The Last Girl

by Penelope Evans

  So I did feel bad about it, but then, she couldn't have it all ways, could she? One of the reasons I was so busy was because I spent half the day making sure that, come this evening, I'd be able to surprise her with the nicest tea she could possibly imagine. I reckoned she'd forget about moping the moment she set eyes on what I had for her: all the old favourites - fig rolls, Battenberg, gypsy creams. And if she turned her nose up at that, I had half a mind to ask her why, seeing as I knew she was eating exactly the same on the sly.

  Come seven o'clock then, it was all waiting for her. Tea and sympathy. Then again, when I heard her knock, I thought she must have rallied a bit. It was louder than usual, as was the sound of her feet on the stairs. Probably just the thought of her old Larry had cheered her up no end.

  Then what happens but I turn and find it's not Mandy there in my kitchen door, but Harry! Harry who'd sat there like a big lump all those weeks ago when I'd said to him, 'Why not drop the visits for a while, eh?'

  'Ethel let me in,' he says, as if that explained everything. And if that wasn't enough, he walks straight past me into the lounge and sits down as if it was any normal day of the week. Starts eyeing the cake and plates of biscuits spread out in front of him. Of course, what I should have done was point out that we don't hold open house here. People come by invitation only. But the trouble is, when you're confronted with that sort of brass neck in someone, words have a habit of failing you.

  My way of dealing with it is to say quite politely that I'm expecting a visitor any moment. To which he nods, and stays sitting there anyway. I didn't say a word after that, thinking if I kept quiet he'd get the message. But that was always the problem with Harry, sitting in silence never did worry him one jot. All that happens is that after five minutes he leans forward, picks up a gypsy cream and says, 'Where is she then?'

  'Who?' I said, too busy wondering how I was going to get rid of him to think what I was saying.

  'This friend of yours. The one you. said you was expecting. Where is she?'

  Now I knew what he was thinking; folk like Harry, they just love to feel they've caught you out.

  'She'll be up,' I said. And left it there. You see I thought she would be, I really did. A while later though, after he's polished off another· two gypsy creams, I couldn't help myself. 'She's not expecting me to have visitors, you know.' To which he says nothing.

  Purely to take his mind off things, I switched on the TV and there we both sat. For two hours. In the end, I didn't have to say anything. He got up of his own accord, brushes the crumbs off that great belly of his, and says:

  'Ah well, looks like she's not coming.'

  You can imagine. I opened my mouth to ask whose fault he thought that was. Then I saw the look on his face.

  Do you really need to hear any more of this? So far as Larry's concerned, wild horses couldn't make him waste any more words on Harry. All I can say is, who does he think he is? His life is a wreck, his wife is dead, he runs a fruit stall and he can't stand fruit. He looks ten years older than he is. Yet he thinks he can go giving me a look like the one he tried giving me tonight. Me. It's himself he should be feeling sorry for. That's all.

  After he went - not long after, as you may guess - I cleared away everything that was there. Stuck it in the kitchen pail. He'd ruined it all anyway. But that wasn't the reason. The reason was that for the first time I was angry, absolutely stamping. And not just with Harry. It was Mandy. In a funny way this was the worst thing she'd ever done to me, not coming up when she was expected. Because just look at the result. She'd let me down in front of a no-hoper like Harry, sent him away thinking Larry Mann was no better off than he was. The way I saw it, the last thing she deserved now was tea and sympathy. She could just keep on moping as far as I was concerned. And I turned up the TV loud, so that if and when she did come knocking I wouldn't have to hear her.

  She didn't, though. I never even heard her come out of her kitchen all evening.

  Bang in the middle of the night I wake up, mind clear as a bell. The girl is simply feeling left out. First His Lordship fails to show, and then her old pal from upstairs goes and makes himself unavailable all evening. No wonder she was down there, too miserable to put in an appearance. Looked at in that way, it makes you want to jump right out of bed and put the smile back on her face.

