Hugh felt himself blush. To his astonished dismay tears came to his eyes and he looked out of the window before she could notice. Trying to keep control of his voice he said, ‘That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.’ He wiped his eyes surreptitiously with his fingers. ‘I’m truly sorry.’
‘Are you crying, Hugh?’
‘No!’ He laughed brokenly. ‘No –’
She got up and sat beside him. Taking his hand between hers she frowned at him. ‘Hugh?’
He managed to meet her gaze. ‘You must think I’m a fool.’
‘No.’
‘I wish you’d told me before.’
She drew her hand away but remained so close beside him their thighs touched. At last she said, ‘I wanted you too much.’
‘You still could have had me.’
‘It wouldn’t have been the same.’
‘And now that you have told me?’
‘I don’t know. You’re terribly handsome. I like handsome men. It’s very shallow of me.’ She smiled. ‘Are you flattered?’
He touched her face, gently forcing her to hold his gaze. Once again he was astonished by how lovely she was. Unable to believe she could see anything in anyone as ordinary as himself he said, ‘I don’t want you to flatter me, Nina. I just want to see you again, to get to know you –’
She drew away from his touch. ‘I’d like that, too.’
‘But?’
‘You’ll be in Thorp, I’ll be in London.’
Quickly he said, ‘Let me take you to dinner while you are in Thorp – maybe I can be persuaded to go back to London with you –’
‘You’d change your plans for me?’
‘It’s not much of a plan. I may even have cold feet already.’
‘Hugh,’ she sighed, drawing out his name in a way that thrilled him. ‘Hugh, you know I’m staying with Bobby. If I see you I won’t keep it secret from him.’
He made himself smile. ‘Of course. Everything above board. May the best man win and all that.’
She got up and went to sit in her original seat. ‘You can’t believe Bobby and I are just friends, can you?’
‘If that’s the truth.’
She laughed, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray between the seats.
Carefully he said, ‘I was going to see him, once I’d got settled. I was going to ask him how he felt about you. What do you think he would say?’
‘Truth?’
He tried to keep his voice light. ‘Well, I would hate it if you lied to me.’
She hesitated. As if coming to a decision, she said quickly, ‘When he was first in hospital I thought we’d be married when he was well again. Then, as the weeks and months went by, I knew it would never happen. The Bobby I’d loved was burnt away.’ She looked at him steadily. ‘So, if you asked him how he felt about me he’d say I’m a shallow girl, as I said.’
‘Did he ask you to marry him?’
‘Not then. Not in so many words.’
‘But if he had you would’ve said no because of his face?’
‘Yes.’
Hugh realised he’d been hunched forward in his seat, concentrating on her. Now he slumped back, crushing out his own cigarette to avoid her gaze. She was looking at him defiantly, as though she had just confessed to murder and was waiting to be scornful of his horror. In truth he was unsure how to react. If he was honest with himself he knew that he was pleased, but all the same he felt pity for Bob. The poor sod probably held out some hope. After all, it would be difficult to give up on a girl like Nina.
After a moment she said, ‘You probably think I’m a heartless bitch.’
He winced. ‘I don’t think that.’
‘Well I am.’
‘Nina … it’s not your fault if you didn’t love him …’ He hesitated. ‘Did you love him?’
There was a long pause. Dramatic effect, he thought, until he saw she was frowning as though giving his question serious consideration. At last she said, ‘He didn’t love me, ever. Then, when he needed me, I couldn’t bear to be near him. I let him down, but sometimes I feel it was more a kind of revenge. Isn’t that wicked? Is it hypocritical to say that we’re even friends?’ She looked down at her hands, twisting her wedding ring. ‘He was Joan’s father, not biologically, but in every way that mattered. He loved her. She’s the bond between us.’
His jealousy came back, bitter as ever. He pictured Bobby Harris holding Nina’s child in his arms and the baby lent him maturity: he was a grown-up and not the irresponsible Brylcreem Boy he’d imagined. He realised how badly he wanted Bobby to be the caricature RAF officer, cocksure and promiscuous and unforgivably careless. Such a man wouldn’t love Nina or bring up another man’s child. But Nina’s Bobby was far more complicated – there was so much guilt and pity and regret, there was so much history between them. It was impossible to believe they were merely friends.
