Lover

by Wilson, Laura

  ‘Your choice, dear.’

  She wouldn’t give the money back. I said, ‘Well, I’m not going without it.’

  ‘Too late now, dear. If you’re not interested, clear off and stop wasting my time.’

  ‘Don’t you talk to me like that!’

  ‘Oh, suit yourself.’ She just shrugged and picked up her frock. Turned her back on me as if I didn’t exist and started getting dressed.

  I was damned if I was going to let her get away with it, so I said, ‘I’ll show you what’s what,’ and got hold of her round the neck. I must have got a handful of her hair, as well, because she screamed and clutched at it, and then she kicked me, hard, and her elbow jabbed into my stomach and I lost my grip and fell backwards on top of a table. It was a spindly thing, covered in these photographs, and when it broke they all crashed onto the floor. I landed on top of them, and when I looked up the woman was standing there staring down at me with her hands on top of her head and shouting, and then I looked at my hand and saw it was full of orange hair. For a moment, I thought I must have pulled it out, but then I saw it was rolled up in a pad and realised it wasn’t her hair at all, but some sort of piece she’d put on, to look like a redhead when she wasn’t anything of the kind. Her own hair was brown—thin, downy stuff, all uneven at the ends. I jumped up then, shouting that she was nothing but a cheat and a swindler, but she wouldn’t shut up, just kept on yelling back at me, calling me names, over and over…

  I don’t remember much of how it happened after that, just making a grab for her legs. She must have lost her balance because she fell on the floor and I was on top of her. I had a piece of broken glass in my hand from one of the photographs and I was stabbing her with it and she kept on screaming, I could hear it over the noise of the bombers, and there was blood. I could see the blood, but I wasn’t really registering any of it; it was black and white, like a film, as if a part of my brain had just shut down. The drone of the bombers was getting louder and louder and her screams further and further away, and at some point I must have got up because I remember blundering round the room, knocking into things, and suddenly I couldn’t think why I was there or what I’d been doing, and still I could see no colour, but I could hear the bombers as if they were talking to me—Where are you, where are you, where are you… I shut my eyes and put my fingers in my ears to stop it, stop them coming to find me and kill me, and in my head I could hear Mathy screaming over the R/T, again and again.

  When I came to, I found myself curled in the armchair with a cushion over my head, trying to block it out. I opened my eyes and the room flared up in front of me, in colour again, and I could see blood spattered across the wallpaper and the lino, and pooling out from underneath the body, which was splayed out on the floor on a bed of splintered wood and shards of glass. The dress was shredded, there were great gouges in the chest and belly, and blood lacing the arms and legs. It made me sick to look at it, so I caught up the bedspread and threw that on top of it, then I put on my jacket and greatcoat. I knew there must be some blood on my trousers, but I thought the coat would cover it well enough in the blackout, so I didn’t worry about that. The main thought in my mind was to get out of there as fast as I could and back to the base so I could forget it ever happened. It was safe outside in the dark, where no one could see, but the noise of the bombers was driving me mad; I had to get away from it…

  The next part’s a bit of a blank. I know I walked a long way, then I was in a truck, then stumbling through the wood towards the edge of the base. I didn’t meet anyone. Numb with exhaustion, I only just managed to remember to take my clothes off in the bathroom, because of Ginger. Tiptoed back to the room and stuffed them into the back of my cupboard. No one’ll find them there. I’m down to one uniform, now. I’ll have to get another, which won’t be cheap.

  Ginger was asleep. I wanted to sleep, too, but everything was whirling inside my head. All just bits: Mathy, the bombers, the girl, the redhead…my brain was snatching at thoughts but I couldn’t seem to keep hold of any of them; I kept dropping off and then jerking awake. If only there was a switch to flick and I could turn off the images inside my head, but every time I shut my eyes it was there, waiting.

