The Last Girl

by Penelope Evans

  So that's what I did. I put on the kettle and made myself a pot of tea. Laid it all out nicely on a tray, almost as if I was expecting company. But when it was brewed I just stood there, staring at it, didn't even pick up the cup.

  You see, something else had happened. For the first time in all the years of living here, I'd noticed the smell. It crept up on me as I was waiting for the kettle, getting stronger and stronger, until when everything else was ready my nostrils were full of it. I knew then, before I'd even worked out what it was, there was no way I'd be drinking anything. If I swallowed so much as a drop now, I'd be taking that smell right down with it, and I could tell you what would happen next. There'd be one great heave as I threw up over the kitchen floor - no better than Mandy, down there in the loo after one fig roll too many.

  Old gravy. Stale. Coming out of the walls, hanging in pockets below the ceiling, the smell of every dinner cooked here in the last ten years and from long before that. All this time I must have lived with it and never known it was there. Until now, when suddenly it didn't agree with me. What's more, you could open windows, pull doors off their hinges, take off the whole blooming roof even, and it would still be there, hanging on in cupboards, seeping out from under the linoleum. Inescapable, part of the very fabric of the place. My place.

  And it's no better in the lounge. If anything it's worse. It's in the wood of the cocktail cabinet, smeared along the spaces between the shelves, clinging to the flock of the wallpaper, part of the pattern of the rugs. It's everywhere. There's too much stuff to hold it in, there's furniture where there should be air. I haven't left myself room to breathe.

  Come the morning, I won't believe I said that. In fact, come the morning, I'll be able to point to the row of bottles on the coffee table, and say, Larry, you poor old bugger. You just got yourself drunk and never knew it. Now all this, the bad dreams, a tiny bit of incontinence in the early hours, it's the price you pay. The sting inside the sweetness. It's the reason some men keep drinking, simply so as to stave off the after-effects.

  Makes you wonder what their wives would have to say about it though. I suppose it would depend on what sort of wife you had. If you were married to the right sort of woman, then drink or no drink, she'd be up this minute, wanting to know why her husband was sitting in the dead of night, trying not to breathe the very air around him. Come to think about it, even if you were married to a Doreen she'd be here, pestering to know what the matter was. Someone to talk to.

  I know what you're thinking. You're saying to yourself: poor old Larry, he's lonely. He's almost wishing Doreen was here to hold his hand. Well, you're wrong. Larry Mann hasn't been lonely since a certain party stepped through the front door. With a friend like that how can you be lonely? Even when she's somewhere else it doesn't matter, because she'll be here in spirit. Last night I could practically have reached out and touched her. My problem is that just for once, having her in spirit isn't enough. It's not Doreen I miss, or anyone. It's her, Mandy. I wish Mandy was here now. There'd be nothing wrong then.

  Want to know the way I see it?

  It wasn't an accident, the two of us ending up in the same house. We were put here for a purpose, Mandy and me. I mean, think about it. She could have lived anywhere - Crouch End, Finsbury Park, anywhere, but she didn't. She came here, to the very place where she was guaranteed a friend from day one. Then there's Ethel, dedicated to having only Indian girls in these rooms, taking one look at my girl and changing her mind. Don't tell me that’s coincidence. It's destiny, part of some Great Plan. After all these years, after all the insults and the griefs, Larry's getting what he deserves. You could read my story in the Bible. I am the righteous man.

  And what about Mandy? Where would she be without her Larry, befriending her, protecting her from a world that's working to make her ordinary? He's been doing what her parents should have done, guarding that spark of goodness that makes her so unique, keeping her the way she is. A girl in a million.

  She may be my reward, then, but I'm her salvation. Together we make a team. And that's why we should never be apart. Anything else is unnatural.

  Do you know, I never saw things so clearly until this minute. It's almost enough to make a man glad he woke up - despite everything - just for that glimpse of the truth, and the wonder of it all. Except that in another way it makes it so much worse, knowing that she's down there with him, and he's down there with her, upsetting the natural order of things.

