All the Way Home and All the Night Through

by Ted Lewis

  “Yes,” I said.

  She was silent for a minute. I heard the sound of shears out in the garden.

  “There’s one thing—Vic; it wasn’t anything,” she said.

  I didn’t look at her.

  “What was it?”

  “Honestly, sweet, I love you, but if I don’t tell you, you’ll never trust me.”

  “Come on.”

  She looked away from me.

  “All right,” she said. “There was this man. I saw him twice. He was at the dance at the hotel. Then I saw him on the beach the day before we left. He asked me to meet him in the evening at the swimming pool. I didn’t go.”

  “So?”

  “I—I found him attractive. I must say this, Vic, or else we wouldn’t be able to carry on. I did find him attractive for the time I sat with him on the beach and danced with him at the dance. I thought of you and the way I loved you. I knew he was going to ask me. At the time, for a moment, in the sun, I wanted to go and meet him in the evening. Then I knew it wasn’t worth it, that when I got there I wouldn’t want to anymore, that I would think of you and how I loved you. So I didn’t go. If he was here now, it would be laughable to try and compare you and him. I love you. But it was just for a minute. You wanted me to tell you.

  I didn’t say anything. She looked into my face.

  “I shouldn’t have told you. Should I? It didn’t mean anything, anything at all, and you wanted me to tell you something because you wouldn’t have believed me if I hadn’t.”

  “You found him attractive.” I didn’t look at her.

  “You won’t understand; I know it was nothing.”

  “Well, I bloody well don’t,” I said violently.

  “Please, Vic,” she said. “I love you.”

  “Look at me. How could you? How could you find someone else attractive?”

  “He was only attractive compared to everyone else down there. He couldn’t compare with you. No one could take your place.”

  “Oh, I know. Only that immediately you’re away from me you meet someone else and start considering them as a potential lover or something.”

  “That’s not true. You know that.”

  “No, I don’t. I trusted you. You found someone else attractive.”

  She got up from the floor.

  “I can’t say anything else. I only told you about it because I know it meant absolutely nothing.”

  She walked over to an occasional table and picked up a small brown paper parcel. She held it in her hand looking at it expressionlessly. I sat on the edge of my chair and looked out into the garden. I felt entirely miserable.

  Janet turned toward me and gave me the parcel.

  “I bought this. It’s for you.”

  I looked her in the eyes and then took the parcel. I unwrapped it. Inside, neatly rolled, was a midnight blue, knitted silk tie. I smiled.

  “I remembered you like these,” she said.

  “Thank you.” I carried on looking at the tie.

  “Vic.”

  I looked at her. She put her hands on my shoulders.

  “I love you,” she said.

  I put my arm round her and then I persuaded myself that every-thing was all right until I left her to catch the last ferry in the evening.

  I stood on the top deck of the ferry watching the sunset over the wolds to the west of the city. A sharp breeze ruffled my hair. The night was quiet except for the churning of the paddles and the rattling of the flag at the stern of the ferry.

  Really, I believed her. I knew, because of the way we were with each other, that she couldn’t feel for anyone else in the same way, even entertain the thought that it might be possible. So why then did I superficially go out of my way to doubt her sincerity, her honesty? Probably, I thought, because of the depressing state of affairs in which I found myself jobless. The fact that I was living with my parents. That I was no longer at college. That I no longer saw Janet everyday. And Harry’s realism hadn’t helped either.

  The ferry ground heavily on toward the other side. Now the night was draped with a transparent after-sunset haze. The sky was no longer streaked with red, but a narrow strip of light blue defined the western horizon. It was not yet wholly dark and the ghost of daylight still described the broad river and its opposing banks.

  I shivered. I looked to the stern of the boat. The white spume wake shone dazzlingly in the half light. The flag flapped violently and then lay still. A dark greyness was travelling in from the east across the broad flat land on the southern side of the river. I went down into the buffet and ordered a cup of tea. But my God, I thought, however much I rationalize, however much I push it to the back of my mind, she found someone else attractive and it hurts.

  My bedroom door opened. My mother came and stood by my bed.

  I looked at my watch.

  “Hell’s sakes, Mother, it’s only ten to nine.”

  “Your results, Victor. Your exam. I’m sure of it.”

  She gave me an envelope which had my name and address on it.

  “What does it say?” I said, looking at her.

  “Oh, I don’t know, love. It’s for you to open.”

  She hovered while my sleepy fingers tried to rip the envelope.

  “Oh, come on, Victor. The suspense’ll kill me. Hurry.”

  I took the small piece of paper out of the envelope.

  “It says Pass,” I said.

  “Oh, Victor.”

  She put her arms round me.

  “I’m so glad,” she said. “So happy.”

  “Yep,” I said, sliding farther back under the sheets.

  “I mean, it’ll probably make all the difference now when you apply for a job.”

