‘Look, Dad … ’ I began, wanting to tell him again how it was, make him understand I couldn’t do that to Dave, not Dave, no matter what Mum said. She must be crazy or something. But he hushed me.
‘I don’t want to hear any more. Your mother’s upset enough.’
But Mum straightened up, and pushed him away, nearly knocking the table over, Dad’s pipe and knife sliding down so that I had to grab them from falling on the floor. She came around the table at me.
‘Maybe it was you who stuck the knife into the nigger. How do I know it wasn’t you? How do I know you didn’t stab him then run off? Dave could have picked up the knife where you dropped it, and now he’s dead you let him take the blame. I don’t believe he did it, you hear? I don’t believe my Dave killed anybody. I think you did it, you, you … ’ Crying and coming for me. I jumped up, backing away, and Dad dashed around and held her. Then both of them were staring at me, down at my hands.
I must have dropped the pipe. I was holding the knife, gripping it tightly, the blade sticking out at one end, the thick spike at the other.
‘Put that knife down, Son,’ Dad said, his voice soft. It was as if my hand belonged to somebody else. I closed the knife, afraid of it, and put it on the table. I wanted to explain that I didn’t mean to do anything with it, not against my own mother. I’d only stopped it from falling on to the floor.
Mum turned around, holding Dad tight, saying over and over, Jesus God, oh, Jesus God. Dad looked at me, telling me with his eyes to go, leave them alone.
I went and sat in the sitting-room, unable to think straight. I saw Dad leading Mum past the door and up the stairs, talking to her, telling her not to worry, everything was going to be all right. A few minutes later he came down, not even looking at me, and telephoned Dr Wishart. From what I heard the doctor was out somewhere, but his wife said she’d tell him to call at our house as soon as he could. After he hung up Dad went back upstairs. I didn’t know what the hell to do. What had happened to Mum all of a sudden? A couple of minutes ago she was ready to tear my eyes out, now Dad was carrying on as if she was really sick. The whole thing was like some crazy nightmare.
I don’t know how long I’d been sitting there before the doorbell went and there was old Dr Wishart, looking the same as ever. Dave and me used to call him Dr Five-by-Five because he was so short and fat, always smiling, his thick white curly hair always neat like Mr Brylcreem himself.
‘Well, what’s your Mum gone and done this time?’ he asked me as he came inside, but Dad had come down and he and the doctor went up to Mum. I stayed downstairs and after about fifteen or twenty minutes Dr Wishart came down and handed me a prescription to take to the chemist. He gave me a funny look, not smiling, and I wondered what they’d said to him.
When I got back from the chemist the doctor had gone. I gave Dad the stuff, three small boxes. Sounded like pills.
‘What’s up with Mum?’ I asked him.
‘The doctor says it’s her nerves. He gave her something and she’s sleeping now.’ Then, after a bit, he added, ‘Perhaps it’s just as well if you clear off.’
‘Look, Dad, I wasn’t … ’
‘I’m not accusing you of anything.’ He wasn’t even looking at me. ‘But I think it’s best if you clear off for a while until your mother is more herself.’
‘Dad, if you mean about the … ’ But he wouldn’t let me say anything.
‘What’s happened is over and done with, whatever it is, and we’re having no more talk about it. I had a word with the doctor and he agrees that it would be best if she was kept quiet for a bit, not allowed to get excited about anything. I’ll ring your Aunt Beth and see if she can come down and help out.’
It’s funny, but hearing him talk like that, telling me to get out, made me feel different about going. Planning it with Ruth I was excited, wanting to do it. But now, it was as if I hadn’t made any plans at all and here was my own Dad kicking me out of the house. And for what? I hadn’t done anything, anything at all. I hated them, both of them.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Do you want me to clear off right now?’ To hell with them, I’d find somewhere to go. I wasn’t some ruddy kid. Even if I had to sleep on the streets I didn’t care.
‘Don’t you take that tone with me,’ he said. ‘You’re the one who started it. You said you wanted to clear out. But you couldn’t do it quietly. You had to get your mother all upset.’
I couldn’t listen to any more. I got up, went upstairs, and began to put my stuff on my bed, suits, shirts, everything. Then I realized I didn’t have a suitcase. Never had one. Well, Dave and me had never been anywhere to really need them. Times when we went off to scout camp we put our stuff in one of Dad’s. I’d have to go out and get one. He came into the room quietly and said someone was on the phone for me. I thought it might be Ruth. With all that had been happening I’d forgotten to ring like I’d promised. She’d chew my ear off.
It was Naomi. She sounded a bit angry, saying they’d been waiting for me to ring and were worried, wondering if anything had happened to me. I knew what she meant. Just to keep her quiet I said I’d come over home because Mum was ill. She asked what had happened, and I told her it was something to do with Mum’s nerves and the doctor had been over and given her something to make her sleep. She asked had I seen Ruth and I said no. Then she said that when they hadn’t heard anything from me, Ruth had left saying she was coming up to Upminster to find out what had happened. So I said okay. I’d be here when she arrived. I asked if they’d had any luck and she said they’d been looking around all morning but hadn’t found anything. Either the places were dumps or they were much too expensive. They’d heard of a room in Earls Court Road and she was going to see it later in the afternoon, and if I’d be at home she’d ring me and let me know. I said okay. I didn’t tell her that Dad had thrown me out. To hell with it. I just didn’t give a damn what happened.
