by Stan Barstow
'You're talking silly now. The milk ...'
I reach past her and lift the pan as the milk comes to the boil.
'Look, you go and sit down in there and I'll see to the coffee. Off you go. I'll be with you in a minute.'
She goes away and I make the coffee and add sugar, then half-fill the pan with water from the tap and put it in the sink before carrying the cups into the other room. Donna's standing looking down at the electric fire and I put both cups on the low narrow mantelshelf and stand beside her, one arm round her shoulders.
'Do you want an aspirin or something?'
'No, thanks. I'll be all right after a good night's sleep.'
Can you sleep in tomorrow?'
'Yes. I'll stay as long as I want to.'
'It'd be nice if I could come round and take you out to lunch.'
'You couldn't, though, could you?'
'No, there isn't the time. But I like you in daylight as well as at night.'
She lifts her hand and presses mine where it rests lightly on her shoulder. Our days and nights are both numbered. Time running out. Unless...
'You'd better sit down and drink your coffee.'
'Yes.'
She does as I say and curls up with her feet under her at one end of the sofa.
'Did you think it went well tonight?'
'I don't know. It was a bit stiff. And with the place crawling with managers and critics we were all a bit keyed up. Did you like it?'
'Very much.'
'It'll settle down later in the week. It's a pity they all have to come on the first night.'
'Did any of them drop any hints about how they liked it?'
'Oh no, they're too discreet for that. They go and phone their notices in then drink with you and smile and make pleasant conversation. By the time you see it in print it's too late to argue. Not that that would do any good anyway.'
'This other thing that Carter and Wilf Cotton want you to do; is it a television play?'
'Yes. They want me for the lead.'
'Don't you want to do it?'
'I don't know. I haven't seen the script yet.'
'It could be a big break for you, couldn't it?'
'Yes. But all kinds of things come into it ...' She puts her hand to her forehead. 'Oh, I don't know; I can't think about it tonight.'
'No, you've had enough. I'll clear off and let you get to bed.'
I put my cup down and go and sit beside her for a moment, kissing her lightly on the cheek.
'I'd like to undress you and carry you in and tuck you up like a little girl.'
Except I'm not a little girl. I haven't been for a thousand years.'
'It's very convenient, all things considered.'
She turns her head and looks directly at me with something like the grave intensity of that first night when I kissed her in the hall. Only a few short weeks ago. So little time ago, so little time to come ... Only now her eyes are searching mine as though she's looking for something she wants from me but which I for some reason can't give her. And I'm out of my depth, suddenly shaken to the core by a feeling of both helplessness and fear.
17
It's my week-end at home so I go to the Palace again on Thursday, by myself, partly to have another look at the play, but mostly because I just want to see Donna. Watching her perform on the stage gives me a terrific thrill. She's very good and I'm tremendously proud of her.
There's only one interval and during it I slip out to the stalls bar and run into Wilf Cotton.
'Now then. You here again?'
He laughs. 'I can't keep away.'
'I thought I'd have another look at it myself. It's settling down a bit, don't you think?'
'Yes, it's amazing the difference a couple of nights can make.'
How were the reviews?'
Mixed. Some quite good, some indifferent.'
'But none really bad?'
'No.'
'Well, that's something. D'you think anybody's going to take it up?'
'Well they're not biting one another's hands off, let's admit it.' He shrugs. 'There's always a chance but I'm not very hopeful now. The trouble is the best reviews were in the wrong papers.'
'You can't win, can you?'
He laughs again. 'No, it's a hard life.'
We're standing drinking beer near the door, watching people come in and fight for their drinks. One or two, noticing him and remembering his picture on the programme, throw discreet little looks his way, wondering if he really is the author.
'You get some interesting free opinions just mingling with the audience,' he says, refusing with a shake of his head as I offer him a cigarette. 'I've just heard somebody say it's not as good as Look Back in Anger and somebody else who thinks it's streets ahead of A Taste of Honey.'
'Not a bad middle position.'
'No, I suppose not. Here, let me . ..'
He takes my glass as I fumble one-handed with matches and holds it while I light my fag.
Thanks. By the way, I'm sorry about that little bit of unpleasantness the other night.'
'With Clive Carter, you mean? Forget about it.'
'I seem to be spending my time apologizing for it. And he was in the wrong.'
Of course he was. Marguerite didn't half give him the treatment on the way home. She can be very cool and cutting when she wants to be.'
'Isn't she with you tonight'?'
'No, she had something else on.'
'I just thought he was an objectionable bastard. I'm sorry if he's a friend of yours.'
Oh no, he's not my type, mate. But he's one of the best television directors in the business and I'm lucky to get him for my play. He came out both to see Jack and look at Donna. To see if time had been kind to her was his typical way of putting it. He'd an idea she'd be good casting for one of the parts.'
