The Last Girl

by Penelope Evans

  As if.

  But that didn't stop my cheeks tingling. It was a whole combination of things - distress, relief and Ethel not letting you know what to think. There's not many folk would have been able to find the words then, but I did, and you've got to give me credit for that. 'Mrs Duck,' I said. 'You can't deny you were having second thoughts about her. You told me so yourself. You made me look at the state of her kitchen, remember?'

  She remembered all right. And what's more she couldn't take it back. Which is why she was so vicious pulling the door shut and pushing past me, just to make clear that that was yesterday. If that was the score, then, I never would discover what had changed her mind - if changed her mind she had.

  'Mrs Duck.' It was terrible to have to hear myself beg. 'Mrs Duck, are you really not going to tell me what happened? Are you keeping her on or not?'

  Thank the Lord, she turned. Give the woman the slightest bit of knowledge and she simply can't resist the chance to show off. 'If you must know, Amanda and I have had a little chat about keeping the place as it should be. The young lady in question was perfectly understanding.'

  'But Mrs D.' had to interrupt. I couldn't stop myself. 'That was going to be my job ...'

  'Mr Mann, if you please.' Ethel snaps. 'There never was the slightest need for anybody else's help. Again, if you must know, she came down to see us herself.'

  'What? When?' I cried. By now I was getting to be what you could almost describe as reckless. It was just that I couldn't think when the old kid would have found the time.

  Ethel narrows her eyes, gives me another of her looks. But all the same, she answers. 'Just before nine last night. Took us quite by surprise. As it turned out though, I don't know when I've enjoyed an hour more. As for Mr Duck, in his element he was, with all that talk about the Chinese and their funny little ways ...'

  The rest of what she had to say floated right past me into oblivion, while I fixed on that one important fact: just before nine, she said. less than five minutes after Mandy had left me, claiming she had to work, that she really couldn't stay. That was what she said - that and about needing her tea.

  And there was me, tiptoeing around my own home so as not to disturb someone who wasn't even within earshot

  After that there didn't seem to be much else to say. Except to ask, 'So how is the kitchen this morning?' Not that I was really interested.

  Which must have been the only reason Ethel answers me. 'The kitchen is lovely, Mr Mann. Just as I expected.'

  What can I say? I spent the rest of the morning in a daze, as would anyone else, having been told one thing, and found out another. I'm not even sure that 'daze' is the proper name for it. What do you call a seeping disappointment that won't let up for a minute? Hardly surprising that it wasn't until nearly dinner time that I began to think straight again.

  Mandy was doing exactly the right thing, which is to say, rubbing up the Ducks the right way. I would have suggested the self-same course if I'd only got the chance. When it's a question of keeping the roof over your head, you do what you must, even when that means wasting precious hours chewing the fat with the likes of them downstairs. Anything less and it's my guess she would have found herself out of here by now.

  No, the truth is, that girl is finding her feet like a good one, and with a little more help from me, she'll keep on finding them. She might even end up thinking that this place suits her like nowhere else, and decide she never wants to leave. Because with Larry up above her for friendship and those below nicely under control, she might see she's got everything she needs. All she wants in the meantime is someone to lend a guiding hand.

  And it was with that in mind I laid my plans.

  When she came home tonight, I was ready for her - relaxed and waiting. First you know about it are her little footsteps on the landing, no louder than a mouse. You know, it's the small things about the girl that count - like the way she comes in as if she's doing her best not to be heard. The old kid would die rather than disturb, I reckon.

  Just for the fun of it, I tried to imagine what was going through her head. Probably asking herself what little treat would be waiting for her today. Answer forty cigarettes. Four Oh. There on her kitchen table. And one thing she could be sure of - it was never Ethel who put them there. So it was only a question of time. And I was right.

  You could tell we were back to normal just from the way she knocked, a timid little tap, like the first night. And to prove it, there was her face when she arrived at the top - paler than pale and with that serious look of hers back again. When we're even better friends than we are already, I'm going to warn her about arriving places looking like the weight of the world was on her shoulders. But for now, all I do is smile and let her know what a treat it is to see her.

