Which only made it all the more important to break the ice, properly, before she got the wrong impression. Because if I stood there much longer thinking about the shape of things to come, she'd decide that Larry Mann was not the sociable type. As it happened, though, she was staring straight at my pride and joy, what you might call the jewel in the crown.
'Yamaha,' I said, half thinking that she might know that already. 'Top of the range. Got everything, it has - violins, percussion, brass. You name it, and I can put my finger on it.'
'Oh,' she says, in that way I'm already beginning to recognize. 'You mean it's an organ?'
Well, I have to tell you that just for a second she had me wondering if, nice as she is, she might not be just that little bit stupid. Then I looked again, the way she would have done, and realized that, with the lid down and the antimacassar on top, and the family of woodland animals on top of that, there was always the chance you might mistake it for something different. The room is too small for it really. If I'd known ten years ago that I was going to become a musical type, I might have thought twice about the feature bookcase. Then again, who can ever say what the future holds? The fact is, I wouldn't be without the Yamaha now, not for anything. Two fingers, that's all you need for the Liberace touch. The organ does the rest. There's even a book that shows you how.
And once again - it seemed to be happening all the time since meeting Miss T - I had a picture of the future, this time with me sitting at the organ barrelling out all the old favourites, and her on the settee, listening to every note. The gas fire would be glowing, the TV shimmering in the corner, and on the table a little glass of something for us both.
Which reminded me.
'Right then. What's it to be - port or sherry?'
You know, it was getting to be comical. Everything I'd said to her so far seemed to bewilder her. Right now she was staring at me as if she wasn't quite sure she had heard me right. Still, patience is my middle name, and so I said it again, slowly, 'I was wondering what it was you would care to drink. I've got port and I've got sherry. So you've got to tell old Larry which is it to be, Miss... ?'
I let that hang in the air deliberately, bearing in mind that I'd been telling her to call me Larry all this time, yet quite obviously she had forgotten to return the compliment. For once though, the penny dropped straightaway, and she smiled and said, 'Amanda. My name is Amanda.' Then the smile disappeared. 'As for that drink though, it's terribly kind of you to offer, but I really don't think ...'
Quite what it was she thought I never did hear, because by then it was too late and I'd already plonked a schooner of sherry in her hand. The fact is, you only had to look at her to know she wasn't the port and lemon type.
'Oh' she said. Then remembering her manners just as you'd expect in a girl like her, added, 'Thank you very much'
Now then, if someone bad told me yesterday that I’d be sitting here in my own lounge with a young person of the female tendency, sipping Old England and chatting away like old friends, I'd have told him to pull the other one. Yet there she was, looking for all the world as if she belonged there. It was enough to make a man feel quite disorientated really, and I hadn't even touched a drop yet. So I raised my glass and said, 'Here's to you, Mandy love, and many happy days ahead.'
And you should have seen the way she smiled. Lovely teeth she has.
'So where is it you hail from?' I asked, expecting her to tell me Hong Kong. It would have been nice to have a few words on the subject before Old Gilbert got his oar in. Only the answer She gives falls a bit short of that.
'Scotland,' she says. 'Edinburgh, to be exact'
'Yes, but is that where you call home?' I said, giving her another crack at the answer. Only still she doesn't come up with what you'd expect.
'It's where my friends are. I don't know a soul down here. I hope it changes.' Then she gives me this wonderful smile, wide, but a bit shaky round the edges. 'I'm really not very good at making friends.'
'Never you mind,' I said quick as a flash. 'You know me now. Anything you need, Larry will be here.'
Now then, if there was any friendlier way of putting it than that, I'd like to know. Because what happens next is just about beyond belief. I was all set to come straight out and ask where Hong Kong came in, when she puts down her glass and stands up. 'I'm sorry, Mr Mann, I'm going to have to go. I've hardly done any unpacking, you know. Oh, and by the way, thank you so much for all the fruit. You really shouldn't have. Good night.'
