All the Way Home and All the Night Through

by Ted Lewis

  “Cheeky. Anyway, we now have no piano. Why don’t you come across if you’re still at home?”

  “I dunno, really. It’s a bit difficult. Anyway, what’s doing?”

  The landlord passed us our drinks.

  “Harry’s been offered a job with Geoff Whitehouse’s Mainstream Group. I think he’ll take it.”

  “But that would mean the band would have to pack up.”

  “We know. But there you are.”

  Ron went out to the toilet.

  “Anyway,” said Ivan, “what’s all this about you and Janet? It’s all kaput, so they say.”

  “They say that, do they. Well you know how it is—” I leered, “a change is as good as a rest. I mean, now I’ve left college I can’t be expected to sit at home every night, can I?”

  “I suppose not. It always seemed untypical of you, anyway. There’ll be one or two people glad to know it, anyway. My mate Chris Fox for a start.”

  “Oh?”

  “Aye. He’s been keen on Janet for months. He never bothered asking her because he knew it’d have been pretty silly.”

  “And now?”

  “Well, the coast’s clear, isn’t it?”

  My stomach was suddenly filled with iced water. She wouldn’t. Not with that nonentity Chris Fox, that clown who tried to ape the sports car boys in dress and voice while only possessing a Morris Tourer.

  Ron came back. I didn’t want to stay and have Ivan catalogue the list of Janet’s would-be suitors.

  “Anyway, Ivan, we’re off now. We’ve got to meet somebody.”

  “What, you’re off already?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, look silly bugger, keep in touch will you? I’m in here most Saturday dinners.”

  “I know. I used to come with you, didn’t I?”

  “Well then, start again.”

  “Maybe. Ta-ra, Ivan.”

  “Why didn’t you want to stay?” Ron asked when we got outside.

  “Oh, I don’t know. If we’d have stayed, Ivan would have wanted to come to Harry’s and Mrs Burton might not have fancied too many after hours.”

  We walked through the main thoroughfare to the trolley bus terminus. I had suddenly become afraid of meeting anyone I knew who might know about Janet and myself. I didn’t want to hear them telling me anything about Janet or looking at me and knowing how bad I felt. I took Ron on a devious route and happily no one that knew me was to be seen.

  “Now then, you flamers,” said Mrs Burton. It was a quarter-past one and the bar was packed. Coalmen, labourers, downers, credit traders in their mohair suits, they all drank with the quick heartiness that goes with a Saturday lunchtime session. Darts flew through the air and Woodbines graced the uncarpeted floor.

  “Now then Mrs. This is a mate of mine from home, Ron,” I shouted across the din.

  “Hello, Ron.”

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  “What’re you having then, lads?” said Mrs Burton.

  “Oh, ta. I’ll have a black and filthy and Ron’ll have a large dark.”

  “Right you are,” she said.

  “Where’s Harry?” I asked while she made the black and tan.

  “Didn’t you know? He’s gone to Nottingham to see Jazz at the Philharmonic and Ella. He went in Paul Markham’s car. He’s home on leave.”

  “Oh.”

  “They went this dinner. There was Harry, and Jenny, Paul and another lad and two more lassies.”

  “Pity. I’d like to have seen Harry. And Paul.”

  We took our drinks over to a table. I found I was out of cigarettes, so I went back to the bar.

  “Ten Parks please, Mrs B.”

  She got the cigarettes.

  “Will you be staying over until tomorrow?” she asked.

  “No, I don’t think so, why?”

  “Well, they’ll be back tomorrow dinner if you wanted to see him.”

  “I’ve got to get back, really. So Harry went with Jenny did he? How’s he getting on with her?”

  “Oh, fine. She’s a nice lass. She came round here before they went with that girl you hammered at that party, Janet what’s-her-name.”

  “Janet?”

  “Yes, Victor. I heard all about it. You deserve what you get. She’s a lovely girl. Not like the rest.”

