This Birthday may there be no dearth
To you of Happiness, Luck and Mirth.
Ralph turned it over. On the other side his mother had written:
It’s not your birthday yet I know,
But proud of you I am,
Today you might be still sixteen
But for me you are a man.
For a while Ralph couldn’t move. He sat there, gazing at his mother’s writing. Finally, he got to his feet. He tucked the card back under the ribbon, closed the wardrobe and left the room.
*
Winnie and Lettie were sitting together on the kitchen stairs. Winnie was pinning up the little girl’s hair. As Ralph came down to the hallway they looked up, their faces pale as moons in the dim light.
Winnie removed a pin from her mouth. ‘Doesn’t she look the lady?’ she said.
Ralph nodded. Lettie did indeed look like somebody else, an unknown young woman, peaky-faced under her burden of hair.
‘Where’re you off to then?’ asked Winnie. Her manner was quite natural. Ralph surmised that she hadn’t heard about the exam. She knew about the typewriter, though. He felt weak with misery.
‘Just out,’ he said.
‘Don’t you want any dinner? I kept you some.’
Ralph shook his head. ‘Can you tell Mother I won’t be back until late?’
Winnie raised her eyebrows. Ralph made his escape, tripping over the cat in the hallway.
Outside, he didn’t turn right. He needed to make a detour on the way to the station; it had been plaguing his mind all day. Turning left, he hurried down the street, through the dark, echoing tunnel of the railway bridge and out the other side.
He knew where the arches were – two streets away. He made his way down Silver Street, past the garment factory with its buzzing sewing machines, past the rank-smelling warehouse where they stored the seal-skins. He turned right at the Mitre. According to Winnie, the landlord’s six children had all died from the consumption. She knew information like that.
How could his mother have bought that typewriter? And a bowler hat? His heart ached.
The street led him back under the railway and out into the lane the other side. It ran alongside the arches. Ralph walked along the lane, looking at the doors. Some of them were open. Inside one arch, a man was unloading vegetables on to a handcart. In another, two men were repairing a motor car. The arch in question was three from the end; Ralph could remember it clearly.
He arrived. The gate to the yard was padlocked. Beyond it he could see the door, set into the archway. It was closed and padlocked. There was a moribund look to the place, as if nobody had gone in and out for years. It was hard to believe that only the night before it had been humming with activity. But this was the place. Beside it stood the lamppost where the copper had watched it all happening. And on the cobbles, beside the gate, a patch of dung had been flattened by tyre tracks.
Ralph peered across the yard, to read the words painted on the door. They said W. PEPPIATT AND SONS. BUILDERS MERCHANTS. Nothing about a butcher at all.
*
It was twilight when Ralph reached the Three Tuns. He heard the pianola playing. Mist was rolling in from the English Channel, beyond the buildings. He could smell the sea. Gulls swooped and quarrelled, landing heavily in front of him and fighting over a scrap lying in the street.
He had spent the train journey in a state of suspended animation. It seemed extraordinary to him that only a day had passed since he had last been to Dover. So much had happened that he felt a changed person. And tonight would see the biggest change of all. He would arrive a boy and leave a man. This was his plan and he was going to see it through. There was no turning back.
He pushed open the door and went in. The scene that greeted him looked exactly the same as the evening before. Wreathed in cigarette smoke, soldiers and sailors leaned against the bar and barely registered him as he paused on the threshold. The pianola’s keys went up and down.
Good bye-ee, good bye-ee
There’s a silver lining in the sky-ee …
He looked around. For a moment he couldn’t see her. What would he do if she didn’t turn up? Maybe she had been murdered by a disgruntled customer. It would be just his luck. There was no denying that it must be an extremely dangerous job. Not all her clients would be as well brought up as himself.
Wash the tear, baby dear, from your eye-ee …
Ralph went to the bar and ordered a glass of beer. It was then that he saw Jenny, on the other side of the room. She was standing alone by the parrot’s cage, pushing a twig of millet through the bars. She jerked it up and down, trying to get the bird’s attention, but her eyes were darting around the room. She wore the same outfit – green dress, feather boa – as the night before. Did she never change her clothes?