And that, as they say, was that. She had hardly touched her sherry. Yet there wasn't even time to point this out to her. She was already gone. Leaving me with half a glass of the stuff in my hand which presumably I now had to drink by myself, and that's not to mention a packet of cigarettes sitting there, unopened.
What was that she said about being no good at friends? All of a sudden you can begin to see why.
Not to put too fine a point on it then, I was disappointed. To put it mildly. What sort of person is it who gets the sort of welcome I'd given her, then hardly stops long enough to say thank you? I mean, that was bad enough, mentioning the fruit as if it had been the last thing on her mind, but what about what she called me? I thought I had made it quite clear: call me Larry, I'd said. So what does she do? Goes straight ahead and calls me Mr Mann again. That's what hurts. You do your best to be friendly, and then someone goes and treats you no better than a stranger.
***
After that, there was only one way to think. Namely, it was business as usual on the middle landing. Half the world has forgotten how to behave. I poured the sherry back into the bottle and tried to get on with the evening, turned up the fire and switched on the TV. In short, I decided not to dwell. But you know, I couldn't help it. If it had been one of the other girls, I wouldn't have minded, but what you couldn't get away from was - she's one of us. You'd expect her to behave a bit different.
Gradually though, I started to see sense. You mustn't be too quick to judge a person - even when it is a woman. Of course you would have expected her to stay and chat, but you've got to look at it from her point of view. We are talking about a girl who's been nicely brought up. Maybe she thought she had no business to be sitting at night in a man's room, talking and drinking. What if I'd been someone quite different, and something had happened? You would have said then that she'd had it coming.
You know what? The old kid just needs to get to know me better. She'd soon see there's nothing funny about Larry. She could be Sophia Loren, and he still wouldn't be interested. Doreen saw to that.
If it carries on though, I'm going to have to tell her. We can't have her getting the wrong idea of Larry, and what's worse, letting it come between us. It's the sort of thing that can ruin a friendship before it's even started. A short history of Larry, then, and his experiences with the female species might be entirely in order. What's more, she might be just the sort of person you'd want to tell. Remember that noise on the landing? What we might be talking about here is a thing that goes against the grain of all creation. A woman with a sympathetic ear.
Am I jumping the gun? Am I expecting too much? I don't think so. When you've seen as much as Larry, you get so that you can judge. That girl is different.
So there you have it. I say there's every reason for giving Amanda the benefit of the doubt. Forget this afternoon. As someone wisely said: tomorrow is another day.
Chapter Three
Do you know those days when you can tell from the moment you wake up that everything's going to turn out right? Today was one of those days. I lay down and slept like a baby - and woke up like a lion, ready for anything. Not that you could ever call me the gloomy sort. But the way I felt first thing today made me hum while got dressed, whistle when I picked up the milk, and actually sing as I got everything going for breakfast. What's more I found myself throwing in an extra rasher on top of the rest and never even gave it a second thought.
In a nutshell, I'd woken up in a good mood, and that's not like me. Bei
ng a stable sort of chap I'd always have said I wasn't one for moods of any kind, good or bad. I'm just the same, all the year round. Only not today.
Mind you, I wasn't quite such a happy boy when it's nine o'clock already and there's me, in urgent need of my constitutional, yet no sign of movement down below. You'd have thought anyone with a normal job would have been up and out long before now, but not, it seemed, with our Mandy. It was only now that she was getting up. The long and the short of it, it was causing me no end of distress having to wait for her to do what she had to do and go. In all the years I've lived here, I've never once gone to the loo for that reason while there's been anyone at home downstairs. Not in the week anyway. My insides seem to know when it's a weekend and hang fire till the Monday. But in the week, when there's not supposed to be anyone down there, that's asking too much. They have a mind of their own, and that mind is as regular as clockwork. But what could I do? The bedroom is right next door to the lav.
In the end, just when I thought maybe she was taking the day off, I heard her feet on the stairs to the hall, and the slam of the front door. And just as well. If she'd left it any longer, I reckon I would have needed hospitalizing.