  'Ahoy there,' I said. 'And how's my Mandy tonight?'

  Ask a question like that - just as a way of saying hello - and most people would answer, 'Fine thank you and how's yourself?' But you've guessed it, not with our Mandy .

  Sure enough, that forehead of hers folds up into one great mass of wrinkles - the very thing I'd want to warn her against - and that serious look of hers turns into something even worse. 'Larry,' is all she says, and brings the packets of cigs out from behind her back, puts them on the draining board beside her. Apparently no other words are necessary.

  'What's all this?' I said. 'Why do you want to go bringing those back up here? They're for you, love. Or don't you like them?'

  'Larry,' she says again in a voice hardly worthy of the name, it's that low-pitched. 'You're very kind, but I just wish you wouldn't. Every time I come home, there's been something ... And now these. It's too much, Larry.'

  I was beginning to see what the problem was. The poor girl was just trying to be polite. That's why she was bringing back the cigarettes and looking so miserable while she was about it. In which case, all she wanted was some common or garden cheering-up, even if it meant being firm.

  'None of your nonsense,' I told her. 'There's no need for all this with old Larry. Those cigarettes are just a friendly gesture. You take them and enjoy them. And after that, don't give them another thought.'

  'Larry, I ...'

  'Larry, nothing,' I said. I was beginning to realize that you could get no end of fun making friends with someone who's too polite to breathe. Meanwhile she's standing there, rubbing her hands together as if she was cold.

  'Come on through into the lounge,' I said. 'It's lovely and warm. The gas fire hasn't been off all day.'

  Immediately she takes a step backwards, says in that quick, shy voice of hers, 'Oh Larry, I can't. You know how much I'd like to stay. But as I told you the other night- I've got to work, and have something to eat, so...' And she takes another step back again. If she wasn't careful, she'd be falling down those stairs in a minute. But that wasn't going to happen. Because when she says, 'You do understand, don't you Larry?' I reply, like a flash:

  'Of course I do, Mandy love. That's why I've made you-this!'

  And open the fridge.

  You see, I was ready for her. It was all there, laid out on a plate in a way that would have made Fanny Craddock proud: cold ham, cold tongue, hard-boiled eggs, lashings of lettuce and cucumber and tomato. A proper feast for the eyes if I say so myself. However, while she's looking at it I say, 'I would have cooked you something hot, really I would, but I know how you young girls like to watch your figures. Point is, it's all here, ready and waiting. Mandy love, you don't have to go anywhere.'

  You should have seen her face. I only wish I'd had a camera. She'd go down a storm on one of those game shows, the ones where they like you to look as if you've been hit by a bus when the screen moves away and there's your long-lost brother from New Zealand. Some of those folk look as if they don't know whether they want to laugh or cry. Anyway that’s Mandy for you - thunderstruck. As for words - they don't come into it. The poor girl is completely at a loss. But it doesn't matter an ounce. Larry can do all the talking necessary. 'Maybe you could do with
some potatoes though, bulk it out a bit and blow the diet. I've got some all cooked. Cold of course, but fine with salad cream.'

  No prizes for what comes next.

  'Larry, please. I don't think I can ....'

  The thing to do then is pretend to go a bit deaf. Otherwise we'd be standing here all night. It's the only way with Mandy. Rather than argue, I just pushed the plate into her hand and gave her a little nudge towards the lounge. It was all waiting for her - knife, fork, serviette, salt and pepper, even a glass of squash to wash it down. And for that little extra touch, a couple of carnations off the stall next to Harry's, in a vase. The old kid takes one look, and sits down like she was in a dream, plate on the place mat, ready for the off.

  Only trouble was, she wasn't eating.

  'Wake up, Mandy girl,' I said to her. 'It's not just for looking at. It's your tea, not a work of art.'

  'But Larry. I can't,' comes the faint reply.

  'What’s the matter? Don't tell me you're waiting for me. Larry had his ages ago, with the six o'clock news like he always does. So dig in, love. Don't stand on ceremony.'

