by Alan Hyder
I stared after her, watched her join Bingen, saw that she glanced quickly up from under her curls to see if I still was there. Then, they were laughing together over some task. I watched them a while before turning to march disgustedly across the hills.
IX
The Opal Ring
WITH THE DEATH OF RHODES, rapidly diminishing groups of Vampire Bats allowed us to settle down by degrees into a routine which was a search for food, a rebuilding of the cottage, and the fitting up of a cave to enable it to be taken over solely for Janet’s use. In one of the big houses, across the hills, Bingen discovered a radio, carrying it home in great excitement, and though we fixed an aerial at once to spend the day listening, we had no results from it. Neither Bingen nor I knew the slightest thing about wireless, so that it was Janet who showed us the way to sink an earth, and run an aerial from the hilltop down to the roof of the cottage. It was over a week before anything but atmospherics disturbed the quietness of the loud speaker, but eventually we heard three stations. We decided they were German and Arabic. The radio did not last long. Batteries ran down, and we did not trouble to search around for fresh. The uselessness of sitting waiting for something to come through for nights on end without results, and being unable to understand the stations we did receive, soon palled. Gradually the thing was pushed aside for a gramophone.
The black cat and the chickens were joined by a scrawny pie-bald cow which slid down the valley in an avalanche of pebbles, and shrill screams from Janet, terrified by this unexpected apparition. I drove it from Caterham, some twelve miles away, fearing it would drop at every step. We named it Liza, that cow, and though it never gave us any milk, it became a great pet, never wandering far from the valley. Later, when it regained some of its original contours, I wanted to kill it, sick of the eternal tinned meat from the razed provision shops, but Janet demurred. A pony was also added to our farm, but, unlike Liza, it would suffer no fondling, permit us to get no closer than would allow a bunch of grass to be held before its nose. Some time recently, that pony had suffered a shock from which it never recovered.
Vampires still went overhead erratically, in ever-increasing numbers though, and at rare intervals dropped low into the valley to hover, watching us coldly, before spiralling away. How I got the impression I cannot say, but I fancied they were uneasy, wanted to get somewhere, and did not know whether they could. Then we went for weeks without seeing one, and began to toy with plans for scouring the countryside in search of other survivors.
The cave, now wholly occupied by Janet, was fitted up royally with a great dressing-table carted over the hills, and a glittering display of toilet articles brought back for her by Bingen. More and more did Bingen seek to please her in ways I never dreamed of, and more and more a sort of tension undermined our comradeship. Sometimes I thought that Janet relished immensely heaping coal upon that fiery tension, at others I fancied she feared, and endeavoured to bring us back to the old footing. Mostly, she favoured Bingen conspicuously, but, surprisingly at times, would lean my way in a fashion to astound me. On these rare occasions I even felt sure that Janet preferred myself. But the conceit never lasted for more than a few hours, and soon I was shown Bingen was the favoured one. Yet he never progressed far. There was never an opportunity left open to give him encouragement. Yes, Janet knew how to command the reins. Indirectly, bicycles put a stop to this impossible state of affairs, bringing things to a dreadful climax.
Three bicycles I brought back from an outing. Neither of us knew how to drive a car, though there were petrol stores in underground tanks and cars in isolated garages for the asking. My ignorance of both cars and radio brought home to me how little I knew. Horses, artillery, slight knowledge of carpentry, beyond that, what a babe in the wood I am!
On the bicycles, we made excursions which increased in radius as our feeling of security grew stronger, though our confidence was never enough to allow us to travel abroad unarmed. Always sword and revolver were at my hip, even though sometimes for the sake of travelling light I left my rifle at home in the Valley of Security. We arranged one evening an exploration for the morrow which would give Janet an opportunity to delve around the debris of the shops in Croydon, and in the early morning set off over the dusty roads on the cycles.