'They've worked together before, I believe.'
They used to live together. That's the trouble with the dramatic world. You never know when you're putting your foot down just what private corns you're treading on.'
Too true, mate, I'm thinking. And the actors aren't all in the profession, either. Some ordinary people are occasionally good at it. Like me, just now. Those heavy reactions you get in films and plays, they don't always happen in real life. You get a thump and your face stays straight and you just go on talking.
Is she going to do the play?'
I really couldn't say. They've got it between them. I'd like her to. She'd be good in it and it's a good part, even if I do say so as wrote it.' He smiles. 'And having been wrong before.'
The bell rings and people start drifting back into the auditorium.
'Well, back to the fight.'
He looks round for somewhere to put his glass and I take it and put it with mine on a narrow shelf that I can see now.
'All the best with it, if I don't see you again.'
He waves as he goes off. 'Thanks. Been nice seeing you.'
I go straight round to the flat after the show. Donna's lent me a key and I switch the fire on, put the Rachmaninov on the record-player and sit down and think while I'm waiting for her. I'm conscious all the time now of screws tightening, of pressures bearing down on me, of decisions that ought to be made. Were there ever any ideal conditions for an affair, when you could sail along on an even keel with no more strain than's involved in a bit of discreet covering-up? But I never wanted that kind of affair. I knew, at bottom, that if I got involved then decisions would come into it. The trouble is they've come into it a bit too soon and if I don't make them now circumstances will pretty soon do it for me.
Can I leave Ingrid? Is that the question? Or wouldn't if be better to ask myself if I can bear losing Donna? It's all happened so quickly. If only we could let time bring the answers up gradually. Put them on the agenda for six months from now. But we can't. What about her? What does she want from me? Is she ready for any kind of permanent arrangement? How would it work out with her career? I could never expect her to settle down to
being just a housewife, could I?
What with the music belling out and me in a brown study, I don't hear her come in till she's right in the room.
'You're looking very serious, darling.'
'I was thinking.'
'That much was obvious.'
'I was thinking about us.'
She puts her bag and short coat on a chair and comes and bends over and kisses me, then looks into my face from a distance of six inches.
'You looked the picture of gloom.'
'I'm a bit of a melancholy type. Didn't you know?'
'Yes. If you haven't got any problems you'll invent some.'
'Oh, my problems are real enough.'
'Are they the same old ones or a fresh batch?'
'The old ones are good enough to be going on with. Anyway, I don't have to think about them now you're here.'
She lifts her hand. 'Do you like this?' Meaning the music.
Mmm. Lovely.'
'I thought you would. But I'm not going to let you indulge yourself. I'm putting something more cheerful on.'
I watch her as she goes to the player and takes the record off in mid-movement. She seems to have got rid of her mood of Monday night. She's quite gay. Whether it's genuine or a pose, I can't tell. She puts the My Fair Lady recording on.
Why didn't you give yourself a drink?'
'I thought I'd wait for you. And anyway, I don't like to go poking about too much in other people's homes.'
She pulls a face. 'Am I "other people"?'
'No - you're "the other woman".'
'In letters of flaming scarlet.'
'Luring me into nights of vice and debauchery.'
'To the accompaniment of Rachmaninov.'
'A typical stroke of subtle corruption. Did you see Wilf Cotton tonight?'
'No. Was he there?'
'Yes. I had a drink with him at the interval.'
I'll get you one. What do you want?'
'Albert and I left some beer, I think.'
I get up and wander after her as far as the kitchen doorway as Rex Harrison begins to sing I've grown accustomed to her face. I don't know which goes more with my mood, this or the Rachmaninov. At least that's abstract and doesn't put it directly into words.
'What had Wilf to say for himself?'
'He was eavesdropping on audience reaction.'
'Was it good?'
'The bits he quoted to me were.'
'I like him, don't you?'
'Yes, he seems to be a good lad.'
She hands over my beer, having found some red wine for herself, and we go back into the other room and sit on the couch.
'I like his work, too, I must say. His new television play's very good.'
'You've read it now, have you?'
'Yes, the script came yesterday.'
'He keeps his promises.'
'Who?'
'Clive Carter.'
'Some of them.'
I shoot her a quick look but there's nothing in her face that I can read.
'Are you going to do it, then?'
'I think I am.'
'You haven't definitely made your mind up?'
'It's a lovely part.'
'Well, what are you waiting for?'
Oh, there are other considerations involved.'
'Like Carter, you mean?'
It's her turn to give me a quick look now.
'Why did you say that?'
Something Wilf Cotton said tonight.'
"About me?'
'You and Carter.'
'Gossip?'
'No, just something he let drop in conversation. I don't think he can know about us or he probably wouldn't have said it.'
'What was it he said?'