  And that's what I did. This morning, soon as I reckoned we were both decent, I knocked on the kitchen door and opened it, just a little. I must have made her jump, because she turns around, eyes wide, her mouth cram full of something. Evidently I'd caught her in the middle of a little early-morning snack. At least, I call it a snack, but I doubt that anyone else would. The whole place was littered with all sorts of wrappers and papers, and I don't know what. The old kid must have been having a feast. Well, I didn't say anything. It was nice to see her indulging herself. And she certainly didn't have to look so guilty about it. So I kept it short. 'Morning, love,' I said to her. 'Missed you last night.'

  Just that. But it was enough to let her know she's appreciated, that there are folk who notice when she's not there. And sure enough, round about seven she was up to see her Larry. She didn't say a dicky bird about His Highness, so I simply followed her lead, and kept off the subject. There was no point in upsetting the old kid, and it was hardly as if we didn't have lots of other things to talk about.

  And if you'd asked if I thought anything was wrong, I would just have laughed in your face.

  Chapter Thirteen

  For those few days, though, after that weekend when he didn't turn up, everything was perfect. Mandy was her lovely quiet self - a little morose maybe, but I didn't mind. You can't expect someone to be good company all of the time, can you? And anyway, she knew who to blame. I had a quick peek in her cupboards on the Monday, and you'd never believe it. All the stuff she'd bought when she thought she was having a visitor had disappeared. There wasn't so much as a funny-flavoured crisp left. It's as I was saying about her and the fig rolls - you wouldn't think one person could get through it all so fast. The Girl With The Secret Appetite - that's what I should call her really. Mind you, it can't have agreed with her. Last night I heard her in the smallest room. The poor kid was throwing up fit to drop. I had half a mind to catch her when she came out and tell her to go easy next time.

  Then again, maybe she's just like I was with those Viennese whirls. Eating it all because she didn't want to leave him any - not if he can't be bothered to show up when he's expected. Funny to think of the two of us, isn't it though - both acting the same way when the world lets us down. There must be a mould turning out people like us - two halves of the same coin. Nice thought, that.

  But it doesn't make up for what comes next.

  I should start dreading the middle of the week. Really I should. It's always then that the rot seems to set in. This time it was the Wednesday, and as usual it's Ethel and the phone that do the damage. Next thing we know, she - Mandy - is on the middle landing, singing - yes singing - at half-past nine in the evening. And believe me, if there's one thing that girl can't do, it's sing a note. Then as if that wasn't bad enough, the actual news has to come from Ethel the next morning. And that's only because somehow she has got it into her head that it's me who's all upset every time he gets a mention. She should see the effect on Mandy. Anyway, the good tidings is - he's coming down on Friday, just like he was supposed to do last week.

  Well. I thought very hard about what I did next. I knew she wasn't going to like it, but at the end of the day there was nothing else I could do. Somebody was going to have to talk to her. So just to make sure - this being the Thursday, and he might already be having his effect on her - I left a message for her on her kitchen table. 'Mandy, see me. Important. Love, Larry.'

  She didn't keep me waiting, I'll say that for her. She was up the minute she got home. I said hello as usual, but I didn't give her much of a smile. It was only fair to let her see that this was difficult for me. Strangely for her, she was quite chatty, falling over herself
to tell me about what she'd been up to at that college of hers. Funnily enough, she can be quite thoughtless like that at times, wanting to talk about herself when she can see I've got something on my mind. Normally I would let her get away with it, but not today. So I interrupted her, gently. Told her to sit down because I had something to say.

  First of all I told her how fond I was of her, how life had brightened up no end since she'd come. I also told her how it was difficult for a chap like me to go poking his nose into other people's affairs. A person's life is his own, is what I said to her, and it wasn't for anyone else to try and tell them how to live it. But - and this is how I put it, 'There comes a time, Mandy love, when you've got to say something.'