Ralph waved but she didn’t see him. She stood there restlessly, shifting from foot to foot as if she needed to go to the lavatory. The strange thing was that, though tormented by desire on an almost continual basis, now he was here, with the prospect of it being satisfied, Ralph felt as numb as if he were shopping for a pound of potatoes. In fact, part of him wished she hadn’t turned up at all. He took a breath and walked over to her.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘It’s me again.’
She smiled a brief, professional smile but her eyes were blank. She didn’t recognise him!
Ralph said: ‘Last night, remember?’
Jenny tilted her head and looked at him. ‘That’s right.’ She didn’t seem embarrassed that she had forgotten him. Ralph noticed a small sore on her upper lip. Still, he had no intention of kissing her.
‘Like to buy a girl a drink then?’ she asked.
Ralph fetched her a sherry. He could feel the eyes of people on him, but that might have been all in his head. When he carried back her glass nobody seemed to be taking the slightest notice. Perhaps they thought he was her long-lost brother.
‘So what regiment did you join?’ she asked.
‘The Kents.’
‘The Kents what?’
He thought quickly. ‘The West Kent Rifles.’
He had made up the name but that seemed to satisfy her. Maybe she knew as little as he did.
‘So you got your King’s Shilling,’ she said. ‘What’s your name again, love?’
‘Ralph.’
‘Bottoms up, Ralph.’
She downed half the schooner. He couldn’t think of what to say to her but he knew they ought to have some kind of conversation.
Pointing to the badges on her hat, he asked: ‘Where do they come from?’
‘Everybody asks me that.’ She took off her hat. ‘Royal Scots Fusiliers … London Rifle Brigade … 16th Lancers …’ She pointed to the badges, one by one. ‘Royal Artillery … Ox and Bucks … Tank Corps …’ Her voice went on and on. Ralph was taken aback. She started on the badges pinned to her flat chest. ‘Hood Battalion, Royal Naval Division … Monmouthshire Regiment … Duke of Cornwall’s Light Infantry …’ She spoke the names like a child reciting her times table. Ralph was impressed. She knew more about the war than he did.
‘These were all your friends?’ he asked, stupidly.
Jenny nodded. ‘Oh yes. They’ve all been my friends.’ She drained her glass.
‘Do they talk to you about it all?’
‘Talk about what, dear?’
‘About the war and everything.’
She looked at him blankly. ‘They give me their badges. I got more badges than any of my girl-friends. Buttons too.’ She pointed to her chest. ‘This one’s from a dead German soldier. A very nice young man gave me that.’
Ralph decided to get down to business. He didn’t want to buy her another drink. ‘Will you charge me your special rate?’
‘That depends on what you want, love.’
‘Anything, really. I mean, just the usual.’
‘Two pounds.’
Ralph gulped. Was that the normal rate, or did she know that he was inexperienced in these matter
s? Two pounds! It was Winnie’s wages for a whole month. He knew that because Winnie had told him. This girl was going to earn that in an hour, or however long it took. It didn’t seem fair.
‘Okey-dokey,’ said Ralph. That was what Boyce would have said, okey-dokey. He wished Boyce were with him, to give him courage. Women are cheap in Rio de Janeiro. Boyce knew what was what.
She got up. ‘Come with me then. It’s not far.’ Thank goodness they left by the side door, so Ralph didn’t have to cross the room with her.
Night had fallen. Jenny took his arm. As they walked down the street Ralph thought: if Mr Turk could see me now! The wind had got up. It blew her feather boa into his face, tickling his nostrils.
‘Here we are then,’ she said. They had stopped at a tall, dark building squalling with babies. She led him in. ‘Follow me,’ she said. ‘Watch the stairs.’
At each floor he thought she would stop but she carried on, the stairs creaking. It was very dark. Behind every door a new baby started to wail as if they were catching it from each other, like the flu. On the top landing Jenny opened a door.
