‘Boxing Night. I used to love Christmas at one time, but it’s like everything else, it changes. Hand me your glass.’
‘No, no. No more for me, Paul.’ Jenny laughed up at him while she put her hand over the top of the empty glass. ‘I’ve had three.’
‘Come on; give it to me here.’ He pulled it from her hand. ‘What’s three on Boxing Night! And you Poppet?’ He turned to Lorna. ‘Tonic water? Lime? Orange?’
‘Can I have a sherry, Daddy?’
‘No, you can’t; you’ve had one tonight, me lady, and wine with your dinner. My, what’s the world coming to…well?’
Lorna screwed up her face at him. ‘Oh, I suppose it’ll have to be a tonic water then.’
‘Yes, you suppose right.’ As Paul went across the room to the wine cabinet, members of a party that was well under way on the television began a Scottish reel, and as the bagpipes’ wail filled the room Paul, dropping the glasses on to a table, cried, ‘Come on, Jinny. Come on, Lorna. Let’s swing our kilts. Come on, we’ll show ’em.’ Watching the screen, he took the pose of the dancers, right arm cocked high, left arm on his hip, and with surprising agility went into the dance, and with each step he cried ‘Foot up; heel, toe, foot up; cross feet, cross feet, a-roll-of-the-body; heel, toe, foot up…Come on, get on your feet, the pair of you.’
‘Oh, Daddy, Daddy.’ Lorna was leaning over the side of her chair doubled up with high laughter, and Jenny held herself around the waist to ease the pain of her mirth, until he danced round to her and scooped her up from the couch with a lift of his arm, and then she was spluttering through her laughter, ‘Oh, Paul, Paul, I can’t.’
‘Come on with you. Heel, toe, foot up; heel, toe, foot up.’
When Jenny tried to follow his instructions and all out of time, Lorna threw herself on to the couch and her laughter rose, and as if in agony she cried, ‘Oh, stop it, Daddy! Give over, Aunt Jenny. Oh, stop it! You both look…look…oh!’
Paul was now leading Jenny in a comic form of the lancers. He would turn from her, bow to an imaginary partner, then gripping her by the waist swing her round. With the change of each figure he would do the bowing act. The music stopped at the same time as they knocked over a small table, and they hung together, panting and laughing. Then Paul, taking her to the couch, bent over Lorna and demanded, ‘What’s funny about our dancing, eh?’
‘Oh, Daddy!’ Lorna turned on her back and gazed up at him; her face was streaming, and her mouth wide. ‘Oh, I’ve never laughed like that for ages. Oh, Daddy, you did look funny. And you, too, Aunt Jenny.’
‘She’s saying we’re old, Jinny.’ He nodded solemnly at Jenny. ‘That’s what she’s saying. I’ll show her.’ He reached down and thrusting his hands under her armpits lifted her to her feet, nearly overbalancing them both in the process. ‘Look,’ he indicated the television, ‘they’re doing the tango. Now this is my cup of tea. Come on, miss; I’ll show you.’ Dragging her, still shaking with laughter, into the centre of the room, he now did an exaggerated form of the tango. He was contorting and twisting his big bulk when Lorna brought the exhibition to an end by falling against him, crying, ‘Oh, Daddy! Daddy, stop it! Stop it. You’re like a big carthorse.’
‘What do you say?’ He glared down at her in mock anger. ‘I’ll have you know, miss, I took the prize for the best tango dancer at the student’s ball…’
‘Oh, stop it, stop it.’ She actually sounded as if she was in pain.
And Paul stopped it. He leant his chin on her head and, looking across to Jenny, said quietly, ‘I’m drunk.’
‘Well, it’s a good job you know it.’
‘But…’ He thrust his daughter from him, and shaking her by the shoulders until her head wobbled while she still laughed, he cried in threatening tones. ‘But not so drunk, madam, that I can’t do the tango. I can do the tango on my head. Watch me.’
When he went down on his hands and knees and tried to hoist his great lumbering body into the air, Lorna once again collapsed. Throwing herself on Jenny she cried, ‘Oh, Aunt Jenny, stop him, stop him.’
And Jenny, the tears streaming down her own face, looked to where Paul, violently kicking his great legs backwards, was endeavouring to stand on his head, and she thought, I wouldn’t stop him for the world. She’d never seen him act the goat like this for many a long year. In fact she’d only seen him act like this once before. It was the night before he married Bett.
