But as usual lust did not mean force, because Claudine had blunted me, so we romped for an hour, though Gwen (if I could by now be permitted to call her that?) tried to pull me on immediately, and when she saw it wasn’t possible started to mother me. I cured her of this by a few slaps on her fat behind, which she didn’t object to, and then our loving continued through a couple of deep and meaty encounters. When I began to get dressed, she asked what was the matter. ‘I love you,’ I said, ‘but I must go. I have an appointment to meet a client early in the morning. I was late yesterday (for the most wonderful reason in the world) but if I don’t get in at the right time tomorrow, it’ll look bad.’
She embraced me, her warm naked body against my shirt and trousers, or rather she grasped me, and turned her full lips for a big kiss, which I gave with my heart bursting. ‘Tomorrow night?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘I’ll be here. You can bet. You’ve got me for ever, you know.’
‘I don’t want you for ever,’ she said. ‘I only want you for now. Always is not good for anybody.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I told her, ‘we’ll be together in that rough old spring again. It’s a sidereal mantrap that gets us all, you as well as me.’
I was weeping in tune to her creaking heart when I got into my car, but I cheered up as I drove home in the moonless night. I made my tunnel through the black dark, fumigating my cluttered mind so that by the time I pulled up at the kerb it was obvious what I should do. It was necessary to act in haste, so that one never had cause to repent, because if you act in haste there can’t be anything to blame yourself for, and that is a state of mind I relished. I had been acting like the Caliph of Baghdad in the last few weeks, and now the time had come to stop all that, to reform and go my own ways. Perhaps I had a sense of sin after all, for I wanted now and again to be pure so as to boost my self-esteem for when the time came around to sin again.
It was one in the morning when I looked at my gold watch in the dim bedroom light. I took the suitcase from my wardrobe, and lay it open on my bed, which still had the perfume smell of Claudine on it. I buried my face there for a second or two. But there was no time to be lost. I put on a clean shirt and my best suit, and packed my other clothes neatly in. Looking around, there was nothing else but a line of books along the washstand, and they would have to stay. It surprised me that I owned so little, though at a time like this it was a pleasant discovery to make. After all, I did have a car and a watch, as well as a hundred pounds. What more could anybody want? There was also a small transistor radio and I saw myself speeding along the main road with it lying on the seat beside me, thumping, out some great symphony. It was small, but powerful, and Mam had liked the tone very much when I first showed it to her.
I was careful to make no noise in case I woke her up, but the door suddenly opened and there she was. ‘You’re off, are you?’
I put in two pairs of pyjamas, one clean and one dirty. ‘Yes.’
‘Where to?’
‘North, east, south, and west.’
‘That really does sound as if you know what you’re doing, I must say.’
‘I’ll let you know where I am,’ I said, botched at the throat, and all the way down into my bottom gut.
‘That’s something, anyway.’ I was going to give her half my money, but didn’t because it spared her the dignity and embarrassment of telling me to keep it. I was sure to need it more than she would, and in any case her wages were sufficient for all her wants. ‘All I ask from you,’ she said, ‘is that you take care of yourself. That’s all I’d like you to do for me.’
I tried to smile, but could only lie: ‘I’m not going for good.’
‘Don’t lie to me,’ she said.
‘I’m not lying – that’s all I can say.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘Only don’t be cheeky, and get going if you’re going to. I’ll go back to bed. If you’re around in the morning I’ll make breakfast. If you’re not, I’ll get it on my own.’
I kissed her. ‘You’ll hear from me.’
‘Don’t be so bleddy sloppy,’ she said, breaking free and going to her own room.
I set the alarm for six and lay down in my clothes. It seemed only a second later that it jangled my ears, and then I remembered what I was up to, so jumped out of bed and went downstairs with my case. I left my transistor radio on the table with a note saying I wouldn’t need it while I was away. Then I made tea and lingered for an hour, until I heard her moving upstairs, getting dressed for work. I went out, quietly closing the door behind me.