It was a tiny room, lit by an oil lamp. A brass bed stood against the wall; beneath it a chamber-pot glimmered. There was nothing to distinguish the place from a normal person’s room, apart from the smell. It was stuffy up there under the eaves, and a sweet-sour odour hung in the air. It reminded Ralph of his sheets.
‘Wash your little soldier, there’s a good boy,’ said Jenny, indicating a screen.
Behind it stood a wash-stand. Ralph looked at the bowl of water. Had some other man washed in it, before him? And surely it should be she who cleaned herself up. After all, it was his body that was pure.
Resentfully, Ralph unfastened his trousers and took out what she called his little soldier. It looked humiliatingly small and soft. He splashed it with water and dried it on a small piece of towel that looked grey in the dim light and that was no doubt crawling with germs. Didn’t the girl realise what a privilege it was, to unburden him of his virginity? That this was a turning-point in his life? She was acting as if he should feel obliged to her.
Ralph emerged from behind the screen. Jenny was sitting on the bed pulling off her stockings. She had also relieved herself of her outer garments and was dressed only in a bodice and petticoat.
‘Come and sit down, dear.’ She patted the bed. ‘You’re very young, aren’t you?’
I’m probably the same age as you, thought Ralph, but then he had his doubts. Despite her youth, there was something old about her flat voice and hard, unseeing eyes. Her thinness was startling; the knobs of her collarbone stuck out and her arms were like sticks. He tried to summon up some desire. He tried the usual methods – the photograph of the naked woman beating the carpet usually did the trick but tonight nothing stirred.
‘Going to take off your trousers then?’
Ralph untied his boots and pulled them off. He pulled off his trousers and underwear. Boyce would know what to do. Make ’em laugh, he said, but Ralph couldn’t think of any jokes. Besides, he didn’t have to do anything like that; after all, the girl was getting paid for it.
They sat for a moment looking at the soft little thing between his legs. ‘We’ll soon see about that,’ she said. She took it in her hand. Her fingernails were bitten down to the quick; they looked sore.
She started rubbing it, looking around the room as if deciding whether the walls needed repainting, which they certainly did. Ralph started to feel a faint sensation. He was so flooded with relief that he could have kissed her, though he didn’t, of course. He wasn’t going to make a complete fool of himself.
‘That’s better,’ she said. ‘Let’s lie down, shall we?’
She was certainly brisk, but then he supposed that time was of the essence. They lay down on her counterpane. He tried not to think of how many men had lain on it before him. Jenny hoisted up her petticoat and put his hand between her legs.
Ralph jumped. The hair felt like the wire pad Winnie used to scour the saucepans. Though his own hair was wiry, he had imagined a female’s to be more ladylike. He pushed his hand up beneath the waistband of her petticoat and found her navel. He put his finger in it and started rubbing.
Her body went rigid. ‘What’re you doing?’
‘Finding your love-button.’
‘My what?’
‘Your love-button.’ His finger had indeed found a knobbly bit within it.
She started shaking with laughter. ‘Who told you that?’
‘Just somebody.’ It was Boyce, of course. Mark my words, it drives a lady to distraction.
‘Your friend knows bugger all about girls,’ she said.
‘That’s a lie!’
‘Shouldn’t think he’s got within ten yards of one. Love-button!’ She was helpless with laughter. And Ralph hadn’t even told her a joke! ‘There is one, dear, but it’s somewhere else. Tell your friend that when you see him.’
Suddenly Ralph burst into tears. He couldn’t help himself, they just poured out.
Jenny sat up and looked at him.
‘You all right?’
Ralph couldn’t speak. He sat there shuddering, the stupid tears streaming down his face. He couldn’t bear it, about Boycie. He couldn’t bear it.
‘There there,’ she said, patting his arm.
Boyce had been pretending, all the time. It was too awful. And now he was dead.
‘You’re frightened, aren’t you?’ she said.
Ralph didn’t reply. He wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve.
‘They all are,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry, you’re not the only one.’ She gave him a handkerchief. ‘They come here so they can forget about it for a bit. A lot of them are like you. They haven’t done it before and they want to see what it’s like before they go.’
