'Now just you hold your horses,' I said. 'You're surely not leaving already. What about this cake? I can't go and eat it all by myself.'
'But Larry,' says she. 'I can't stay. You were all set to have your supper.' With that she waves a hand in the air where the smell of sizzling meat and chips is so thick you'd need a knife to cut it.
And that's when there washes over me the queerest feeling I can ever remember. If I had to put a name to it, I'd call it Joy. Pure Joy. 'Mandy love,' I said slowly, savouring every word. 'Look around you. Can you see any sign of supper here?'
She looks at me, and then all around, looks everywhere, and what do you know, there's nothing there. Just bare kitchen, and not so much as a frozen pea.
And that feeling of mine? I'll tell you where it came from. It came from knowing as I never had before that there wasn't a soul in the world who knew my Mandy like I did, not even Mandy herself. It wasn't shock that had made me shove my supper out of sight, it was me, thinking ahead for us both. The naughty girl had hung on until supper time, waited till she could practically taste my supper in the air, and then come up. That way she'd thought she could dump the cake and run. But there was me, reading her mind, and not even realizing I was doing it, getting rid of the evidence, and with it, her excuse.
The joy comes from feeling so close to her, feeling I've climbed inside her very skin.
So what can she do but lead on when I give her a little push towards the lounge, with me behind, knives and tea plates at the ready?
The cake was all right - a bit sweet for my taste, and what's more, I told her so - not in the spirit of criticism, but so she would know for the future. She tried to explain it away by saying she had had to measure it all out in tablespoons because there were no scales downstairs, to which I replied she could come and use mine any day of the week, I'd be glad of the company.
In any case, I left a good half of it on the side of my plate, said I was sorry, but I hadn't had much appetite these last few days. That was an obvious cue for her to ask me why, but she didn't, she went straight on talking about all the work she had piled up to do for college, and I took that as a clear sign of a guilty conscience.
Seeing she was taking that attitude, I began to think it would do her no harm to hear a bit of what I had stored up for her after all. It was either that or have her go off thinking she could do the same thing again whenever she felt like it. Added to which, the cake had made me remember I was hungry, and there was a perfectly good steak dinner going to ruin in the oven.
I began with a sigh. 'Mandy love, you know me, I'm the last person in the world to complain, but why oh why haven't you been up to see me all this long time? It's been ever so lonely up here.'
Well, I could say this for her, she blushed - red as a schoolgirl. But apology? not a word of it. Just a few mumbled excuses about being so busy. Strange to say though, I wasn't disappointed. No, really. You see, in a funny way, it was like being taken back to the old days, and instead of Mandy, it was June sitting there, a nipper still, little round cheeks getting redder by the minute. June as a naughty girl.
Now I know there are folk who swear that nothing teaches a child as well as the back of your hand. Well good luck to them. We're all entitled to our opinion. But me, I never lifted a finger to June. For the simple reason it's all water off a duck's back to them. It's words you want to use. A clip across the ear is never going to keep a kid awake at night, but a few well chosen words will. Which is the best thing you can say about them, kids: they'll believe anything if you tell them often enough.
Know where I learned that from? The same place we all learn. From my mother. She never laid a finger on us either. She didn't have to. It's all in the eyes of God - that's what she used to say - and we'd believe her too. After that you're never going to go far wrong, not when you know there's someone up there watching all the time. Never taking their eyes off you.
She'd have smiled if she could have seen June sometimes, face all screwed up, trying to convince herself to the bitter end it was her and not me who was right. Which was when like as not Doreen would barge in and spoil it all. One half-hearted clap around the head, and that was June, off scot-free.
(Yet why is it, when I never lifted a hand to June, it was her mother she sided with in the end?)
What I'm saying now is, though, with Mandy sitting there, it was like being given a second crack at the whip. The challenge was the same, namely to persuade her - gently - to behave like a good girl should. And this time, no Doreen to butt in at the crucial moment. It's the angle that counts. See now, Mandy was probably expecting me to tell her off, and was all ready for that. But that's not what I had in mind. Oh no.
