I hesitated, trying to take this in.
“Well?” said Linda, curious. “What are you going to do?”
I suddenly became terribly interested in my feet.
“Jumbo … don’t be shy. Just ask her to dance.”
“But she’s with someone else.”
“You’ll just have to bide your time and then get in first. It’s only Greg she’s with, and I’ve heard it from her own lips that she doesn’t think much of him.”
“Then why is she dancing with him?”
“He asked her, silly. No girl wants to be a wallflower all her life.”
With Margaret Turner soft and scented in my arms my dreams should have come true. But something was missing. First of all, I couldn’t believe that she was real, that she was actually doing a slow dance with me, that her thighs brushed mine, that the firm roundness of her breasts were pressed against my chest. We were both nervous and dancing ever so slowly like worn-out metronomes. Even at this restful pace, I had crushed her toes twice and mumbled apologies, though she never complained.
But something wasn’t right. It wasn’t just my nervousness and the stiffness in my arms and legs, it was something worse, a feeling that frightened me so badly I wanted to push her away before the record finished and find some space of my own.
Quite simply, I didn’t want her. I didn’t want her in the least. And yet the face of this gentle, attractive girl had filled my thoughts when I’d lain alone at nights. I’d even imagined making love to her as I cried out with the pleasure I’d given myself a little guiltily in my single bed. In the last months if the body I’d envisioned entering had had a face it had been Margaret’s. And now this, this nothing. I felt betrayed. And worse, I felt lost, left to drift alone and helpless like an empty bottle cast out to sea.
And all the while I danced with her I was thinking of Richard, and my feelings for him when I’d seen him dance. I couldn’t help wondering what it would be like dancing with him, the two of us holding each other …
But that was impossible, something that could never be. Then the closeness of Margaret frightened me, as if she threatened what I truly wanted. When the record finished, I thanked her for the dance in strained, clipped tones and then turned away, trying not to see the hurt and disappointment I’d engraved on her puzzled face.
Outside the Manor dance hall the sound of music was faint, a hum lost in the rush of the wind. I took deep breaths of the cold night air, and looked around for a place where I could be on my own. Turning left I walked down a crazy-paving path, startled by the sound of suppressed laughter, the sight of a busy couple locked together against a wall. I could feel the blood run to my face. I kept my eyes averted and pushed past, walking quickly until I emerged into the green seclusion of a garden. In the summer I supposed parties of people would come out here on the lawn, wandering idly with fragile glasses in their hands.
It was cold out here, peaceful after the noise and bustle inside. The wind lifted a curl of hair from my face and I closed my eyes thinking I could do without people forever. Then I heard the light sound of footsteps and I wanted to run away. I couldn’t have faced Linda. She would have looked into my frightened face and taken my hand and asked me, in a gentle way I could not have refused, what I was afraid of.
But no one must know. That was the only thought in my head. I was scared of anyone finding me, frightened that someone might see me for what I really was, perceiving the stranger hidden inside.
I whimpered then like a tiny child. The stranger was too strong now. He was fighting for recognition and I knew then I couldn’t pretend any more. I couldn’t …
I looked up at the night sky and the stars spread above and they seemed so far away, twinkling pin-pricks of light certain in their beauty, mocking me. I was about to cry out, when I realised someone was watching me.
Pale in the darkness the figure came towards me. Then I realised who it was.
Richard.
I shivered, remembering again the times we’d watched each other, the few occasions we’d spoken and when, helping him off the corridor floor, I’d held his hand. It was like the different pieces of a jigsaw puzzle coming together, and the vivid image of him dancing had completed the picture. I wanted him. And he was here.
For a long moment he didn’t speak, but stayed there looking at me as if he could see right down inside me, as if he could understand.
From his silence I realised he must have been in the garden all along, must have seen me standing there trembling, must have heard the sounds in my throat. For the first time in my life I didn’t feel heavy or strong or tall. I felt as vulnerable and fragile as the smallest being, like a tiny creature made of glass so delicate that the sound of laughter would have broken me, sent me splintering apart.
