re so sort of jolly. You cheer me up.’
‘I’m not jolly. I suppose you think I’m fat and happy?’ said Peg.
‘No, I don’t think that,’ said George, ‘but I wish you were.’
Peg’s face had lost its grin. It was bare and mean. She’d wanted George to say she wasn’t fat. It wouldn’t have mattered that it was a lie. She didn’t care how many lies people told if it made her feel better, and somehow it always did.
‘I’m going,’ she said, sulkily, ‘thanks for the coffee.’
‘That’s all right,’ said George, unhappily, ‘see you.’
The minute Peg had waddled off she flew to the mirror. She wasn’t fat, she hadn’t any disfiguring features, in fact if she did something with her hair and didn’t wear such daft clothes she’d be quite something. That is, compared with Peg, and always remembering that nothing could be done with her hair and any other sort of clothes looked silly on her.
The bell rang and she raised her eyebrows at her reflection. She took her glasses off as she went to answer and consciously practised a casual smile. It was James.
‘Hello Georgy-Porgy,’ he said, stepping in before she’d recovered. ‘I thought I’d come round and see how my little girl was getting on.’
He had a large box of chocolates in one hand. George automatically took them and put them on the table. He went across and stood with his back to the fire.
‘I’m forty-nine,’ he said.
‘Is that all?’ said George, absentmindedly.
‘That’s all. Forty-nine. I was twenty-two, and just married myself, when you were born. Your father was thirty and your mother was twenty-four. If it hadn’t been for me they would never have been able to get married. Your father was an out-of-work mechanic when I met him and I remember him saying, when I offered him a job as my valet, that he was afraid I might be very angry if he said he wanted to get married. I said all the better because I wanted a cook and housekeeper too. I was setting up house myself. We used to talk about the children we would have. You might not believe that, but we did. I never had any, and Ted only had you. I was determined, Georgy, to give you everything I’d have given a daughter of my own. I’ve always thought of you as a daughter. But you’re not, and it’s only now that I thank God for it.’
‘Why?’ said George, blandly.
‘Because then I couldn’t do what I’m going
to do.’
George looked at him, cautiously. It wasn’t very long since she’d been scared stiff of him. Her father had successfully dinned into her that without James their mouths would be empty and the roof taken off their heads. She shook in case she did something wrong, and looked at her mother with terror when she muttered that might be a good thing. When she was at school, the sight of James’s Rolls meant more to her than anything else and if she did something specially good she knew James’s smile of approval instantly earned a hundred more from her cipher of a father. And yet, in spite of the education and the constant visits and gifts, he’d never really shown much interest in her. He’d never talked to her, beyond the teasing remark or grunt of agreement. She didn’t know a thing about him, except that he was kind, busy, rich and occasionally bad-tempered. Once, he’d been the tall, strange uncle who was always magnificent and aloof; now, he was the large, benevolent socialite whose sense of humour was limited and sense of power overgrown. He rather repelled her.
She tried to look at him as though she’d never seen him before, which wasn’t impossible because she’d always been too much in awe of him, or lately too intent on getting away, to really stare.
If her father was a mere eight years older than him then James had worn well. He was in his prime, like a slab of red steak. His hair was still thick and black, his face hardly lined at all, though the bags under his eyes told another tale. He was definitely developing a paunch, but he carried it high up, the way some women do their babies, and it gave him a presence he wouldn’t otherwise have had. Usually, he beamed expansively on anybody and everybody, but tonight his face was grave, and therefore more likeable.
‘What was that?’ she said.
‘Make you an offer.’
‘What for? You’ve already given me so much and you know I don’t want anything more. I thought I’d explained.’
‘I don’t mean that,’ said James, impatiently. ‘I’ve got over you moving out and living on that damn dancing class or whatever you call it. It’s nothing to do with money.’
Georgy Girl Page 3