'You know,' I said. 'You don't have to worry about keeping on the right side of Larry - I mean with cakes and so on. It doesn't matter what you do, he's still going to be here for you, ready and waiting, whenever you think you might have a few minutes to spare.'
'Larry ...'
'Of course, I'm not saying I'll always be my old cheerful self. I've seen too much trouble, and when you're alone so much, you're bound to dwell on things.'
'OhLarry ...'
'But what I want you to know is, Larry understands. He knows you've got a life of your own, and it's too much to expect a young girl to spend her time worrying about her old pal missing the only bit of company he's got the right to hope for. What I'm saying is - don't think about us. Joey and me will get by somehow.'
'But Larry ...'
'No buts, Mandy love. The main thing is that you enjoy yourself, while you're young. Some people never get the chance.'
If I could only have had a picture of her face as it was then. Eyes bright with unshed tears, lower lip all of a quiver. I'd known this moment would come - but not so soon. Yet this was my Mandy for you - all sense and feeling. At least, that's what I thought.
'Larry,' she said. And this time, it only seemed right to let the old kid speak. After all, I thought I knew half of what she was going to say - Larry I'm so sorry so very very sorry...
In fact, I was so sure of it, it took a few seconds to realize what it was she actually was saying, and even then, I could hardly believe it.
'Larry,' she was saying. 'Larry, thank you. I should have listened to Francis, and Ethel too. Both of them said I was coming up too much. They said you didn't need me. Only, silly me, I didn't believe them. And the cake - well that was Francis's idea. He said all it needed was a gesture. It would show you that I do care and I do think about you. Then maybe you wouldn't mind if I made more time for the rest, for making friends. After all, you know me. I'm never going to find it easy. You remember I told you a little about what happened before, up in Edinburgh? It could so easily be like that again. But I've been so frightened of making you unhappy. Because I know how it feels - we both do, don't we, Larry... ? Oh, but I don't have to explain. You've just told me you understand. Thank goodness you understand.'
And then would you believe it, the girl leans forward and plants a kiss on my cheek.
A Judas kiss. Because we know who put her up to it. He did, and probably Ethel as well. Now I'm meant to take the cake, and watch her walk away. Then if she has the time, and if I'm lucky, I'll see her for five minutes in the middle of next week.
Ever heard of brainwashing?
But we've been here once or twice before, haven't we. There's been the Mandy who's been doing all the talking, and the other Mandy, deep down inside, telling her what she's doing is wrong. The true Mandy, the one I know better than she does herself. And she's still there, just. Bad Mandy is smiling at me, and the look in her eyes tells me she thinks she's already out of here, but watch her closely, and you'll see someone there who's not quite sure.
And that's who I talk to.
'Well love, that Francis of yours, you've got to hand it to him. He certainly knows all about the old folk. Where did he learn it from? Some poor old soul tucked away in a home somewhere? His ma, I expect. I mean, he knows all about the "gestures" as you c
all it. I expect he told you it's the little things that count, and all. And he's right, of course. You'll never catch an old person complaining. They wouldn't dare. Better something than nothing at all. Eh, Mandy?'
'Larry ...'
But I haven't finished, not by a long chalk. 'The funny thing is though, love, you never do learn to live with the shock.'
'Shock, Larry?' Whatever she meant to say is gone. She sounds now as if she needs to sneeze, or cough or something.
'The shock, love. What comes after years of struggling to do your best, only to wake up one morning and find you're on your own. Not a blessed soul around who gives a damn. All there is to look forward to is the little things.'
I stop there. No need to go on. Look at her, just look at her. It's all coming rushing to the surface. Those eyes. It's only a question of seconds now. Deep breath, count the moments until...
'Larry, oh Larry. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I didn't know.'
