The Likes of Us

by Stan Barstow

  She was quiet at first, acquiescent but passive, her mouth cool and unresponsive under his. Then she parted her lips and put her arms about him. He felt a thrill of pure clear joy shoot through him as they broke away and stood close together in the shadow of the wall.

  ‘I bet you never thought you’d end up like this when I saw you earlier on.’

  She laughed. ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘Neither did I, for that matter. I never expected to see you again... But I hoped I might.’

  She was quiet.

  ‘Will you let me see you again?’

  ‘Do you really want to?’

  ‘Yes, I do. I mean a proper date, where we arrange to meet each other an’ there’s just the two of us. Will you?’

  ‘We’ll see,’ she said.

  He dropped one hand from her shoulder to rest lightly on the swell of her breast and she lifted her own hand to remove it.

  ‘Steady now.’

  ‘Honest,’ Vince said huskily. ‘I’m not startin’ anything. I’m not gettin’ fresh. Honest. I wouldn’t. I... I like you too much.’

  The tenderness that overcame him as he held her was something new to him and appalling in the way it left him defenceless, drained of all violence, weak at the knees. She could do just what she liked with him, that was the way he felt about her. And under the joy it was frightening the way it made him think of things he had always scoffed at: things like steady courtship, marriage, a little home with someone to share it and be waiting for him at the end of the day.

  ‘Oh, Christ!’ he said as her mouth drew him again.

  The beam of the flashlight picked them out as they stood embracing, mouth to mouth, body to body, against the wall. The shock of it was like cold water on them both. The girl hid her face but Vince turned his full into the beam of the torch, his eyes narrowing with fury as Jackson’s voice said:

  ‘I thought so. I thought that was what you were up to, you mucky little bugger. Bringing lasses out an’ getting them up against the wall.’

  Vince’s heart pounded sickeningly. ‘What the hell’s up wi’ you?’ he said furiously. Hatred of Jackson scorched through him in a hot flood. ‘Why can’t you leave people alone? We’re not doin’ any harm.’

  ‘I’m not having this sort o’ work here,’ Jackson said. ‘You can either get back inside or clear off an’ do your dirty work somewhere else. Come on, now, let’s have you.’

  He held the beam of the torch steadily on them as they walked to the corner of the building, the girl with her head bowed and Vince looking straight before him, biting his lips to restrain his wild rage.

  Jackson walked away through the car park, leaving them in the light of the foyer. They went in, Vince showing the pass-outs.

  The girl’s face was scarlet with humiliation. Vince said, ‘The swine; the lousy stinkin’ swine.’ He looked at her. ‘God,’ he said, ‘I don’t know what to say…’

  She turned away from him, avoiding his eyes. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘But look, I –’

  ‘Leave me alone,’ she said. ‘Just leave me alone.’

  He tried to take her arm. ‘Look, Audrey…’

  She shook herself free. ‘My name’s not Audrey.’

  She hurried away from him into the cloakroom. He stood there for some moments until he became gradually aware of people watching him. His own cheeks burned as he went into the gents’ cloakroom and shut himself in a cubicle. He was almost crying now with anger. He clenched his fists and beat them on the air, cursing Jackson silently through clenched teeth. He stayed there several minutes until he felt he could face returning to the hall. As he came into the foyer he caught a glimpse of a girl who looked like Audrey hurrying out through the street door with a coat over her shoulders. He made a movement as if to follow her, then checked it and turned and went into the hall to find Sam and Finch and Bob. This was one thing Jackson wasn’t going to get away with.

  He found Sam first, alone, which was as he wanted it. He told him what had happened outside and how the girl had reacted.

  ‘I don’t know now if I’ll ever see her again, Sam, or if she’ll speak to me if I do. She’s a chick with some class, Sam, see. It made her feel cheap being caught up against a wall like that. I know just how she feels, an’ I’ll allus remind her of it. Oh, that bloody lousy stinkin’ pig Jackson.’

  ‘He’s a bloody maniac,’ Sam said. ‘Sex-mad. Where’s the bird now?’

  ‘I think she’s hopped it. I thought I saw her goin’ out just now.’

  ‘An’ where’s Jacko?’