  “I shouldn’t think so. If they don’t like my work, I doubt if a slip of paper’ll make much difference.”

  “Oh, it will. I know it will.” She waited for me to make some remark. When I didn’t say anything, she asked me if I’d like a cup of tea. I said yes and she left the bedroom. I turned over and went back to sleep.

  A piece of paper.

  So bloody what.

  September.

  The weeks dragged by. I saw Janet regularly. We looked forward to seeing each other; we loved each other with our usual intensity, but my failure to get a job made me edgy and unable to enjoy being with Janet as much as I wanted to. But paradoxically, I loved her more than ever. I was restless being away from her more than I was used to. I was irritable at home almost just for something to do to alleviate the oppression and boredom of my workless state.

  The days became greyer. Then it was the weekend before Janet returned to college. I saw her on the Saturday and she swore to me that going back to college could not present any threat to us. I spent the Sunday jealously and nervously anticipating her return.

  I was sitting in the dining room watching television. My father was stretched out in his chair. The programme finished.

  “Fancy a drink?” said my father.

  I looked at him.

  “Yeah, all right then.”

  We went down the road. In the pub my father said to me:

  “It’s tougher than we thought, isn’t it.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  He took a drink.

  “Your morale must be getting low.”

  “It is. You know, apart from it being depressing when I get turned down yet again, its living off you that’s the worst part.”

  “Yes, I know you feel bad about that. I’d feel the same. But we don’t begrudge it.”

  “Oh, I know.”

  “But I’ve been thinking. I think I can do something that’ll make you feel better.”

  “Oh?”

  “When you were born, I started putting so
much a week away, so that, you know, when you were twenty-one, you’d have a bit to start you off. Well, you’ll be twenty-one in January so it’s near enough. When we get back tonight, I’m going to give you it. With any luck, you won’t need to use up much of it, and then you could put the rest away. I’m doing it, not because I can’t afford to give you so much a week out of my own pocket because I can but, because I know you’ll feel better. In general. Your morale’ll be higher. Do you understand?”

  About ten days after the new term had begun, I went across to college to see my ex-tutor. I thought I ought to put him in the picture. I didn’t really want to set foot in college. One reason was that people would know I’d been unable to get a job yet. Another was that I knew I’d feel an outsider and that I’d regret my passing. Another was that I knew I would be jealous and suspicious of Janet, feelings which would exist solely because of my day to day condition and because of my separation from her. But I went anyway probably because of the screaming regu-larity of day after day at home. My parents and I had always been very close but this new kind of idle proximity was beginning to affect us.

  After I’d seen Smithson, I went down to the common room with Janet. It was break-time. This term’s new students charged about, their faces brash and inquiring. People I knew gave me curious glances and those that spoke to me looked from me to Janet and back, their expressions seeming to question the nature of our relationship as if now I was no longer at college, they expected to see signs of the inevitable destruction of Janet and me. I was glad to get out of the place.

  Before I left the building, Janet invited me to go with her to a party to be given by her friend Joan the following Friday. Joan’s parents would be away for the weekend. It meant that we would be able to be together again, properly.

  We stood at the top of the college steps.

  “I’ll come back at five thirty,” I said. “We’ll go to the pictures, okay?”

  I turned to walk down the steps.

  “Vic, wait.”

  I turned.

  “Don’t look so unhappy. Everything will pass. Everything’ll be all right.”

  “It’s not going too well at the moment, is it?” I said, smiling slightly.

  “Look at this,” she said. She pointed to one of the columns. The streaks of my blood from the incident at the Christmas dance still discoloured the stone.

  “That’s you,” she said. “Every day I come into college I see that and I think of you. Some days I walk up the steps and forget for a second that I won’t be seeing you, and I begin to hurry so that I’ll see you all the sooner. Then I see those marks and then I remember you’re not here. And every time it happens, I want to cry because all I want is for you to be here. But afterward, I make myself feel better by thinking of all the time we’ve got in front of us.” She paused and looked at the street then back at me. “Try and think like that, Vic. It’s hard for me, too.”

  I had the afternoon to kill until Janet left college at five thirty. I wandered down Allenby Road. The day had a grey quality coloured by enormous all-embracing clouds and a cool wind from off the river.

  I wandered off the main thoroughfare and walked the cobbled rail-encasing street down to the pier, past still goods wagons and silent, eyeless warehouses.

  I sat on a bench and looked across the wide river. The grey of the river and the grey of the sky were distinguishable only by the low black strip of country on the other side. The wind blew into my coat.

  I loved Janet so much that the mere idea that anything could go wrong made me feel crazy and I had plenty of empty time to think about it. My jealousy was being nurtured meticulously. It wasn’t reasonable jealousy; it had no foundation. It was just well looked after. I had always been possessive with her, afraid of risking any loss, but now I didn’t see her anymore, the risks seemed greater. I was too young for trust.

  “Hello. What are you doing here?”