  'No Larry, I really can't eat this.' At last I noticed there was a funny note in her voice, and to tell the truth, she did look a touch green.

  'Oh Mandy, love.' I said. 'What's wrong? You're not ill are you?'

  'No, I mean yes. I mean I don't know. Perhaps that's why. All I know is, I can't eat this. I'm sorry. I can see it looks lovely, but you going to so much trouble, well...I just can't go along with it.'

  And as if that little explanation said it all, she stood up. Just like that. Without so much as lifting a knife and fork. Any second now, judging by the look on her face, she would be saying to me that I did understand didn't I, as if it all made sense.

  In which case my only answer would have to be no - it didn't make sense. To tell the truth, I couldn't quite believe it was happening, that I could do all this for someone only to see them turn it down. I looked at her and looked at the plate, then up at her again. 'You saying you don't want it then?' was all I could come up with, finally.

  Even that didn't get a straight yes or no out of her. She just started mumbling on again about me going to too much trouble. As if somehow that made all the difference.

  I know what you're saying. I should have let it go at that. The girl just wasn't worth the effort. I could have taken the plate away and said nothing more about it. That way we could have another couple of minutes chat for politeness' sake, then she would have tripped off downstairs again, telling herself she was in nobody's debt, and didn't have to worry about a thing. Especially not about how there was someone upstairs, all on his ownsome, night after night without a soul to keep him company. I could have done that, let her off the hook.

  Except that she would have regretted it in the end. Not now maybe, but in later years, looking back. It would have been on her conscience, the way she turned around and acted tonight. It would be there all right, nagging her in the daytime and not letting her sleep at night. Because it was only then she would have come to know what ingratitude does to a person, the damage it can do. By then, it would have happened to her.

  All this went through my mind as I looked at her, and thought about the sort of girl she was, and half of me was saying, let her go, as the other half was whispering, give her another chance.

  Here's what I did: I addressed her, quietly, but with dignity. 'I know it's not much, love. And probably not what you're used to, not with your background. I expect it's more a case of smoked salmon and champagne where you come from. But what you've got to understand is, it was the best I could manage. OAPs aren't millionaires, you know.'

  'Larry ...'

  'No, no, love. Don't say a word. You're right. There's no use in forcing it down. You leave it. I daresay it won't go to waste. With a bit of luck it'll keep for dinner tomorrow. I'll put it back in the fridge.'

  But I didn't. I stopped right there where I was. The plate stayed and so did Mandy. A few seconds later she sat down again, and a few seconds after that she picked up her knife and fork. One more tiny pause, and then she started to eat. Like a little bird she was, to see her, picking at this, picking at that, but she got through it, every scrap - well, nearly. She would keep on taking sips from her glass between every bite and I reckon it was that that stopped her having room for the rest. But I didn't say anything. She'd eaten enough - what you could call an elegant sufficiency.

  Afterwards, when I was sure she was finished, and didn't fancy a scoop of icecream or anything, I turned up the TV and we settled down to watch a programme on Wildlife in Africa which I'd starred in the TV Times. When the adverts came on, though, I did what I should have done before, and told her a few things she didn't know about Ethel Duck. How the first and most important thing was not to be taken in. And just to illustrate the point I told her about the time I accidentally let it drop that one of the girls - this was before the Indians came along -had entertained a man here the night before. Next thing, the poor girl comes home to find that Ethel has packed and hauled every one of her suitcases out into the front garden and left them there. Ethel, who looks as if she couldn't lift a telephone directory without help. And she could still do it, I reckon.

  And Mandy? The old kid just listened. Never said a word. If you ask me, it must have been the shock. Learning the truth about Ethel would be enough to shut anybody up. Still, she needed to hear it, if only to make things easier for her in the long run. I could have told her a lot more besides, but before I knew it the little clock on the mantelpiece had pealed out eleven and she was getting up to go. I was sorry to see it, but I could hardly complain.

  'Good night then, love,' I said to her.

