At least, that was what he thought before he tried to make George see what she was doing to him.
‘Let’s go out,’ he said one evening.
‘Don’t be silly,’ said George, ‘you know perfectly well we can’t leave Sara.’
‘Peg could baby sit,’ he said.
‘I don’t want her to,’ said George.
‘In fact you’d rather stay here with Sara, who’s asleep, than go out with me,’ he said.
‘Yes. I don’t know why you want to go out.’
‘Because I’m bored,’ he said.
‘You want to grow up,’ George said.
‘In this atmosphere,’ he said, ‘my growth is stunted.’
‘Go by yourself,’ George said, ‘I don’t mind.’
‘Fine,’ he said, and went.
It wasn’t that he had scruples of conscience. George had said she was perfectly happy staying in, it wasn’t as though she was being a martyr. He knew she really did prefer to stay in, that was what angered him. She didn’t need his companionship, she didn’t want to talk to him or do anything with him more than she wanted to be with Sara. There was no closeness, no unity at all. It was as if she had put the clock back a hundred years, when a man would rightly expect his wife to stay at home, obsessed by her children and household cares, while he pursued his own pastimes. He might as well be ‘Mr Jones’ to her. He didn’t want to develop his own amusements in which she had no part. He hated to think of the pubs he could go to and form a drinking circle of acquaintances, or the band he could join again and play for in the evenings. He wanted George, and if he couldn’t have her all the time, he didn’t want her as a drudge and housewife and mother.
She wasn’t his wife anyway. Since Meredith had walked out, they hadn’t seen her, though she had sent them an address and asked them to forward all her belongings without mentioning the means of transport or who was going to pay for it. Jos had refused to send anything unless she sent the money. Instead, a man had turned up in a mini van one evening saying Meredith had asked him to collect all her things. They were only too pleased to get rid of them. It meant, however, that contact wasn’t renewed so the question of the divorce hung fire, and until he was divorced he couldn’t marry George.
The angle that worried her was Sara’s opinion, and what people might think later if they knew her father lived with a woman who wasn’t his wife or her mother.
‘It will be years before that becomes a problem,’ Jos said.
‘I don’t know,’ George said, ‘it might take years to get divorced.’
‘Not with Meredith’s co-operation,’ Jos said.
‘Then get it,’ said George.
‘Why?’
George didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘Don’t you want to marry me?’
‘Not particularly,’ Jos said abruptly.
‘You’ve changed,’ George said.
‘You mean you have.’
She didn’t deny it. She picked up Sara defensively, as though that were explanation enough.
‘I don’t like marriage,’ Jos said, ‘not marriage with children.’
‘Child,’ George said.
‘Child, then. You don’t love me, except as Sara’s father. You couldn’t be less interested in me.’
‘I know,’ said George. ‘I can’t help it.’
If he left her, he would be the only one hurt. He thought wildly of dumping Sara in a river, to see if that would bring George back, but it wasn’t likely to. She would just carry on as usual, only thinking instead about her own child she so desperately wanted. And yet he was reluctant to go. She had no money, since she’d given up her classes when Sara arrived. He supposed her family would keep her, but there was a chance they might not. No one would marry her, and Sara would go away when she grew up. Furthermore, George would have no legal right to the baby, and that would haunt her.
He remembered how he had married Meredith out of a sense of duty, and where that had landed him. He could stay with George with better justification, because he loved her, but for his own future it would be as catastrophic as marrying Meredith, if he wanted a future.
Almost as a test, he left the bank. It wasn’t even the lure of the sun shafts coming through the door that drew him out, because it was raining and the doors were tight closed. He could hear the rain beating on the glass panels as he sat at his desk and felt his pay packet still square and firm, in his pocket. Winter’s coming, poor Jos is a’ cold, he chanted, and leaving his desk got up, passed through the front line and tugging the doors open walked through them without so much, sir, as a by-your-leave.
It seemed very important to get home as quickly as possible, as though coming on George unexpectedly would give him some miraculous power over her. He ran for a bus, leapt on it, and sat in the nearest seat to the door to get off all the quicker when it got to his stop. He was off, straight into a puddle, before the bus had really slowed down, and as he ran down the road into the square his wet shoe and sock squelched and clung unpleasantly to his foot. By the time he reached the outside door of the house, he was soaked. He hammered frantically with the knocker and only when no one answered, stopped to search for his key. He’d forgotten it. There was no one in the building. Furious, he huddled into the door under the mere six inches of overhanging porch.
The whole square was empty and desolate, the trees in the middle thin, mean streaks stripped of their leaves which lay in drenched but bright piles all round them. He left the inadequate shelter of the doorway and suddenly not caring about the rain he walked slowly over to the trees. The gate to the garden was closed, as usual. He vaulted over it and on to the small triangle of glowing grass. He bent down and picked up three of the biggest and most vivid leaves, orange, orangey yellow, and red, and stuck them in his lapel where they flattened themselves out against the wet tweed. Then he leant against the railings and waited for George, with his back to the trees he had wanted to reach and touch.
