Paper Moon

by Marion Husband

  The pie was shoved into the oven and Nina straightened up. She looked at him. ‘I was going to tell you later, after supper, but you might as well know now. When you were upstairs with Hugh a telegram came for me. It’s from Davey. Jason died last night.’ She seemed to watch for his reaction and he lowered his eyes to his cigarette unable to behave as she wanted him to. He heard her sigh in exasperation.

  ‘He’s asked me to the funeral,’ she said. ‘He’s invited you, too.’

  ‘I can’t go.’

  ‘You mean you don’t want to.’

  ‘Yes.’ He looked at her. ‘That as well.’

  ‘Can’t and won’t? You sound like a spoilt child! You should go, it’s the least you should do!’

  ‘The least? You mean there’s something else I should do? What? Put up with Davey’s snide remarks? All his queer friends whispering behind my back about what a shame it is I can’t be their pin-up any more?’

  ‘Jason was good to us –’ She stopped herself from going on, aware of how ashamed he was of their mutual past. ‘Anyway. He’s dead and Davey wants us at the funeral.’

  ‘He doesn’t want me there. He’s so jealous of me he can’t stand to be in the same room.’

  ‘He’s not jealous – he just knows you hate them, him and his queer friends.’

  ‘Well he’s right about that.’

  ‘Bobby, come with me to the funeral. I know you went to see Jason before you left London. This is a chance to say goodbye to him.’

  ‘He wouldn’t see me when I visited his flat.’

  ‘I know. He was sorry about that.’

  ‘I really can’t face them, Nina. Besides, the church will be so full I won’t be missed.’

  ‘I’ll miss you.’

  He laughed bitterly. After a moment he said, ‘I think Hugh will follow you to London when he’s well.’

  ‘That’s up to him.’ She picked up the cabbage and deftly cut it in half. ‘Set the table, Bobby. Supper will be ready soon.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  NINA STOOD ON THORP Station, her suitcase at her feet, Bobby and Hugh on either side. She glanced at Hugh, worried about how pale he looked although he had insisted he was well enough to see her off. Earlier that morning he had come into her room as she’d packed and pulled her into his arms for the first time since the night they’d arrived. ‘I’ll miss you.’ He kissed her, urgent with desire. ‘Don’t go. I don’t think I can stand you going.’

  She’d pushed him away gently.

  The station was deserted but for the three of them and a porter who stood checking his watch a little further along the platform. Bobby turned to her.

  ‘I’ve sent a wreath from us both, so you don’t have to worry about that. It was expensive so let me know if I got my money’s worth.’

  Hugh snorted. Ignoring him Bobby said, ‘Nina, I’ll say goodbye now. You’ll be all right, won’t you? Tell Davey how sorry I am.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘Goodbye sweetheart.’ To Hugh he said, ‘I’ll wait for you in the car.’

  As soon as he began to walk away Hugh pulled her towards him. ‘Should I come with you?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Hugh. You’re barely well enough to be out of bed.’

  ‘You know I’ll be on the next train, don’t you?’

  She stepped away from him. She wished the train would come, she wished she was already on it and far away. She need to be away from Hugh for a while to gather her thoughts. Most of her thoughts were of how attracted she was to him, but she had to think more clearly – impossible when he was around her. She wondered if he really would follow her straight away, if he would find his way to the funeral and be shocked by Jason’s friends. She remembered how uneasy he had been around even a homosexual man as mild and unaffected as Henry Vickers. Some of Jason’s more flamboyant lovers would appal him; he would wonder even more what type of girl she was to be associated with such men.

  Anxiously she said, ‘Hugh, you mustn’t come to London – not for a few days at least, until you’re really better. Promise me.’

  ‘A few days – I can’t promise to keep away any longer.’

  The train whistle sounded. Hugh held her tightly, only drawing away to kiss her. Holding her face between his palms he said, ‘I do love you. I feel crazy with love for you. I’m not crazy, am I?’

  She looked toward the train. ‘I have to go, Hugh.’

