The fact is, of course, you can't do it. You've got to choose your moment, hang on till the time is right. The trick is to bring the conversation round slowly to the object in mind. Then you let her have it. And that's what I did. I made her comfortable and carried on talking about this and that, but all the time edging closer and closer to the big moment. I even started to enjoy myself. It meant me telling her about the olden days, before the war, when a man could grow old with a bit of dignity intact. Granted, pensions weren't what they might have been and doctors wanted to see the colour of your money before they'd give you so much as an aspirin, but people knew how to look after their own. Compare that with today, I told her, and weep, because there's nobody left who cares.
A pause, and a sigh. I reckoned it was Mandy's turn. And sure enough, after a little start as if she's realized just that, she looks at me, eyes wide, and says: 'But Larry, don't you have any family?'
That was my cue. I took a deep breath - I'd need it. Because talk about Family, I could write a book.
'Amanda. There's someone on the phone wants a word.'
Made me jump. Made both of us jump. It was Ethel Duck's voice reaching up on the wings of a squawk from the very bottom of the stairs. A second later, Mandy has leapt to her feet. 'Sorry Larry,' I hear her murmur as she passes, and then she's gone, running down those stairs two at a time by the sound of it. That didn't even leave me time enough to warn her that if there's one thing Ethel won't allow, it's people using her phone. She'll be having a fit this very minute if I know her. But would she say anything to Mandy? It would be better if she did. Better than saying nothing, and simply chalking up a black mark against her - till the next time. I chewed that over for a full five minutes, until finally I managed to calm down.
'Just this once won't hurt! That's what I told myself. 'And it won't happen again because you can tell her all about it when she comes back.' So I plumped up the cushions where she'd been sitting, got it all nice for her again, and started thinking of something clever and kind to say when her head popped up in my doorway again.
Only she never came. I must have sat there till going on midnight just expecting that she would. I sat up until heard her bedroom door closing for the final time, and realized it was no good.
So who do I blame? Myself for not jumping straight in when I should have? Ethel for interrupting and ruining everything like she always does?
Or Mandy for asking a question, then not bothering to come back for the answer?
There's no sense in asking if I slept well. Disappointment has a way of ruining sleep. It was that lack of consideration more than anything. She must have known I was waiting. You don't run out in the middle of a conversation with a person and then just not come back.
Unless it was that Ethel kept her talking.
But even that was no excuse. I had her first. She should have thought up something to say and come away.
If I'd seen her this morning I would have said something to her. After the sort of night had, I would have. Maybe that's why she took it into her head to leave the house even earlier than yesterday. She's the sort of kid who knows when she's done wrong, after all. It was just possible that she was ashamed to face me.
All the same, she was still going to have to come home. And explain. Because by then I'd realized for myself - a girl like Mandy would never knowingly have caused upset. If she didn't come back to hear the answer to her very own question then there must have been a reason for it, and knowing my Mandy, it would have been a good one.
That's why I must have nearly worn my ears out listening for her. But what do you think - I didn't hear a sound. Not a dicky bird. When nine o'clock came round I had to admit it was late, even for her. And just like you'd expect I started worrying about that too. Because there's other stuff I've never had the chance to mention to her either. About walking about after dark and Finsbury Park not a stone's throw away.
I'd been feeling a good deal better this afternoon; now all of a sudden I was feeling a good deal worse.
So that was my state of mind when late in the evening I pottered downstairs to answer one last quick call of nature before going to bed. Not that anyone would have heard a squeak out of me. Even if Mandy was out, it's hardly the sort of thing you want to advertise. So here was I, tiptoeing past her bedroom door when all of a sudden it opens, and there she was.
Well, I don't know who looked the more shocked her or me!
'Oh, Larry,' says she, with a faint sort of smile.
'Mandy!' I reply. 'You're back, then.' Actually, I'm shouting at the top of my voice. Because the truth of the matter is, I'm that pleased to see her, everything else has vanished from my mind. 'You just got in?'
'Mmmm,' she replies - if a half mumble directed at her toes can be called a reply.
I could have left it at that, but there was something in the way she was standing clutching the door and looking at her feet, not me, that made me say, 'Get away. I bet you've been home all this time, and never let on.' I was joking of course, all I wanted her to know was that her absence had been noted.
But there you are with Mandy. Everything has to be complicated. I was only trying to be pleasant, and before my eyes she goes bright red, and doesn't say a word.
That's not the effect I'd been after, not when all I’d hoped for was to hear her chuckle as she said, 'Of course not, Larry. What a thing to suggest. I just got in five minutes ago.' Instead she was there, saying nothing that made any sense, practically turning circles on the spot.
Suddenly I wanted to end it, conversation and all, sign off with a few words that would help her to explain everything. 'Don't mind me,' I said. 'I bet I know why you were late. It's the buses. You're desperate to get home, and there they are, all heading off in the opposite direction to Finsbury Park. It's enough to drive you mad.'
All she had to do was nod. Then we could both have gone to bed happy. But not Mandy.