‘You don’t have to clear off today.’ Dad had come in and was standing by the door. I didn’t want to hear any more about anything. Just let them leave me alone.
‘I’m not turning you out,’ he went on, ‘but the state your mother’s in it’s best if she’s not, well, upset. There’s your job, so you can’t, like, go up and stay with Beth and Andy, and anyway I’ve phoned Beth and she will be coming here to look after your mother. Perhaps for the time being you could stay with a friend or something. No need to shift all your stuff. After all, it’s only till your mother gets over this … ’
‘You said to clear off so I’ll clear off.’
‘You started it, don’t forget that. You just walked out of here without a word to anyone, your mother was in such a state not knowing where you’d got to … ’
‘What does she care?’ I could hardly speak, all choked up inside. ‘All she thinks about is Dave. Now she’s saying that it was me who killed that … ’ I couldn’t make myself say any of those names, not even coloured; Mum had made them all sound so dirty.
‘Your mother is not herself. You should know that. Ever since your brother went she’s been brooding over it, keeping it inside, wouldn’t even talk to me. Most nights I’d be lying there, she thinking I’m asleep, but I know she’s crying her heart out. Well, now it’s got a bit too much for her. Don’t suppose she really means half of what she says.’
‘Oh, she means it all right.’
‘Now just you shut up. Just you damn well shut up. You’ve got a hell of a lot to learn, young feller. A hell of a lot. After the doctor gave her the injection, when she was dropping off, do you know what she said? Where’s Jack? … ’
I didn’t want to hear, it didn’t mean anything to me. Maybe she just wanted to know if I’d cleared off yet.
‘All right, suit yourself what you do,’ he said, turning away. ‘Clear off if you want to. But suppose your mother takes a turn for the worse, what then?’ Christ, what did they want from me? A little while ago
he’s telling me to get out, now this. As if everything was my fault.
There was a ring at the door and he went down, then came back, opening a telegram. I guessed it was from Aunt Beth, but after he read it he gave it to me. It went
PLEASE COME SEE ME EARLIEST CONVENIENCE. URGENT. DENISE SPENCER.
I turned it over and saw it was addressed to me, Jack Bennett. Right away I felt as mad as hell. It was my telegram. He’d seen it was addressed to me and yet he’d opened it and read it. The first ruddy telegram I’d ever had in my life and he had to open it, as if it was for him.
‘What’s it about?’ he wanted to know.
I folded it and put it in my pocket. None of his ruddy business.
‘What’re they sending you telegrams for?’
‘Did you have to open it?’ How would he like it if it was for him and I’d opened it?
‘I’ll open any damn thing I please.’ You could see he was getting all worked up. I began folding my ties.
‘I want to know what it’s all about,’ he asked again.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Then you’d damn well better get over there and find out, hadn’t you?’ and he went out of the room.
I read the telegram over and over again, wondering what it was she wanted. Denise Spencer. Mrs Denise Spencer. Not bad. Not bad at all. Better than Madge and Ruth, names like that. What was so urgent that she wanted to see me about it? It could only be about Michelle and the way I’d rushed off, not bothering to say good night or anything. But what was so urgent about that?
Chapter
Twenty-five
I DIDN’T PHONE TO say I was coming. Michelle came to the door, looking a bit surprised to see me.
‘Hello, I thought it was Mummy,’ she said, opening the door wide for me to go in past her. She was wearing tight grey slacks and a fluffy V-neck sweater. Lipstick red as her shiny toenails.
‘I had a telegram from … ’
‘Oh, yes.’ She led me through to the room looking out on to the estuary.
‘The telegram said it was urgent.’
‘Yes, I know.’
We sat down, her face serious as hell, curling up her legs under her.
‘Any idea what it’s all about?’
She just sat watching me, as if seeing me for the first time. Not even smiling.
‘Look, is it something I said the other night?’ I was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable with her sitting like miles away and watching me, as if I was some ruddy stranger.
‘Would you care for a drink?’ As if she didn’t hear what I said. I told her no, I didn’t want a drink.
‘How’re the studies going?’ I asked. Just talking to make conversation.
‘Very well, thank you. And your work?’
‘Same old drag. Nothing to get excited about.’ Silence for what seemed like ages. For no reason at all she pulled her chair further away under the window.
‘What’s it all about?’ I asked her.
‘Meaning what?’
‘The telegram. What’s up?’ I was getting sick of just sitting there, waiting.
‘You know, the very first time I saw you, when I was speaking with your father, I thought you reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t think who. Now I remember. Not so much a physical resemblance as the same look on your face.’
‘What look’s that?’
‘Oh, just the way you look. As if you hated everybody.’
‘I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.’ Sitting way over there as if she thought I would try something. To hell with it.
‘Doesn’t matter.’
‘Who was he, a boyfriend of yours?’
‘No. Just someone I met. A really nasty, horrible person.’