  You see, nothing will be right until he goes. He's keeping us apart, keeping us from Christmas.

  Go to bed, Larry.

  It's not all doom and gloom, though. Because back in the bedroom, a certain bear is waiting, and you only have to look at him to know - he's on the level. It almost makes you want to apologize. Then again, you only have to look deep into his eyes to see there'd be no need anyway. He understands everything I'm going through. Having him stare back at you is like a quiet hand upon your shoulder, telling you everything's all right.

  And very soon, he'll be doing just that for Mandy. He's every kid's dream.

  'But why wait?'

  The words made me jump. I was lying on my side, about to put off the light, and there they were in the very centre of my head, clear as a bell. It wasn't me that spoke them, and as sure as anything it wasn't him, the bear. What's more, I knew the voice. It was the one that spoke the day she arrived, the same voice that marked her out as different. The sort of voice you listen to.

  And this time it was saying: why wait?

  Now that might make you ponder, but not me, not for a second, I knew what it meant all right. There's a great gulf between Mandy and me, and there will be all the time that he's here. But it doesn't have to be like that. Not if I forgot about waiting for Christmas. In other words, give the bear to Mandy tonight. This very minute. Make Christmas come early, bring the future forward. Bridge the gap. Let him be the very first thing she looks at in the morning, sitting there at the end of her little bed like her oldest friend in the world, bar one. Nothing will be the same after that. She'll be up here, clutching him in her arms to see her old Larry. And the other one? He won't get a look-in. Because what has he got to give her in comparison to that?

  Of course it means a radical change of plan, but answer me this one question: with a bear like him on my side, how can I go wrong?

  First I needed to work out the risks involve. As far as I could see, there were hardly any. I was somebody's dad once, remember. I'd done all this before, crept into a kid's room, and out again, pretending to be Father Christmas, and I've never been caught yet. How to tell if she was asleep though? Even that was no problem. If she had been awake, tossing and turning the way you do, that old bed of hers would have given her away long ago. But there hadn't been a sound.

  No, there was only one real risk that I could see. He was down there too, in the lounge as usual. If he caught me creeping past the door then that would be it. The game would be up. But there you are - nothing ventured, nothing gained. So I picked up the bear and made for the door.

  And the first thing I notice is that the smell is gone. Or to be more exact, it was still there - I'd always notice it now - but it was a welcoming familiar smell, part of the atmosphere. And that was a sign in itself that I was doing the right thing.

  Coming down those stairs, I don't suppose a mouse could have made less noise, yet it wasn't as if it was easy. Naturally I could have found my way down blindfold, but you try it when there's a bundle of fur bumping up against you on every step. Still, I didn't put a foot wrong. The result was, I felt that cocky, passing the lounge, that I did a silly thing. I pressed my head against the door and thumbed my nose at the nasty piece of work there, snoring away in his adulterous dreams on the other side.

  And then it was to the hard part. Clicking open Mandy's door, tiptoeing inside, keeping all my fingers crossed that I wouldn't bump into anything. You see, I'd expected the difficulty to be that it would be darker here than anywhere else. But it didn't turn out th
at way. I stepped into Mandy's room to find it was lighter here than on the stairs. The curtains were open, drawing in the moonlight, making the whole room seem nearly bright in comparison. And that's how I could see straightaway that there was no-one there. The bed was empty. Hadn't even been slept in. After all this, they were still out, painting the town red somewhere when she should have been home, getting her sleep. All that tiptoeing, all that effort, for nothing. I couldn't even leave the bear now, not when he might be the one to see it first.

  Yet I didn't have the heart to be angry, not looking around this little room of hers. I couldn't imagine what she'd been up to since I was in here last. For a start, though I'd seen it done in the daytime, I never dreamt that she would be leaving her window open even now, in the middle of the night, in the dead of winter. It was as if she was trying to get rid of every scrap of air that belonged to the house. But that wasn't all, though it took me a moment or two to realize it. The room was strangely bare, unnaturally tidy. All the funny rugs had gone from her bed, and off the walls as well. If there hadn't been the jumble of bottles and boxes still on her dressing table I might have been tempted to think the worst, that she had done a midnight flit. But there were her shoes, lined up under her bed, neat as anything.

