By Flower and Dean Street

by Patrice Chaplin

  He gasped, then tried to laugh. ‘I was joking.’ He was sure he’d smelt beer.

  ‘You behave yourself. Don’t start rushing off making excuses about lady cannibals. Actually it’s very original.’

  ‘You bitch!’

  ‘Oh come on, Ken. I phoned both of them. We had a good laugh.’

  For a moment, as much as she liked him, there was something — a spark, an expression in his eyes. She was afraid. Then it was gone.

  ‘You are a funny man.’ She tried to laugh. ‘I can’t make you out. Still, I suppose that’s why you’re so attractive.’

  ‘I love Christine,’ he said and turned back to his work.

  *

  When she’d lost a stone and a half and he still didn’t show any sign of excitement, Christine decided to have a serious talk. She hardly ever saw him. Then when he did appear, one evening, early, the flat was full of girls. She was giving away her fat clothes and her girl-friends were picking, pecking at them like birds. Her back to the window, Christine stood wearing a new slim, belted suit with wide trousers.

  ‘What’s Ken’s new assistant like?’ asked one of the girls.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Don’t you see him when you go to the studio?’ asked Wendy.

  ‘Oh I don’t go there,’ Christine said airily. ‘I never go near it’, as though it was her choice rather than his. ‘Let Pat have the blue skirt. It suits her.’

  ‘With a dishy old man like yours I’d be there all the time.’

  ‘You’ll have to shorten that dress and take it in.’ Christine pounced on the loose material and gathered it in at the waist. ‘Out of this world, isn’t it? You shouldn’t wear false eye-lashes. Not a whole lid-full like that. Cut four or five off the strip and stick them in with your own. More natural.’

  ‘Is it true he spends all night at the studio?’ said Wendy.

  ‘He’s incredibly busy. Gets about an hour’s sleep. I don’t know how he does it.’

  ‘I heard he’s on Speed,’ said Pat.

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’ Christine laughed.

  ‘I saw him the other day,’ Pat continued.

  ‘Oh yes. Where?’

  ‘Near St Pancras Station. It was late, after midnight. I didn’t think it was him at first because he was walking.’

  ‘You’re very quiet today, Christine,’ said Wendy.

  ‘She is, isn’t she?’

  ‘It’s the slimming,’ said Lilly. ‘Make sure you take vitamins and plenty of liquid.’

  ‘I suppose he was with Frances when you saw him by the station?’ Christine said quietly.

  ‘No. He was on his own.’

  ‘You must find it hard cooking for him,’ said Lilly.

  ‘He’s hardly here,’ she admitted and regretted it immediately. ‘I mean he’s got such a social life. He’s so “in”. The phone never stops. He met the Prime Minister the other night. He’s off to Paris in two weeks. Something very big.’

  ‘Why doesn’t he take you?’ asked Wendy.

  Silence. He was in the room.

  Seeing the flock of long-legged, half-naked girls wading in the swirling mass of bright clothes, he laughed and said, ‘Christ, a boutique. That’s all I need.’

  The girls covered up their bodies. One of them started talking about her cystitis.

  ‘Get treatment,’ said Wendy. ‘If it goes to your kidneys it’s serious.’

  ‘I get a pain here.’ The girl pressed the middle of her back. ‘Is that your kidneys?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure where they are.’

  ‘They’re here.’ Christine pointed to two places low in her hips.

  ‘Higher,’ said Ken. ‘They’re here behind the abdominal viscera, one on each side. They’re surrounded by a lot of fat. They’re bean shaped — reddish brown —’

  ‘Fancy that!’ said Wendy. ‘Isn’t your old man clever?’

  ‘Since when have you been into anatomy?’ asked Christine.

  He didn’t know what to say.

  Wendy said, ‘I don’t know where my kidneys are — my liver, my ovaries. I just about know where my fanny is —’

  ‘O.K., babes,’ said Christine. ‘Don’t think I’m throwing you out ...’

  Armed with the colourful outsize treasures, they swooped away.

  *

  He fell asleep after dinner, so she couldn’t have her serious talk. She sat, watching him sleep. She loved his wide nostrils, his straight nose; she loved him. She thought it funny after the numbers of men she’d had, three a night on occasion, coming in windows, down chimneys, that she should get so stuck on one and be so unhappy.