But he didn’t laugh, he didn’t mock me with sharp questions. He waited in the silence, not moving at all as if on some signal he would dissolve into thin air. And in his quiet my panic disappeared, the beating wings of questions stilled, and in the calm I found my voice.
“I didn’t see you.”
Richard smiled uncertainly.
“I was over there, behind that tree.” He pointed. “See, with the forked branches.”
I nodded my head and wondered whether to turn away and go. But I couldn’t escape myself by running away. I stood my ground and was suddenly afraid that he would walk away and leave me.
“It was noisy in there, the dance and that.”
“Yes, I know,” he said, quickly. “I came out here for a breather. It’s peaceful somehow … away from everyone, away from everything almost.”
Richard looked at me pointedly, encouraging me to speak. I felt as if he was aware of the stranger inside me, recognising him as a friend. My instinct told me I had only to reach out to feel Richard take my hand, but I could not move. The words were lost in my throat and, rejected by my silence, he turned and began to walk away.
“Richard … ”
He paused in his step and bowed his head.
“Could you stay for a minute. Please.”
I think that was the hardest thing I ever said. It hurt me to say those words, to put forward so simple a request. But I didn’t want to be alone.
He came back towards me, taking small reluctant steps. I wanted to reach out and touch him, but I didn’t dare.
Then, suddenly, perhaps because I was no longer doing what I wanted to do, denying my natural impulse to hold him, a distance came between us. Perhaps a gesture would have explained it all. But I was afraid to reach out and the words inside me were like knotted balls of wool I couldn’t untangle, pictures too dark for anyone’s eyes.
“I … ”
He waited patiently, silently questioning the fear in my face. He didn’t say anything, then turned his face away disappointed, casting a deep shadow across his throat.
I knew then that hard as it had been for me to acknowledge my own feelings for him, it would be harder still to express them.
“I wish …”
“Yes?”
The gentle way he voiced that one word disarmed me, and I was no longer scared, but anxious he might refuse me.
“Could I see you? Some time, please. In the holidays, maybe?”
He hesitated, and cowardice got the better of me. Watching him dance I’d been aware finally of my desire for him. But it was my secret and, uncertain, I was only sure of safety by deception.
“To read your essays,” I said, lying with a half truth. “Minty thought it would be a good idea if I saw them. He told me to ask.”
“Of course.” The voice was noncommittal.
“Next week? Monday morning?”
“You’ll come to my house?”
I looked into his eyes, sensitive to a question behind the question. Was he inviting me to come to him? I nodded, hoping in some way behind the words we understood each other.
“See you then,” Richard said, and the warmth in his smile gave me hope.
“See you.”
> Without glancing back he walked away. I watched the pale figure wander up the path and disappear behind the hedge. Inside me the stranger stepped out into the light. I saw his face and tried to smile, reaching out my hand in uncertain welcome because I was afraid.
4
I was expecting something grand, with lots of windows, a heavy oak door and a neatly kept lawn at the front, complete with rose beds tended by a gardener they employed to come in once or twice a week.
But 17 Winslow Gardens was one of a long street of red-brick terraced houses, each as ordinary as the other, with no garden to speak of at the front and not a gardener in sight. I tried to relax, shrugging my shoulders,and then rang the door-bell. I could see there were enormous green plants in the front room, but apart from these there was no sign of life. Then I heard footsteps along the hall, the sound of the latch.
Richard, in green tee-shirt and tight-fitting blue jeans, glanced at me uncertainly.
“I’m only half-awake,” he apologised. “Do come in.” I hesitated because again I wanted to touch him. Avoiding his eyes, I stepped into the hall where there were more plants in pots on tiny tables and on the floor. I noticed tendrils sprouting from a pale blue china bowl suspended from the ceiling. Being so tall I had to duck my head.