  He kissed her again, his tongue searching out hers until lust weakened her resolve and she pressed her body against his. She felt as though she could never get close enough to him and she stood on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, his strong, powerful bulk exciting her as it had from the moment that she saw him. He threw his head back and laughed, lifting her off her feet and crushing her still closer. With his lips close to her ear he whispered, ‘I want to fuck you so much it hurts.’

  She pushed away from him at once. Her legs felt shaky and she stumbled a little. Hugh caught her elbow. ‘Steady!’ There was laughter in his voice still and she looked at him angrily. Frowning he said, ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Don’t talk to me like I’m a whore. Don’t ever use that word in front of me!’

  The guard called out, ‘All aboard.’

  Panicked, Hugh said, ‘My God, Nina, don’t be angry with me now. I’m sorry. Really – it was just you make me feel so –’ He shook his head, glancing away as though exasperated. Suddenly he snatched her bag up and got on to the train. He stowed it above an empty seat and turned to look at her. ‘I’m sorry … if you don’t want to see me again –’

  Quickly she said, ‘I do! But you must go, Hugh, now, before the train leaves with you on it.’

  He walked beside the train as it moved off, then ran to keep up. At the end of the station he stopped and waved to her until she could no longer see him. In the carriage her fellow passengers smiled at the romance of it.

  Hugh slumped on to a bench outside the waiting room and lit a cigarette. He felt exhausted, the tightness in his chest worse than ever. He wondered how much of the pain was caused by her leaving and how much by the fear that his own idiot clumsiness might keep her away from him. He had never met anyone so difficult to understand; being with Nina was like being lost in the middle of the Atlantic without a compass, without sun or moon or stars. She made him feel afraid of a future without her.

  Bobby came and sat beside him. He didn’t speak, only lit his own cigarette. They smoked in a silence punctuated by Hugh’s coughing.

  At last Hugh said, ‘We’ll go.’

  Bobby stood up, crushing his cigarette out beneath his shoe as he took his car keys from his pocket.

  The rehearsal had started badly and disintegrated into farce. Jane watched in dismay as the boys fluffed their lines and missed their cues, their concentration totally shot by the appearance of the awkward young man sitting at the back of the hall. He had come in so quietly she hadn’t noticed him at first. It was obvious he didn’t want to draw any attention to himself. He sat on the edge of his seat, hunched forward as though listening intently. Jane sighed as Mark Redpath stammered over a line she thought he had learnt perfectly. Stepping on to the stage she clapped her hands.

  ‘All right. Let’s call it a day, shall we? And all of you – I want to see an improvement. The day will soon be here when you’re doing this for real.’

  Mark Redpath approached her. His face was flushed with embarrassment. Sorry for him, she said lightly, ‘Is that your brother, Mark?’

  ‘Yes, Miss.’

  They both stepped down from the stage and Mark looked towards the back of the hall where his brother had got up and was walking towards them. Jane began to feel afraid of how she might react to his disfigurement and found herself standing up straighter and smoothing back her hair.

  Mark said, ‘Mrs Mason, I’d like you to meet Bobby Harris, my brother.’

  He said it with such pride that the young man laughed. He held out his hand to her. ‘Hello. I hope you don’t mind me turning up like this.
’

  Shaking his hand she said, ‘No, of course not. I’m very pleased to meet you at last, Mark has told me a lot about you.’

  She was smiling too broadly. Although she hardly ever blushed, she felt her cheeks colour. She glanced away towards the stage. ‘I’m afraid you didn’t catch us at our best.’

  ‘Well, sometimes an unexpected audience can put a spanner in the works.’ Turning to Mark he said, ‘Mark, why don’t you catch up with the others?’

  He looked relieved to get away and there was an awkward silence as they both watched him leave. When he was out of earshot Bobby said, ‘Mrs Mason, please say if you don’t think this is a good idea. I don’t know what Mark thinks I can do to help – besides, I’m quite sure you don’t actually need my help. Don’t feel you have to put up with me when you’d really rather not.’