And finally, whoosh! Here come the tears, streaming out of her eyes, pouring off her cheeks. Guilty tears, and tears of something else, unless I'm very much mistaken. But mostly guilt. She can't speak, can't even utter a word. Sentences are quite beyond her. Mandy is feeling really awful.
I can let her go now, see if I can rescue that dinner of mine. She'll be up again tomorrow as usual and the day after, no two ways about it. That's my Mandy for you.
So you tell me. Who knows her better - him or me?
Chapter Twelve
After that, what can I say about the last three weeks that you won't have guessed already? That we haven't looked back since? That we get on like a house on fire? That we're as happy as two bugs in bed? Well all that. But I'll tell you what it's really like. It's feeling that for the first time in his life, Larry's got everything. When Mandy's sitting up here, and there's me there beside her, you could offer me the moon and I wouldn't take it. Because it's all here. The place is complete. I even thought the other day about that ornament of the porcelain girl with the wind up her skirt, and you know, I had to smile. She's not needed any more. You can't add to perfection.
And Mandy's happy, you can tell. She hardly says anything now that's worth the mention. What she likes doing is sitting on the settee next to me, listening to me chattering on. She doesn't even seem interested in Joey any more, which annoys him no end. He sits there on his perch practically shouting for her to come over and talk to him, till in the end I have to throw the cover over the cage, which serves him right for trying to muscle in on what has nothing to do with him. She comes up here to see her Larry, not some old bird.
Of course there's another reason. There always is, even with the best of them. She comes to take her mind off other things. Such as the fact that in all this time she hasn't received so much as a letter or a card from his nibs. I know she's thinking about him, sitting there with a tiny part of her listening out all the time for Ethel at the bottom of the stairs, telling her there's a phone call for her. But there never is. Or hardly ever.
So a new Mandy then - regular, reliable, a little quieter if that were possible, ready to listen all night long if you asked her. But that's not all; there's been another development. Those little treats I keep putting out for her, stuff she never touches when she's here, have started turning up downstairs in her cupboard. And don't look at me. She's been buying it all herself. Packets of fig rolls and Battenberg, glacier mints, what have you, all appearing and disappearing a lot faster than you would expect. What beats me is why she can't come out and admit she's developed a taste for them. Because give credit where credit is due, none of it would be there if it weren't for Larry putting ideas in her head. You'd think she'd start filling out a bit really, but there's no sign of it yet.
Which brings me up to the middle of this week, and the one little wobble we've had so far. But before anyone wants to go saying I told you so, wait till you've heard the whole story. It all turns out beautifully in the end.
On Tuesday night we had that telephone call we've been waiting for all this time. Well that was it - our Mandy was off, down those stairs so fast you'd have thought there was someone handing out free fivepound notes at the bottom. And - you've guessed - I didn't see hide nor hair of her for the rest of the evening.
As for the next night, forget it. Her mind was somewhere else completely. And this time, in view of the circumstances, I wasn't prepared to be that forgiving. What's more, she didn't even come out and tell me she was expecting a visitor. She just sat there with a half-baked smile all over her face, and let that speak for itself. Thursday morning I had a peek in her cupboards. No sign of the Battenberg now. It was all man's food - gentleman's relish and Stilton and little bits of upmarket snacks, all salt and foreign flavours.
I shan't even bother telling you what was going through my mind. Suffice to say, come Friday morning, if I could have gone to sleep and not woken up till the Monday I would have been happy. Bumping into Ethel in the hall, then, only seemed like the final straw.
The two of us don't talk much now; apart from when she needs something. But sometimes she gets desperate - and who wouldn't with only the Living Skeleton for company? And then, as in this case, there's always something cropping up she wants you to know about. She must have been lying in wait because the second my foot comes off the bottom step, there she is beside me, beady little eyes gleaming with what she's got in mind.
'Mr Mann,' says she. 'I'm in such a state, you can't imagine.'
That was a matter of opinion. The woman was visibly shaking - and enjoying every minute.