'Actually, I don't use the buses,' she says. 'Not unless I really have to. Most of the time I walk.'
And that stops me in my tracks. Makes me stare at her, wondering if I'd heard her right. That college of hers is a good three miles away. I know because being interested I looked it up in the telephone directory. It's right off down the end of City Road. People used to walk that sort of distance once, and not think twice about it, but not now, not in the days of the bus pass and all.
She's still talking, explaining. 'It doesn't take me that long, and it saves me pounds in fares.'
I daresay it does. But then, most people would be glad to spend all that just to save their legs. I mean - six miles.
'That's all very well, Mandy love,' I said, 'you walking like that, just to save yourself eighty pee, but have you thought about this? The longer you take to get home, the later it will be. I mean, half the time you don't leave that college of yours until it's way after dark anyway.'
She shrugs. As if to say, 'So what?' Starts fiddling with the handle on her door. As for me, I just watch her for a moment, then say quietly, 'Oh Mandy love, you've got to believe me. You're playing with fire. This is no place to be swanning around after dark.'
There must have been something in the way I spoke that caught her attention then. She left off fiddling and looked at me properly for the first time. 'I don't understand, Larry. What do you mean by that?'
I mean, 'Mandy love,' I was still keeping my voice quiet, not wanting to panic her with what I had to say next, 'I mean there are facts about this area that you just don't know. See, things happen around here that, not to put too fine a point on it, hardly bear thinking about.'
'What sort of things, Larry?' At last she's beginning to sound serious.
'Well there was this woman for starters,' I said.
'Yes?'
'Killed,' I said. 'They found her less than three hundred yards from where we are now. Not a breath of life left in her.'
Her eyes shoot open at that. 'Larry, no. Really? When?'
'Let me think, eleven, twelve years a
go ...?' I was still trying to get it right, answer the question properly, when what does she do but interrupt. And believe it or not, she's laughing.
'Twelve years ago. Oh God, Larry. You had me worried for a minute. Now if it had been last week ...'
'No, no, wait,' I said. 'That's only one. I haven't told you about the other yet. Someone else was found almost in the same spot, exactly the same thing happened to her as to the first one.'
'Oh yes, and when was that, Larry? Nine, ten years ago?'
I don't mind saying I almost lost my temper with her then. This wasn't what you'd expect from a girl like her. Just for a minute I might have been talking to June. Then suddenly she wipes the smile off her face and it's back to the old Mandy.
'I'm sorry, Larry, I didn't mean to laugh. It's just you really did scare me for a moment. Then when I heard it was all those years ago ...' Seeing the look on my face she stops, and starts again. 'And the other one. When did that happen?'
To be honest, I had a good mind not to answer, but being the man I am, I go ahead anyway. 'Six, maybe seven years ago.' This time I don't look at her. 'Go ahead, laugh, but that doesn't mean it won't happen again. If a woman's going to go out night after night when it's all dark, in a neighbourhood like this, what can you expect? Someone's bound to get the wrong idea. All I'm saying is, a young girl like yourself should be taking a lot more care.'
Silence then. At least she's not laughing. 'Thank you, Larry,' she says at last. And for a moment it all seems worth it.
But there was still one more thing at the back of my mind.
'What I don't understand, Mandy love, and I'm sure you'll excuse me asking - how come you're so hardup? What about your dad? He must have pots of money. Enough surely so you don't have to be walking the streets of London at all hours.'
That's all I said, honestly. Just those few little words, but talk about blue touch paper! Nothing intentional, of course, but you should have seen the effect. That sweet little face of hers goes all hard, like water freezing. And her eyes! No exaggeration, you could have lit a match off them.
'Listen Larry,' she says. 'The last person in the world I'd take money off is my father. I don't need him, and haven't done these last two years. All right?'
And there's nothing I can say, because she's slammed the door in my face.
The funny thing is, it didn't bother me a bit - for the simple reason it wasn't me she was upset about, but him - her dad. Either I'm no judge or there's an almighty difference of opinion there. And it's not just a case of all those thousands of miles between them getting in the way, we're talking about a major gulf. Did you hear the way she snapped at me? Seems as if you only have to mention his name and suddenly you're swimming in shark-infested waters. If you ask me, something's gone terribly wrong in that family.
Now for all I know, it may be her fault. But Larry's not one to take sides, especially not in a case like this. Because we're in exactly the same boat, Mandy and me, cut adrift and left to sink or swim. And who's done it to us? Family, that's who. Which makes you think there never could be two people with more in common.
It would explain all those blips, as she calls them, though! Poor girl just hasn't learned to get angry, that's her problem.
Still, I didn't want to leave on an unfriendly basis, so I knocked on the door, just softly, and called out to her. 'I can see you're busy, Mandy love, but listen to me. I don't want you worrying about what I told you tonight, about the women? You stop at home and nobody will touch you. Larry will see to that.'