  I turned round. Karen was standing behind the bench. She had a sketchpad under her arm.

  I want to see you less than anybody in the entire world, I thought.

  She sat down on the bench.

  “Now then,” I said.

  “I didn’t know you were over this side today. Have you been to college?”

  “Yes. Well, just to see Janet.”

  “Oh. I saw her this morning but she didn’t mention anything about it. Anything definite yet? About a job, I mean?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “It seems an awfully long job, getting into Advertising. I think I’ll play safe and go into teaching.”

  “It’s a good idea.”

  “Anyway, at least you’ve finished. It must feel good to get away from college. I know I wish I could.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Everybody seems so young. I was talking to Janet about it the other day. We were saying how young everybody behaves now. I suppose they always did, but after a time you notice it especially when you’re past that kind of stage yourself.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “I just feel like meeting older people for a change. That’s why Guernsey was so good. It wasn’t that the people were actually older, not in most cases, but they just behaved older. More sophisticated, more mature. I wish I was still there, actually. We had a good time. But I expect Janet told you, didn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  A seagull squealed into the smoke from the ferry. Karen watched it until it flew out of sight.

  “Are you going home on this ferry?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Oh? I thought you would have been. You’re staying this evening then? I know it can’t be anything but the pictures. You must live half your life in a cinema.”

  “Yes. I’m going with Janet, actually.”

  “Oh?”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “Surprised. No, not surprised, exactly.”

  “What then?”

  “Nothing at all really. Actually it’s quite strange seeing Janet walking round college without you, you know.”

  “Is it?”

  “Still, you’re to be envied. You both had a terrific year together.”

  “It hasn’t finished yet, you know.”

  “Oh, no. What I meant was, it can’t be so good now you don’t see as much of each other. And knowing you, of course, well, I don’t suppose you’d live the life of a clergyman.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Mind you, it’s hard for either person. It’s so difficult to resign yourself to staying in every night. It’s impossible.”

  “You think so.”

  “I know so. However strong your feelings.”

  “Really.”

  “You just have to take things as they come, I think. There’s no harm in moving round even if you eventually finish up with the first person.”

  “You’d advocate it.”

  “Oh, yes. It’s common sense. How does anyone find out what they want unless they’ve experienced as much as possible? I mean a girl who’s only really had one boyfriend is at a disadvantage. She’s no knowledge of anything else. She could make a mistake. If she’s sensible she makes her mind up to look round, however sad she might feel initially. If it meant giving up something she was fond of, I mean.”

  “Yes. That seems to make sense. Very true, Karen.”

  “I mentioned it to Janet recently. I think she more or less agreed. But some girls, they just can’t see farther than their nose-ends, you know. But that’s not for me.”

  Two porters hauled up the gangplank. One of the ferrymen slung to the iron gates of the ferry. The boat churned away from the pontoon causing it to rock gently up and down in the wash.

  I stood in the kitchen at Joan’s house filling my tumbler with Martini and anything e
lse that was going.

  The party was fairly lively but the house was big and its size made everything seem relaxed and casual. I’d left Janet changing the records. I felt sober but I knew I shouldn’t be because I had been drinking regularly for the past two hours. I leant against the wall and looked into my drink.

  I should have been enjoying the party. Harry was there and some more of the band. I was with Janet. Janet, as always, demonstrated to me and to others how glad she was to be with me just by the way she looked at me. But I wasn’t enjoying it. Thoughts of futility and irrational suspicion were weaving dully round my mind.

  Joan came into the kitchen.

  “Hell-o,” she said, “what are you doing here?” As though my leaning against the wall was tantalizingly scandalous.

  “Having a drink.”

  “Resting from the holocaust without?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I feel like that at parties myself sometimes. But tonight I’m the hostess and my guests call the tune.” She smiled bravely bright.

  “Yes, it’s tough having to be on your guard making sure nobody stops drinking.”

  “Yes.” She laughed but her eyes were uncertain behind her gay expression.

  She stood for a minute waiting for me to say something else but I looked down into my glass which I was jiggling round near my belt.

  “However…” she said, smiled, and made to move away. I carried on looking into my glass.

  “Did you go anywhere nice for your holidays?” I asked her.

  “Holidays? Well, yes, I went to Majorca. It was quite nice. Why?”

  “I’m not going away this year, you know.”

  “Oh? How is that?”

  “I can’t water ski.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Forget it.” I put my glass down on the kitchen table. “Forget it and come and have a jive.”

  We went into the big room. Harry was sitting in an armchair kissing a girl who I took to be a friend of Joan’s. I saw Harry’s eyes swivel to the door as we entered the room. He stopped kissing the girl and slid out of the chair, letting the girl slip down into the seat. He walked toward us just as we were about to start dancing.

  “I say, old man,” he said, “would you find it frightfully boring if I asked the young lady to dance instead of embarrassing herself with a raggy-arsed jockstrap like you?”