A waiter came and took their order. Another came and Ben ordered wine. She watched the peacocks spread their tail feathers. A bride walked across the lawn, her little bridesmaids running ahead of her. Music from the wedding disco could just be heard from another part of the hotel.
Ben cleared his throat. ‘Have you always lived in Thorp?’
‘Yes.’
He nodded. ‘Never wanted to leave?’
‘Why should I?’
‘No reason.’ He seemed lost for words. He turned towards the window. Outside the bridesmaids were having their photograph taken. They watched as the girls kissed each other solemnly for prosperity. The bride laughed as her new husband came up behind her and lifted her off her feet. The sun was setting behind a distant line of trees. It was like a film set, Kitty thought; she wanted to walk out onto the lawn and be part of it.
A waiter brought their first course. Ben made small talk. She decided she liked scallops. During the second course he was quieter. After the waiter cleared their plates Ben said, ‘Kitty, is there something wrong?’
‘No.’
‘It’s just that you’re so quiet –’
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry. I wanted you to enjoy this evening.’
‘I have.’
A waiter approached them. ‘Would you like to see the dessert menu?’
Ben looked at her enquiringly. ‘Would you?’
‘No. Thanks.’
‘Coffee?’
Kitty shook her head.
‘Just the bill, please.’
He drove a Mercedes soft-top that smelt of the showroom and was so clean he might have been handed its keys that morning. He opened the passenger door for her, closing it softly only when it seemed he was sure she was safely inside.
About to start the engine he turned to her. ‘Should I take you home?’
He gazed at her and she thought how handsome he was. But he didn’t look like the boys she usually went for – slim, slight lads who barely needed to shave, lads like Gary who wore the soft, indie clothes her mother accused them of sleeping in. Gary wore plaited bracelets and a tongue stud; he had acne. Ben had the beginnings of crow’s-feet around his eyes. Although he was only a little taller than she was, he was broad and tough-looking; he was the kind of man you would want on your side, a man who looked as if he knew how to handle himself in a fight. Despite his Hugo Boss suit and beautiful, modulated voice only the intelligence in his eyes, that serious, sad expression of his, stopped him from looking like a thug.
Sitting in his head-turning car she thought how much she wanted to sleep with him, if only for the experience – for his experience – she knew she would learn from him. But it was more than that; the difference in their ages wasn’t only to his advantage. She wanted him to see her naked, to hear him gasp, to have that power over him.
She said, ‘If I asked you a question would you tell me the truth?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you married?’
‘Is that what you’ve been thinking all night – that I want an affair?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Maybe you should have asked me when we met.’
‘Maybe. But I’m asking you now. Are you married?’
‘No.’ He started the car. ‘No, I’m not.’
She thought she had offended him and expected to be driven home. Instead he drove her to his house. Without a word he showed her inside and led her through the big square hall along the black and white tiled passageway into a huge, unnaturally tidy kitchen. He made coffee as she sat at a table big enough to seat ten. Beyond the kitchen was a conservatory, its glossy palms casting huge, jungle shadows on the slate floor. Behind her was a dresser, its open shelves displaying fine, discreet white china. There were no photographs on display, no books or newspapers or piles of raggedly-torn envelopes spilling bills such as those that cluttered her mother’s kitchen. She thought of the show houses she had once looked around with her Dad. He had laughed at the just-so arrangements of furniture and ornaments; she had wondered what it would be like to live in such a calm, orderly space. Looking around Ben’s kitchen, she imagined coming down to this peaceful room each morning, with no spilt cornflakes underfoot, no piles of last night’s washing-up in the sink.
Ben had caught her looking around and smiled. Awkwardly she turned away to the lilies crowded in a vase on the table. She touched one of the buds and remembered the way he had opened the car door for her and closed it so carefully. No one had treated her with such respect before. She found herself wanting him with a fierce longing that felt immoral, as though it owed too much to his obvious wealth.
Pouring coffee he said, ‘We should have After Eight mints or something, shouldn’t we? I’m afraid I don’t have any.’
