The Likes of Us

by Stan Barstow

  She suppressed her desire to laugh at this sudden fanciful flight of talk.

  ‘A bird in a gilded cage. Except the cage isn’t gold. It’s all very well, but–’

  ‘No, Joyce.’ He came round the table and took her hands. There was something in his eyes that she’d never seen before. ‘It just won’t do.’

  She was so surprised then, when he kissed her, that she rested passively and without resistance in his arms. Until the pressure of his embrace increased, when she pulled free with a light laugh.

  ‘Why, Leonard, I never knew you were one for kissing and cuddling in the back room.’

  He held her hands. ‘Joyce, I’ve never said anything before. I thought I’d no right. But I can’t stand around and watch it any longer. You, grubbing for extra money, living a life with no beauty or refinement in it. I’m not a wealthy man but I could give you at least something of what you ought to have. A better life than you’ll ever have with him.’

  She withdrew her hands and tried to hide her surprise and confusion by pouring the tea. ‘You’ve given me a shock,’ she said eventually.

  ‘I’ve always hidden it before,’ he said. ‘As I say, I didn’t think I’d the right. You should know as well that I... I shouldn’t make any demands that you weren’t prepared to accept.’

  It had gone far enough. She said with a little dismissive laugh. ‘Don’t talk silly.’

  He stiffened, not answering.

  ‘I’m sorry, Leonard. You just don’t understand.’

  ‘I can understand misplaced loyalty. I know what sort of woman you are; I wouldn’t want you if you were any other way.’

  ‘It’s loyalty, Leonard, but it’s not misplaced. And it’s something more than that.’

  ‘You can’t tell me you still love him.’

  ‘I said some things to him last night, and afterwards, when I saw the look on his face, I could have killed myself.’

  ‘You don’t like to hurt people. What you don’t realise is that it’s not you but the truth that does the damage.’

  ‘I did a terrible thing. I threw it in his face that Gloria isn’t his child. After all these years.’

  ‘What? What do you mean?’

  ‘She isn’t his. You didn’t know that, did you? I had an affair with a married man. I was young and silly, I suppose. Anyway, I’d finished it just before I met Brian and not long after I’d started going out with him I realised I was pregnant. It would have been easy enough to let Brian have me and pretend it was his. But I couldn’t. I told him the truth. And do you know what he said? He said he wanted to marry me and this way he could have me all the quicker. I never even told him who the other man was.’

  ‘The child doesn’t know?’

  ‘Nobody knows. You’re the first person I’ve ever told. Brian worships Gloria as though she were his own. And last night I threw it all in his face. I even practically threatened to tell Gloria the truth.’

  ‘It makes no difference. You can’t live on gratitude for ever.’

  She picked up a cup and held it out, looking steadily at him.

  ‘Oh, but you can, Leonard. That, and what it leads to.’

  Brian sat in the cab of his lorry, parked opposite the doors of the school. It was an old building, inadequate for today’s needs, with a patched tarmac playground between it and the iron railings along the road. In a couple of years Gloria would leave here for the new secondary modern school set in green fields on the edge of the town. From thinking of this it took no great stretch of the mind to imagine her finished with school and in her first job. The years passed with increasing speed and with every one now she would become less dependent upon him and Joyce and more capable of making her own decisions.

  Her birth had been a difficult one and the complications were finally resolved by an operation which made it impossible for Joyce to conceive again. No matter though, that Brian could not have a child of his own; Gloria was as good as his and he loved her fiercely, seeing no necessity for her ever to know the truth about her parentage. It was only Joyce who kept that issue alive, resurrecting it in spasms of fierce and, to him, inexplicable resentment during her attacks of discontent. There was no reason for her to feel gratitude towards him. He had made no sacrifice in marrying her. He’d wanted her and was himself grateful for the circumstances which made her accept him. He doubted that he would have got her otherwise and he had never quite been able to believe his luck. Now he was beginning to wonder if he could hold her. He brooded incessantly on their most recent quarrel and his apparent inability to make her happy.

  The doors swung back and the first of the children appeared. He watched for Gloria and got out of the lorry to call her when he saw her.

  ‘Gloria! Over here, love.’

  She broke away from her friends and ran to him and he took hold of her and swung her up through the open door of the cab. He climbed in beside her and started the engine.

  ‘Your mummy wants me to take you to her at the shop. You can stop with her till closing time; then she’ll take you home.’

  ‘Oh, goody!’

  The child was used to spending the last part of the afternoon with neighbours, and this visit to the shop was a treat. Brian pondered on the chances of his getting a job with more money so that Joyce could stay at home. And then he wondered whether, even if he doubled his wages, she would ever settle down to the day-to-day routine of the house.

  Draper was arranging a stand of ties when they went into the shop.

  ‘Ah, Brian, and little Gloria. Not so little now, though, eh?’

  He always addressed him as Brian, but Brian, hesitating at the familiarity of ‘Leonard’, yet not wishing to be so formal as to call him ‘Mr Draper’, managed to avoid the use of any name at all.

  ‘Joyce said to bring her round. She said she’d look after her till closing time.’