Down the long slope to the south we coasted, with Janet and Bingen well in front, and myself biking slowly behind that I might watch, for I wanted to keep Janet’s first excursion free from danger. Several times they called back to me, waving, then flew on again, laughing and joking. At Purley we sat by the roadside to eat tinned lobster and, as a toast to this first outing, drink champagne from the ruins of a nearby off-licence. Janet, drinking from her glass, before realizing what the bubbling liquid was, tasted champagne for the first time in her life, and it went slightly to her head. Against my wishes, Bingen pressed another glass upon her. They laughed at my frowns, ragging me for an old spoil-sport. Again they went ahead, until, close to the outskirts of Croydon, I spurted to catch them, for I did not want Bingen raking around any more licensed premises after drink for Janet.
‘Here’s Granpa!’ Janet giggled, sparkling from her champagne as I caught them up. Her bike swerved across the road and she screamed shrilly with laughter. Recovering her balance she eyed me wickedly, and rode closer to Bingen. ‘We’ve got to behave ourselves now, Bingen, with Old Sobersides here.’
‘Don’t mind me,’ I answered shortly. ‘Just carry on as though I weren’t here. Then you’ll be able to enjoy yourselves.’
‘Oh, Garry. Why don’t you try and enjoy yourself,’ she cried reproachfully, and pushed ahead after eyeing me, puzzled. ‘I’ll go on by myself if you like.’
‘Don’t be silly. Take no notice of him,’ Bingen urged. He grinned at me. ‘We’ll stop at the next place we come to and have another sup of bubbly. That’ll cheer us up.’
‘We won’t.’ I caught Bingen’s arm as he went after Janet. ‘Let her go on. What the hell did you want to let her drink that stuff for?’
‘Bucks you up, doesn’t it?’
‘Well, there’s going to be no more of it. And, Bingen, give it a miss, too, will you? You know . . . Well, when you’ve had a drink you’re apt to . . . You know what I mean?’
‘Crossing bridges before you get to them?’ Bingen grinned. ‘You needn’t worry. I won’t turn this Sunday School outing into a booze-up.’
‘Good man! I only mentioned it, because . . .’
‘Because you’re as windy as hell Janet will forget she’s dressed in knickerbockers like a boy, and flirt around like she had skirts on,’ Bingen interposed curtly.
I stared at the slim figure cycling ahead, boyish in shorts, jersey, beret pulled over her curls. Bingen went on, and we entered the town. Past long rows of tumbled blackened houses, interlopers in a dead world, and as we drew nearer the centre of the town, wreckage showed that fire had burned more fiercely. To the south we found the place better, houses and shops were burned, but walls stood and, here and there, places were almost whole. Bingen and Janet dismounted, leaning bicycles against the curb, and waited for me to join them.
‘Look! Look! That draper’s shop,’ she cried excitedly. ‘It’s hardly touched. Oh, I must go and see what is in there. I can go in, can’t I, Garry?’
‘Why ask me?’ I growled short-temperedly. ‘Ask Bingen. He’ll let you go.’
‘Oh, Garry,’ she said hopelessly, and ignored the pair of us to walk towards the great store. ‘I don’t really have to get permission from anyone.’
‘That’s the stuff,’ Bingen laughed. ‘Go ahead.’
‘Wait!’ I called after her. ‘You can go in, but I’ll have a look round first.’
Haughtily, Janet waited while I stepped over the ash by the fallen entrance and went into the shop. The place was gutted, but upon shelves and in glass cupboards were goods showing that perhaps somewhere would be stuff unburned. On the ground floor there were no bodies, but rather perilously I climbed broken stairs to where people had died, be
fore returning to the street.
‘You can go in the shop,’ I told Janet. ‘But understand, you’re not to go upstairs. There are some rotten things up there you wouldn’t like to see. Go in and poke around for what you want, while Bingen and I wait here, but you aren’t to go upstairs. Yell out if you get frightened.’
‘I won’t go upstairs. And you’ll stay right here?’
‘We’ll be here. Off you go.’
With a little smile of thanks which wiped out all my bad temper, Janet ran eagerly into the shop, while we sat upon the curb opposite and prepared for a long wait. We caught glimpses of her darting excitedly here and there, pulling boxes from shelves, opening drawers, dusting ashes from things, and then she disappeared from sight into the rear of the shop. I think she went downstairs to the basement. We lit cigarettes.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ Bingen asked at last fiercely. ‘Why don’t you let the girl enjoy herself if she can, instead of coming the pilgrim father over her? The drink wouldn’t hurt her.’