  But oh, it was sad. Seen like this, the room was so cold, so unwelcoming. This was what she would be coming home to tonight - or the small hours to be exact. And there wasn't even a pillow on her bed. What had she done with her pillow?

  One thing was for sure. I wasn't going to leave the room like that, not for Mandy, not even when Francis was around. I put the bear down for a second and closed the window. It was all I could do for her, and yet I doubted if it would so much as take the chill off the room. Then I picked up the bear, gave him a quick hug because I reckoned we both needed cheering up, and made my way out again. At least on the landing I didn't have to creep, not when the only people I could be disturbing were Gilbert and Ethel. And passing the lounge door, I began to smile. Because just then another thought popped into my head: I could do more than simply thumb my nose at someone who turned out not even to be there. I could actually manage a tiny piece of mischief. Harmless, of course, but satisfying enough. I could run in quickly and open all the windows, making sure to draw the curtains after me. That way, when he got back, it would be like an ice-box, and with any luck he'd never realize that the windows were wide open behind the drapes. He might just end up freezing to death and serve him right.

  One thing, though - you get into the habit of moving quietly in this house, even when there's no need for it. So when I opened the door, it was as silently as if it was a draught that was doing the work. That's why no one heard me.

  That's why I saw them before either of them saw me.

  You see, they were there after all, together. On Doreen's aunty's settee, the one with horse's hair falling out, the one that makes up into a beautifully comfortable double bed. Only I'd forgotten all about that. Until now.

  At first, it's only the bed that makes any sense. That and the light which is no more than the glow from the gas fire. It's enough to see the two of them on the bed, a slow tangle of naked arms and legs with Mandy's funny covers caught here and there between them. And still.it takes a minute to understand. He's on top of her, his back and buttocks like the heel of a hand pinning her to the bed, pushing to and fro, head buried in the pillow beside hers. But it's her face that brings it home, unmistakably Mandy's, turned away from him, and the fire, towards the door. And me.

  You never saw a face more peaceful. Eyes closed, cheeks as rosy as a child, not thinking of anything but the here and now. The face of someone making music, listening to herself. And it was her face that kept me standing there, watching, long after I had begun to believe.

  Then, of course, it was too late. Something made her stir, open her eyes, and there we both were, the two of us, and nobody else in the world. Mandy and me. That's how it was, then slowly, like someone turning on a tap, the tears began to roll, ever so quietly, down her face.

  I was gone before he saw me.

  All I could think of was that I had to get up those stairs, that if I could get to the top before anything else happened, then somehow we would all be all right. But it was no good. There were only two more steps to go when his voice broke, smashing the little bit of silence that was left.

  'What the ... ?'

  And somehow that did for me. The legs gave way from under me and I couldn't take another step. I ended up half falling, half sitting on the stairs as far away from the top as I was from the bottom. At the same time, downstairs, a light goes on. But after that, nothing. There was no more sound from anywhere. Then the minutes began to pass, until little by little I must have forgotten even to listen. The bulb was burning in the kitchen behind me, lighting up the walls on the stairs, and for some reason that started me off thinking on another tack altogether. Every now and then perhaps, I would look again and wonder what I was doing here four steps from the top, staring down at a big brown bear that someone had left lying at the bottom. But then I'd forget about that and get back to what I was thinking. The fact is, I used to sit here all the time, years ago when June was little. She would sit on the top step, legs dangling, while I stopped here, telling her I was checking her laces were done up properly before we went out. It was a trick I thought up for her when she was a nipper, to make sure she didn't just run helter skelter down the stairs and out into the street. This way, she always had to wait for me first.