“I should have warned you about that,” Richard said in a friendly voice. “We’re all dwarves in our family. None of us over five eight.”
“The Little People,” I said, beginning to feel at ease. “That’s right.” Richard laughed.
“It must be good to go unnoticed in crowds,” I told him. “I always stick out like a sore thumb. I also have big feet which I trip over.”
Richard looked at me directly for the first time, his grey eyes questioning gently. I felt he was testing me out. I tried to hold his gaze, but I was the first to turn away. I wondered if he would read my nervousness as a sign of what I felt. How would he react?
I knew I wanted him, but did he want me? When he’d been called away in the bar at the dance I’d felt he had wanted to stay and speak to me. And he had come to me in the garden that evening, I’d seen the warmth in his eyes when we’d agreed on today’s meeting. But these were all the smallest signs. Was I reading too much into them? And yet, despite my doubts, a part of me felt almost sure he was interested in me. I shuffled my feet nervously.
Richard didn’t seem to mind my quietness.
“They call you Jumbo,” he said. “Don’t they? Do you mind?”
“No,” I lied.
“It would give me a complex,” Richard said. “Especially if I was enormously tall and had huge feet.” Then he realised what he was saying and laughed nervously. “Sorry. That was tactless.”
“I’m used to it,” I said.
“I suppose so, being one of the rugby team.”
“We’re not all loud-mouthed yobs,” I said, suddenly, and I could see him go serious at the sharpness in my voice. “Most of us are good blokes.”
“I didn’t mean it quite how it sounded. Sorry.”
I’d never spoken to anyone quite like Richard before. After the Gordons and the Steves he seemed a different kind of creature.
“You’ll be apologising all day,” I said, and Richard laughed, gently mocking himself.
“I always do that. It’s a silly habit. My inferiority complex.”
“Well, I’ve one of those, too,” I admitted, taking a pleasure in being open with him. With Steve and Gordon self-doubts and worries were something I had to hide.
“That surprises me,” said Richard, turning and looking at me again. “I always thought of you as quite sure of yourself.”
“It’s an illusion,” I said, trying to smile because suddenly I was very nervous.
“Yes,” said Richard slowly, “I realised that the other night, at the dance.”
I turned round, unsure of what to say and found all the words I’d carefully rehearsed to explain myself had been stolen away.
“Coffee?” Richard said, unperturbed. “The kettle had just boiled when you arrived.”
“Please.”
I followed him through a room into the small kitchen where they obviously had their meals. As Richard brushed past me in search of a coffee spoon the stranger inside me shivered into life, wanting to touch.
Sensing the emotional change in the room, Richard turned and waited, as if daring me to take off my mask and show him who I really was. The silence drew our unspoken desire closer to the surface. Richard moved nearer and suddenly I was sure he was going to touch me. Instead of anticipation, I felt only fear.
I took two steps away, turning my back on him to look out of the kitchen window onto the small garden. Despite my nerves I knew I wanted him to come and rest his hands on my shoulders.
“Nice garden,” I mumbled; and, the silence broken, the surface play with all its empty gestures continued.
“Sugar?” Richard asked, teaspoon poised over the sugar bowl.
“Two,” I said. “Please.”
He handed me a mug, not looking at my face any more.
“You can go into the front room and sit down,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I’ll go get the essays you came for.”
He said nothing as we drank our coffee. I pretended to look through his essays neatly written on A4 paper. I wasn’t taking one word in, but I was afraid to look up. I could sense him moving restlessly in the armchair opposite me.
“You’ll bring the essays back, won’t you?” he said at last. “I’ll want to revise from them this holiday.”
“Oh yes,” I mumbled. “Of course.”
“You could post them if you like,” he said, calmly, and I was horrified because it meant I wouldn’t see him again for weeks. I was suddenly convinced that I’d imagined everything, that he felt no desire for me at all. Immediately, I wanted to get out of his house.