‘Better to knock around like a pilgrim father than a blasted Mormon kid snatcher. Sorry, Bingen, I didn’t mean that. Don’t mind me, I’m worried about her, you see.’
‘Worried about her is right. If you ask me, you’ve fallen for her worse than I have. Why don’t you be a man and own up to it, instead of trying to keep me off the grass with threats of looking after her. You want her, and that’s why you don’t like me trying my hand. Isn’t that it?’
I lit another cigarette.
Bingen had a habit of saying things I knew were not true, and yet knew to be full of truth. I wished I could straighten out this tangle which threatened to overwhelm us. Janet herself came along to straighten out everything, and complicate everything manifold. Bingen saw her first. I turned at his gasp of surprise.
‘Strewth!’ Bingen muttered. ‘Will you look at that!’
Janet had gone into that store, slim in shorts and blue jersey, boyish for all her dark eyes and curls, with an element about her of comradeship, of a child playing adventures, and she came out . . . how? Bingen stared at her with his soul glinting out of his eyes. I watched him before turning to see Janet.
She stood poised sophisticatedly by the shop entrance. I looked at her, and my heart rose into my throat, sank back into my stomach. This was the ‘kid’ I had treated in such a cavalier manner, the child whom I had spanked as she climbed a fence, the girl who had laughed and slid skilfully from Bingen’s caressing arm. She stood there for us to see, spun on a high heel like a mannequin that we might see the whole of her. Bingen and I watched dumbfoundedly.
A great drooping hat of the style called, I think, a picture-hat, covered her curls, lipstick deepened the scarlet of her mouth, skirts swirled about her ankles, and I saw the sheen of silk stockings. Her dress, of some gaily patterned material, swung like an opening flower as she pirouetted.
‘Well! What do you think of this?’ she called, and as we stared, came with an exaggerated mincing tread daintily towards us. ‘How d’you like me now? Don’t you like me? Neither of you seem very pleased with me.’
She pouted with annoyance.
‘You’d better go and take those clothes off,’ I said shakily, when at last I could speak.
‘What the hell,’ Bingen shouted gleefully. ‘Take ’em off. I should say not.’
‘She’ll go and take them off at once. Savvy!’ Fierceness left my voice, and I tried dismally to make a joke of it. ‘Janet, you can’t wear those clothes, Bingen and I would be fighting over you in two shakes.’
‘Would you really?’ Janet twinkled at me mischievously. ‘Don’t you think I ought to wear them, Bingen?’
‘Wear them! Wear them.’ Bingen swore. ‘If you ever wear anything else when I’m around, there’ll be a war.’
‘There, Bingen likes me, even if you don’t,’ Janet said to me. ‘He likes me in these things.’
‘And I do,’ I answered desperately, scowling at Bingen. ‘I do like you in them, Janet. But you can’t wear them. Supposing . . . supposing another Dusty Rhodes turned up!’ I continued quickly, sure that her twinkling eyes mocked me. ‘Besides, you couldn’t run in those skirts, couldn’t in those shoes either. You can’t wear things like that here. Please, Janet.’
‘What’s the matter with you?’ Bingen asked crossly. ‘Why can’t you let us enjoy ourselves? If the girl wants to wear those things, why not let her! Why, Heaven above, man, you ought to go down on your knees and ask her to wear them.’
Bingen flung his hands up in a grinning gesture of abject admiration, and then stepped close to Janet. For a while he smiled at her, then slid an arm about her. They stood laughing at me, until Bingen, with a sudden unexpected movement, pulled her roughly to him. Kissed her full on the mouth.
Janet struggled fruitlessly, and I was too stricken to go to her aid. When she was free her arm described an outraged arc to leave scarlet finger-marks on Bingen’s cheek.
‘Bingen!’ Janet’s eyes flashed, tears sprang to them, and her voice shook. ‘You’ve always been nice ’til now. Why did you spoil things? Oh, why did you?’