  So I started reckoning up the years since then and found the effort was more than I could manage. There was too much fog in my brain. Something else was beginning to bother me. For the first time ever, I was wondering why it was I'd never got round to redecorating these stairs. I'd done all the rest within a month of Doreen leaving, but not here. As it is, the paper is still the same as what Doreen chose, the summer before the Christmas before she left - all big gaudy flowers, roses or something, hardly what you'd call tasteful. Only I remember her saying that there had to be something bright here or else you'd never see it, and I realize now that she was right for once. Normally the light on these stairs is so bad you'd practically need a spotlight before you noticed what was on the walls. Added to which, there's the brown mark that goes all the way up at elbow level where my coat must have brushed every time I'd come in or out. But the paper itself is still there, and you can see it if you look hard enough, like I'm looking now. And what that means is, even after all these years and all my hard work, Doreen has still managed to leave traces here to remember her by.

  It's enough to make you weep really. I mean you go to all that trouble, toil and labour to scrub out every last speck of something rotten, and what happens? It pops up to meet you when you're least expecting it. And the result? I'm sitting here with Doreen all around me.

  And then the shouting starts.

  'That's it, Amanda. That's bloody it. I've had it up to here with this place. This is the last time, do you hear me?'

  A small voice interrupts - too small to make any difference.

  'It's no good, Amanda. You pester me to come down here, all this way, to this shit-hole of a house, just so that every Tom, Dick and Harry ...'

  Larry. My name is Larry.

  '...Can come and gawp at us just at the very moment I'm ...'

  She's trying to interrupt again, but nothing's going to work, you can see it straightaway.

  'No, Amanda. You've got to look at it from my point of view. I could raise the dead with the lengths I go to make sure Sheila doesn't get to hear about this. Then what happens? I find you might as well be selling ringside seats.'

  Why is it such a surprise to discover that he is married after all? Maybe because he never did act as if he was. Not really. Not when you sit here in Doreen's place and look back.

  Downstairs, it's gone quiet. He's thinking about what he's going to say next. But me, I know what's coming.

  'Listen to me.' He's not shouting now. The idea is to sound considerate.
'It's got to end you know. We can't go on like this. I've got too much to lose. I don't have to tell you.' Then his real feelings get the better of him and it's back to the shouting, loud enough to wake the dead. 'Damn it all, you little idiot. I can do a lot better than help you provide live sex shows for an old pervert.'

  'Oh no, Francis.' That little voice again. Then: 'Francis, don't go.' And this time, finally, her voice rings out. Does more than that. It echoes, high enough to set the glass trembling in the mirrors, making all the windows hum. It spills out and fills the landings and passages of the house. That's all she says, but the words have a life of their own. They follow him as he tramps along the landing, past her kitchen and down the stairs, must still be ringing in his ears as he thuds along the hall. They only stop, at last, when the front door opens and slams closed again.

  There's a moment's pause before a smaller door opens, this time belonging to the Ducks, with Gilbert's voice escaping briefly into the hallway, before it, too, closes in its turn.

  After that, nothing.

  And now here we all sit, each in our own little bit of house, for once in our lives staying out of each others' business. Yet I can see us all perfectly, the way we would look to anyone else who could see us. Ethel and Gilbert in the dark, mumbling across the pillow about what will have to happen tomorrow. Mandy sitting on the edge of Doreen's aunty's bed, shivering because she's naked and too thin and won't keep down what she eats, not daring to cry, because who is there left now to hold her hand?

  And then of course there's me, still sat here on the stairs, still trying to get my bearings. But even I can't stay here all night. I've got things to do.

  It took me a while though, getting off those stairs. First I had to wait for the shaking to stop and for the old knees to get a bit of strength back in them. But there was more. Call it the influence of Doreen coming at me from all sides, stopping me thinking straight just the same way she ever did, call it what you like, but all the time I was there I couldn't have told you if I was coming or going. If anybody had bothered to ask, more than likely I'd have said I was still waiting for June to dangle her legs over the top of the stairs for me-to check those shoes of hers.