‘Aw, to the devil with it.’ He straightened his body up and adjusted his coat. ‘I used to do that every morning before breakfast.’ He went to the fire and flopped into the big chair; then putting his head back and looking up at the clock, he said, ‘Good Lord! Quarter past one.’
‘Yes, quarter past one,’ repeated Jenny. ‘It’s time I was going.’
‘Why don’t you stay the night, or what’s left of it?’
‘Oh no, I must get back, Paul. Don’t forget I’ve got a do tomorrow night and I must be on the spot in the morning to get an early start.’
‘Would you like me to come and help you, Aunt Jenny?’
‘I would, I would,’ said Jenny. ‘I’ve still got umpteen fiddly things to do. You know, I think giving a dinner would have been easier than a buffet affair with all the titbits.’
‘How many are you expecting?’ asked Paul.
‘Twenty. It’ll be a crush.’
‘Oh, I don’t know; the rooms are not skinty. You were very lucky to get that flat.’
‘Yes, I was.’
‘I think I’ll go to bed.’ Lorna stretched out her arms and pulled herself upwards. ‘Goodnight, Daddy.’ As she bent forward to kiss him she added, ‘Me Highland laddie.’ And they laughed again. Then turning to Jenny, she kissed her, saying, ‘I’ll be along about ten, Aunt Jenny. How’s that?’
‘Fine. I hope I’m up. Goodnight, dear.’
When Lorna had closed the door behind her, Paul, his eyes still fixed on it, rubbed his hand over his mouth before he said, ‘That’s the first time I’ve seen her like herself for weeks. There’s something worrying her, Jinny. You any idea what it is?’
Jenny looked away from him. ‘No, Paul; not really.’
‘Not really? Then you have some idea?’
‘Well, she’s going with Brian, and it’s her first affair. Well, you know what they say, it never runs smoothly.’
‘Aye, yes. Do you think she’s still seeing him? He hasn’t been near the house for over a fortnight. And we’re in the middle of Christmas, and no parties.’
‘She was at one last week.’
‘One! What’s one party at Christmas. Even her mother’s been to three. Huh!’ He dropped his head back against the framework of the chair. ‘I wonder if she’s enjoying herself?’
‘Now, now, Paul, stop it. You know you could have gone with her, you were both invited.’
‘…And Mr Knowles?’
After the silence that followed this remark Jenny said briskly, ‘Well, Paul, I really must be off. And look’—she rose and stood over him—‘it doesn’t need me to tell you you’re in no condition to drive, so I’ll ring for a taxi.’
‘A taxi! You damn well won’t.’ He jumped to his feet. ‘No condition to drive! Jinny…Jinny, I’d have to be very drunk before I couldn’t drive my car. Come on, get your coat on and I’ll show you.’
With a resigned smile Jenny went upstairs and into the room which she always thought of as hers. It was at the opposite end of the landing from Bett’s, and next to Lorna’s, and as she stood before the mirror adjusting her hat there came to her the sound of muffled crying, and with her hand still to her head she paused and listened. She wasn’t at all surprised to hear Lorna crying; her laughter all evening had been too high, too forced. Again she thought of Bett, but, almost for the first time, without any sympathy. She felt that if she was near her at this moment it would be she who would do the face-slapping, and the cause would be more justified.
Bett had gone with James Knowles to a dinner-dance, a special invitation dance,
to which the Mayor and Mayoress and their son, Brian, would undoubtedly have been invited. Without ever having seen them together, or any concrete evidence to justify her feelings, Jenny knew that Bett was seeing young Brian Bolton, and the fact made her sick. She also felt sick, but in a different way, for Lorna.
She made no attempt to go into Lorna’s room but went straight downstairs, and Paul’s voice called to her from the waiting room door, ‘Look at this, Jinny.’
She went out of the smaller hall and into the larger one and saw him standing on the steps to the courtyard. He was pointing to the ground and saying, ‘It’s like glass; the sleet’s frozen; it’s a black frost. You’re right, I’d better not take the car out in this.’ He laughed a thick laugh. ‘And you’ll get no taxi tonight, either, Jinny, so it’ll be shanks’ pony.’
‘I can manage on my own, Paul, it’s only fifteen minutes’ walk.’
‘Jinny…Jinny, what do you think I am to let you walk through the town in the dead of night?’