I stood up quickly, heavy-footed with embarrassment, and knocked over the mug that had been resting at my feet. Coffee soaked into the beige carpet. I think I wanted to die then.
“Shit,” I said, always one to choose my words carefully. “I’m sorry.”
“Never mind.”
Richard rushed into the kitchen to fetch a cloth, and I stared mortified at the dark stain on the carpet as if it was my own blood.
“I’m such a fucking clumsy oaf,” I said, my vocabulary falling apart, as he came back into the room.
“It’ll come away,” Richard said, kneeling and rubbing at the stain with a cloth. “Don’t worry.”
“I hate being clumsy,” I told him all in a rush. “I hate my nickname. I lied about that. Don’t call me Jumbo. Please.”
“All right,” Richard said, persevering with the cloth. “I’ll remember that.”
I stood there watching him. He was kneeling at my feet. I only had to reach out and I could have stroked his hair. He was smaller and slighter than me. I could have reached down, taken his arms and lifted him up just like that.
“I’d better go,” I said, slowly. “Before I ruin anything else.”
“The carpet will be fine. Don’t worry.” He folded the cloth up neatly and without looking at me said, in a voice too loud to be casual, “You don’t have to go.”
Because it was what I wanted to hear, I panicked. Taking quick steps to the door I left the essays on the chair and stood awkwardly in the hall.
“I’d better go,” I said again.
Richard stood up. I couldn’t see his face, it was turned away from me. He saw the essays I’d left behind and picked them up, came over and handed them to me.
“Thanks,” I said, and took a blind step towards the front door. There was the clinking sound of my head colliding with the china bowl suspended from the hall ceiling.
Richard laughed, and then stopped himself.
“Are you all right?”
The gentleness in his voice made me want to stay, but awkwardness got the better of me.
“I’d better go,” I mumbled.
“You’ve said that three times
in the last minute.”
His directness gave me courage and, as I turned back and looked at him, I actually said what I wanted to say. “Would you come out for a drink?”
Richard hesitated and I was sure he’d say no. But he smiled.
“All right.”
He seemed to look right inside me. I shivered. “Thursday, okay?”
“Fine. Where shall we meet?”
“The Weavers. Eight o’clock.”
He nodded, still smiling, and I wanted to squeeze his hand. I was suddenly happy. The spilled coffee didn’t matter anymore. What counted was seeing Richard again.
“It’s Linda,” Mum said, handing me the phone and discreetly leaving the room, shutting the door behind her. “How are you Jumbo?” Linda’s voice.
“Fine.”
“I didn’t see much of you at the dance last week.”
“I went for a walk in the garden outside.”
“You disappeared suddenly … Margaret enjoyed her dance.”
“Oh.”
Linda laughed at what she thought was my shyness.
“Jumbo. Will you come out for a drink Thursday?”
I closed my eyes, tried to make my voice sound casual.
“I can’t make it then … I’m playing squash. With Steve.”
There was a long silence and then I realised my mistake.
“But Steve’s taking me out for a drink … ” Her voice trailed off, puzzled. “Jumbo … ”
“I must have mixed up the dates,” I said hurriedly.
“So you’ll come out for a drink then?”
“Urn … well, no, I’m afraid I can’t make it.”
There was another pause.
“Jumbo, you’re being very mysterious.”
I laughed nervously, but I didn’t say anything.
“So you can’t make it,” Linda said at last, and I could detect the hurt in her voice at my deception.
“No,” I said, guiltiness bringing the blood to my face. “Sorry.”
“That’s all right. Perhaps I’ll see you Friday?”
“Yes, maybe … I… ” I took a breath. “Bye then, Linda. Thanks for ringing.”
I put down the phone before she could say another word. Perspiration glistened wet on my brow. In some curious way I felt I’d committed a crime.
Who Lies Inside Page 5