  ‘He stopped outside playin’ the bloody Peepin’ Tom with his flashlamp.’ Vince gripped Sam’s arm. ‘Listen, Sam, I’m goinna get that bugger for this. He’s not gettin’ away with it this time.’

  ‘What you goinna do?’

  ‘Wait for him on his way home an’ do him. Are you with me? You’d like to have a go at him, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Too bloody true I would,’ Sam said. ‘I haven’t forgotten that night last winter when he picked on me an’ threw me out of here. But it’s no good just the two of us. Two of us can’t manage him.’

  ‘No, but we can if we have Finch an’ Bob to back us up. We can bash the bugger till his own mother won’t know him.’

  Sam looked doubtful. ‘Think they’ll come?’

  ‘Why not? They don’t like Jacko any more than we do.’

  ‘An’ they don’t like gettin’ their earholes punched, either.’

  ‘Oh, Christ Almighty, Sam, if the four of us can’t manage him, I don’t know who can. Where are they, anyway?’

  ‘I think they’re sittin’ down the other end.’

  ‘You get ’em. I’ll go an’ get a table in the coffee bar.’

  A few minutes later the four of them were sitting round a corner table and Vince was telling the others what he had already told Sam. Bob appeared to find it amusing.

  ‘What the hell you grinnin’ at?’ Vince demanded.

  ‘Well, it’s funny, in’t it?’ Bob said.

  ‘I don’t see owt bloody funny about it.’

  ‘Well, there’s a funny side to it, in’t there?’ Bob said. ‘I mean, there’s you standin’ up against the wall with this tart an’ along comes old Jacko an’ shines his lamp on you.’

  ‘You’d ha’ thought it wa’ funny if it’d been you, I suppose?’ Vince said angrily. ‘You’d ha’ burst out laughin’, I suppose?’

  ‘No, I’d ha’ been as mad as you,’ Bob said. ‘Only it wasn’t me, it wa’ you.’

  ‘An’ that makes all the bloody difference, eh?’

  ‘Well, I mean…’ Bob subsided in the face of Vince’s furious glare.

  ‘I’ll bet you could ha’ killed him,’ Finch said.

  ‘If thoughts could kill he’d be lyin’ out there stone dead this minute.’

  ‘Let’s get down to business,’ Sam said. ‘Time’s gettin’ on. They’ll be slingin’ everybody out of here afore long.

  ‘What’s up?’ Finch said.

  ‘We’re goinna do Jackson on the way home,’ Vince told him; ‘that’s what’s up.’

  ‘Who’s we?’ Bob wanted to know.

  ‘Me an’ Sam; an’ you an’ Finch if you’re game.’

  Finch said nothing but gave a quick startled glance at the faces of Vince and Sam sitting opposite him.

  ‘You an’ Sam…’ Bob said. ‘Think you can manage him?’

  ‘If we have to,’ Vince said grimly. ‘But it’ll make it easier if you an’ Finch join in.’

  Still Finch remained silent.

  ‘I dunno,’ Bob said. ‘He’s a big bloke... fifteen or sixteen stone. An’ he can use his fists. You’ve seen how he handles blokes he doesn’t like.’

  ‘Aye, tackling him’ll
be a bit different from kickin’ a bloke in the ribs up a back alley,’ Vince said.

  Bob flushed. ‘You know I’m not scared of a scrap. You know I allus hold me corner up.’

  ‘I know you do, Bob. ‘Vince’s voice was now conciliatory, but under it he wished furiously that he could upturn the table on them all in contempt and go and do what he had to do alone. ‘You’re a good lad in a scrap. That’s why we want you with us. You don’t like Jacko, do you? You’d like to have a hand in doin’ him, wouldn’t you?’

  Bob looked at Sam, then at Vince.

  ‘What’s your plan?’

  ‘Well, you know the skinny bastard won’t pay for a taxi an’ he allus walks home except when it’s chuckin’ it down with rain. I’ve been thinkin’, if we go first an’ wait on the edge of the common, just by the wood, we can jump him before he knows we’re there.’

  Sam nodded. ‘That’s a good idea. It’s the best place, an’ he’ll never know who we are in the dark up there.’