‘I’ve walked through it many times before, Paul, and alone in the dead of night.’ She laughed at him.
‘Well, this is one time you’re not going to do it.’
‘But Lorna; she’ll be in the house by herself.’
‘Oh, she’ll be dead asleep by now. And anyway,’ he looked at his watch, ‘if the other one’s not going to make a night of it she should be back soon.’
‘Shall we wait a little longer then?’
‘No, no. I don’t want to set eyes on her. This is as good a way as any for us to miss each other. You see, Jinny.’ He pulled her gently over the step, then locked the door. ‘You know I haven’t got much control over this temper of mine at the best of times, but when I’ve knocked off the bottom half of a bottle then I’m not accountable for anything I might say, or do…to anyone. So come on, Mrs Hoffman.’ He gripped her hand and pulled it through his arm. ‘I’m escorting you home. Not because I’m thinking of your safety in the streets but because I want to be looked after during the next hour.’ He squeezed her arm. ‘The dangerous hours before the dawn, the hours during which you ask yourself questions. Why were you born? Where are you going? And why has this to happen to you? Such daft questions as that. But anyway,’ he gave a hick of a laugh, ‘it’s been a nice night, Jinny. I’ve enjoyed myself tonight, just the three of us. What about you?’
‘Oh, I’ve enjoyed myself, too, Paul. I’ve had a grand time.’
‘Ups!’ Jenny slipped on the icy surface of the path and would have fallen if he hadn’t hoisted her upwards. Then they were both slipping, and clinging to each other, and as they laughed aloud the echo came back from the dead Square.
‘Let’s get into the road. Ah, this is better. You can still feel the grit here.’ He kicked at the loose gravel. ‘You know what, Jinny. I think everybody should get drunk on a frosty night. How can they say you are drunk and incapable when the road’s like glass, eh? Funny thing about people being drunk, Jinny. I’ve noticed it time and again. Some only need a few whiskies and they trip over their words; but now myself, I’ve got to be almost blind before I fuddle my tongue. You couldn’t tell, could you?’ He pulled her arm into his waist. ‘You couldn’t tell by the way I speak, now I ask you, could you…could you tell that I’ve got a load on?’
‘No, Paul; nobody would ever tell.’
‘And my walk, it isn’t bad, is it? Look, I could do a white line.’ He let go her arm and demonstrated with one foot before the other.
‘Oh, Paul, you’re a fool. Come on, come on. If a policeman does come along you’ll have a job to talk yourself into being sober.’
‘Who’s afraid of a pollisman?’ He used the northern idiom. ‘Who’s afraid of anything or anybody?’ He had hold of her again. Then his voice changing, he said slowly, ‘Aw, this is nice, Jinny. Me and you walking in the night together. A hoar frost around us and the sky studded with stars. I’ll remember this night, Jinny.’
He became quiet and she let him be quiet. She had thoughts of her own to think, and she too would remember this night.
When they reached Brampton Hill they found the going more difficult, and a number of times they nearly fell. So when they reached the drive that led to Farley Court, a one-time gentleman’s residence which was now turned into four flats, they were laughing again. But as they neared the house Jenny warned, ‘Ssh! We’ll wake them up.’
‘I thought the others weren’t in?’
‘One lot are, in the upper flat. Not above me; the other side.’
With exaggerated caution Paul now tiptoed into the hall, and when she opened the door of the flat he still tiptoed. He switched on the lights, and he tiptoed across the room, and switched on the imitation log fire set in the strikingly new fireplace; and then he whispered hoarsely, ‘Do you think anyone saw us?’
‘Not a soul,’ she whispered back at him. Then pulling off her hat and coat and holding out her hands she went towards the fire. ‘It strikes a bit cold. I think I’ll get central heating in—the electric kind, you know.’
Paul was looking about him. ‘I like this room. You know, Jinny, I never thought I’d like modern furniture, but you’ve done something with it. And all these colours. Yet they blend and are restful. I was always under the impression that I wouldn’t be able to live with modern furniture, but this looks good; it’s nice…’ He sighed now.
‘There’s room for improvement.’ She was standing by his side, she, too, looking about her; and her voice dropping, she said, ‘You know, Paul, this is my first home, my first real home.’
‘I suppose it is, Jinny.’ He turned his head towards her. ‘It means a lot to you, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, yes, it means a lot to me. You don’t know how much…But there.’ She brought her face round to his and her tone lightened. ‘I suppose I should offer you a drink, but do you think you could carry another one?’