  He smiled when he woke and stretched, and she thought he was going to get hold of her, but he was reaching for his cigarettes. As he moved she saw the erection. She trembled with all the pent-up desire, the deprivation. Her cheeks were hot.

  He lit a cigarette and lay back looking at the ceiling. ‘What time is it? How long have I been asleep?’

  ‘Fantastic,’ she breathed. ‘You can get one in your sleep but you can’t get one for me.’

  His eyes flicked sideways. They were cold. ‘It often happens when I wake up. It doesn’t mean anything. Don’t be so demanding all the time.’ He gave her another wintry look and turned round.

  ‘What is happening to us?’

  ‘You’re so clinging. It’s unbelievable.’

  Seeing her unhappy face made him swing his feet to the floor and stand up. Guilt, on top of everything else could be too much.

  The she said, ‘Is there someone else?’ Perhaps it would all come out in justified rage.

  ‘No there is fucking not! But there will be if you keep on like this.’ He kicked the brass table.

  ‘What’s the dog-food woman like? Beautiful?’

  ‘She’s not fucked up by sophistication.’

  ‘You keep her out of sight.’

  ‘I keep you out of sight. You’re so thick.’

  She recoiled, as though struck. ‘You’re destructive, Ken.’

  ‘Who wouldn’t be disturbed?’ He’d misheard her. ‘What person wouldn’t be disturbed with someone prying into their every move! Don’t tell me I’m disturbed. I can’t even fall asleep without being accused of having a mistress. Be self-sufficient for Crissake. Learn to be responsible for yourself.’ He put on his jacket.

  Tears splashed down her face as he put his cigarettes and keys in his pocket. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘For a walk. Some air.’

  He went to the most unlikely place for air. He turned swiftly into the narrow streets by the railway line. The streets didn’t smell right. He sniffed into doorways like a dog. They were all rinsed out of smell. He was furious.

  Christine followed him.

  *

  He woke up. Someone was holding him. ‘Why is it dark?’ he asked. It shouldn’t be dark. He’d been standing by a lighted stone stairway and the woman had been wearing lots of long skirts and petticoats. He remembered the feel of them clearly, how heavy they had been. He must be back in the alley again and he started shaking.

  ‘It’s all right. It’s all right.’ Christine rocked him gently.

  ‘Where am I?’

  ‘You’re in bed. You’ve had a bad dream.’ She spoke patiently, as though to a child.

  ‘Put the light on.’

  Held tight against her, he felt comfortable, safe, and didn’t want to move, even for a cigarette. ‘You’re a good person, Christine.’ He put his arms around her. Then he felt frightened. He mustn’t get aroused, out of control. The glimpses he’d had once or twice when the flesh had looked funny made him scared to go near her.

  He closed his eyes, wanted to sleep. ‘I do love you, Christine.’

  Then he remembered the woman with the petticoats.

  *

  Ken asked Frances to get him some iron tablets.

  ‘If you feel run down, why don’t you go to the doctor?’ she suggested.

  ‘I never go near those
people. I just want a pick-up. Get vitamins as well. Yeast or whatever it is.’

  ‘Being run down could be a symptom of something else. It’s not a good idea to treat yourself.’

  ‘Frances,’ he laughed. ‘Please don’t get deep with me about medicine. I’ve had it all my life from my mother. Can’t I just ask for a simple thing and get it?’

  She took the money and he watched her walk to the door. She was wearing a long skirt. ‘Frances.’

  She turned round.

  ‘Do women wear petticoats?’

  ‘Only old women. If you’re thinking of getting one for Christine, forget it.’

  ‘Long petticoats, I mean.’

  She laughed. ‘Of course not.’ She opened the door.

  ‘Well, when did they?’ he asked sharply. The petticoats had been very real. One of them was patched and rather dirty and her skin smelt strongly of scented soap.

  ‘Victorian times.’

  *

  ‘I’m being very good.’ Christine, the front of her curly hair dappled blond, ran her hands over her slim hips. ‘I only had two boiled eggs and three cups of black coffee yesterday. I’m nine stone. Isn’t it incredible?’