‘Well, thanks for telling me.’ I got up.
‘I wasn’t referring to you. Look, you asked me who he was and I told you, that’s all. No need to take it personally. Please sit down.’
She went and fetched a box of cigarettes and offered me one. I said I didn’t want to smoke. She took one and lit it, the way she held it I could see she wasn’t a regular. Puffing like somebody sending out smoke signals.
‘What did he do?’ I wanted to hear about this fellow I reminded her of. I sat down.
‘What did who do?’
‘The nasty, horrible person like me.’
‘He struck me.’ The way she said it, as if it had happened only five minutes ago, her face going tight and sharp, just like Mum’s when she’s mad about something. All of a sudden I wished I knew who he was, the bastard who’d hit her. I’d have liked to bash his bloody head in.
‘What for?’
She crushed the long cigarette in the ashtray and got up, leaning her head against the window, looking down at whatever was happening outside. I’d have liked to touch her neck, so soft-looking, the hair shining with a brownish tint from the sun on it. Those legs. I’d bet she could run like a bullet. Somebody once told me they could all run, fast.
‘Nothing,’ she said.
‘How do you mean nothing? What did he do, just walk straight off the street and hit you?’
‘It was at a dance.’ Still looking out of the window.
‘Look, can’t you just sit down and tell me what happened?’
She turned around, looked at me for a while as if making up her mind, then sat down.
‘Okay, now tell me,’ I said, to get her going, ‘So he took you dancing and he hit you.’
‘It was last summer.’ She curled her legs up under her, talking, pulling at a curly thread in the sleeve of her jumper. ‘A friend of mine from King’s lives at Southend and she invited me to spend a week-end with her. On the Saturday night we went to a dance at the Palais. I wasn’t particularly keen on dancing there, but a band from London was on just for the night, and we wanted to hear it, especially the vocalist. He’d been on television several times and I liked the way he sang, smooth and easy. Usually I only went dancing with Bill, to his hospital do’s, or sometimes he’d take Mummy and me up to town, mostly to Edmundo Ros’s club. That used to be wonderful.’
The little smile on her face seemed to come from some far away place and it didn’t stay long.
‘Penny and I got there early but it was already crowded so we had to stand, but we were quite near the stage and we could watch the band and the vocalist when he came on. People asked Penny to dance. I didn’t mind. It was funny watching the drummer. As he played he kept talking to himself, not really saying anything, just miming words, his eyes closed and his head cocked to one side as if listening to the sounds of the other instruments.’
The way she was telling it, as if she was there again, living it, reminded me of Dave. Same way he had of telling you about something that happened as if it was happening again, now. Like that Sunday when Mum had made us some buns for tea, but something or other made her forget about them and they came out half burned. Mum was so mad she wanted to dump the lot, but Dave said no, let’s cut off the burnt parts. Then he began messing about, saying how the same thing happened once upon a time to a bloke named King Alfred, better known as Alf King, and right away he began making up a story about how Alf had dropped in to have tea with this bird and she asked him to keep an eye on the stuff in the oven while she popped out for a jiff to get an evening paper to check if her pools entry had come up. While she was out Alf got so excited watching wrestling on TV that he forgot all about the stuff in the oven and the next thing you know smoke is all over the place, and this bird just beats the fire engine back to the house. Telling it so he had Mum in fits, saying only royalty could burn stuff just so.
While Michelle talked, her eyes were looking somewhere over my shoulder, through the wall and away, and I could nearly hear the drummer talking to himself, and see the spotlight on the vocalist when he walked on to sing.
‘He was just
as I’d seen him on television. Relaxed, you know, as if he was full of music and he only had to open his mouth to let it out. And the way a bit of his hair kept falling over his forehead and he’d push it away with his left hand. Most of the people had stopped dancing to listen to him, crowding up around the stage, yelling and whistling when he finished each number.
‘Right behind me were three young men, shouting a little more loudly than anyone else. I tried to move away from them, but it wasn’t possible. But soon the band started again, and they went away. I found seats near by, sat down, and put my handbag on the next one to save it for Penny. I sat there listening until the band went off for a break. Penny was a bit concerned because I wasn’t dancing, but I didn’t mind, I was enjoying the music.
‘After intermission two of the young fellows who’d been so noisy came up and asked us to dance. The one I danced with was tall, thin and blond, rather like you, only his hair was wispy and straight, not curly like yours. He was a good dancer, but a bit silly, you know, dancing but looking bored as if he didn’t really care much about what he was doing … ’
I was seeing it, seeing her with him, whoever the hell he was. Seeing her grey eyes shining, moving as light as a feather the way it had been when we’d danced at Ruth’s, eyes closed and her whole body as if the music had got inside her like fire.
‘“Hey, you’re good,” he said, or something like that, when the music stopped, and we were standing there waiting for the encore. There was hardly any wind left for replying. I just smiled and turned to go, but he held my hand.
‘“Hey, wait a sec, they’re starting again. How about it?” Before I could say anything the music began again. I must say this for him, he could dance. This time he began to improvise instead of just standing there leading me. Smiling to himself, you know, as if he was really enjoying it. Till the dance ended.
Choice of Straws Page 20