  I don’t know how long I lay there like that, but I must have fallen asleep at some point because I was dreaming. It was only on the surface of sleep, because I could remember it all: I’d lost control of the plane and we were falling, the stick was useless, she wouldn’t respond and I knew I had to bale out. I’d got the hood back and suddenly I found myself in the air and I couldn’t find the ripcord, I was falling and falling and the bloody thing just wasn’t there and then when I finally got it and I thought, that’s it, now I’ll be safe, I tried to tug it but my arm was too weak, it wouldn’t work, and all the time I was going through the air with the wind roaring in my ears and the ground getting closer and closer and I knew I was going to die—and then I jerked awake and Ginger was shouting at me, slapping me, trying to get me to wake up. I was clutching him in a total funk, shaking, so terrified I thought I was going to faint. I knew Ginger was talking to me but I couldn’t hear it, all I could hear was the wind rushing past my head and still, in my mind, I had flashes of the ground coming up towards me and it wouldn’t stop. Then something came up hard against my face—the impact like meeting the ground—and I realised it was Ginger, he’d hit me. His face was opposite mine and he was holding up his flask to my mouth—brandy—and it made me cough when I tried to swallow. I suppose that’s when I finally came to, and he was thumping me on the back, saying, ‘It’s a dream, only a dream…’

  ‘All right now?’

  ‘I think so. Thanks.’

  Ginger shrugged. ‘Happens to everyone. What can’t you do, anyway?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What you were shouting—“I can’t”.’

  ‘Oh…the ripcord. Couldn’t find it.’

  ‘Nasty. But like I said, happens to everyone. Better not to think about it.’

  I never used to have dreams like that. Marvellous, before. I used to look forward to them. I could do anything. Not at the mercy of it, like…like… Jesus, what’s happening to me? I went to the bathroom and splashed my face with cold water, trying to pull myself together.

  I went back to the room after that. Ginger was asleep again. I sat on the edge of the bed till Reilly came in with the tea. Couldn’t find a clean shirt so I thought I might as well put on my Irvine jacket over my pyjama top. My clothes were still bundled up in the cupboard where I left them last night, but I know they’ll be all right for a while—Reilly never looks in there. I’ll have to get rid of them eventually, though, in case they’re found. Got a clean pair of trousers, so that’s all right.

  I sat down on the side of the bed again. Couldn’t seem to find the energy to stand up. When Ginger asked me how I was, I couldn’t reply—thought I’d burst into tears if I so much as opened my mouth. He didn’t press it, just emptied his flask of brandy into my tea.

  When he left the room, I lay down again, but I couldn’t close my eyes. How long can anyone stay awake? Can I stay awake till the end? It can’t be long, now, I know that. It doesn’t feel so bad, just staring into the half-darkness. Maybe oblivion is like this: everything just draining away. Like a plane leaking coolant: knowing you’re in trouble, with nothing to do but pancake, if you can. I feel curiously detached from it. Like watching one of theirs go down. No emotions. No feeling at all.

  Saturday 5th October

  Rene

  Ten minutes, my foot! I must have been tired, because there I was in the armchair, flat out till mid-afternoon. First thing I remembered when I woke up was that I had to tell the newspaper man about poor Mrs Mitten not wanting her paper, so I went straight out to do that. I don’t know how I’m going to manage about cigarettes. Got some funny foreign things from another place, but the woman there didn’t seem too friendly. I can’t see myself chumming up with her, and they’ll only save you the good ones if you’re a regu
lar. Have to make some enquiries— somebody’s bound to know something I don’t, provided they’ll tell me, of course.

  I did some shopping, but when I got back home I couldn’t fancy a bit of it—finding that nose really turned me up, and what that rescue man said about poor Mr Mitten all blown to pieces… I tried to take my mind off it, but after a bit I thought, well, I’ve got to do something, so I decided I’d go round to Eileen’s to ask her about cigarettes. I’d go to Bridget, but she’d touch me for money, like as not, and Annie’s not the sort you ask for favours. Eileen’s never had a good word to say about Lily since the business over Ted, but she and I get along all right. Besides, with all this going on, we’ve got to stick together, haven’t we?

  I was just getting my coat on when somebody came charging up the stairs and started pounding on the door. ‘Rene! Rene! Quick!’ When I open up, it’s only Eileen, looking like she’s been through a hedge backwards, puffing and panting fit to burst.