All very interesting, you might say. But it goes downhill after that. You'd hardly have expected to see any more of her that night, but what about the next night, and the night after? To make matters worse, Friday night is Harry's night.
Harry. He calls in on his way home from the stall. Has done every single Friday, barring accidents and holidays, for twelve years, ever since Doreen left. It's the guilt, what with her being his sister and treating me the way she did. I reckon he only meant to come the once to talk about it, get it out in the open, maybe do a bit of apologizing on other people's behalf. But then he should have realized the first time, wild horses wouldn't have persuaded me to mention that woman's name. Yet he keeps on coming, as if he's still waiting.
That being the case, though, it doesn't leave us much else to discuss. Nowadays he can't even talk about Molly. After years of being a creaking door she surprised us all by finally pegging out last year. I was sympathetic, naturally, but there's only so much you can say. And at least she stuck by him, right to the end, so he can hardly have anything to complain about there. All he's got now, though, is the stall, and that's hardly a topic for debate. Conversation, therefore, is - to say the least - limited, generally proceeding on the lines of Harry lifting the lid off his sandwich and saying: 'Egg again, Larry?'
'Egg again, Harry.'
I didn't say a word about Mandy, though. Partly because I'd expected her to find her own way up here, so the introductions could speak for themselves, and partly because if she didn't, then I would have looked a right Charlie, going on about this girl who can hardly keep away from her old Larry. And I was right, wasn't I, because there was no sign of her. Yet she must have known we were here, both of us.
The next day, Saturday, I did see her, but from a distance. She was on the other side of the road, marching off in the Archway direction. My guess was she was making for one of the parks. But why go by herself, I wondered. If she wanted a walk, I would have kept her company. And I could have told her this - it was hardly the weather for it. It may only be October, but you should feel that wind.
One thing will come out of this, however. I'm going to tell that Harry what I should have told him years ago - namely that he can find something else to do with himself on a Friday night. It's not as if he's a friend or anything. See, I've been thinking. I reckon he gave Mandy the wrong impression, coming here that night. I mean there was I, making it quite clear that Larry Mann didn't have a soul in the world, and then up he pops, making her think there's hardly a word of truth in it. No wonder she steered clear of me all through the weekend. Now she's probably telling herself that Larry's got pals all over the place, and the last thing he needs is another one.
So no more Harry then.
All the same, even Harry can't be the only reason. What about us being neighbours? I've seen more of Ethel this weekend than I have of her, and the last thing you could call Ethel is a friend. Honestly, if I didn't know better, I'd think she trying to avoid me.
Chapter Six
Isn't that just the way? You can live with a problem night and day and still not see the answer even when it's staring you in the face. Come last night, it was a relief when finally it got too late to stay up, meaning I could relax, stop the waiting and the listening, and think about getting some much-needed sleep. And it's only then, as I'm climbing into bed, with my mind on something completely different (whether a hot-water bottle was called for, to be exact) that the answer hits me, bang, right between the eyes.
It was the phone call. Of course. One moment she had been sitting there, full of friendly interest, practically pleading with me to tell her my life story, and the next moment she's gone. Vanished. And what took her away? The phone call, that's what. I have to say - I laughed out loud then. I did! It was so obvious, yet I hadn't given it a thought. Only it's then the next logical thing occurs to me. What could there be in a phone call that could make a friendly old kid like Mandy suddenly become all retiring?
Bad news, that's what.
No doubt about it - she heard some terrible news that night, and that's the reason she hasn't been up. Because she doesn't want to let on. I tell you, that girl is the mirror image of me - a very private person not given to airing her problems. I reckon she's been down there, huddled away in those rooms of hers, mulling it over and wishing there was someone she could turn to. Too shy to go bothering the one person she knows would care. That would be my Mandy all over. It's enough to make you weep, really it i
s.
I got to sleep, no problem, after that, but naturally she was the first thing on my mind when I woke up this morning. And by then, one thing was for sure: it couldn't go on. The poor girl could waste away before anything could be done for her, and whose fault would that be? Mine - for not doing anything about it.
Which is why the first words that entered my head when I woke up were: Something Must Be Done.
Only what?
I can tell you what I would not be doing for a start. That is, marching downstairs, banging a tattoo on her kitchen door, and yelling, 'Now then, Mandy, hows about telling your old Larry what's up?' And why not? For the simple reason that Larry Mann is not the sort to go poking his nose anywhere he's not wanted. It's just not in my nature. Another person's life is their own, and you don't go barging in, trying to take over if they don't want you to.
On the other hand, what could you do? You couldn't just sit around, waiting for her to tell you, because that might never happen. What I needed was a clue, the merest hint as to what was going on. That was the only way I would be able to help. And if I couldn't get that clue from her, then the only sensible solution was to look elsewhere.
Which is a roundabout way of explaining why it is that at half-past ten in the morning, long after Mandy has gone out, and Ethel has done her rounds, I'm here, outside Mandy's lounge, my hand on the door knob. There's no-one in of course, but that's the whole idea.
The Last Girl Page 6