‘How can you tell?’ he muttered.
‘Tell what?’
‘That I haven’t done it before?’
‘It’s a bit bleeding obvious, isn’t it?’
Ralph blew his nose on the handkerchief. Everything was ruined. Everything.
‘Come along,’ she said. ‘You haven’t paid to have a cry, have you?’
She laid him down on the bed, more gently this time, and started stroking him. A moment later he felt himself stiffen. There was expertise in her bitten little fingers, he had to admit it.
‘There you are,’ she murmured. ‘Standing to attention, ready for action.’
She heaved him on top as if he were a rag doll. Opening her legs, she put him inside her.
Ralph gasped. Jenny moved her body under his. She put her hands on his hips and showed him how to move with her, and for a few thrusts Ralph was filled with such rapture he thought he would explode. And then the stars were bursting like fireworks and a great white light flooded him, as if he had gone to heaven, and it was over.
Ralph lay there, trembling. ‘Don’t start crying on me all over again,’ she said, but kindly. She stroked his hair.
For a moment neither of them moved. Even the babies downstairs seemed to have stopped wailing. Then Jenny sat up and reached for her clothes.
Ralph roused himself and pulled on his trousers. He found the money and gave her two pound notes. She put them in a box on the little bamboo table next to her bed. He felt such tenderness for her that he wanted to give her something else, something special. Nobody would ever know what she had done for him, and of course he would never see her again.
‘Thank you so much,’ he said.
She kissed him on the cheek. ‘Good luck,’ she said. ‘We’re all proud of you.’
He blushed with pleasure. So he had performed to her satisfaction!
Then he realised what she meant.
‘Have a little think of me when you’re there,’ she said.
Ralph muttered something and made his escape.
*
The train rattled back towards London. Ralph sat there in a stupor of pride. He had done it! He had crossed the threshold; his childhood was n
ow behind him. It was amazing that the other passengers couldn’t sense the momentous event that had taken place. Despite the perfunctory nature of the proceedings there had even been a moment of closeness between himself and the bony little prostitute who, in another life, could have been his classmate at school. Better still, he sensed that this was but a foretaste of the deeper raptures to come, in his future dealings with the opposite sex. Now, at least, he knew what it was like, and at sixteen years of age too!
A young infantryman sat dozing in the carriage. Ralph wondered whether, despite the manly uniform, the fellow was still inexperienced in the act of love. His cheeks were as smooth as a baby’s; he had certainly never shaved. And yet there he slumped, cradling his rifle, his belt laden with ammunition!
For a while, Ralph could think of nothing else. This seemed to be one of the powers of coitus; like dynamite, it blasted everything else away.
Slowly, however, his worries crept back, like creatures emerging from shattered buildings. What was he going to do about the future? This episode had solved nothing; he might be a changed person but his problems remained the same. In fact, his life seemed even more confusing than ever. So Boyce had been lying about his female conquests. His dearest friend had died virgo intacta. This was too painful to contemplate. And what had his mother meant, when she had talked about her marriage to his father? Things weren’t all that well between us … grown-up things. Now Ralph had entered that arena he could suspect what she meant. Marriage in the fullest sense. Was his father inadequate in that department? Less adequate, in fact, than Ralph had proved himself to be?
Ralph’s brain reeled. He couldn’t think about this, it made him feel ill. Who was betraying whom, in these matters? But whenever he shut them out another image scrabbled at his mind, like a rat scratching behind the wainscoting. It was his mother and Mr Turk, fumbling together in a manner that horribly resembled what he himself had been doing on a soiled coverlet that evening.
Stop it! Stop thinking about it! Ralph tried to concentrate on something else. His growling stomach, for instance. He had eaten nothing but a bun and a packet of digestive biscuits since Monday. It was now Tuesday night. How strange, that only yesterday morning he had packed his bag and set off for the war! Things hadn’t turned out quite as he had planned, though a conquest of sorts had taken place.
In The Dark Page 18