  'Yes Larry,' she said, doubtless meaning, 'and good night to you'. But short and sweet, that's the essence of Mandy. I'm beginning to know her now, and you'll not find me grumbling because she doesn't fall over herself with talk like most women. Then off she went, back to those cold rooms of hers downstairs.

  But what matter? The old kid is here to stay.

  Chapter Five

  Believe it or not, she was actually back early this evening, long before I'd thought about listening out for her. Not that I was complaining. The sooner she came home, I thought, the sooner we'd be seeing her. Which shows how much I knew. The minutes rolled by, and where was Madam? Not up here, that was for sure. After last night you'd have expected the first thing she'd want to do was bound up those stairs to see her old pal. But did she? Don't ask.

  Round about seven I started to catch the smell of toast burning, and that was almost like the final blow. You see, never mind that I'd told her I always eat my tea with the six o'clock news, I had actually begun to wonder if the reason she hadn't been up was because she was busy cooking a meal for us both - to return the favour, so to speak. Well, unless she planned on serving up charcoal, you could forget that.

  Then I told myself not to fret I'd see her soon enough. After all, it doesn't take two minutes to polish off a couple of rounds of toast.

  Only then, another hour went by.

  I even started to worry a bit. Especially as, try as I might, I couldn't hear a sound from downstairs. If there had been anything I would have heard it. Yet it was that quiet, I couldn't even tell which room she was in. Then finally, I heard a door open.

  I was in the kitchen at the time, ideally placed for calling down to her in friendly fashion. But I didn't. I wanted to see if she would do the decent thing and come up all by herself. So what I did was cough, only the once, but loudly, just in case she thought there was no-one else at home.

  Worked like magic, it did. That one cough and you could have heard a pin drop. It was as if that same little sound had caught hold and kept her from taking another step. Result - you could almost see us both, like a pair of statues, me up here and she down there, and everything so still we could practically hear each other breathing.

  Then at last, it came. Her knock. Like I knew it would.

  'Evening stranger,'
I say, just to make a point.

  Which she surely gets because at once that pale face of hers colours ever so slightly and she says, 'Oh Larry, I'm sorry not to have been up. And I can't even stay now, I'm so tired.'

  Lucky for her then that Larry's got the answer to everything. Not to mention the cure. 'Oh yes, love?' I said. 'If it's that bad, you'd better sit down before you fall down.' A kindly little push towards the lounge, and what can she say? Hardly that it's not relaxing here, not with deep plush to take the weight off her legs, and everything she could wish for there for the asking.

  Anyway, it just so happens that I was feeling a bit peaky myself - before I set eyes on her, that is. But it's as anyone could have told her: there's nothing like a chat with an old pal to put the life back into you.

  The truth is, I'd been looking forward to this moment all day.

  I'd been thinking, you see. There are things that up to now I haven't told a single person - one, because it's none of their business, and two, because you were only bound to be disappointed by their reaction. But Mandy is different. We might not have known each other more than a few days, but believe me when I say, you could tell that girl anything. Not only will she listen, but most important of all, she'll understand. You can see it in her eyes, you can hear it in her voice. That's the sort of girl she is. If you didn't have a trouble in the world you'd want to make one up, like Ethel, just to have her listen and look at you the way she does.

  But Larry doesn't have to make up his troubles. He's seen enough for all of us. And tonight I was going to pay that girl the ultimate compliment - I was going to tell her things I hadn't told another living soul.

  But you know, a decision like that, it's a hard one to make. And once you've made it, you don't much feel like beating around the bush, not when you've finally got her sitting there. The temptation is simply to turn to the old kid and say, 'All right Mandy, brace yourself. What do you think of a woman who lives with you as your lawful wedded wife for thirty-five years, then all of a sudden says she's off to live with a fancy man half her age in a caravan in Waltham Abbey? And as if that wasn't bad enough, the one person you'd expect to be on your side, namely your own daughter, lets you down. Turns out to be visiting them both on the sly. As if none of it had happened. I mean, I ask you, is that the sort of thing a man's expected to rise above, eh Mandy?'