The streets were empty, I noted, getting into my black all-enveloping travel-bug car. It wouldn’t start. The night had been wet, but now the clouds were shifting, and I lifted the bonnet and dried the contacts with my handkerchief. Not being mechanically minded, and lacking motorized experience, I knew nothing about cars, and I was swearing in case it should let me down at such a critical laughable time. It would be unjust, because I had no plans for it to waylay and spoil. I was acting without any plan whatsoever, and that was enough to make me innocent in the eyes of prankish worn-out motorcars. Still, I cranked it up, in case conciliation was necessary from a trickster like me, and when I sat in it once more and twitched on the ignition I felt the sweet shake of life under me, and after a few parting roars to the empty street and the benighted morning, I was off, slowly at first up the cobblestones, and then swiftly along Lenton Boulevard, skirting the city centre, by the valley of the Leen that took me under the heights of the Castle.
It was still dark, and only my own lights and the roadlights led me away. There was no heater in the car, and my greatcoat was wrapped around me, a scarf muffling my neck and chin. Because I was still so tired from the last few days, my brain was clear. I remember it well, a familiar feeling. At the same time I didn’t think ahead, or tell myself where I was going. I knew, but I didn’t tell myself. It didn’t even occur to me not to tell myself. I was in that balance of knowing, but not wanting to know, and maybe I was helped to maintain it by the disturbing physical action of driving the car.
I went slowly across Trent Bridge and glimpsed the sky to the left, eastwards. The dawn was mixing in, all fiery and noble, watery and red, so I stepped on it and took the first turning left, on my way to join the Great North Road to Grantham.
Part Two
It is a common belief, after being hurt by them, that simple people are not so much wise as cunning. This is wrong. They are neither. They have the knack of becoming united with their souls at certain inspired times, that’s all. Even then, they do not know what harm they have done. It is like a snake that has poison available when it is forced to strike. A simple person never strikes unless he has to, for he is basically lazy. Thus when he is driven to strike he uses far more venom than necessary because he was dragged unwillingly out of his simplicity and sloth which is, in effect, laziness. Something like this was in my mind when I remembered Miss Bolsover’s view of me as simple. Though it should have flattered me, and in some ways did, I could never forgive her for it. Thus I felt no blame, as I drove towards Grantham, at having left her for good. Claudine at least knew better than to think I was strong and simple, and for that reason it was rather more difficult to get her out of my mind.
But I was never a victim of too much thought, at least not to the extent that it did me any good, so I lit a cigar and got the pedal down at Radcliffe by-pass, until my speed was touching fifty, a fair lick as far as I was concerned. There was no reason for hurrying. A slight rain spat down, and my wipers tackled it sluggishly as if the batteries had been low and still weren’t charging properly. The engine was healthy, however, so I trundled on, beginning to make a road map of England under my wheels – though the winter didn’t seem too good a time for it, and now that I was on my way I didn’t love my freedom as I’d thought I would. In fact I began to feel a bit too much on my own, not only as if I didn’t know where I was going (which was true) but also as if I didn’t know where I had come fr
om (which was false). But, I told myself, you can’t make a move like this without feeling as if a compass needle is struggling to find a way out of your guts. It would have been more natural if I had stolen the car and was making a getaway. There would have been some point in it then, but unfortunately I hadn’t been brought up to be a thief, so I couldn’t have the dubious benefit of that And if I’d make-believed it to be true, just to get a kick out of going away, it would have been telling lies, and I hadn’t been reared to be a liar either, at least not to myself. So nothing was on my side except bleak reality, and for the moment I had to make do with that.
I felt better with Grantham left behind and me dipping south along the Great North Road. The land was black and bleak and waterlogged, and the tarmac cluttered with lorries so that I got scared yellow overtaking with hardly the speed or charge to do so, which made me realize for the first time that my cronky old car wasn’t exactly the high-powered javelin I’d supposed it to be at first, out of heartfelt affection for it. I told myself though, that I mustn’t lose faith in my piece of machinery, otherwise it might be tempted not to do its best, or even let me down if I got discouraged without real cause.