  ‘Very good,’ said Frances.

  ‘Look at this.’ She brought out a long box from under the bed. ‘Cost every penny I’ve got but it’s worth it. A massaging machine. It won’t undo what’s already done, but it stops any more happening. I think flesh has to be exercised to be firm. I think he’d go mad if I started to sag.’

  ‘You look all right, Christine,’ said Frances, only half laughing. Christine’s physical problems were non-existent compared with her own.

  They sat silently for some time.

  ‘He’s a very odd man,’ Christine said. ‘One minute he’s leaving me, the next says he loves me. I think he’s schizo.’

  ‘He works too hard.’

  ‘To get away from me, I expect. He’s bored when he’s here.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Actually he won’t go near me.’ She picked at the white bed-cover. ‘I mean in the beginning we were at it all the time. He’d come back in his lunch hour and we’d do it. It was marvellous.’

  ‘Love affairs do change, Christine.’ Her voice was re assuring. ‘They’re passionate to begin with. Then they settle down. They have to; otherwise you’d be worn out.’

  ‘I want it back. It’s got to come back.’

  ‘There are some things you can’t recapture. I don’t think he’s dissatisfied with you. He just wants to be peaceful.’

  ‘We used to do it on the floor, on chairs, in the lavatory. I’ll get him back. I’ll do anything.’

  As Frances was going out Christine said quietly, keeping an eye on the neighbour’s door, ‘He really is peculiar. Not just about me. When he’s alone he mutters, and he goes for walks at night, near Kings Cross. It’s odd, because he sort of flits along. One minute he’s there, then I’ve lost him.’

  ‘I know what you mean. We were standing in a crowd the other day and he disappeared. Bunty was furious. One minute he was there, the next he’d gone.’

  11

  When he got home she’d gone blond, but what really shocked him was the sight of a tin of slimming Snap being opened.

  ‘You’re not thinking of giving that to the dog?’

  ‘I can still just about afford human slimming foods, thank you.’ She picked up the china dish with DOG painted on the front. ‘Your mother rang, or should I say rang off. She only has to hear my voice.’

  ‘But I’ve forbidden Snap in this house.’

  ‘Well, it hasn’t got through to Mr Dogfood. He’s just sent a box of thirty assorted tins. It’s not going to waste. It sweeps the country, yet your pooch can’t have it.’

  ‘Dog!’

  ‘Pooch!’

  ‘Fucking dog!’

  ‘Pooch!’ she screamed and turning, wrenched her hand across the jagged tin.

  Blood welled up and spilled on to the floor. She moaned with pain. He just stared, his face dry, paper-white.

  ‘Christ, oh Christ, what have I done? I’m cut to the bone.’ She staggered to the sink and turned on the cold tap. Matthew jumped up and down, screaming. ‘It’s all right darling,’ she managed to say, as she lifted the gashed hand into the water. Then he moved. He went to the phone.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

  ‘Getting an ambulance.’

  ‘Oh don’t be daft.’ She washed the cut without looking at it. The sight of the inside of her flesh as the cut flapped open made her feel queasy. ‘Put the phone down, Ken,’ she said firmly. ‘Bring me the brandy. Get some bandages from the bathroom.’

  He ordered an ambulance and got the bandages but wouldn’t come into the kitchen. Without looking he threw the roll in her direction.

  ‘Squeamish prat!’

  He looked out of the window. ‘Oh, let it come quickly. Oh God, let it come quickly. Please God.’

  She appeared in the doorway, her hand swathed in white gauze.

  ‘Stay in there.’ His voice trembled.

  ‘It’s only blood for heavensake,’ and she walked past him, over to the shelf, and poured a brandy.

  ‘If you did what I said, this wouldn’t have happened.’

  ‘I’ll be all right.’

  ‘I wish the ambulance would hurry.’

  ‘Are you serious? I’m not going to hospital in an ambulance. Cancel it, Ken. You’ll look such a fool.’

  ‘You are, Christine. You’ll have to be — to be — You’ll have to have —’

  ‘Stitches.’

  She was surprised he was so concerned and was quite cheered up by it. Her bandage grew red. He turned his back and pressed his head against the window. The glass was cool and drew out his heat, his panic. ‘Go and lie down.’