  He had the loveliest voice she had ever heard. Too taken up with listening to him she’d hardly taken any notice of what he’d actually said. There was a pause and she realised he expected her to respond. She opened her mouth to speak, only to close it again, at a loss to know what to say. At last she stammered, ‘Mr Harris, really – I don’t mind …’

  ‘If you’re sure.’ He turned to the stage. ‘What are you doing for props and scenery?’

  Pulling herself together she said, ‘Not much. Pretty minimal, really – there’s the question of money, and of course the stage directions in the play itself.’

  ‘Of course. I seem to remember all we had was a makeshift table and a couple of broken chairs.’

  ‘Yes. That’s about it, really.’ Too quickly she said, ‘Your brother is very good, normally.’

  ‘I did rather unsettle him, didn’t I? All of them, in fact.’ Smiling, he added, ‘I have that effect on people.’

  ‘It must be difficult for you.’ As soon as the words were out she wondered if it was better left unsaid, but he only nodded.

  ‘Some days are better than others.’ For the first time he looked at her directly. ‘I crashed my plane. My own fault – a second’s lack of concentration and boom! Suddenly I was flying straight into a field.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What are you doing now?’

  She must have looked puzzled because he became awkward suddenly.

  He said, ‘Sorry – I just wondered if you were going home or had to stay on … sorry.’

  ‘No, it’s all right. I was going home, actually.’

  ‘Would you like a lift? You could tell me about how you think the play is coming along as I drive.’

  In the car Bobby said, ‘The car’s been stood in a garage for months. She seems to be behaving herself but keep your fingers crossed.’

  ‘I don’t know much about cars – I’ve always found trams to be extremely reliable.’

  Bobby laughed, turning the key in the ignition. ‘Too old-fashioned.’

  She smiled that odd smile she had, as though she was secretly amused by something. Looking straight ahead she said, ‘Well, I’m older than you are, Mr Harris. I like old-fashioned.’

  ‘Call me Bob. And I’m probably older than you think.’

  ‘That sounds as if you don’t know how old you are. What you meant was you’re older than I probably think you are. I think.’ She glanced at him. ‘Sorry. Correcting people is a bad schoolteacher habit.’

  She looked straight ahead again, her hand clasping a battered leather briefcase on her knee. It looked heavy but when he’d offered to carry it for her she’d declined quickly, glancing at his hands. She obviously though he looked incapable of managing a bag and he’d felt the familiar awkward atmosphere his injuries caused. Until that moment he’d thought she might be someone who could be more relaxed around him than most.

  The car picked up speed. She stared out of the window, as though Thorp’s dull streets looked more interesting from the seat of a car, and he took his eyes from the road to look at her. Despite what she said she looked young and fresh-faced. Jane Mason glanced at him.

  ‘You should take the next left at these traffic lights.’

  The lights showed red. Stopping, he pulled on the hand brake and fumbled in his pockets for his cigarettes. The lights turned green before he had a chance to strike a match and Jane reached across and took the cigarettes and matches from him. She lit one and handed it over.

  ‘Thanks. Please, take one yourself.’

  ‘I don’t smoke.’ After a moment she said, ‘Mark told me you knew Michael Morgan.’

  She sounded impressed and curious at the same time and he drew on the cigarette, fighting back the urge to be rude about him. Evenly he said, ‘I knew him when I was a child, his son and I were – are – friends. When I joined the RAF we lost touch.’

  ‘Did he live up to his image?’

  ‘His image?’

  ‘You know – a rough diamond, a working man’s hero.’

  Bobby thought of Mick Morgan’s expensive tastes and impeccable, worldly manners. ‘I didn’t know people thought of him like that.’

  ‘But his poetry suggests it, even if you haven’t read the stuff they write about him.’

  ‘I don’t read his poetry.’

  She smiled to herself. ‘Some of it is rather emotive.’

  He looked at her. ‘Tell me what that means.’

  ‘It manipulates your feelings. The famous poems tell you what to think instead of making you think.’

  ‘Really? I’ve never met anyone who didn’t think his stuff was marvellous.’

  ‘There are a few of us about.’ She glanced out of the window. ‘My husband, for one.’

  ‘Is the play emotive?’