  I think that's when she must have cottoned on to what I was going to say because she gave me this quick, guarded little look I'd never seen before. At least, not from her. If I hadn't been so sure of my ground, I might have wanted to stop there, before it got any worse. But Larry isn't one to backtrack, not when he knows he's right.

  'Now then, Ethel tells me that you're expecting this friend of yours again this weekend ...'

  'She doesn't mind, though, Larry. I've asked her...'

  'I wouldn't be so sure of that, love. She's got a funny way of showing things sometimes. Anyway, it's not Ethel I'm thinking about. It's you.'

  'Me, Larry?'

  'You, love. The fact is, I was at my wits' end last week, seeing you so unhappy, and not knowing how I was ever going to bring back a smile to that little face. And why? Because this Francis bloke tells you he's coming down and then never bothers to show.'

  'There was a reason for that, Larry.'

  'Oh I daresay there was. And he'll probably have a reason this week and all...'

  You should have seen her face then. Talk about Jekyll and Hyde. Those sweet little features just seemed to vanish before my very eyes, and suddenly I wasn't looking at Mandy any more. She'd gone, and standing there in front of me, staring back at me, was every woman in the world. Nasty, spiteful. And a voice to match.

  'The reason he didn't come down last week, Larry, was because he was saving lives. There was a huge accident outside Edinburgh - you must have seen it on the television. Every doctor in the region was working that weekend.'

  Suddenly I felt quite ill. It really could have been Doreen standing there, using her voice the way only women can, jabbing at you with every word.

  Don't ask me how I kept my cool, not when there have been women who've been throttled for less, and rightly. But kept it I did. 'That's not the point, Mandy, love,' I began to say quietly, too quietly, because she simply jumped in on top of me.

  'No, you're right. It's not. The point is, I would have been a lot less unhappy if someone had simply given me the message that was left for me...'

  'Ah,' I said. 'Ethel...'

  'No, not Ethel, Larry. I talked to her. She told me what you promised to do. You were meant to leave a note for me, and you never did.'

  Well there was an answer to that, but would you believe it, she never gave me a chance. Before I could say another word, she got up from her chair, and walked out of the room.

  So what sort of behaviour would you call that?

  Funny thing is, the moment she'd gone I forgot all about taking umbrage. If she'd only let me finish, she'd have seen what I was trying to say. Which was simply this: where was her pride? It stands to reason: when someone lets you down, the last thing you do is welcome him back so he can do it again. It's the one way not to be disappointed. That's all I wanted to say to her. But she just didn't stop to listen.

  So there you are, we've quarrelled, and she's gone and taken it personally. Only will someone please tell me what I said.

  All the same, I knew he would turn up. Mandy wasn't going to change her mind, and there wasn't going to be a phone call like the last. People like him - they're born cunning. They know they can't chance their arm twice in the same way - not two weeks running anyhow.

  So that's the first thing that hits me when I woke up yesterday. But it got worse. Mid-morning I heard Ethel downstairs, having a whale of a time by the sound of it, pattering about, moving furniture would you believe. Now normally I would have been down there before you could turn round, but for once I decided not to do a thing about it. It was hardly as if I'd get any thanks for it. I mean, if Mandy thought that much of her privacy, she wouldn't be having that man here to stay for the whole weekend.

  Come the afternoon though, I couldn't resist it. I had to see what Ethel had been up to. If it was something awful, something that was really going to upset Mandy, maybe I'd be able to sort it out for her before she got to know about it.

  And here was proof if ever it was needed that Ethel is the strangest woman alive. A girl brings a man to stay, not once, but twice, and what does Ethel do but start to smarten the place up. That rug in front of the gas fire was good enough for us, and later it was good enough for the Indian girls. Not any more, though, not when it comes to a certain cheeky young lady and her fancy man. The very rug that has served faithfully these last twelve years has been taken up and another one put in its place. I even know where it's come from. I've been seeing those greens and pinks staring out from the all purpose box in the junk shop round the corner for the last two weeks. The point is, though, it looks new compared to the old and by Ethel's lights, that's pampering. When you think about it, it's no wonder Mandy thinks she can get away with murder, because there's Ethel practically telling her she can.