Too sharply he asked, ‘Is he meeting you off the train?’
‘Yes. I told him not to – he’s so nervous in public – but he insisted.’
‘What shall I do? Shake his hand or make sure he doesn’t see me?’
She gazed at him coolly. ‘You must do what you think best. But there’s no reason to avoid him.’ Impatiently she said, ‘Won’t you say hello? He’d be so pleased to see you.’
‘I wouldn’t be, if I were him. I’d want you to myself.’ Deciding it might be better to be blasé for a change, to take a more active role in this odd game of hers, he smiled. ‘Of course I’ll say hello. I’m quite looking forward to seeing him again.’
She looked surprised and relieved at once. On a rush of breath she said, ‘Try not to look too shocked when you see him.’
His smile disappeared, his puny bravado flattened by a disconcerting mix of pity and anxiety that he wouldn’t be able to respond well enough when he and Bobby finally came face to face. Bobby would have the upper hand, no doubt used to the clumsy reactions of others. He would be shown up in front of Nina. He imagined Bobby smirking, his face made even more grotesque, and he sighed.
Nina said, ‘Bobby’s very sweet, really, once you get past all the brittleness.’
‘We were friends, once, remember? I know what he’s like.’
She nodded, quick to appease him now she had what she wanted. Both of them knew, of course, that he had no idea what Bobby was like. She had described him as brittle and he could only guess what she meant, but it didn’t seem like a description that fitted the Bobby he’d known.
The train slowed and stopped at a station. The carriage door opened and three soldiers climbed aboard, stowing their kit bags in the overhead lockers and taking up too much space with their boots and elbows and khaki-sweat stink. He noticed Nina sit further back in her seat, her eyes fixed on the window as if to avoid catching anyone’s eye. Inevitably the three men glanced at her, only to perform cartoon-like double takes. Perhaps they thought she was a film star. Even in that dull, matronly suit she might be Betty Grable in disguise.
Hugh picked up his father’s book of poetry and discreetly held it out to her. When she took it he caught her eye and smiled conspiratorially. She didn’t respond, only sat back in her seat again, making herself small and inconspicuous, hiding behind the book’s pages and foiling his attempt to claim her as his in front of their new fellow passengers.
CHAPTER TEN
THE BLACK MORRIS MINOR had stood in the garage since his grandfather’s death. For a few days after the funeral Bobby had forgotten all about it, only to remember with a start of anxiety. Apart from the house, the car was his most valuable possession; he should take it for a drive and give it a once-over before its tyres went flat or its battery died; he could sell it, perhaps. He had unlocked the big wooden garage doors and opened them fully, as though he intended to drive the car away. Instead, he had stood a few feet from it, unable to bring himself to go any closer. More than his house, more than his furniture or even his clothes, the car belonged to his grandfather so completely it seemed disrespectful to
disturb it. He’d stepped closer, smiling as he remembered what a slow, careful driver his grandfather was. Cars were not toys, he’d told him during his first leave when he’d arrived home in the brand new MG Jason had bought for him. His grandfather had never understood his love of speed, of tinkering with engines in the hope of making them go faster.
A few days later he’d gone as far as sitting in the driver’s seat, turning the ignition key to listen to the reassuring response of its engine. He hadn’t taken off the hand brake or shoved it into reserve gear to back it out into the drive. He had thought that he might wash it, but the car was only dusty, and inside it was as clean as the day it rolled off the production line. It still smelt of new car, hardly used since petrol became scarce even for doctors. Yesterday, in preparation for Nina’s visit, he had finally overcome his nervousness and had driven the car around the block. Back in the garage he’d wondered what he’d been afraid of and for the first time since he’d left hospital he felt he’d reclaimed something of his old self.
Waiting in the car outside Thorp Station, Bobby checked his watch again. Her train was due in five minutes. If he got the timing right, he wouldn’t have to hang around the platform for a moment longer than necessary. Nina would step off the train and he would greet her and lead her back to the car and it would take a couple of minutes at most. There would be no standing around attracting stares. He should have made use of the car before – the privacy it gave him was liberating.