  ‘Theory of Angels? It’s more honest, I think. And in an all boys school it’s one of the easier productions to stage.’ She smiled at him. ‘No one has to wear a dress.’

  He laughed. They came to a crossroads and he stopped and asked, ‘Which way?’

  ‘Oh – left. Sorry, I should’ve been paying attention.’

  For a moment their eyes met and he was aware suddenly that for the last few minutes he’d felt normal and unselfconscious. He looked away quickly, knowing that the feeling could disintegrate if she betrayed the slightest bit of pity.

  ‘Left, then,’ he said, and shoved the car into gear.

  He stopped in front of her house and Jane heard herself say brightly, ‘Right. Here we are then. Thank you for the lift.’

  ‘We didn’t talk about the play or what you’d like me to do.’

  ‘Do you feel you’d like to be involved?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  ‘All right. The next rehearsal is on Thursday, four-fifteen, after school. How’s that?’

  ‘I’ll be there.’ Glancing towards her house he smiled. ‘Your husband’s seen us.’

  Adam stood in the bay window, holding the curtain to one side. He was frowning and she sighed, not wanting to go in and face his interrogation. Getting out of the car she said, ‘Thanks again for the lift. I’ll see you on Thursday.’

  She watched from the pavement as he drove away. He held a hand up in the rear view mirror in a farewell salute and she smiled, holding up her own hand in response. She was still smiling as she walked into the house. Adam came out into the hall to meet her.

  ‘Who on earth was that?’

  She brushed past him into the kitchen. Putting her bag down she took the kettle from the stove and filled it. He watched her from the doorway. At last he said, ‘Well? Anyone I know?’

  Lighting the gas Jane said, ‘You knew his father, or so you said.’

  ‘That was Bobby Harris?’

  ‘You know, he was nothing like I expected.’ Going to fetch milk from the pantry she looked at Adam, affecting a coolness she didn’t feel. ‘Nothing at all.’

  Sitting down at the table he said curtly, ‘And what did you expect?’

  ‘Oh, you know what RAF types are like.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’ He sniffed, frowning. ‘You stink of cigarettes. I suppose he smokes like a chimney, does he?
His father lived on the things.’ He tugged off his glasses and polished them vigorously on a corner of his handkerchief. ‘So, is he going to help with the play?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘How’s he going to help? You don’t want to be undermined in front of the boys.’

  ‘He won’t undermine me. Do you want a cup of tea?’

  He put his glasses back on and met her gaze. The lenses caught the evening sunlight and glinted. Not for the first time she felt for the boys who were sent to his study to be disciplined. Adam didn’t use the cane, he prided himself on that, but he knew how to make someone feel worthless and ashamed, as though he made notes on everyone’s quirks and faults to use against them should he need to. He went on looking at her, his eyes cold. When she looked away he said, ‘Don’t make a fool of yourself, Jane.’

  She laughed, a silly, high-pitched noise. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘I saw you grinning after him. And then you come in here smiling like a girl who’s just had her first kiss. Try to be a little more dignified, please, if only to stop the neighbours gossiping.’

  He walked out, closing the door behind him softly. Still holding a bottle of milk, Jane set it down. She closed her eyes, deflated. Adam was right; she had allowed herself to be carried away, pathetically flattered by the smallest amount of attention. Turning off the gas beneath the kettle she went upstairs to run a bath, making as much noise as she could to somehow prove to Adam that she wasn’t hurt.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  IN JASON’S FLAT NINA said, ‘I’m so sorry, Davey. I know how much you loved him.’

  The flat seemed less theatrical now Jason no longer occupied centre stage. Davey blew his nose. His eyes were swollen from crying and fresh tears ran down his face. Nina took his hand.

  He said, ‘I’m pleased you’re here. He would have wanted you to be here.’ He laughed brokenly. ‘A big turnout at the funeral, that’s what he wanted. All his friends – enemies too. Everyone he ever said hello to. And lots and lots of flowers.’ He began to cry again and Nina pulled him into her arms. At once he pulled away and made an effort to sit up straighter as though he was composing himself for one of Jason’s photographs.