  And after that it's just downhill all the way. He's here, and you've guessed it, it's like living in a madhouse.

  He's even interfered with the air we all breathe. No, really. You could still smell it - him - on the landing, on the stairs long after they'd gone out. I'm not joking - the man wears perfume. You can't mistake it. And I don't mean aftershave either. There's a world of difference between a splash of Old Spice and this. It comes at you in waves - like the ones you're supposed to think of every time you catch a whiff of it - Mediterranean waves rushing over broken columns and all that. Well, it was bad enough on the landing, but when it started drifting up the stairs it was time to take Active Measures. I didn't have any air freshener to hand, but I had something just as effective. And maybe I did feel that bit dizzy after I'd sprayed it around everywhere, but I'll tell you something - I'd rather be knocked out by a respectable fly spray than nancy-boy perfume any day of the week, and I expect Joey would too.

  I'll come clean, though, when I say there's a limit to how much you can lift your spirits with the liberal use of aerosol. Especially when this was only the Friday night and there was still the whole of the weekend to be got through. Which probably means you'll be surprised to hear that I woke up this morning in soaring good spirits. And no, I haven't gone mad like the rest of them.

  One reason you can maybe guess. It involved not getting a wink of sleep before three, listening to the silence, the perfect silence that tells a story in itself.

  So that was one reason, but the other was almost as good, and only hit me in the wee small hours when nothing (and I mean nothing) was going on. I'll give you a clue if you like. It's all to do with the time of year, a time when everyone with a normal life is preparing to join forces and celebrate. Get the picture? In other words, did anyone mention Christmas?

  Before you go asking what Christmas has to do with anything, consider this: husbands spend Christmas with their wives. Whether they want to or not, that's the way of the world. Likewise, children who get on with their mums and dads. And that, you may think, accounts for most folk when it comes to what the world is doing at Christmastime. But then again, what about those people who aren't married or who don't get on with their folks? What sort of holiday can they look forward to, once it starts rolling round to that time of year again? Says a lot about your life, it does, who you spend your Christmas with. Which brings us to Mandy, bearing in mind everything else we know about the old kid. What will she be doing for Christmas?

  Well, there's an answ
er to that, of course. And I'll just say it involves a certain interested party and no end of goodwill.

  In other words, nobody else might want her, but there's still someone up here who loves her.

  But it's not going to be just any old Christmas. Any fool can buy a tree, put his turkey in the freezer, pick the Christmas cards off the mat and hope he's got enough milk to tide him over. Larry's and Mandy's Christmas is going to be something else again. The Christmas I've got in mind is going to take no end of forward planning, with lists and checklists made up and completed, down to the smallest detail. Everything in, nothing left out, and all so that Mandy can have a Christmas she will remember for the rest of her life.

  Which quite simply means this is no time to dwell on the present. It's time to look to the future, the one that contains Mandy and her little face all rosy and glowing, gazing up and saying to her old pal, 'Merry Christmas Larry. And thank you, thank you for everything.'

  Result - until dinner time, they might have been swinging from the lampshades as far as Larry was concerned. He was too busy sitting up to his elbows in lists, trying not to panic. Because no sooner had I started then it hit me. Already I've left it a bit late. They had their bigwig switch on the lights getting on for a fortnight back, and yet there was me, too caught up with other things to give it a second's thought. What I should have remembered was, switching on the lights is only the starting pistol. From now on, it's going to be dog eat dog out there, every man for himself, and what's needed now is some fast and efficient planning.

  Think I'm exaggerating? Well, listen to this. Four weeks to go before the big day, and what should appear on the mat this morning but the first of the Christmas cards. It's a tradition all by itself, that one card, turning up like clockwork, a week before everyone else's.