‘You damned fool! What the hell did you do that for! Another crack from you like that, and you’re for it.’ I scowled at Bingen’s furious anger, and turned to Janet. After all, she had asked for it, and I wasn’t sure but what, given Bingen’s confidence with women, I wouldn’t have done it myself. I told her angrily, ‘You go and get out of those things at once, before you make me kiss you. go and get them off before I make a fool of myself, too.’
‘Before you make a fool of yourself,’ Janet said haughtily, and tried to stare me out of countenance. She shrugged her shoulders, flirted with her skirts. ‘Oh, don’t you worry. You’ll never make a fool of yourself.’
She turned slowly, went back again to the store, and Bingen and I stared at each other balefully, while I wondered why the devil she had placed such a peculiar emphasis on the word ‘you’ when she told me I would never make a fool of myself.
‘Forget she’s a woman,’ Bingen jeered, and retreated hastily as I strode forward. ‘Oh, all right! Keep you shirt on, Garry. Don’t lose your temper and make a bigger fool of yourself than you have done already. Why couldn’t you let things go? Appreciated her, instead of kicking up a dust.’
‘Kicking up a dust! From the marks on your face, you kicked up a bit of dust.’
‘Well, if she did kiss me, instead of you.’
‘Kiss you! Why, you . . . Bingen, haven’t you got the sense to see I won’t stand for anything like this. Not while we three are here together, alone.’
‘Don’t you worry. There’ll only be two of us if you carry on this way, Garry. And the two of us will be,’ Bingen grinned and stroked his cheek, ‘the two of us will be me and the bird of paradise you’ve just sent in there to change into knickerbockers. Knickerbockers! Hell!’
We eyed each other belligerently until there came from the store a shrill little scream which jumped us across the road. Janet came running from the door, still dressed in all her finery, panic-stricken. And it was to me she ran, ignoring Bingen. Into my arms she ran for shelter. Her soft form nestling there made my heart beat and breath quicken so that I could hardly ask what scared her.
‘Matter? Oh, matter!’ she said softly at last, whispering the word from my shoulder, and I could have sworn that she giggled. ‘Matter! Oh, Garry, I . . . I . . . I thought I . . .’
‘You thought you what?’ I lifted her chin to see what was the matter with her, and she gazed at me seriously. ‘What did you think?’
‘I thought I . . .’ She looked up at me without a twinkle in her eyes, resting there on my breast. ‘I thought I saw a mouse.’
‘Mouse! Janet!’
A mouse amid that holocaust! In spite of myself, I laughed and shook her.
‘Janet, you just made that up so that you could come out again with these clothes on. Confess.’ I held her at arm’s length and smiled at her. Let her go. ‘Janet, be a sport and go and take these
glad rags off. You know it wouldn’t be fair to us to have you knocking around in them. Go and take them off and be our kid in knickerbockers again. And don’t come running out with any more idiotic excuses so that you can stay like this.’
‘I didn’t make that excuse just to keep these clothes on,’ she whispered, moving backwards with a peculiar expression in her big eyes.
‘Why did you, then?’
‘Oh, you wouldn’t understand. You never do. Oh, all right! I’ll go and take them off again.’ Then in a whisper so soft I was not sure I heard the words aright, she said as she turned away: ‘When I do look nice, the one I don’t want to kisses me, and the one I do want to, just tells me to run along and get into those old rags again.’
I started forward hesitating, not certain I heard her correctly, but as she ignored me, dared not, for the life of me, ask her what she had said.
With Janet in her boyish rig, and pals again with Bingen, we pedalled away up the road home after searching the ruins and loading our bikes with such things that she wanted to take back. I dragged behind them as they cycled ahead, went slowly pondering like a fool over the words I knew I had heard, and yet was scared to be certain, admit to myself that I had heard. For some distance I pedalled like a man in a dream, until a sudden flash of comprehension dismounted me to squat by the roadside and smoke musingly. Had I left those two together too much? Janet undoubtedly seemed to prefer Bingen, and yet as I mused, little curious, unexplainable episodes danced into my mind. To me she clung in times of real danger, not to Bingen; treated me in a fashion she never treated him. Gradually it came to me that undoubtedly she did not prefer Bingen, and I sprang upon the bike to race away up the slope after them, intending that very evening to ascertain for certain which of us two she did prefer.