  ‘Yes, that’s all right. Your mummy’s gone on a little errand for me, but she won’t be long. Come into the inner sanctum.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t much time. I’m skyving as it is, you see.’

  ‘You can spare another minute or two, can’t you? Don’t you want to see Joyce?’

  ‘I suppose I could wait a minute till she comes back.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Draper said. ‘Come through.’

  Brian touched Gloria’s arm, guiding her ahead of him into the back room where suits hung, shoulder-on, to the wall, and there was a partly unrolled bolt of cloth on the square table.

  ‘I haven’t any pop or anything for you to drink,’ Draper said. ‘Perhaps your mummy will bring you something. I’ll tell you what I have got, though.’ He reached up and took a box of biscuits off the shelf, opening it and offering it to Gloria. ‘I expect you’d like one of these, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Say “thank you”,’ Brian said as Gloria took a biscuit, and the girl dutifully repeated the words.

  Draper patted her on the head. ‘That’s all right, my sweet. We don’t stand on ceremony here. They’re nice, those, aren’t they? They’re your mummy’s favourites as well. Did you know that? I keep telling her she’ll spoil her figure but she goes on eating them and it doesn’t seem to make any difference. Aren’t you glad you’ve got such a pretty mummy?’

  Gloria nodded and said yes.

  ‘And you’re going to grow up just as pretty. I can see that. You favour your mummy. Anybody can see whose little girl you are. But I can’t see much of your daddy in you.’ Draper glanced at Brian as though to confirm his judgement, then looked back at Gloria, his head bent forward and a little to one side as he spoke to her. ‘But that’s on the right side, isn’t it? Your daddy’s a big strong man, but you’re going to grow up into a pretty lady like your mummy.’ Brian frowned as the words brought back once more the pain of his quarrel with Joyce. ‘What will you do then? Go on the s
tage and dance and sing, or act? Your mummy’s very good when she’s helping me, but she’s got your daddy to look after…’ He stroked her hair once more before looking at Brian.

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve got nothing to offer you, Brian. Unless you’d like a cup of tea.’

  ‘No, no,’ Brian said. ‘I shall have to be off.’

  ‘Daddy, can I have a comic?’

  ‘Of course,’ Draper said. ‘You’ll want something to keep you amused while your mummy and I are looking after the shop.’ He took a shilling out of his pocket. ‘Watch carefully.’ He palmed the coin and held out his closed fists to Gloria. ‘Which hand do you think it’s in?’

  ‘That one.’

  ‘This one?’ The hand was empty. ‘It must be in the other one, then, mustn’t it? No, it’s not there, either. I wonder where it can have got to? Do you know? Well, let’s try here, shall we?’ He put his hand to the side of Gloria’s head and pretended to take the shilling out of her ear. ‘There it is! Who’d have thought that? Here you are. It’s all yours. There’s a shop on the corner.’

  ‘Ooh, thank you!’ Gloria turned and ran out.

  ‘It must be very satisfying to watch a child like that growing and developing as the years go by.’ Draper spoke reflectively, his gaze on the open doorway through which Gloria had disappeared. ‘Mrs Draper and I never had any children. She wanted to wait. And then she fell ill and died and it was too late. Perhaps she wouldn’t have made a good mother. She was a neurotic woman and we weren’t happy together. It may sound cruel, but it was a merciful release for me when she died. Some men look for consolation outside their marriage, but I found that sort of thing wasn’t enough.’

  ‘Why didn’t you get married again?’ Brian asked.

  ‘It’s not as easy as all that. You’re frightened of making another mistake and you don’t meet anyone who can overcome that fear in you. Or if you do, perhaps she’s already committed elsewhere.’

  Brian shrugged as Draper’s gaze slid round to his face. He neither liked nor understood him and he was always vaguely uneasy in his company.

  ‘I shall have to be off.’

  But Draper came forward in a quick movement before he could leave the room. ‘Look, I wanted to tell you. You mustn’t be too hard on Joyce, you know.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘You mustn’t judge her too harshly. She was only very young.’

  Brian said, ‘What’re you—?’ then stopped as Draper fixed his eyes on something behind him. He turned and saw Gloria was already back and standing in the doorway, a garishly coloured comic in her hands.

  ‘Gloria, just run out for a minute and see if your mummy’s coming.’

  ‘Oh, Daddy, I’ve just been out.’

  ‘Do as you’re told.’ He watched her go, heard the shop door open and close, then faced Draper. ‘Look, tell me what you’re talking about.’

  Draper’s gaze was still fixed in the same direction, holding there so steadily that Brian turned his head again with the momentary thought that Gloria must have deceived him and returned to the doorway. Then he felt the first touch of an inexplicable fear which quickly, as Draper stood motionless, refusing to speak, resolved itself into a conviction that this man knew something which could harm him and the child.

  ‘I want to know what you’re talking about,’ he said, the edge of his voice roughening.

  Draper turned, his head thrust forward as he looked at Brian. As he spoke he moved his hands as though to weave patterns of communication in the air between them. ‘It was all over when she met you. I can understand about Brighton, but you mustn’t be hard on her. There’s nothing between us now.’

  Brian stared. Incredulity robbed him for a moment of the power to speak. ‘You? You mean... you and her?’