  “She went to Nottingham? What, with Harry and everybody?”

  “Aye. It’ll do her good after the time you gave her last week. You really are a silly sod. Harry told me how you used to mess about behind her back.”

  “And they’re staying till the morning.”

  “I don’t know why you’re looking so shocked, Victor, with your history.”

  “But I can’t understand it. How is it her mother let her go?”

  “I don’t know, Victor. You know what lassies are. Probably told her Mam she was staying with Jenny. Then again, she’s growing up. What is she now? Eighteen? Perhaps her mam reckons she’s due for a bit of freedom. Maybe she thinks there isn’t much chance of Janet getting pregnant now you’re not round her anymore. Whatever it is, she’s well on her way to Nottingham by now.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  “There you are. It was your own fault.”

  “I know. But—Oh, hell, what can I do?”

  “Nowt, Victor. You’ll have to face it. She’s going to blossom out. There’s a lot of fellers going to be mad for a girl like that. She’s going to find it exciting suddenly having all these admirers.”

  “But she had them when I was going out with her. It didn’t matter then.”

  “But you’re not going out with her anymore, are you?”

  Half-past six.

  “You know what, Victor?”

  “What, Ron?”

  “I’ve always been a close friend of yours. We used to listen to my Kenton records in your attic.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, I know you. You’ve always been lucky with the birds.” He took a drink. “Bloody hell, I’m full. I mean, you have, haven’t you?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Yes, you have. You have, haven’t you?”

  “All right.”

  “Well, why the bloody hell does that Jean piss me about so much? I mean, holding herself back?”

  “Maybe she wants to marry you?”

  “Naw, she’s too young. Even I can see that. There’s going to be some handsome bugger come along and that’ll be it. She thinks she loves me, but she’s too young. But, no, why the hell can’t she let me have something?”

  “I dunno. Why should she? Why should any of the bitches? All they’re interested in is themselves.” I said, with the wisdom of twenty.

  “Yeah.”

  I took a drink.

  “Eh up, Ron. Shall we go home? I’m fed up with this place. We can be in the Plough by eight if we leave now. Pick up Mart on the way from the station. This place stinks.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  We drank up and reeled out.

  Ten o’clock.

  “By hell, though, you two have been sinking some stuff, haven’t you?” said Mart as he set the tray of drinks down on the table. Ron and I had our arms round each other. The Plough’s singing room clavioline star was crashing out “Sugar in the Evening”. There were about six of us round the table singing along with everybody else, fit to bust.

  “No, they’ve been sinking us. We haven’t much lower to go. Have we, Ron?”

  “Naw, about six inches.”

  “That’s what you need. Six inches and every bitch in town will be round,” I said.

  “Except Jean,” said Ron.

  “Naw. She’s no different. None of them are.”

  “She is.”
>
  “Naw.”

  “Course she bloody well is.”

  “Look, I’ve told you what she’s like.”

  “I haven’t met one yet.”

  “Well, I have.”

  “Well, it’s up to you then. Get stuck across her.”

  “She’s not like that.”

  I laughed.

  “I tell you, she isn’t.”

  I carried on laughing.

  “Listen,Victor, shurrup.”

  “I wish she was here now. I’d show her what for.”

  “Naw, nobody could.”

  “I could.”

  “Shurrup, Victor. I know her.”

  “No, you don’t. I’m telling you, if she was here now, I could have her away before tomorrow morning.”

  “Don’t be bloody silly, Victor.”

  “I’m not being. It’s right.”

  “Knock it off.”

  “Why the hell should I? I’m telling you a fact.”

  “Listen. Shut your trap.”

  “What’s the matter, Ron? Frightened I’m right?”

  “I’m telling you. Can it.”

  “Why? You’ve got to face up to these things, Ron. Some of us have got it and some of us haven’t.”

  “Are you asking for something, Vic? Because if you are, you’re going the right way about getting it.”

  “Suit yourself. Say the word.”