‘Madam!’ He thrust out his chest. ‘You put the plumb line down, an’ you’ll find there’s another three feet afore it touches bottom.’
‘Oh, Paul.’ She pushed at him with her hand. ‘Well, what is it to be? The usual?’
‘The usual; I rarely mix my drinks.’
‘I have tonight. I’ve had a little of everything.’
She walked from him towards a cocktail cabinet standing at the side of the fireplace, and added airily, ‘And it makes you feel nice; you forget everything for a time.’
It wasn’t until she brought the glasses back to the fireplace that he questioned her last remark. ‘What have you to forget, Jinny?’
‘You’d be surprised…Is that right?’ She handed him the glass of whisky.
‘Oh, that’s a dose, that’s a very good dose. What have you got there?’
‘The same.’
‘Tut! tut! tut! You are mixing them. Well, here’s to you, Jinny.’ He raised his glass.
‘And to you, Paul.’ She drank. And to you, Paul. And to you, Paul. And to you, Paul. The words were dizzying in her head. Everything for you, Paul. Everything for you, Paul. All my life for you, Paul. Nobody else but you, Paul. Here’s to you, Paul. Bett. What has she ever done to deserve you? Has she ever given you a day’s happiness? And she wants to get rid of you. Why hadn’t she ever said to her, ‘All right, get rid of him; I’m waiting’…why? Was it just because she had been brought up with her and they were like sisters? Perhaps. Perhaps. But it was more than that; it was the knowledge that Bett needed an anchor; on her own she would go to the dogs. Well, she wasn’t on her own and she was still going to the dogs, wasn’t she? So to hell with Bett.
‘What is it, Jinny? You look so sad all of a sudden. Come on, drink up.’ He put his arm round her shoulders then drained his glass. ‘Go on, finish it up and don’t look so sad. What is it? What’s troubling you, Jinny? Tell me.’
She stared into his big face, into the brown eyes that at this moment looked so kind. He had asked what was troubling her and she gave him the answer. She gave him the answer that she had dreamed of giving him for years an
d years. The dream had had no place in her working day; it had been successfully covered by Bett, and loyalty, and long absence. But now it was night again, and her body was warm with a mixture of cherry brandy, sherry, advocaat, and whisky, and she fell against him, her arms about him now, her face buried in his neck, crying, ‘Oh, Paul! Oh, Paul!’ And she pressed her body to his as she did in her dreams, pressed it until she felt the warmth of his flesh.
He was well aware that he was carrying a heavy load, but he had always been able to carry a great amount of whisky, and even when he was very drunk there was always a small section of his mind seemingly immune from the influence of the spirit, and now this section shouted at him, screamed at him. God blast it, man, not with Jinny. No! No! But the shock of the revelation of her feeling for him dulled the voice, yet even while he responded to her it kept crying, ‘Give over. Stop it, for Christ’s sake, man.’ But he held her more tightly. She wants me. Blast it, she’s always wanted me. I can see now. She wants loving. She’s lonely…What about Ivy? Oh…Ivy! Yes, Ivy. But she’s lonely. God damn it, she’s lonely, an’ I didn’t know, I never guessed. Thirty-nine, she is, and I’d like to bet me bottom dollar still a virgin…Stop it, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Stop it. Her mouth was on his. Stop it. Stop before it’s too late, you’re both drunk. Isn’t Ivy enough? There’s the morning, as Maggie says; don’t forget there’s the morning.
With a thrust he pushed her from him and she staggered back as if indeed she was drunk; and now turning and resting his arms on the mantelpiece and dropping his head on to them he muttered, ‘I’m sorry, Jinny, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that…’ That was the line to take, take the blame. Make it easy for her. It was a dreadful thing to throw a woman off. He had thrown Bett off. Aye, yes, but for a different reason altogether. There was no comparison. He said aloud again, ‘Aw, Jinny, I’m sorry, I’m drunk; that’s what it is, I’m drunk.’ When he received no answer he turned slowly round to see her sitting with her face in her hands, and he went to her and dropping on his knees he said, ‘Jinny. Jinny, forgive me. I’m sorry. I’m so blasted drunk I’ve lost all sense of shame. Look at me, Jinny.’
The Long Corridor Page 10