  ‘Whatever is it? You look terrible.’

  ‘Rene…it’s awful, it’s happened again…’

  I got her in the armchair but it was about ten minutes before I could get anything out of her. She was rocking backwards and forwards like a madwoman, crying and moaning, and all the time I had this horrible feeling I knew what she was going to say, and my stomach was churning something dreadful.

  I managed to get some tea down her in the end, with a drop of brandy in it, and I said, ‘Now then, I’m going to hold your hand, and you tell me all about it.’

  ‘Annie was killed, Rene, last night. Like Lily, all carved up.’

  ‘Annie? Never! You’re having me on.’

  ‘She was; the woman downstairs found her this morning. I went round to see Annie—she’d borrowed two pounds off me and she told me she’d have it this morning—so I go in and there’s policemen there and everything, and I can hear this woman crying and sobbing, and they’ve told me I can’t go in, and they won’t tell me what’s going on. And then all these others go up, and there’s this copper, he’s white as a sheet, he comes rushing downstairs and sicks up in the gutter and it’s gone everywhere. And the other one asks him if he’s all right, and he says, “Oh, it’s bad… I’ve never seen anything so bad…” He was shaking, Rene, shaking all over, he couldn’t hardly speak. So then I said, “I’ve come to see the woman upstairs, Annie Burgess,” and he says, “No, you can’t,” and I say, “I want to see she’s all right,” and I’ve rushed up them stairs before they can stop me, and there’s Annie’s door wide open, so in I go and there’s men everywhere, and the room’s all over blood, it’s everywhere, on the walls and everywhere, and Annie’s on the floor covered in a blanket, and then one of them grabs me and takes me out and… Oh, Rene, it was horrible, you can’t imagine…’

  I just stared at her.

  She said, ‘It’s a madman, Rene, a maniac. He’s going to kill us all. First Edie, then Lily, now Annie—’

  ‘But with Lily, that was Ted. They arrested him, didn’t they?’

  ‘That’s rubbish. He never did that.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I know Ted. Anyway, I saw him.’

  ‘What, you saw him the night he…I mean, the night Lily was killed?’

  ‘Yes. I was finished for the night, on my way home, and he bumped right into me. He’d had that much he could hardly walk, never mind murdering anyone. You should have seen him, Rene, he’d had a skinful. I didn’t think he’d be able to get home so I asked him, did he want to come along with me, but he said Lily’d be angry. He never drank like that when he was with me—she drove him to it, Rene, and now look what’s happened. Oh, it’s horrible. I told him he should have stayed with me, I’d have looked after him…’ Eileen started crying again.

  I said, ‘Well, if that’s true—’

  ‘It is, I swear it, I saw it with my own eyes!’

  ‘He might have been that drunk he didn’t know what he was doing.’

  ‘No, he couldn’t…he wouldn’t do a thing like that.’

  ‘So you mean he went back home and Lily was dead and he didn’t… Well, I suppose it’s possible, if he was as drunk as you’ve said.’

  ‘Oh, he was, you should have seen him. He was never that bad with me, never! That cow Lily, she took him off me. I said to her, “What did I ever do to you?” And she said, “Oh, I can give him this, I can give him that…” Making out she’s better than me. She was a bitch, Rene, she deserved it!’

  Well, I thought, button it, Rene, because that was a load of rubbish about Ted not drinking when he was her boy, but I wasn’t going to have her speaking ill of my pal. Mind you, I could never understand what Lily saw in Ted, because he’s a useless article at the best of times, though I have to admit I never thought he’d murder anyone.

  I said to Eileen, ‘Did you tell the police?’

  ‘Oh, and I suppose they’d believe me, wouldn’t they?’

  Well, she had a point there. They don’t believe anything we say, and of course once they knew that Ted had been Eileen’s ponce and Lily’d got him off her, well…

  Eileen said, ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do. It’s not safe out there with this madman on the loose.’

  ‘No, I know. Poor Annie…’

  ‘Oh, Rene, it was dreadful, you can’t imagine.’