  “Pack it in, Vic,” said Mart. “Leave it.”

  “I was only telling Ron—”

  “We know what you were telling him. Now wrap up and have a drink, will you?”

  “Ron, I’m sorry about what I said upstairs. You’re a good bloke.” I had stopped him on the way into the gents as I was leaving.

  “Don’t talk to me.” He pushed me to one side and walked over to the stalls. I leant against the wall.

  “What’s the matter with you, then?” I bawled. “Can’t you take a bloody apology?”

  He spun round and sped over to me. He clutched me by the collar of my jacket.

  “Listen. You’ve just about said enough for one night. Now shut it or it’ll get shut for you.”

  “Go on then, you miserable sod!” I shouted. “You can’t tom Jean so you’d better try and prove yourself on me.”

  “I’m warning you, Victor.”

  “Come on, Ron. If you can’t start it, I will.”

  I pushed him away from me.

  “You’ve got to hit me first, Vic. I’m not starting it.”

  “Right!” I screamed, and went for him.

  I think he hit me no more than three times. Once in the body and twice on the head. They were hard punches, but it wasn’t their hardness that knocked the fight out of me. Once I felt the blows, I had accomplished what I had set out to do.

  I fell against the wall and slid down to the floor. I could hardly see. One eye began to close up.

  “I didn’t mean it, Ron. I didn’t want to fight you,” I said, not seeing anything. “I didn’t mean anything I said.”

  “You pathetic bastard. You make me want to throw up,” he said. I heard him go out, back into the pub.

  I got up and looked at my reflection in the washbasin mirror. I was going to have a very black eye.

  I walked out of the pub. The night was still and warm and starry. I was now less drunk than I had been. I looked toward the market place. Groups of young boys and younger girls stood round talking and laughing, sometimes shrieking. The terrible thought of Janet actually being with someone else filled my whole body. Images of her with the nameless person pressed into my brain with awful clearness.

  “Janet. You know I love you. You know I do,” I said, then I walked off in the direction of our house.

  “Fighting. Drinking yourself stupid. It’s about time you straight-ened yourself out,” said my father the next day. “You can’t live at home forever, you know.”

  “I know that. Good God, do you think I like it?”

  “Well then, why don’t you make more of an effort to get a job? You’re not trying hard enough.”

  “My work’s at an agency now, isn’t it? Or had you forgotten?”

  “But that’s only one place. If I were you, I’d be working everyday, doing more specimens, banging them in. Apart from anything else, it’d take your mind off being stuck at home all day long.”

  “Well, you’re not me, are you?”

  “I know this: you’d do a damn sight better doing some of your work than sitting in that pub every night of the week.”

  “It’s better than sitting at home.”

  “We’re only trying to help you, Vic,” said my mother.

  “That’s all we’re trying to do,” said my father. “We know how down you get, but you should try and help yourself more. Not for us, for you. It doesn’t cost all that much to keep you at home, you know. It’s not that. We want you to get on, for yourself.”

  “I know,” I said. “I know. I’m not trying hard enough.”

  “We feel for you, Victor, when people ask you what you’re doing,” said my mother.

  “I know. It’s just that things are a bit difficult at the moment. You know, in general.”

  “We guessed as much,” she said. “Can’t you tell us about it?”

  “I’d rather not, not just now, anyway. It’ll sort itself out. I’ll tell you then.”

  “We may be able to help,” she said.

  “Maybe. Anyway. I’ll get some work done. I’ll go down to Story’s and get some materials. I’ll start today.”

  “That’s better. You can do it,” said my father, “and don’t let things get you down. They have a habit of sorting themselves out.”

  Every day I ached for Janet to telephone but she didn’t, and again the following weekend I found myself making my way across the river. I hoped I wouldn’t meet anyone and at the same time I knew that I would feel just as depressed if I didn’t.