As he set her coffee in front of her she said, ‘Mam used to bring us mints if she’d been out for a curry. Alan used to get really embarrassed because she’d ask the waiters for handfuls of them.’ Quickly she said, ‘Sorry about earlier, in the car…’
‘Have we got off on the wrong foot, do you think?’
She avoided his gaze. ‘Probably.’
‘All right – let’s be honest with each other. I’m not married, I’m a widower.’
It seemed that there was a change in the air between them, as though he had just opened a door on to a room he would never allow her to step inside. She shifted uncomfortably. ‘I’m sorry.’
After a while he said, ‘May I ask you something?’
‘Yes.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty.’ She attempted a flirtatious smile. ‘How old are you?’
He hesitated, then said quickly, ‘I’m forty-two. Ancient, eh?’
Carefully she asked, ‘Do you have children?’
‘No. Do you?’
‘No!’
‘Some women your age do.’
‘Well I’m not one of them!’
‘Do you think having children when you’re young is something to be ashamed of?’
‘No – I’d like to have children –’
He’d smiled. ‘Would you come out with me again? ’
Nathan began to wake up. Realising how far she’d walked she turned the pushchair around and hurried home before he began to scream.
Chapter 8
Annette knelt beside Ben and Mark’s bed. She kissed Mark’s forehead, smoothing his hair back from his face. Quietly she said, ‘Try not to wet the bed tonight.’
He gazed at her, his big dark eyes so sad and serious that she laughed a little. ‘You’re my sweetheart. I know you’ll try to be good for Mummy.’
From the door way Danny said, ‘Where’s Ben?’
As soon as he heard his father’s voice Mark squeezed his eyes shut and curled himself up small beneath the sheet. Annette wanted to weep for him and glanced away quickly so that Danny wouldn’t accuse her of paying Mark too much attention. She stood up.
‘Ben’s brushing his teeth.’
He stepped towards her and from the corner of her eye she saw Mark flinch. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Yes.’ She made her voice bright. ‘All ready.’
‘Come on then, what we waiting for?’ Danny sighed. Suddenly he bellowed, ‘Ben! Get in here now and get into bed. You’ve got two seconds!’
At once Ben was edging past his father and climbing into bed beside Mark. Annette kissed him briefly, whispering, ‘Goodnight. I’ll be back soon.’
‘What are you saying to them?’
‘Nothing.’
Shaking his head Danny said, ‘Then stop wasting time and let’s go.’
Danny was in a good mood. His horse had come in at fifteen to one and he had money in his pocket. He’d held a pound note out to her only to snatch it away. ‘You have to earn this. I’m not giving it away.’ Smiling he’d said, ‘We’ll go out tonight. I feel like getting pissed.’
As they walked towards the Castle and Anchor pub on the corner of their street, Danny grasped her hand
. Squeezing her fingers tightly he said, ‘Look twice at anyone and I’ll kill you, do you hear me?’
‘Yes.’
‘And don’t go off talking to those bitches from the factory, either.’
‘No, Danny.’
He stopped walking and let go of her to smooth back his hair with both hands. ‘Link your arm though mine. And stop looking so fucking petrified.’ He glanced at her. ‘Ready?’
She nodded, talking his arm as they crossed the street. As Danny pushed open the Anchor’s door she saw his face assume the forced-smile expression he wore in public. The noise of the crowded pub spilled out onto the pavement as arm-in-arm they walked inside.
Joan said, ‘Who’s with the kids?’
‘Maureen from across the way.’
Joan snorted. ‘You mean Maureen who’s stood over there at the bar?’ She shook her head. ‘You’ve left them bairns on their own, haven’t you?’
Annette felt her cheeks burn. ‘He won’t have strangers in the house.’ She looked furtively towards Danny who was buying another round of drinks. Quietly she said, ‘I’ll slip back in a few minutes to check on them.’
‘Sure you will.’
‘They’ll be all right.’
‘Aye, maybe.’ Joan looked at Danny malevolently. ‘Why was he shouting at the poor bairn last night? I heard him – effing and blinding and going on like a lunatic.’