  ‘He won’t even know how many of us there is,’ said Vince. ‘We can make mincemeat of the bastard an’ drop down into town an’ be home in bed by one.’

  ‘Suppose he doesn’t go that way tonight?’

  ‘He allus does. An’ if he doesn’t we’ll have to call it off till another time. But he’ll be there; it’s a nice night for a walk.’

  ‘An’ a good scrap,’ Sam said, smiling.

  Vince warmed to him. ‘Good old Sam,’ he said, putting his arm round the other’s shoulders.

  ‘Suppose he recognises us?’ Bob said.

  ‘Oh, Christ, suppose, suppose. He’s got nothin’ on us, has he? He can’t prove anythin’. We can think of a story an’ back one another up.’

  Sam glanced at his watch, a large gold one with a gold strap that he had picked up for a pound late one night from a young National Service soldier who was too drunk to walk home and hadn’t a shilling in his pocket towards a taxi fare. ‘We’d better be off if we’re goin’. They’ll be finishing here any time now.’

  Vince looked at Finch. ‘What about you, Finch? You’ve said nowt so far.’

  Finch hesitated before speaking. ‘I reckon I’m game,’ he said in a moment, ‘if Bob is. Not if there’s only three of us though.’

  ‘Good lad, Finch. You’re a bloody trouper, you are. Now then, Bob, what about it?’

  Bob played with a dirty cup which had not been cleared off the table before they sat down. He said nothing before Sam burst out impatiently:

  ‘Oh, come on. What the hell’s everybody ditherin’ about? He’s only one bloke against four of us. Let’s get the bugger done. He’s had it comin’ to him for long enough.’

  Bob decided, and pushed the cup away from him. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I’m on.’

  ‘That’s the style,’ Vince said exultantly. His eyes glittered in a face now flushed with excitement. He scraped back his chair. ‘We’ll half-kill the bastard. We’ll give him summat to think about.’

  The drums of the band were rolling for the National Anthem as they pushed a way through to the door. The dance was over. Jackson, they guessed, would be leaving in about fifteen minutes, which gave them time to approach the common by a roundabout route. Midnight struck from the clock tower of the Town Hall as they left the steep streets and took to an unsurfaced track along which they walked for a few minutes before leaving it for a narrow path across the rough grassland. They were quiet, speaking only occasionally and then in subdued voices, though the chance of their being seen or overheard here so late at night was remote. They were high up now above the town. Before them the path led on over the common to the Calderford Road and behind the darkness of the valley was pricked in a thousand places by the sparkle and glitter of streetlights. They left the path, swinging back in an arch towards the small wood on the town side, and now, for some time, no one spoke at all as they went on, lifting their feet high on the tussocky grassland.

  Vince realised a few moments later that they had lost one of their number. ‘Where the hell’s Finch?’ They stopped and turned, looking back the way they had come, as Finch came up after them at a run.

  ‘Where the hell you been?’

  ‘Stopped for a leak,’ Finch said. ‘I couldn’t wait.’

  ‘Thought you’d dropped down a rabbit hole,’ Bob said, and Finch said, ‘Ha, ha!’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, keep with us,’ Vince told him. ‘We’re nearly there.’

  ‘I’ve never been up here in the dark afore,’ Finch said. ‘Glad I’m not by meself. It’s a lovely spot for a murder.’

  ‘Quiet,’ Vince said. ‘Don’t talk ’less you have to.’

  They reached the wood, which was no bigger than a large copse, and made a quick reconnaissance. They decided then to stick to Vince’s original plan of lying in wait for Jackson just where the path entered the trees. Anyone using the path must surmount a small rise before dropping into the wood.

  Vince said, ‘I’ll go up here an’ keep a lookout. What time is it?’

  Sam consulted the luminous face of his watch and said it was nearly a quarter past twelve.

  ‘He shouldn’t be long now.’

  ‘If he comes at all,’ Bob said.

  ‘Course he’ll come,’ Vince said impatiently. ‘He allus comes this way. It’s his quickest way home when he’s walkin’.’