  ‘If you want me to go to hospital so much, drive me yourself.’

  ‘No.’ The scarlet, sopping bandage was beginning to drip. ‘Go into the kitchen.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s cleaner.’

  The phone rang. He snapped it up and put it down ferociously. ‘That games mistress, Jane.’

  Then came the beautiful, safe, soothing sound of the ambulance siren.

  *

  In the hospital there was a complication. They stitched her hand, gave her a tetanus shot and sent her home.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked, as she came into the waiting room.

  ‘Going home.’

  He jumped up and without knocking went into the doctor’s room.

  ‘You must keep her in. That’s a horrible cut. She’s suffering from shock.’

  ‘Your wife is perfectly all right. She certainly isn’t shocked.’

  Ken banged the desk. ‘You’re being irresponsible. You are not looking after her properly. I shall hold you responsible for the consequences.’

  ‘What consequences?’

  ‘Her — whatever happens to her.’

  ‘I can’t use national health beds for the wives of hypochondriacal husbands.’ He hated Ken on sight.

  ‘Then I’ll pay. She’s shocked. She’s lost a lot of blood. She’s had a lot of stitches. I want her looked after.’

  *

  Christine shared a two-bed cubicle with a woman who was still unconscious from an operation.

  ‘What about Matthew?’ she asked again.

  ‘He’ll be all right,’ said Ken.

  ‘I feel fine. This is ridiculous.’

  ‘You won’t. You’ll get delayed shock.’ He wiped a hand over his face. He was very tired. ‘It’s better not to take chances.’

  She smiled. ‘You are funny.’ She’d never known him so solicitous.

  He waited in the cubicle while she went to the lavatory. A nurse told him to put his cigarette out, so he bit his nails and wished he could go.

  The woman in the next bed made a suggestion. He’d have found it slightly shocking coming from a prostitute in the street, leave alone from a patient recovering from an
operation. Then he remembered that people coming round from anaesthetics were often obscene. He ignored her. She said it again. He went to the window.

  ‘Go on, let me. You’ll like it.’ Her voice was unusually coarse and he turned and looked at her. She had a long narrow face on which beauty had collapsed into wrinkles and pouches. Her eyes glittered and her heavy make-up gave a suggestion of how she’d once looked. Her head was covered in tight woolly curls like a sheep’s. ‘I won’t charge you. I know how to do it, just how you like it. It’s my speciality.’ She coughed, a hacking cigarette cough.

  He was used to women finding him attractive, but now he was entirely out of his depth. Christine would have to be moved. He could hear the sheets crackling as the woman uncovered herself. ‘Come on, pretty boy. Have a good look.’

  ‘Shut up, you hideous bitch!’ He rushed out and down the passage.

  ‘Nurse. Come quickly!’

  ‘What is it?’ the nurse asked calmly.

  ‘This woman — the one next to my wife.’ He was breathless. Then he realised what had been so odd. It was unusual to see someone coming round from an operation wearing a theatrical make-up. ‘She’s saying some terrible things. I’d like my wife moved at once.’

  The nurse started towards the cubicle, then stopped. ‘She can’t be round yet.’

  ‘She is. She’s fully conscious.’

  The nurse pushed open the swing door. Ken followed. Christine was sitting in a chair. The woman was lying down again, the sheets and blankets almost covering her head and remarkably neat.

  ‘She’s fooling,’ he assured the nurse.

  ‘Mrs Lyons?’ the nurse said cheerfully, and lifted back the sheet.

  Ken saw a young girl, white-faced, deeply asleep.

  ‘What was she saying?’ asked the nurse and covered her again.

  ‘Well ...’ He swallowed. ‘She’s ...’ Then he pulled himself together. ‘She came round for a short time and went to sleep again.’ He gave the nurse a brilliant smile.

  ‘That’s quite usual.’

  He kissed Christine quickly and left her among the rustling uniforms and blue night-lights. She wasn’t used to it. She didn’t like it, but she was safe.

  The nurse went into the office and said, scathingly, ‘There’s a vogue of this sort of thing in Hampstead. An epidemic of overshocked women. Remember that one we had last week. Cut herself shaving her armpit.’