The Last Girl

by Penelope Evans

  Well, it's at this point that light begins to dawn. But what could I say? I didn't want to be the one to break the bad news.

  Still, say something I had to. In another second she'd be taking all this silence for guilt, and thinking it was me. And it wasn't. It was Ethel, who else. And what was more, it was only to be expected. It's just that usually she doesn't go this far. Getting her own back for the mess, I suppose.

  Remember this morning? Mandy hadn't been gone two minutes when I met up with Ethel. Yet already she'd managed to visit every room on the floor. But you might also have noticed that I wasn't in the least bit surprised to see her. That was quite simply because she was only doing what she's done every morning from the first day she started letting out the rooms. It's like this: the moment she hears that front door go, she'll be up those stairs faster than you can say Jack Robinson. After that, you can sit up here and listen to the patter of Ethel on the move, flitting from room to room, taking her time, touching things, shifting them - probably no more than an inch to the right or the left - swapping round the cushions or the ornaments, just what you might do yourself if you were the occupier here, the sort of thing you do to leave your mark. It's called treating the place as your own. Except that in this case, it's Ethel who's doing just that.

  Only-Mandy doesn't know that yet. How could she? She's never come-up against a woman like Ethel. When she runs up here, talking about 'her' lounge, 'her' kitchen, 'her' bedroom, she should think again. All she's doing is paying for the use of them. Meanwhile, Ethel will keep visiting regardless, because in Ethel's mind these rooms have never belonged to anyone but her. She's the true Lady of the House.

  If Mandy can live with that; she'll be all right.

  But if she can't? You can see the problem. Right at this minute, it was my guess that Mandy wasn't prepared to live with any such thing. The old kid's blood was up. If I gave the answer she was looking for, there and then, all unprepared. I reckoned it was a fifty-fifty chance that she'd turn straight around and pack her bags. And it would be no good telling her that she'd regret it, the moment she started looking for somewhere else to live. She wasn't in a mood to listen. No, one word out of place now, and it would be a case of goodbye Mandy.

  Something else was needed. Something to take the heat out of the situation. What though?

  ' Hold on a bit,' I said.

  I turned, reached up into the cupboard above the sink. 'Here,' I said 'Have one of these.' And so saying, I flipped open the packet of Silk Cut and offered them, all in one movement, smooth as anything you ever saw in the films. You'd have sworn I'd been practising all my life.

  I wish I could describe the effect. She takes one look, turns a brighter shade of red even than before - and stretches out a hand. And that first puff - you could watch as it visibly hit the spot. Took all the fight out of her, it did. Calmed her right down. She's a smoker all right, just like Larry. Another thing we've got in common.

  After that, all I had to do was steer her towards the lounge and the settee, not forgetting the cigarettes. They went straight down on the coffee table in front of her, within easy reach. No arguments, no nonsense about having to be somewhere else. She sits down, starts hugging her knees, and goes on taking drag after drag.

  Finally, she looks up, and you can see at once she's back to normal, got back her lovely pale colour. 'It's Ethel, isn't it, Larry? Doing all those things?'

  'I'm afraid so, Mandy love.'

  'Does she do it all the time?'

  'I'm afraid so, Mandy love.' I push the packet a little closer.

  'Would it make any difference if I asked for the keys again?' She's asked the question, but you can see she already knows the answer. She's learning, is our Mandy. One shake of the head, and that's the last we hear of Ethel. Half a minute later, she breathes one last whoosh of smoke and stubs out the cigarette.

  'I shouldn't have smoked that, really, you know.'

  'Oh get away with you,' I tell her. 'A little bit of what you fancy does you good.'

  'It's not my health I'm worried about. I'd smoke myself silly if I could afford it. But they kept on getting more and more expensive, so I gave up, quite a long time ago actually. Now it's a case of trying not to go round smoking other people's. You know what they think of you otherwise.'

  In other words, what she was telling me was, she actually cared what I thought of her. Tell that to the likes of Doreen.