  He went forward to the summit of the hillock and as he stretched himself out on the cool grass the Town Hall clock struck the quarter hour. The moon was rising, lightening the sky. He hoped Jackson would not be too long or it might be light enough for him to recognise them. And too long a wait might rob Finch and Bob of their taste for the job. He wasn’t worried about Sam. He would stick. He was a good mate. Vince felt that he could trust Sam as much as possible in a world where, when it came right down to it, you could trust nobody; where you depended on nobody but yourself and you relied on people and used them just as much as you only had to, and no more. He, if he admitted the truth, was using the gang tonight for the purpose of wreaking his personal revenge on Jackson. They none of them liked Jackson, true; and each had his reasons for not being sorry to see Jackson beaten up. But in none of them did the pure hatred burn as fiercely as it did in Vince and none of them would ever have made an attempt on Jackson if he hadn’t screwed them up to it tonight. It was a performance he knew he could not repeat. It was tonight or never. If Jackson chose this one night to change his routine and go home another way, revenge was lost. And if he didn’t come in the next few minutes it might be too late because already Vince could sense impatience in the wood behind him as a voice murmured and he heard the scrape of a match and saw its glow as some fool lit a cigarette. He wanted to shout at them, but dared not. He could only lie there waiting, hoping that Jackson would come soon.

  He looked out across the valley. The starless sky seemed to be lifting and growing paler. He could make out the shape of buildings, the looming bulk of mills and the clock tower of the Town Hall. A car’s headlights swooped on Halifax Road. He heard the gear-change in the valley bottom and the labour of the engine as it pulled away up the hill. In the quiet that followed a man coughed in the street beyond the fence and Vince’s heart jumped. He lay very still, his muscles tensed ready for flight to the wood. But there was no other sound, not even a footstep.

  Finch came up beside him. ‘Isn’t there any sign of him?’

  ‘Not yet. He’ll come, though; there’s still plenty of time.’

  ‘Happen he’s gone another way.’

  ‘He allus comes this way.’

  ‘He might have got himself a woman to take home.’

  ‘He’s wed. Got a couple o’ kids, I believe.’

  Finch grunted. He was crouching and Vince said, ‘Keep yoursen down, can’t you?’

  Finch crouched a little lower. ‘How much longer are we waitin’?
’

  ‘We’ll give him a bit longer. He might have had a bit o’ clearin’ up to do, or summat.’

  ‘Bob says he doesn’t think he’s comin’ now.’

  ‘Who the bloody hell cares what Bob thinks?’ Vince hissed. ‘Is that him smokin’ that fag?’

  ‘Yeh, he lit up a minute or two sin’.’

  ‘Well get back to him an’ tell him to bloody well put it out,’ Vince said.

  Finch disappeared and Vince lifted himself on his elbows. That Bob. He was more and more trouble every time they met. The time was coming fast when they would have to settle it once and for all. And one swift hard punch into Bob’s face would do the trick. If Jackson didn’t turn up it might be a way of relieving his feelings tonight, because Bob was sure to have something to say about their having spent all this time on the common for nothing.

  ‘Come on, Jackson,’ he murmured. ‘Come on, you big, stupid bastard, and get what’s comin’ to you.’

  He began to think about the girl and he wondered if he would ever see her again. He remembered holding her and kissing her under the wall of the Trocadero and a lingering memory of tenderness touched his heart. Surely she wouldn’t hold it against him for ever? Surely when she had calmed down and got over the humiliation she would realise that he, Vince, had not been able to help it? He had to see her again to find out. The Trocadero would be out after tonight because there would always be the fear that Jackson had known them.

  And Cressley was a big place. He could go for years and never run into her again. But perhaps she too would avoid the Trocadero now and go to the Gala Rooms, because she had said she liked dancing. She had also said she liked swimming, so he could always look for her at the baths. He would go to the baths every evening after work for a month if necessary, because he had to see her again, no matter what. He just had to.

  His heart lifted then with sudden excitement as he became aware of somebody whistling down the hill. Jackson was coming, and whistling to keep himself company in the dark. He knew it was Jackson because he could recognise the whistle anywhere: light and musical and full of little runs and trills. He waited till Jackson’s head and shoulders appeared at the stile, then slid down out of sight and ran back to join the others.