A heavier rain drifted in from the Fens, and one or two drops came through the makeshift patches in the roof, though not enough as yet to have me worried. But I swore at having forgotten the roll of sticky paper. Against the roadside stood a solitary figure in a cap and mackintosh, a small case at his feet. He lifted his thumb, so I drew in and stopped, forgetting to flash my indicators. A lorry close behind, weighing several thousand tons, pressed its horns in rage, making such a noise that the top of my head nearly unscrewed itself. The man smiled: ‘He’s in a bit of a hurry. They always are, though.’
‘The bastard,’ I said. ‘Where are you going?’
He was about thirty, tall and thin, gnarled hands as he put them on my window. ‘South.’
I liked his succinctness. ‘So am I. Get in if you like.’
‘I will,’ he said, ‘if you don’t mind.’
‘My name’s Peter Wolf,’ I said, as he slammed the door so I thought it would drop off.
‘Likewise,’ he said.
‘What do you mean,’ I asked, ‘likewise?’
‘Mine’s Bill Straw,’ he said, with the most obvious idiot grin I’d ever seen from someone who was plainly alert and all there. I was nervous with another person in the car, in case I had an accident, so till I got used to him, I drove like a man of sixty-five who’d been a careful saver all his life. ‘Come far?’ he asked.
‘Derby,’ I said. ‘You?’
‘Leeds. Business or pleasure?’
‘Business,’ I told him. ‘I work for an insurance firm. Just spent three days in Derby wrapping up a contract for Rolls-Royce. Hell of a job. Cigarette?’
‘Please. Thanks. Going down to look for work, myself.’
‘What do you do?’
‘Anything,’ he told me cheerfully. ‘Just done two years as an interior decorator. That’s why I’m so pale. It’s a lousy job among all that paint. Don’t know what I’ll do in London. It’s a big place.’
I nodded. ‘You can say that for it.’ The one time I had been was on a school trip as a kid of twelve, when I’d seen Buckingham Palace (from the outside) and the Crown Jewels at the Tower of London (also from the outside). ‘There’s plenty of work there.’
‘There’s work anywhere,’ he said with a glum wisdom, ‘and that’s a fact. But I’m going south because it’s healthier. Can’t this grim bus go any quicker?’
‘If you’re in that much of a hurry,’ I said, ‘get out and walk. ’Appen you’ll pick up a Bentley to get you there for lunch.’
‘Come off it,’ he laughed. ‘I wain’t desert you.’
‘Take your pick. I’ll be stopping for a cup of tea and a swiss pudding soon.’
‘I could do with a bite as well,’ he said, in such a way that I knew he hadn’t got the money to pay for it.
The transport café was full, with a line of men at the counter. I felt their sarky looks at my collar and tie and best grey suit, as if I had no right to be getting in their way, so I handed Bill Straw half a crown and said: ‘Get two teas and two cakes,’ while I sat at a table and waited. There was a Daily Mirror a foot from my hand, and I reached for it to read the front page, but a huge driver coming back from the counter with his breakfast of eggs, chips, sausages, bacon, beans, tomatoes, fritters, and fried bread bawled out: ‘If you want a paper, buy one, mate, like I have to.’
He loomed over me. ‘All right,’ I said, ‘keep your shirt on.’ I stood up, as tall as he was, though not quite as meaty. ‘Nobody’s trying to make off with your paper. I was moving it out of the way so’s I could have somewhere to put my tea.’
He recognized my Nottingham accent: ‘I just thought you was one of them posh bleeders trying to save threepence.’
‘Not me,’ I said, as he chopped and scooped at his breakfast. Bill Straw came back and sat by chance where I could get a better look at him. ‘You didn’t sound much like an insurance nob to me just then,’ he said, ‘when you stood up to that pansy lorry driver.’
‘Keep your trap shut, for Christ’s sake, or he’ll have you on toast.’
‘He won’t,’ Bill said. ‘I’ll carve him up. I’ve done it before and I’ll do it now.’ I believed him. His face was thin, as though he’d fought with a razor now and again in his life to get what he wanted. Yet he had a few days’ growth of beard, and I thought he should use one at his own face to start with. His suit was threadbare in all places at once, and his filthy shirt was drawn together with a tie so old that it had a hole in the front. ‘Good of you to treat me,’ he said. ‘First bite since yesterday.’