  'Now you look here, Mandy love,' I said, all seriousness. 'There's always a cigarette or several for you up here. Any time you want one. You just remember that. Quick visit, that's all it will take. And remember, Larry isn't counting.'

  'Oh dear, Larry.' She was sighing, Lord knows why, and shaking her head again. All the same, I noticed she was trying not to look at the packet that was there level with her knees.

  What's more, it was interesting, finding out that not only was she so hard-up she would put up with Ethel and her funny little ways, but she couldn't even afford to treat herself to a pack of twenty every now and then. You'd have thought with a brain surgeon for a dad, she would never be that badly off. I was about to ask her about it when all of a sudden it was too late.

  'Larry, you've been so terribly kind. I haven't thanked you properly at all. Believe me though, I'm so grateful ...'

  Well, if that wasn't music to my ears. No wonder I forgot what it was I was going to ask her. Anyway, I didn't want to butt in, not if she hadn't finished. So I didn't utter a word, just waited for her to say something else, about peaches perhaps. Only that was no use, because all it left was a silence between us, but by then I was beginning not to mind. It just showed I had been right about Mandy. She really is that rare creature - a girl of few words.

  'You know what Mand? 'I said, not just to fill the gap, but because I genuinely wanted her to know. 'It's going to be a real treat having someone like you coming here to live. You won't believe this, being so nice yourself, but there have been folk staying here who wild horses couldn’t have made sociable.'

  I stopped there, to see if she was listening. And she was. She didn't have to say a word. Her not speaking was just a way of telling me to go on.

  'They never think of the old folk, the ones who would give their right arms for a bit of company now and then. You know the sort of folk I'm talking about, don't you, Mandy love?'

  And that's where I stopped. Not because I was expecting an answer, at least not in so many words. But I was waiting for something, a particular kind of something, and all of a sudden, there it is: the exact sound I'd been waiting for. Not a word, not even a sigh, but that one tiny unmistakable little sound I'd heard before. Some people might not even have noticed it, it was that quiet, but I heard it all right, and I knew straightaway what it was. The sound of sympathy.

  There, what did I tell you? She's a girl in a million. And that noise, that squeak, that cough, call it what you like - it was an invitation, and a promise. It was letting me know that she is the sort of girl who will understand, the sort of girl you could trust with your whole life's story. In other words, or rather in no words at all, that little tiny sound was a signal, and Larry has received it, loud and clear.

  Well I couldn't let the conversation lapse, not after that. It would have been an insult. 'Of course,' I said, 'it was different before I retired. I used to meet all sorts then. Too many for comfort really. Locker attendant I was, up at Camden baths. What's more, I can't say that I miss most of the people I was working with either, not the way they used to talk, telling folk they were lifeguards when most of them couldn't swim a stroke. No, locker attendants we all were, in charge of towels and general hygiene. Still, they were company, even if half of them don't so much as pass the time of day when you go up there now. They take a bloke like me for granted, knowing I'll be there regular as clockwork every Thursday for my own bath ...'

  You can tell how nicely I'd got into the swim of things from the way I nearly didn't hear her interrupt. Had to beg her pardon and request that she repeat what she had
said. Which, fair play, she did, without complaint.

  'I said, there's a bath here, Larry. Why ever do you go out for one?'

  'Habit,' I told her. 'Though I should say that none of the other girls ever fancied using the bath that Ethel's got here. They couldn't seem to get on with the boiler. It scared the living daylights out of them. I suppose what it is, you turn on the tap and nothing happens, then WHOOMF the whole thing goes up in flames. Nothing wrong with it after that, mind. So long as you remember to keep the window open for the fumes. The water's beautifully hot.'

  She must like her baths an awful lot because all of a sudden she was looking gloomy again. I was just about to try and cheer her up by offering to turn on the TV when she put paid to that by getting to her feet.

  'What's this?' I said. 'You're never leaving already?'

  Well, I couldn't help it if I sounded a bit hurt, could I? After all I'd said and done to help, as well as the bit about the old folk, you'd have thought she'd have had a little more time to spare. And she noticed. You should have seen the way she blushed. When I saw it, I was sure she was going to sit down again, but she didn't.