Blessed relief then you would have thought would be the order of the day. And indeed, no-one could have got down those stairs faster than me, thundering along the passageway deaf to everything else. I'd almost made it too, when what should happen but Mandy's kitchen door opens. Not Mandy though, but Ethel. And the girl not gone more than two minutes.
There was nothing for it then. Since wild horses would not have persuaded me to carry on into the smallest room and get on with matters while she was outside, all I could do was stop and say, as casually as was possible in the circumstances, 'Good morning, Mrs D.'
And that's when I saw the look on her face.
Catching Ethel in one of her moods is like getting too close to the bonfire on Guy Fawkes night, with a wind blowing in from all directions. Stand anywhere for long and you end up showered in sparks. In a little while you come to understand what the guy must feel. And it's no good telling yourself you haven't done a thing wrong. When Ethel's got you in your sights you just have to get used to the fact that you're guilty.
The only way of dealing with it is to stay as cheery as can be. Resolute under fire.
'Mr Mann. I understand you've had words with Miss Tyson.'
'Indeed I have, Mrs Duck. And a lovely quiet girl she seems to be. Ever so friendly.'
'She can be as friendly as she likes, Mr Mann. But that doesn't excuse a thing.'
So. it wasn't me, but Mandy. You would scarcely have thought there could have been enough time. But done something she has. Already Ethel is marching back towards the kitchen, and naturally I'm right behind her. She throws open the kitchen door, then stands aside for me to have a look. But even that is not enough. As I poke my head inside, a vicious little jab between the shoulder blades pushes me halfway across the floor.
'Now you tell me,' hisses Ethel. 'Just what do you think of that?'
It's a mess, that's what I think, though I don't actually say so. There are a couple of plates in the sink, unwashed, as well as cutlery, a table covered with breadcrumbs, and in the middle a lone tea cup, with a spill of coffee where the saucer should be. The table is Formica, so it's hardly going to come to any harm. But that's not the point of course, that's not the point at all.
Ethel pipes up behind me, 'I need hardly tell you that this is not what I expected of her, Mr Mann. Oh no. What sort of place does she think this is? If I'd have thought for one second she'd be the kind who ...'
'Mrs D,' I said. Seeing where this was heading I'd butted in before I'd thought what I was going to say. But I carried on anyway. 'I'll have a word with her tonight, save you the trouble. How's that? If you ask me, all she wants is to find her feet a bit. This time next week you'll have forgotten it ever happened.'
'Mr Mann, she hasn't made her bed either.'
Oh, this was bad. Ethel wasn't going to stand for that. Down here the walls may be peeling and the ceiling coming down in flakes, but Ethel doesn't see it like that. All she can see is the mess that people cause.
'It's no good, Mr Mann. I should have stuck to my usual sort of girl. They may not be like you or me, but they never gave me one ounce of trouble. They knew how to keep a place tidy. But this one, well I ask you. What would her mother say?'
Up to that point I'd been thinking all was lost, but mention of Mandy's mum gives me an inspiration. 'Her mother wouldn't like it, I'm sure, Mrs Duck. But she wouldn't make too much fuss about it, not the first time. See, I reckon she'd understand. Out there where Mandy comes from, they must have got servants for all this kind of thing. Poor girl's probably never known anything else.' I don't mention Edinburgh. 'Leaves her with a terrible disadvantage really. I bet she's not used to looking after herself. But she's a lovely girl. She'll learn. You mark my words.'
I said I was inspired, and was right. The effect on Ethel is a little miracle in itself. The thought of having a tenant whose mother keeps servants brings about a transformation. You could feel the tone of the whole house rising even as we talked.
So why did I nearly have to spoil it all by adding, 'All the same, these young girls. All they want is a guiding hand. Remember our June as a youngster ...?'