I pushed another half-crown across: ‘Get something else, then.’
He jumped up: ‘I shan’t forget this,’ and almost ran to the front of the queue, so that I expected to see him get churned into little pieces and spat out through the windows. But he bustled at the nearest men, and gave them a strong sort of funny look, and it must have made things all right for him, because within minutes he was back with two eggs on fried bread which he scoffed almost before the plate was down. ‘You’re number one,’ he said. ‘You might not know it, but you’ve saved my life. It’s the turning point.’
‘Stow it,’ I said. ‘Forget it.’
‘I shan’t,’ he said. ‘I never will. You’re the good sort, I know, who’d like me to forget it, but I wain’t. Never.’
I was surprised at the colour it put into his cheeks, and offered a fag to complete his meal. ‘You don’t seem to have earned much as a painter and decorator.’
‘Maybe I wasn’t doing that sort of work at all,’ he smiled. ‘When we’re on the road again I’ll tell you a story. It’s so bloody long it’ll keep us going to Timbuctoo, never mind London.’
From outside came the sound of a lorry about to drive off, and under the noise of its engine I heard the ripping of tin and a crunch of gravel or glass. Someone at the counter said: ‘There goes Mad Bert. I expect he’s chipped somebody’s wagon.’
A man went to have a look, and came back laughing, while Mad Bert in the meantime seemed to have gone on his merry way towards Doncaster. ‘It’s all right,’ he said, ‘it’s only a little black Popular. He’s taken the front bumper off, dented the side, and smashed the lamp. I expect Bert’s all right though.’
I jumped up and went outside, all eyes staring me through the door. The rain blinded and choked me. Apart from anything else I wondered why I’d chosen today to start on my travels. It was even worse than had been reported with such poker-faced glee. The left back wheel had been buckled, its tyre flattened and ripped.
Bill Straw followed me out. ‘The destructive bastard. Got a spare wheel?’ I nodded. ‘Let’s change it then,’ he said. ‘I’ll not desert you, don’t worry. You looked after me, now I’ll help you. It ain’t so bad. She’ll go like a bomb again.’ He bent down and pulled the bodywork straight so that the fresh wheel
wouldn’t catch on it. The meal seemed to have given him strength, and I was glad of that at least.
In ten minutes we had the new wheel on. ‘The other’s buckled,’ he said. ‘You might as well throw it away. Ain’t worth a light.’ I agreed, and he bowled it towards a fence and left it there.
‘Let’s have some more tea,’ I said when he got back. ‘Maybe we’ll find out the name of the bandit who did it.’ There was a sharp pain in my heart, and tears mingled with rain under my eyes. No one knew who Mad Bert was, or said they didn’t, so after throwing a few curses over our shoulders we humped out. ‘That’s the solidarity of the working-class,’ Bill muttered. ‘Very strong among lorry drivers.’
‘Well, fuck it,’ I said, ‘we’re working-class, aren’t we?’
‘Not at a time like this, cock.’
In spite of its fearful wounds I felt a swamp of affection for my car as we went down the road. I was in a state of shock from my first automobile accident. All I wanted was peace and quiet, and didn’t much fancy any talk from my passenger. In fact I was beginning to wish I’d never picked him up, and made up my mind that there’d be no more lifts from then on. I was brooding so badly that I almost got to blaming him for what had happened, till I realized how cranky this was, and laughed. ‘What’s up?’ he asked.
‘We’re on our way,’ I told him. ‘The rain’s packing in. It’s light over Stamford.’
‘We could do with it. But what’s that smoke coming out of your headlamp?’ Through the drizzle it was like a gnarled finger going a little way into the air, as if diffident about the prospect of finding God’s arse. ‘What now?’ I cried.
‘Pull in when you can, and I’ll fix it. I’m a dab-hand when it comes to cars.’ His voice had such conviction, such solemn wisdom, that he sounded as if he’d lived for three hundred years and knew everything. ‘When I stopped on a grass verge he jumped to the front of the car and peered into the lamp. ‘Switch off,’ he shouted. ‘Now put your lights on. Put them off. Now on. Off. On. Off. On. No. it’s no good.’
A Start in Life Page 9