  ‘I tell you she was young. It was just one of those things.’

  ‘And Gloria’s...?’ He couldn’t take it in. ‘She’s not yours,’ he said. ‘She’s mine.’

  ‘How do you think it feels to me?’ Draper said. ‘Seeing them deprived of things. I could give them a better home and a fuller life.’

  ‘But you can’t have them. You can’t have either of them.’ Something was rising in him, screaming to a point where he could not contain it. He held himself rigid. His body shook and he found that he could discern only the outline of Draper’s face as it was thrust at him and the lips moved, letting out words that now had venom in them.

  ‘She’s ready to come. She’s sick and tired of being grateful to you. Tired of living with you because of what you did for her. How will you stop her if she wants to come? What will you do when she tells you she’s leaving?’

  ‘You bas-tard!’ The roar of his cry filled the room. He hit Draper in the face, sending him reeling back against the hanging clothes, and sprang after him as he dragged them with him. He took him round the neck and squeezed, his fury uncontainable. ‘You’ll not have ’em. You’ll never take ’em away. They’re mine. Mine, I tell you, mine.’

  A moment later he realised that he was holding Draper’s full weight in his two hands and he let him slip to the floor as Gloria said from the doorway, ‘Daddy, what are you doing?’

  He ran and crouched and embraced her.

  ‘Daddy, what’s wrong?’

  ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘He had a dizzy spell. He’ll be all right in a minute.’ He stood up and took her hand, turning her round. ‘We’re going for a ride.’

  ‘Aren’t we waiting for Mummy?’

  ‘No,’ Brian said, ‘we’re going on a trip.’

  Before she could say anything else he swept her up in his arms and carried her out.

  He had been driving for some time before he became aware that Gloria was not well. He put his hand on her forehead where she lay curled up, sleeping, on the seat beside him and felt it hot to his touch. Food and a hot drink might help her but he dared not stop at any of the cafés along the road and so mark his route for anyone looking for him. The alarm had probably already been raised. Joyce would be too shocked to cover up for him, even if she wanted to, and the police would quickly discover that he’d been due to call at the shop and now he and Gloria were missing from home.

  He had no chance. His flight had been instinctive, an act of panic rather than one containing the possibility of escape. They would get him; but before then he needed somewhere to be quiet for a time, so that he could think. There was only one place he knew.

  He drove steadily northwards through lashing rain, his eyes straining to see the road ahead of him. Occasionally he put out his hand and touched the face of the sleeping child, fretting now not about his own predicament but about her having seen what he’d done to Draper; wondering how much of it she had taken in and how deeply into her mind it had gone.

  He woke her to get her out of the lorry but she stood with heavy eyelids, as though drugged, while Mrs Sugden made noises of concern over her head. She appeared to need restful sleep more than food or drink and Mrs Sugden urged him to take her upstairs and put her to bed. There were no questions until he came back down into the kitchen.

  ‘Well?’ When he made no answer, Mrs Sugden went on, ‘You didn’t just bring her for the ride, did you?’

  ‘I’ve killed him,’ Brian said. It had to be like that, quickly, brutally, or he would never have found the courage to tell her.

  She caught at her breath, her eyes widening, as Brian moved to the table and pulled out a chair, slumping heavily into it.

  ‘He taunted me. Said he’d take them away from me and give them a better life than I could. There... there was somebody before I met Joyce, y’see. Gloria’s his. He said it was him. I suddenly saw him, after all this time, stepping in and taking everything... I hit him, then I got hold of him.’ Brian turned his hands up on the table. ‘I got hold of him. I couldn’t think of anythi
ng except what he said, what he could do to me.’

  There was no need to ask whom he was speaking of. She said, ‘Oh, my God!’ under her breath and took a bottle of scotch out of the cupboard, pouring some into a glass and handing it to him. He gulped at it, downing it in one, shivering suddenly and pulling a face.

  ‘What’re you going to do now?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. All I could think of was to come here for a bit, somewhere I could be quiet and work something out.’

  ‘But why the little girl? You can’t–’

  ‘I just picked her up and brought her with me. I couldn’t leave her there with him.’

  ‘You mean to say she saw what happened?’

  ‘Part of it. I don’t know how much she really took in.’ He lifted his eyes for a moment. ‘She’s all I’ve got now.’

  ‘But what are you going to do?’

  ‘I don’t know. If I can just rest and be quiet for a while.’

  ‘Do you want something to eat or will you go up to bed?’

  He got up and crossed to the fireside chair with the cover over it. ‘I’ll just put me head down here for a bit.’

  She let him be and he slept for a time, waking to find her sitting across from him, very still, her hands in her lap, her gaze in sombre contemplation of his face. For a second it was as though there was nothing out of the ordinary in it; then it all came to him and he said, ‘What time is it?’

  ‘It’s getting on.’

  ‘Is Gloria all right?’

  ‘Yes. Let her have her sleep out. Does your wife know where you are?’

  ‘I don’t suppose so.’

  ‘What will she do?’

  ‘What can she do except call the police? There’s nowhere I can go. They’ll find me inside twenty-four hours.’