Mark had knocked over a glass of water. At once Danny had slapped him across the head so hard he knocked him off his chair.
Joan sighed. ‘Here, he’s coming back. Don’t worry, I won’t say owt to the lousy sod.’
Danny set a tray of drinks down on their table. He smiled at Joan. ‘Half a stout, wasn’t it?’
‘Aye.’ Grudgingly she added, ‘Ta.’
Joan’s husband Bill came back from playing darts. Danny smiled at him too. ‘Got you a pint in, Bill.’
Bill hardly glanced at him. He sat down next to his wife and raised his drink at Danny in a half-hearted salute. Annette sipped the Babycham Danny had bought her, hoping the atmosphere would lighten a little. Catching her eye Bill smiled at her sympathetically. She looked away quickly, afraid to respond in case Danny saw her.
Joan said, ‘I’ve heard old Doctor Walker’s son has moved back home.’ She smiled as if remembering. ‘Oh he was a lovely man old Doctor Walker. Wasn’t he, Bill?’
‘Aye.’ Bill sipped his drink. ‘A gent.’
Danny said, ‘Bloody snobs, the lot of them.’
‘Well, maybe she was, the wife.’ Joan looked at Annette. ‘Your Gran used to clean for her, did you know?’
Danny laughed nastily. ‘That old cow, clean? You must be joking.’
‘What would you know about it?’ Joan shook her head. ‘Nowt.’
Annette could see Danny’s mask begin to slip. If Joan carried on like this in a few minutes all his smiles and friendliness would be done with and he’d be dragging her home. She hoped Joan would shut up about Doctor Walker. Danny always picked up on her responses to Joan’s gossip; he would read from her expression that she was keeping something to herself. Bill came to her rescue.
‘Fancy a game of darts?’
Danny smiled, resuming his play-act. ‘All right.’
The two women sipped their drinks in silence. Someone fed coins into the jukebox and Tom Jones began to sing It’s not Unusual. Joan glanced at her.
‘Bill’s only being civil to him for your sake, you know. Bill’s heart bleeds for those poor bairns of yours. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a word with him.’
The idea caused her voice to rise in panic. ‘He won’t say anything, will he?’
‘No. Probably not. But if it goes on – all that shouting and bawling…’
‘Don’t let him say anything to Danny, please Joan. I don’t know what he’d do –’
‘All right, don’t cry.’ She took a handkerchief from her bag. ‘Here. Don’t let him see you’re upset, it’ll make his night.’
Joan’s friends from the sugar factory joined them and Annette found herself on the edge of this group of women, excluded from their work gossip. It seemed Bill could only stand Danny’s company for so long because he drifted off to talk to a group of men he worked with and Danny stood at the end of the bar alone, drinking steadily. She watched him light a cigarette from the butt of the last and order another pint. He didn’t mind his own company, he’d told her that often enough. He’d told her he’d rather be on his own, that most people were too stupid to be tolerated. Danny was clever. Even when she’d begun to hate him, she acknowledged that he was cleverer than anyone she knew.
On their first date he had taken her back to the room he rented. It was only a small bed-sit, at the top of a flight of stairs that creaked noisily, embarrassing her as she imagined creeping down again, Danny’s neighbours speculating behind their closed doors. She remembered being struck by the bed-sit’s tidiness, how neatly the bed was made with its white sheet turned down over the grey, coarse-looking blankets, how clean he kept the little corner where the gas ring and sink were. There was an old horsehair two-seater sofa beside the gas fire and on the scarred oak dining table were piles of books. She had picked one up and leafed through it curiously. Its pages were thin, its print small and dense. Unable to make head nor tail of the passage she read she closed the book and put it down. Watching her, he said, ‘Das Kapital.’
‘Oh.’
‘Oh.’ He mimicked her inflection exactly. Flatly he said, ‘Karl Marx. He predicted the violent overthrow of the capitalist class by the proletariat. He thought the workers should own the factories and the mines.’