Bobby wound the window down and lit a cigarette. He had spent the day cleaning the house, concentrating his efforts on the bedroom he’d decided would be hers. The room looked out over the garden, the sash windows folding oblongs of sunshine across the double bed he’d made up with fresh linen and a slippery, satin eiderdown found in a chest. He’d filled a vase with daffodils from the garden and placed them on the dressing table, the tight, green-yellow buds reflecting in the three mirrors and polished wood. Finished, he’d looked around, pleased with his efforts, only to wonder that perhaps she might think he was trying too hard. Neediness could be demonstrated in all kinds of ways, after all. He’d sat down on the bed, anxious suddenly, and caught sight of himself in the dressing table mirrors, ugly in triplicate. Not for the first time that day he’d wondered why she was coming when she really couldn’t stand the sight of him.
In the car Bobby exhaled cigarette smoke, hating his nervousness. It was only Nina, after all. Only. He smiled to himself bitterly. Ever since their first naked pose for Jason’s camera they had been a secret society of two. No one else had a clue what it felt like to be so ruined, so shocked and thrillingly shocking at the same time. He could feel such tenderness for her he felt his heart would break. Other times he had wanted to escape her, to be ordinary and straight as the men he flew beside; impossible, though, when they recognised how odd he was. Now it was Nina who wanted to escape him, Nina who was tied by sentimental tenderness. He sighed cigarette smoke, wishing once again that they could let each other be.
He got out of the car and turned his coat collar up, an automatic gesture and one that Nina hated. After a moment’s hesitation, he folded the collar down again and made himself stand up straighter. He kept his gloves on, even though the evening was mild, and avoided meeting anyone’s gaze as he walked into the station. He could be brave in small doses, and most of his courage was spent for today. On the platform, he saw the London train pull in and drew anxiously on the cigarette before stubbing it out underfoot. He would need both hands free to greet her, one steady on her arm as he kissed her cheek, the other reaching for her case. The case would be heavy with her clothes and shoes, the outfits she kept so carefully from one season to the next, altering hem lines and sleeves in an effort to defeat rationing. She would be wearing the green suit, she’d told him, and he remembered how the skirt fishtailed a little at the back and showed off her slim calves. He tried not to think of the rubber bumps of her suspenders felt through the thick material.
The train came to a stop with the familiar squeals and hisses and clanks remembered from a thousand such reunions. At once people pressed forward as porters walked along the platform opening doors. In the press of bodies a man nudged him and he stepped back. He closed his eyes, panic making him feel sick suddenly. He should have waited in the car until the crowd had dispersed.
‘Bobby?’
He looked up, his heart racing even faster at the sound of her voice. She frowned at him, concerned, and he made an effort to pull himself together.
‘Nina. Hello.’ He smiled, kissing the cheek she offered him. When she stood back again he noticed she didn’t have a suitcase with her.
She glanced over her shoulder, smiling too brightly. ‘I’ve a surprise for you.’
Hugh said, ‘You know it’s been ten years since I was last in this house?’
Standing in Parkwood’s kitchen, the glass of whisky Bobby had handed him held against his chest, Hugh Morgan looked around as though he was noticing the damp patch above the window, the grey thread of cobwebs hanging from the light. He smiled awkwardly. ‘Ten years. I suppose we should have a lot to talk about.’
Bobby said, ‘Sit down, Hugh.’
Hugh ignored him. He went to the fireplace and picked up the photograph of Bobby’s father and frowned at it. ‘Is this you?’
‘Wrong uniform.’
‘Of course.’ He set the picture down again gently. To Bobby’s surprise he blushed. ‘Of course,’ he repeated. After a moment his hand went to his face, rubbing at the five o’clock shadow that darkened his square jaw and made him look even more like the all-action hero of a comic strip. ‘I need a shave,’ he said. ‘A bath. Hell of a journey, that, I’d almost forgotten.’
‘There should be enough hot water when Nina’s finished in the bathroom.’
‘You think so? You know what women are like.’ He lit a cigarette and sat down, looking at him through the smoke screen he exhaled, exactly like his father Mick. ‘I could still find a hotel, you know. You don’t have to go to all this trouble.’