  We had a drop more tea with the brandy in it, but it didn’t help. I didn’t know what to do. If I’m honest, I didn’t want to be with Eileen, because she kept harping on about Lily and what a bitch she was and how it was her fault Ted was arrested, and it was getting on my nerves; but I felt too shaken up to be on my own, and when you’re that way, any company’s better than none. In the end I said, ‘Well, there’s nothing we can do, so let’s go to the pictures and try to take our minds off it.’

  So that’s what we did. We went to the Dominion Cinema, where Lily and me always used to go, because it’s cheaper there—one and nine each. The film was Night Train to Munich with Rex Harrison and Margaret Lockwood. I can’t remember much about it—I was too pre-occupied with everything else to pay attention—so it was a waste of money, really. But it passed the afternoon, so I suppose I shouldn’t complain.

  We sat through it twice—there was an air-raid halfway through and the manager came and said we could take shelter if we liked, but no one took any notice. All the time, at the back of my mind, I was thinking, I’ve got to go out tonight. If this goes on much longer I shan’t have two pennies to rub together, and there’s Tommy and Dora to think of besides myself. I even started thinking about having it out with Joe about him hoarding money, but then I thought, what if he gets nasty? I rely on them to look after Tommy, and if he said they wouldn’t look after him no more I don’t know what I’d do.

  I’d all this in my mind, going round and round in circles, and I kept thinking of what Eileen said about Annie, blood all over the room, and what it must of looked like, and then about Lily and Edie… I’m sitting there with my fists all clenched up, nails digging into the palms, thinking, I’ve got to go out there, I’ve got to, got to, got to…and totting up in my mind how much I’d get if I just stuck to my regulars, but even as I was doing it I knew it wouldn’t work because I don’t have enough of them. None of us do, round here, except maybe French Marie, and she’s got a telephone. Mind you, that’s probably not much good at the moment, with all the disruption—takes all day to get a call through, that’s what I’ve heard. But what it boils down to, is: I’ve got to go out, or I can’t survive, and neither can my Tommy—and that’s what matters.

  On the way back, Eileen suddenly said, ‘You know them pictures Annie had? The film stars?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘They were smashed. Every last one. Smashed to pieces. Glass everywhere, and the frames all broken. That was more sad than anything, seeing them all like that. She was so proud of them.’

  ‘Yes, wasn’t she?’

  Those photographs, well…we used to joke about them behind Annie’s back, her saying she’d be
en to America and she’d met them and been with them and all the rest of it. They all had these little messages written on them—‘To Annie, with fondest memories from Ronald Colman,’ or Clark Gable or whoever it was—but the thing was, these film stars, if you looked closely, they all seemed to have the same handwriting! And it wasn’t proper photos at all, just stuff she’d cut out of papers and magazines. But I knew what Eileen meant about being sad, because Annie was that proud of them. It was just her way of trying to make herself seem that bit more important. I suppose it’s something everybody does, a little, but with her, it was so…childish, I suppose, especially from this big, strapping woman who’d take no nonsense from anybody. And that was the awful thing: if anyone could take care of herself, it was Annie. I thought, if Annie couldn’t protect herself, what chance is there for the rest of us?

  I felt Eileen give a little shiver, beside me, and wondered if she was thinking the same. She said, ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Same as usual. Not a lot of choice, really.’

  ‘No. Look, Rene, take care, all right? I shan’t take them back home no more…’

  ‘Nor me.’

  ‘Well, then. Good luck.’

  ‘Thanks, Eileen. Be careful.’

  Then she went off home, and so did I. I got dressed, and painted my face and did my hair, and all the time there was this resolve inside me, a big, cold lump, like something settled on my stomach. I was thinking: You won’t get me, you bastard. You won’t get me, because I won’t let you.

  I went marching downstairs holding my handbag like it was a weapon, and out into the street. Well, being brave was all very well as long as it lasted, but once it got dark, that was another story—it was even worse than before: all the time, in the back of my mind, I was thinking, is it you?

  I kept nipping round the corner to see if I could catch the new girl—wanted to see if we could look out for each other, you know, keep a check. She never showed up. Probably terrified, and I don’t blame her.