'That you used to live together.'
'Was that all?'
'Wasn't it enough?'
She twists on the couch, looking straight at me.
'Oh God ...' Her eyes rove about my face. 'You're not going to act as though you're hurt, are you?'
'Have I said anything?'
'Enough. God, but it's funny how the puritanical provincialism always comes to the top.'
'Look, I-'
'You're shocked. No, I can tell you are. You can have an affair but when you find out I lived with somebody else for a while your small-town mentality comes straight through.'
'Look, will you stop jumping on me. I am not shocked. But I had to find out. I'd rather you'd told me yourself.'
You only met the man on Monday night. I've hardly had time to tell you.'
'You could have told me then.'
'You didn't think you were the first man I'd ever been to bed with, did you?'
Look, you're getting me all wrong.'
'Am I?'
'Yes, you are. It was obvious he was influencing whether or not you'd do this play. I just thought you might have been a bit more open and discussed it with me.'
Vic, Clive Carter is somebody I knew before I met you. He's got nothing to do with you.'
'But when he influences what you're going to do now he has. Or hasn't he?'
'I'm not your personal property, Vic.'
'No.'
Oh God, why do you have to be hurt about it?'
'I suppose it's mainly because I don't like the bloke.'
'Look, darling, I'm twenty-four years old. I've known a lot of people and done a lot of things before I met you. Nothing I'm particularly ashamed of, as it happens. But do I have to run over it all for your approval now?'
'Donna ... do you love me?'
'Darling, it's one of the most stupid and misleading words in the language.'
'Not for me it isn't.'
'Vic, let's stop this, shall we?'
'What do you want from me? I mean, what do you expect?'
'What kind of a question is that?'
Yes. Just so. What can she say till I put my own cards on the table?
What happened with this Carter feller?'
'Well we lived together, like the man said.'
'Why didn't you get married?'
We might have done if it had lasted. But it didn't. It went on for nearly a year and then we split up.'
'Why was that?'
'Temperament, I suppose. Incompatibility, the lawyers call it. Only we didn't need lawyers. We just walked out on each other and called it quits. That was a couple of years ago. I hadn't seen him for over a year when he turned up this week. It was a complete surprise. I wasn't expecting him.'
She stops and gives me a little smile. 'Was that what you were brooding about when I came in?'
'No, as a matter of fact it wasn't. Just the situation in general.'
'Well you can stop it for a while now I'm here.'
'Yes.'
'Are you going home tomorrow?'
'Yes.'
'Will you make love to your wife this week-end?'
'What?'
'You see, that's the sort of question I could ask you. Wives are supposed to abhor the thought of their husband having another woman, but mistresses have to put up with it. Have you never thought of that?'
'No. But mistresses are depraved creatures anyway.'
She smiles. 'That must be the answer.'
The smile fades into an expression I've seen on her face before, the eyelids half down as she looks at me. She puts her head on my shoulder.
'If you're going away tomorrow would you like to stay for a while tonight?'
'Can I?'
'If you think you can risk it. Will it be all right?'
'Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.'
'Not a very tactful way of putting it.'
'I must have left my tact in my other suit tonight.'
'Mmmm. Do you want another drink?'
'No.'
'Shall we go now, then?'
'No time like the present.'
It's cold in the bedroom but when Donna turns the sheets back I say:
'What's this? An electric blanket?'
'Yes. I switch it on e
very night before I leave for the theatre. What's wrong, don't you approve?'
'Well, yes, it's fine.'
'Would it make you feel easier if you sinned in discomfort?'
'It'd be easier if you stopped needling me.'
Her eyes are laughing at me. I love her and sin is a word invented for somebody else.
And when I'm holding her I've got an awareness of how we are together that's keener and more piercing than anything I've known before: an agony of both sadness and joy, and so near to heartbreak you'd think I had some way of knowing it's for the last time.
18
I go home all tensed up, expecting a week-end of rows or at best frosty silences and a general attitude of keep your distance; but instead I find Ingrid calm and loving and neither Donna nor the letters is mentioned. She could be doing the smart thing; boxing clever; but in any event it's such a relief that I feel myself winding down a bit and seeing things in a better light. When we get round to the subject of finding somewhere to live and her coming down, I begin to box a bit crafty myself, playing for time. The weather's on my side. It's as bad as ever, with sleet and snow and ice, and we don't propose to begin looking round seriously till it lets up a bit. And there's something else, I tell her. With this bad weather I'm just a bit doubtful about the firm. I'd like to hang on a bit longer and make sure they won't start making economies such as cutting back in the number of staff to offset a bit of what the winter has lost them in working hours. No, it's not likely, but if the worst did happen I might want to come back here and it wouldn't do to burn our boats. As me coming back is what Ingrid would like more than anything else she can't help but see the sense in this.