'It's bad news for Amanda. I just don't know how I can tell her.'
You can imagine the effect that had on me. News for Mandy, and Bad News at that. Before I knew it I was opening my mouth to ask for more, but I'd forgotten: Ethel has a couple of scores to settle, and this was her chance. Without another word she sweeps straight past me, up the stairs to the middle landing, as if daring me to follow her this time. As it happened, just this once I had a few important errands to run outside, so I let her go, but there's no denying it, she'd left me in a proper stew - exactly as she'd intended.
Bad news for Mandy - whatever did she mean by that? Well, the choice was endless. Family's what you think of first, or maybe not if you're Mandy and me. The fact is, there's a whole world of bad news out there, and it was useless to try and guess.
'Never mind, Mandy love.' I actually said it loud. 'Larry's here. Whatever it is, this will only bring us closer together. We'll be happier than ever after, just you see.'
And with that, all I could do was wait until Ethel saw fit to let me in on the secret.
She took her time though. In the end, we met - almost by agreement- at three o'clock in the afternoon in the hall again, though I might add I'd been in and out of the front door at least five times by then. Fortunately, there was always going to be a limit to how long Ethel could restrain herself.
I opened the batting. 'So what's all this about bad news for Mandy?' I said. 'Nothing too serious, I hope.'
'Who knows, Mr Mann? You must know how girls do take on. I'm not sure what she'll make of it.' After that, a brief struggle to stretch it out. Which she lost. 'It's Francis,' she said, and now it all came out in a rush. 'She was expecting him to come tonight; But he telephoned this morning, just after she'd gone off to college. Left a message to say that he can't make it after all. Said he'd phone again tomorrow to explain.'
You know how it is when you hear good news when you've been expecting bad. It takes a minute or so for it to sink in. I must have been a complete blank to look at until slowly, I felt a great big grin spreading all over my face. Daft is how I must have looked, and Ethel when she sees it starts climbing up on to her high horse.
'Well, really Mr Mann. I wouldn't have thought it was any laughing matter - not with Mr Duck looking forward so much to seeing the young man again himself. And as for Amanda...'
I can't remember the rest. I don't know if I even stopped long enough to listen. It was the best news I c
ould ever have wished for. Sad for Mandy, naturally, but if it helped her see the sort of man he was - namely, unreliable, not be trusted - then I could only rejoice.
And rejoice I did, all the way up the stairs and back to my kitchen. I even poured myself a little glass of port, and toasted the man who was so far away and couldn't be bothered to make the journey.
And there was more, though you must believe me when I say I never would have wished this part upon Mandy. Remember last time he came she never bothered to come home until after he'd arrived? Well it was the same today. She must have stayed on until it was time to meet his train, then gone straight to the station. So she never got the message. She must have waited for the next train too, and the next, because it was well after eleven when finally I heard her little footsteps on the landing. Ever so slow they sounded, as if she was tired out. Closed the kitchen door behind her so quietly you could barely hear it. By now of course Ethel had gone to bed.
And talking of Ethel, that reminds me. When I said I'd gone straight upstairs after hearing the news, that wasn't quite right. Because now that I think about it, didn't I say something to her about leaving a little note on the kitchen table for the old kid, just in case? I did, you know, and blow me if it hadn't clean slipped my mind.
No point in disturbing her now though. Mandy is down there, sobbing away about something. If you ask me, she must be having one of those famous blips. Which means she'll just have to hear about it in the morning when she's feeling a bit more herself.
But you know how it is: you spend the whole day meaning to get round to something, and you never quite manage it. That's exactly what happened to me today. I don't know how many times I thought about her down there, and reminded myself that I had something to tell her. Still I just couldn't seem to find the time. And anyway, what was wrong with Ethel? She could have given it to her straight from the horse's mouth. Only I had forgotten, you see. Today was the one day in the month she goes off to see her sister in Greenwich.
The Last Girl Page 13