  'Oh Larry, I'm sorry. But you can see it's getting late. I haven't even had my supper yet, and after that I've got to get down to work.'

  'What?' I said, scarcely able to believe my ears. I took a quick look at the clock on top of the fire. Five to nine it said. 'You can't be going off to work at this time of night. What sort of job have you got, Mandy love? Night watchman or something?'

  She didn't have to laugh quite so loud at that, as if it was me that was funny and not the joke. 'No of course not. Didn't Ethel say? I'm at college. Which means I have to study. You know - book work.'

  'Oh, I'm with you,' I said. But I wasn't, not really. Of all the surprising things to have happened in the last couple of days, this just about took the biscuit. I mean, Ethel, letting a student within a mile of her house. It beggared belief. I notice now she didn't say anything about that when she found the kitchen in the state it was. And I can't even say I blamed her. It would have looked too much as if she was only getting what was coming to her. And that's not all. If I put my hand on my heart, I'd have to say I was none too keen on the idea myself. If nothing else, it made you look at Mandy in a new light, when you think what most of them are like with their banners and their foul language, drugs and who knows what else besides. It was an unexpected blow, that's all I can say. And it explained her clothes.

  Finally I came up with a reply, one last attempt to look on the bright side. 'You sure you're not having me on, Mandy girl? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying you're old, far from it, it's just I wouldn't have put you down as an eighteen-year-old. That's the age they go, isn't it, these student types. It's only their beards that make them look older.'

  And there she was, laughing again. 'I know what you mean. But it's my second time around. I did start a couple of years ago, up in Edinburgh. Then I had to stop, you see. So now I'm starting again, down here. Hardly any grant though, that's the problem.'

  And she looks at me, as if that explains everything.

  'Well go on then,' I said, when I realized she wasn't saying any more. 'Don't stop there, Mandy love. Aren't you going to tell your old Larry why?'

  'Why what?' For some reason, a funny, guarded little look creeps all over her face.

  'Why you left your last college. I mean, you must have passed all sorts of exams to get there. So, natural question - why did you stop?'

  Well, you wouldn't believe her face then. It's as if I'd asked her what she was doing on the night of the fourteenth. What did she get up to in Edinburgh - rob a bank?

  'Larry, I don't...'Then her voice just peters out.

  Well, you can imagine. You ask a simple question and suddenly it's like you're not talking to the same girl. One moment the old kid is laughing when by rights she shouldn't, and the next she's twitching like a nervous rabbit. There's no logic in it, It's what makes me say, 'Oh come on, Mandy love, don't leave your old pal in suspense. Once and for all, why did you stop?'

  And that seems to do the trick because she tosses back some of that hair of hers and says, all in a rush: 'If you must know, something happened. I had a sort of breakdown. A little one. Not even a breakdown. More like a blip. It happens to lots of people. All the time. They get a bit depressed and then they get better. Does that answer your question?'

  Well yes, I suppose it did. But the thing that leaps out at you is the way that she went about it. I may not know her all that well, but I can tell you now it was completely unMandy-like. Defiant, as if she expected to be told off about something. And hardly what you'd call friendly.

  Needless to say, I kept my hair on, and was careful to stay pleasant. 'All right Mandy love, only asking. And if you're still upset with me, just-remember this - the first fifty years are the worst.'

  Now Lord knows why anyone should think that was funny, but suddenly the girl is laughing like a drain again. Talk about changeable, you hardly knew where you were with her tonight. 'Yes, Larry' she says. 'I expect you’re right.'

  Which was all very well, but there was still no call for speaking the way she did. And I was on the verge of saying just that, then suddenly everything’s all right again. She’s almost out the door, when she turns around for the last time.

  'I really am sorry about having to go, Larry. Especially when you've been so kind. I was in such a state when I came in. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there. Thank you again.'

  'Wait on a sec,' I said. 'There was something I meant to tell you.' But it was too late. She was gone, and blow me if I could remember what that something was.