She looked about forty. She looked like a suburban housewife loaded down with pounds of stewing steak and the washing for the launderette. It was her huddled, drooping walk, hands clutching the handle of the pram firmly, more than the old leather coat strapped tightly round her waist. She had wellingtons on, short ones, and breasted every puddle dauntlessly. On top of the pram was a bag covered with a plastic mack. The pram cover was securely hooked on to the hood, but even then she seemed worried that Sara would get wet and kept peering anxiously at her, pushing the pram with one hand and walking along beside it so as not to lose time.
She didn’t see him even though she passed quite close. Her head-square, pulled unbecomingly low on her forehead, acted as blinkers do to a horse.
‘Whoa there,’ he said, as she came level with him.
She stopped and looked back, pushing a long strand of wet hair back under cover.
‘I’m soaked,’ she said.
‘So am I,’ he said.
She began to move on. He stayed where he was, just to disconcert her, and watched her dash across the road, the pram sticking momentarily on the kerb, and up to the door. She fumbled for the key, opened the door, and lugged the pram through it. For a few minutes, she disappeared, then he saw her at the window beckoning impatiently. He waved cheerfully, and pulling the leaves out of his lapel brandished them above his head. Taking his time, he climbed back over the railings and dawdled into the house. As he climbed the stairs, he took off his streaming jacket, and trailed it behind him, hearing with satisfaction the wet sploshes as it bumped on each stair.
The flat was full of steam, rising in clouds from a clothes horse draped with nappies in front of the electric fire. All the windows were misted over. He went towards them, and rubbed a hole clear in the corner pane so that he could look out on to the square.
‘You’d better get out of those wet clothes,’ George said.
Jos started taking them off, flinging them into the corner one by one. When he was naked, he went across to the fire and took the clothes horse a
way so that he could get warm. He stood with his hands behind his back and beamed at her.
‘I suppose you’ve left the bank,’ she said.
‘Correct,’ he said.
‘I’m not surprised,’ she said dully.
‘Oh go on, be surprised,’ he begged. ‘I’d like to surprise you.’
‘Did you get your pay before you left?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Thank God for that,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t have been a bit surprised if you’d been too high and mighty to think about that.’
‘So you are surprised,’ he said. ‘Hurrah.’
‘Oh shut up,’ she said. ‘I suppose you think you’ve done your bit actually working for ten whole months at a steady job.’
‘Well, I do rather,’ he said.
‘And now you’re just going to sit around and wait for money to arrive from heaven.’
‘I haven’t actually thought what I’m going to do,’ he said.
‘It amazes me.’ George stopped, her voice was shaking. ‘It amazes me how a man with your responsibilities can behave the way you do.’
‘You’re a shrew,’ Jos said. ‘I would never have thought it possible, but you’ve turned into a first class shrew and it doesn’t become you.’
‘Should I be pleased you’ve given up your job?’ she said bitterly.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘you once told me money didn’t matter and said you didn’t see why I should have to work in a bank just for the sake of getting it. You said I should stick to music at all costs.’
‘Things have changed,’ she said, ‘the circumstances were quite different then.’
‘Apparently,’ he said.
George abruptly grabbed the clothes horse. ‘I’d like to put these back,’ she said, ‘if you’ve finished.’
‘I’m entitled to warm my arse as long as I like,’ said Jos, smiling benignly. ‘You may put them to one side.’
She snatched a wet nappy and hit him with it. The sharp, knife-like edge left a long red mark across his chest. He picked up the clothes horse and held it in front of himself like a shield, shouting encouragement to her until she had torn all the nappies off and he was left with the empty framework. He was just beginning to relish the approaching unarmed combat, when she suddenly sat down and started to cry.
‘Oh Christ,’ he said, in disgust.
She went on howling. Quietly, he set the horse up and arranged the nappies neatly on it in front of the fire, then, whistling, he went into the bathroom and ran a hot bath.
George was still bawling as he stepped into it and lay back, balancing his toes in between the taps. He had to listen carefully to hear her above the noise of the hot water tank gurgling and choking above him. When that noise stopped, he heard the sniffs that meant she had nearly finished. Contentedly, he smiled, and told himself he shouldn’t hold it against her that she cried so much, so often, and for so little. It was a reflex reaction. Some people bit their nails, or smoked, she cried. Her cries had grades too, according to the amount and quality of emotion involved.
After his bath, he dressed in his most casual clothes and settled down to read the paper. He didn’t speak, but kept smiling at George so that she would have no cause to think there was any row as far as he was concerned. Sara seemed very quiet. The only one making any noise was George as she stalked backwards and forwards doing her housework. When she’d brushed and patted everything in sight, she went into the kitchen and closed the door. Jos reached for the telephone and the directory and hoped she wouldn’t hear.
The rain stopped at twelve o’clock and a thin sun came straggling through the still threatening clouds. George made them both an omelette, which Jos ate with relish, humming in between forkfuls.
‘I’m going to take Sara for a walk,’ he said.
‘Where? You don’t usually take her out,’ said George suspiciously.
‘No, I don’t, do I?’ said Jos politely, ‘but then I don’t usually have all day to myself.’
He waited, but George could hardly object.
‘Are you coming?’ he said, when he was ready.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ll take the opportunity to really clean the bedroom out.’