Luckily for me, I saw the look on Ethel's face almost before it appeared. She never could stand having a kid knocking around the house. Doreen used to go on about her being jealous because it never happened for her and Gilbert. As if. The truth is, the thought of Ethel with maternal feelings is hardly what you could call a likely proposition. Anyway, what was wrong with me? Comparing Mandy with June is like comparing chalk with cheese. June might have been all right when she was very little, only she grew up, didn't she, and with every year that passed she grew more to be her mother's daughter. The saddest thing was just having to watch it.
The main thing is, I managed to stop in time, finishing by mumbling something like, 'hark at me wittering on,' and hurrying back upstairs. Funnily enough, whereas five minutes before I'd been in a state of mortal distress, coming face to face with Ethel had somehow put paid to that. Good thing too, at the time, only just let's hope that between the two of them they haven't thrown me right out of kilter for the duration. There's a lot to be said for being regular.
Anyway, it hardly mattered. I had enough to keep me occupied for all today, namely, to think of a way of putting it nicely to Mandy that she would have to tidy up a bit if she wanted to stay on here. I was hard pushed to find the time to go out, and even that was only to check on what Harry had on his stall. As usual it was a struggle to get away, but I'm glad I went. He had some lovely peaches today. Luscious is the word, and suffice to say, two of them ended up on a certain young lady's table. I noticed Ethel had cleared up the mess.
In the end I had it all worked out - knew exactly what I was going to say and everything. Come half-past five, all Larry had to do was sit down and wait for her.
I should have guessed she would be late, though, after the start she had. That way, I could have saved myself the bother of popping out to the top of the stairs every five minutes just to check she hadn't arrived, and I hadn't gone and missed that little knock of hers. Yet as it happened, that was the last thing I needed to worry about. Not only did I hear her on the landing loud and clear, two minutes later there came a banging on the wall down below. Definitely not what I'd expected after that timid little tap of yesterday.
Then everything seemed to happen at once. There was no time to tell her to come up because half a second later, there she was in the kitchen door. She must have bounded up those steps three at a time. That's youth for you. Well, youth and something else. It couldn't just have been the exercise that had got her all flushed. Two bright spots of red on either side of her face. Peaches, I thought. She must really love peaches.
'Mandy, love,' is what I said aloud. 'Come in.'
But do you know, she was already in.
&nbs
p; 'Mr Mann,' she said, 'Mr Mann.' And stopped. She seemed to be having difficulty getting the words out. But I didn’t hurry her. I just looked forward to what she had to say.
Only once again it’s not what you’d expect.
'Mr Mann.' No mention of Larry. 'Someone's been in my rooms. Been all through my belongings. I can hardly believe it. Nothing is where I left it. Everything has been tampered with, moved around. My books, my clothes, you name it. I'd say I'd been robbed, yet nothing is gone. I don't understand it. So I'm asking you - do you know anything about it?'
Stunned. That's the only word to describe it. There I was expecting something on the lines of: 'Good evening Larry. Thank you so Much for the Peaches however did you Know they were my Favourite.' And instead, I get this. It's only a wonder I remembered to wipe the smile off my face.
'Well, do you?' She was glaring at me, and if it hadn't been clear before, it was now. She was barking mad about something.
'I don't know what you're talking about, Mandy love. Didn't you lock the doors to those rooms before you went out?'
'No of course not. I don't even have keys. Mrs Duck offered me them, and I told her I didn't need them. Not when there must be fifty locks on the front door anyway. How could anyone have got in?'
Well, you should have seen my face then. Never mind that the old kid was shouting at the top of her voice - and only the good Lord knows what had happened to those lovely manners - what she had done was taken my breath away. Ethel had offered her keys, like she does to all the girls. And unlike them, she'd turned them down. It didn't matter that Ethel has her own set - she wasn't to know that. The fact remains, it's like having her come straight up to you and say she trusts you. Makes your heart miss a beat just thinking about it.
'Anyway, I told you, nothing's missing. All that's happened is that someone has been through my rooms, getting into everything. It's as if all they wanted to do was meddle.'
The Last Girl Page 3