Bobby sat in the armchair opposite him. ‘It’s no trouble.’
They could hear Nina moving around upstairs and Hugh glanced at the ceiling, only to look down again quickly as though it was somehow impolite to acknowledge her presence. Flicking cigarette ash into the fire he cleared his throat. ‘I was going to stay at the Grand – live it up for a few days.’ He laughed slightly. ‘Knowing my luck it was probably bombed.’
‘No, it’s still in one piece.’
‘Then I’ll stay there, after tonight.’
They sipped their drinks, listening to the knocking and spluttering of the pipes as Nina ran her bath. Bobby noticed how Hugh’s eyes continued to stray around the room and he wondered if he realised it hadn’t changed at all in those ten years; the table and chairs and rugs and curtains – even the tablecloth – had only become more worn and grubby. When he wasn’t glancing around he looked down at his drink, swilling the Scotch against the sides of the glass between taking long, squint-eyed drags on his cigarette.
Used to the cod-polite lengths others went to just to avoid meeting his eye, Bobby watched him, angry that Hugh Morgan behaved just like everybody else. But he had been angry since the moment he saw him at the station. Hugh was taller and broader even than he’d imagined so that he felt puny beside him, shown up as a bag of neurotic bones. Worse, Hugh had not only shaken his hand but had pulled him into his arms, bear-hugging him for all the world to see. How pleased Nina had been, smiling as though she might cry. He’d wanted to leave them both there. His flesh crawled even now as he remembered the embrace.
Hugh said, ‘Bob, I’ll go, if you want.’
Bobby snorted. Hugh had finally met his gaze but Bobby found he couldn’t bear to look back at him and he turned to the fire. Earlier he’d put on more coal and the flames were cheerfully flickering. He took the poker from its stand on the hearth and thrust it into the fire’s heart, watching the coals avalanche.
‘Bob?’
Bob. He’d forgotten that Hugh could never bring himself to call him Bobby, even as a child. Hunched over the fire he looked up at him, the poker still grasped in his less useless hand.
‘She wants you to stay,’ Bobby said.
Hugh sighed. ‘I don’t know about that.’ After a moment he added, ‘I didn’t plan this. I didn’t know she’d be on that train.’
Bobby placed the poker back in its stand. ‘Coincidence, then, eh? Christ, it’s a small world, isn’t it?’
Hugh stood up. ‘I’ll go.’
‘Sit down. I don’t want her thinking I’ve driven you away.’
Hugh hesitated, then sat on the edge of the chair, his hands grasped together between his knees, his shoulders hunched. He looked exhausted; for the first time Bobby noticed the dark shadows beneath his eyes. His hair stood up a little where he had pushed his fingers through it, a weary, defeated gesture he remembered from their childhood. Oddly, Hugh Morgan smelt the same as he always had, clean as laundry left to dry in a sunny garden.
Hugh said, ‘I was sorry to hear about your grandfather. I remember him looking after me when I had chicken pox; I must have been about eight. He performed this magic trick – produced a penny from behind my ear. Took my mind off the itching.’ Hugh smiled as though suddenly remembering. ‘You know I used to think he was your father? For quite a while I thought that.’ He rested his head against the chair’s threadbare back and closed his eyes. ‘God I’m tired.’
‘I’ll show you to your room.’ Bobby stood up.
Hugh said, ‘There’s no hurry, is there? We could at least finish our drinks.’ More gently he said, ‘It’s good to see you, Bob. I know this is awkward but all the same –’
Bobby couldn’t sit down again. More than anything he wanted to be on his own. Alone he could perhaps come to terms with the shock of seeing Hugh again; he could think more clearly about what the expression on Nina’s face meant when she and Hugh exchanged glances. He knew they were lovers – it was obvious enough – but there seemed to be more than just a mutual attraction between them and he wasn’t sure how he felt about this. He did know he couldn’t stand the pity in Hugh’s voice, the sorrowful look in his eyes as though he’d been told of his impending death. Finishing his drink in one swallow, he set the glass down on the mantelpiece.
Paper Moon Page 9