  But her words were still there. Blooming well imprinted on the wall they were. Didn't know what she would have done without her old Larry. What nicer thing could there be to say to a chap? And you can tell me again it was a student that said them, Larry doesn't care.

  But seeing she was a student, and she had all that work to do, nothing was more important now than she should be able to get on with it. So I switched the TV back on, but so low only a lip reader could have heard it. Tiptoed to the kettle and back again. But I didn't mind, not for a second, because all the time I was thinking of her words, and what a lot they said for the person who spoke them.

  Only what, I ask you, is a blip when it's at home?

  Chapter Four

  What a way to wake up though. I was dreaming happily that I was having a bath. It's one I have quite often - don't ask me why. There I'll be, up to my neck in water, no need for soap or anything, just lying there soaking, then the next thing you know is an awful great knocking at the door. It's Doreen of course, up to her old tricks, ruining everything. At one time I thought I had stopped that knocking for good, but she keeps on rearing her ugly head. After that, there's nothing for it but to wake up, unless you want to go on and dream about bad language.

  It's always a warning, though, that dream. It means that you've got to start· looking out for something Doreen-like, i.e. unpleasant, cropping up in the day. So that's how I knew, the moment I woke up - something was wrong.

  Then it hit me. Dishes not washed, crumbs all over the table. Mess. That's what I should have been telling her about.

  'Oh Lord.' I actually shouted this aloud. And jumped out of bed. All that chat with Mandy, all those careful words to make her want to stay, forgetting that Ethel was on the warpath. If Ethel found the place in the same state today, Mandy would be out on her ear anyway.

  I must have stood a full five minutes, rooted to the spot, before I remembered. All was not lost. Mandy's a late riser. The thing to do was catch her before she went out. Then I could tell her what she needed to hear and even help her tidy up a bit. Simple. As if on cue, there came the sound of her kitchen door.

  I was down those stairs faster than a fireman on his pole.

  'Mandy,' I said, scrabbling at the glass, and peering through the frost. 'Mandy love, open up. I've got something to tell you. It's ever so
important.'

  Through the blur I saw a shape hurrying towards me, and that was a relief in itself. You never know, she might not have wanted to open up to anyone this early on. Then the door was flung open.

  'Mrs Duck!' It's more than a shout than anything. Because there, where Mandy should have been, was Ethel, and, so far as I could see without actually shouldering my way past her, not another soul in the room.

  'Why Mr Mann,' she says. 'Whatever is the matter?' The answer was - everything. I could see Mandy's little life flashing before my eyes. Yet all I could do now was try not to let on.

  'Nothing,' I said. 'Why should anything be the matter? I just thought it would be nice to have a small chat with Mandy.'

  At this point, Ethel, catching me trying to look over her shoulder, yanks the door closer behind her, and prepares to come out with her worst.

  'But you're too late, Mr Mann. She's been gone this long time.'

  'What? Oh, Mrs D. When?'

  For an answer, she gives me one of her looks, and says 'Like I said, a long time.' Then, because she's Ethel, and can't resist rubbing it in, 'Actually I did tell her I was sure she didn't have to leave right that minute. She could have stopped a bit longer.'

  But of course the poor kid would want to leave. After what Ethel would have put her through. Oh Mandy.

  '...But she would insist. Said it was absolutely vital to be there early. And what's more, that she'd be there till late and all. I never knew those youngsters had to work so hard, I was just saying to Mr Duck ...'

  This was all going a bit fast for me. 'Wait there, Mrs D.' I said. 'Where did she have to be? I don't understand.'

  'Well, college, Mr Mann. Where else? And not coming back till late.'

  'Coming back, Mrs Duck.' To hear me, you wouldn't have thought it was my voice. It was more like a croak than anything. 'Did you just say she was coming back?'

  'Well, of course I did. What else should she be doing?' Ethel for her part sounds just as always - a bag of nails falling to the floor, clink after silvery clink. 'Really, Mr Mann, I don't know what's got into you this morning.' What happens next is pure Ethel. Not taking her eyes off me, she sniffs the air between us.