  I toured the lunchtime pubs, the ones with music in them. I sat and drank alone, thinking about Janet, reliving the past year, becoming more maudlin as record succeeded record and drink succeeded drink.

  The pubs closed and I drifted into a cinema, intermittently losing myself in the film. Then the lights went up and I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked round. Arnold was sitting behind me, grinning.

  “Hello, Arn,” I said.

  “Now then, Victor. What are you doing over here?”

  “Nothing much. Having a few drinks.”

  “I won’t ask you why you don’t get in touch with anybody nowadays.”

  “No. I wouldn’t.”

  He climbed over the row of seats and sat next to me.

  “What are you doing? I mean as far as work’s concerned.”

  “I’ve got one or two things going. I’ve a chance of a job in an agency. Pretty promising really.”

  “Good stuff. You’ll be pleased with yourself.”

  “Yeah.”

  We stood outside the cinema. It was a quarter-past six.

  “What are you doing now?” asked Arnold.

  “Well, I was going to have a drink. Fancy one?”

  “Yeah, all right.”

  We strolled along the pavement. Arnold wasn’t the best person in the world to drink with, but he was there, and I felt like some company. It might help to take my mind off things, I thought.

  We wandered into the public bar of a scruffy pub off the main road. The bar was empty. A record player stood on the bar, and a barmaid was loading it with records. She clicked the starting mechanism and a record clattered onto the turntable.

  We began to drink. We talked now and then but at first we mainly sat and stared at our reflections behind the bar. My thoughts covered the usual imp
ossibly painful routes round the happenings of the last weeks. My body was in a constant state of tension from which no release seemed foreseeable. All I wanted was to see Janet and to put things right. I knew I could if I saw her. I knew her love too well not to know it was possible.

  “Hey, listen to this,” said Arnold.

  “Yeah. That’s more like it. That’s the thing.”

  Instead of the usual top pops, Buddy Greco’s up tempo small group recording of “The Lady is a Tramp” had fallen onto the turntable. It sounded free and exhilarating in comparison to the rest of the selection. Its mood elevated us, left us wanting to hear it again. Time passed and we grew happier in each other’s company. After a few more drinks and a few more plays of the record, I found myself quite enjoying being with Arnold, and I felt more sympathetic toward him than usual. The drink had given a pleasantly self-indulgent colour to my thoughts about Janet.

  “How about going to the Miami?” I said in a moment of bravado. Immediately I said it, I became apprehensive. I knew that if Janet was being bought a drink in town that was where she would be taken. That was where all the would-be smooth boys took their dates. The thought of seeing her with someone else induced a cold sick feeling in my stomach, but I’d had enough to drink to be reckless. So what, said a part of my mind. But another part reminded me how I might feel if I did see Janet. It was almost enough to hold me back. But because it was almost impossible to imagine seeing her with someone else, my feelings weren’t strong enough to keep me away.

  We shuffled through the swing doors. The bar was crowded. Best suits and Saturday afternoon hairdo’s lounged arrogantly about the place. The air was full of the kind of self-advertising, condescending laughter that’s usually found in places like the Miami bar issuing from people who behaved in the way they imagined that people in advertisements would behave. They even held their cigarettes in the same manner. Perhaps they were accurate in the way they wore their clothes and in the way they stood about, but they definitely were not in the way they pro-nounced their words. The closest observation could never completely obliterate their Yorkshire accents; although judging by the confidence with which they attempted to transform their native lilt, it seemed as though they felt they were completely succeeding. On the whole they gave me a pain in the left cheek. I knew one or two of them, and they weren’t too bad, provided you could be with them alone, away from the birds they wanted to impress with their panache. We forged our way through the conclave of backs which demonstrated their affront at being asked to excuse by scarcely moving. Normally I would have made the most of my elbows, but my now sole concern was in fearfully scanning the room in the hope of not seeing Janet. My eyes flickered from face to face, but I couldn’t see her. Even so, a terrible apprehension existed in me which became more acute as the minutes passed.