‘Is that what you think?’
‘No.’ He gazed at her until she blushed and looked away. At last he said, ‘You’re shy, aren’t you? I don’t mind. I like it. I can’t stand mouthy girls.’
She noticed that there were exercise books on the table, too, the kind she’d used in school. She made to pick one up but he said sharply, ‘Don’t touch that. Don’t you dare.’
There was menace in his voice but when she looked at him he smiled. ‘Private stuff. Sit down, over here.’ He sat down on the sofa and patted the seat next to him. When she hesitated he said, ‘Sorry if I was sharp with you.’
She sat down. The sofa sagged; she could feel its worn-out springs through its prickly upholstery and imagined the metal breaking through to stab her thighs. Danny sat as far away from her as the sofa allowed. She thought how oddly prim he looked, his knees together, his small, delicate hands clasped in his lap. He was thinner than he’d appeared to be in uniform; he looked younger, too, a skinny lad with a soft, grown-man’s voice.
Annette smiled nervously, unsure of him. She cleared her throat. ‘You don’t sound like the lads from round here.’
He snorted. ‘Thank Christ. My father knocked it out of me. I had to speak prop-er-ly on pain of a good hiding. So I did. So he gave me a good hiding for something else instead.’
She remembered the rumours she’d heard about Danny’s father, a slaughterer in the abattoir on Thorp Road, a unionist always agitating for strikes. He’d been a conscientious objector during the war but it didn’t make him peaceable.
Danny said, ‘My father stank. He stank of blood and bone.’ His voice was matter-of-fact and he smiled at her. ‘Blood was ingrained in the skin around his fingernails.’ He held his hands out and inspected his splayed fingers, frowning. ‘He used to take off his belt, like so,’ he mimed undoing his belt buckle and pulling off his belt. ‘Then he’d tell us to drop our trousers and underwear and bend over the table.’ He smiled again as though he’d told some mild joke. ‘And then – thwack! And again – thwack! I used to recite the Lord’s Prayer in my head. He was usually finished by the second amen.’
‘That must have been awful.’
‘It was…undignified.’ He reached out and took her hand. ‘Annette. I’m not sure if I like your name or not. Do you have another?’
She laughed uncertainly. ‘No.’
&
nbsp; ‘Oh well. Annette – you know I’m only joking, don’t you? You don’t have to look so scared.’
‘I’m not scared.’
He laughed and put on a high, frightened voice that sounded like hers. ‘No – I’m not scared!’ Smiling he touched her cheek. ‘Sexy little thing.’
She bowed her head surprised at the jolt of desire she’d felt at such a brief touch.
Softly he said, ‘I’ll be so careful of you. Your first time will be like all the stars falling down around your head; you’ll be enraptured.’ After a moment he said, ‘It will be your first time, won’t it? Don’t disappoint me now.’
Mortified she’d whispered, ‘Yes, it will.’
He breathed out sharply. ‘I’ll wait,’ he said. ‘Until our wedding night. I have to do this properly.’
In the Castle & Anchor Annette watched Danny down the dregs of his pint and grind his cigarette into the ashtray on the bar. He took change from his pocket and spread the coins out on his palm. As though he’d become aware of her watching him, he looked up and held her gaze across the noisy pub. She thought how handsome he was and that if only he was kind to the boys she would love him no matter what; she wouldn’t mind his strangeness, which only showed how vulnerable he was, if only he wasn’t so cruel.
Joan said gently, ‘Get home to your little lads, pet. Go now, while he’s not looking.’
Danny was feeding coins into the jukebox. As he deliberated over his choice she got up and hurried from the pub.
He came home drunk and forced himself on her, biting at her breasts and clawing at her thighs, pushing his hand inside her when he couldn’t get hard enough so that she cried out in pain, although she tried to be quiet, for the boys’ sake. He gagged her by making her take him in her mouth, his fists full of her hair so she thought he might pull it out by the roots when he tugged her head away. He pushed her down on the bed and knelt astride her. ‘Say you love me.’
Say You Love Me Page 8