‘What a marvellous idea,’ Jos said. ‘You do that.’
She came with him as far as the outside door, still fussing over the pram.
‘Don’t put the hood down,’ she said, ‘there’s a cold wind.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Jos said.
‘You won’t leave her outside a shop or anything, will you?’ George said.
‘Her highness will be attended every waking or sleeping moment,’ Jos promised.
‘How long will you be?’
‘Not long. You get cracking on that bedroom.’
He was aware that she was watching as he wheeled the chariot slowly along the square with the utmost decorum.
In half an hour, he was back. The rain was still holding off and more blue sky appeared every second from nowhere. He felt like going on the river.
George wheeled round from the drawer she was tidying as he came into the flat.
‘You’ve hardly been out,’ she said accusingly. ‘What’s the matter? There’s nothing wrong with Sara is there?’
‘Nothing,’ said Jos. ‘Sara is blooming. I left her in hands even more experienced and loving than yours.’
‘You left her – whatever do you mean?’ said George, feeling suddenly sick and faint.
‘I took her to a nursery and said could they look after her for a few hours because my wife was very ill and I had to take her to hospital.’
‘You liar!’
‘I know,’ said Jos smiling. ‘I probably needn’t have said that but I thought it might make things easier.’
‘I’m not ill. I don’t want to be rid of her – if I’d known you were just dumping her somewhere instead of pretending you wanted to take her for a walk, I’d never have let her out of the flat.’
‘Well, she’s there now,’ said Jos, ‘so you might as well make the most of it. I thought we’d go on the river – sail to Greenwich or somewhere. What do you think?’
‘I think you’re the most selfish, unfeeling bastard that ever walked this earth,’ said George.
Jos let the pose of the last few hours slip off his shoulders. He stopped smiling and concentrating on being jaunty, and let her see how tired and defeated he was, before he could trust himself to speak.
‘It’s only one afternoon George,’ he pleaded. ‘I’m miserable and upset. You don’t seem to love me, I can’t stand my job any more. I need just one afternoon alone with you.’ She shrugged and turned away. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘even if you think I’m being melodramatic. I don’t have to go down on my knees and beg you, do I?’
‘No,’ said George, ‘you don’t. I’ll come, just to show you that it won’t do any good. I won’t enjoy it one bit either.’
He was about to make a sarcastic rejoinder, or tell her in that case she could go to hell and he’d spend the afternoon packing instead. But he swallowed his anger, and told himself it was all this he had to overcome in one short afternoon.
They took a bus down to the Embankment and walked along to Westminster Bridge. There was a boat sailing to Greenwich in fifteen minutes, for which Jos bought two return tickets. He felt nervous and didn’t know what to suggest to put in the time, but luckily the boat was already tied up there and they clambered on board and took seats in the front part. George was sullen and sat huddled into her coat as though the day was much colder than it really was.
By the time the boat left, it was nearly full. Comfortably so, no one was squashed and there was plenty of room to put raincoats and bags and feet. Jos wondered where everyone had come from because none of them looked like tourists. There was not a camera in sight, nor a map. They must all have their own private, desperate reasons for sailing to Greenwich on a doubtful, late September Wednesday afternoon. Seized with a sense of excitement, he twisted in his seat t
o look back at Big Ben as the boat swung round into the river and the engines chugged noisily into action. By the time he saw Big Ben again, in two hours’ time, he promised himself that all would be decided, and almost said it aloud to George, as though it was only fair to warn her that her fate hung in the balance. Solemnly, he turned in his seat and settled down instead, to wait.
There was a guide of sorts on the boat, with a good line in quick and quite witty patter which Jos enjoyed very much. He swung his eyes dutifully from one side of the river to the other as the various landmarks were pointed out, and laughed heartily at all the inevitable quips. George visibly winced, and stared straight ahead, ignoring both Jos and the guide. She wished it would rain, but the sun grew stronger and so did the wind and really by the time they were level with the Tower it was a beautiful afternoon.
‘You’ve got to have a heartache when you fa-all in luv,’ sang Jos, and continued the rest of the song in a strong hum.
‘You don’t sound as though you’ve got much heartache,’ said George sourly.
‘Oh but I have,’ said Jos. ‘It really hurts.’
‘Don’t be facetious,’ snapped George.
‘I mean it. Why else should I take such bold and desperate steps to win you all over again?’
‘You just wanted an afternoon out,’ said George.
‘I could have gone on my own.’
‘You don’t like being on your own.’
‘I’ve been getting used to it recently,’ said Jos. She didn’t reply. ‘Admit you’re enjoying yourself,’ he said.
‘I couldn’t,’ said George, ‘because I’m not. I’m more miserable than you.’
‘Why?’ said Jos. ‘You’ve got a man who loves you and a baby you adore. You once said that was all you wanted, especially the first bit.’
‘I don’t think I love you any more,’ said George quietly. ‘I want to, but nothing happens.’
Jos cleared his throat. ‘You’ve been cooped up too much with Sara,’ he said.
‘I want to be,’ said George.
‘Do you want me to leave you then?’ said Jos.
Georgy Girl Page 15
