The Watchers on the Shore

by Stan Barstow

  'You know,'he says in a minute, 'I don't want to be one of these blokes who grows away from his parents, who finds he's got nothing to say to them.'

  'I expect you meet a lot like that now.'

  'Yes, I do. And you can feel it happening to yourself all the time.'

  'Well, I wouldn't go around blaming myself for it. It's their fault as much as yours, if you can call it your fault at all. They're the ones who are hanging behind. It's when they try to hold you back the trouble starts. Not that my mother does it deliberately. She's kind-hearted, means well, and she'd be hurt if anybody told her she was a drag, because she's proud to see you get on. But they don't realize all that it involves. They somehow expect you to get on and stay just like them. There's a whole world outside that she just doesn't begin to understand.'

  'Education ...'Jim says, shaking his head.

  'It doesn't need much education, Jim. Intelligence and a bit of perception will do it as well.'

  'Course,'he says, 'she's convinced it's a girl who's keeping me away. I mean, she always goes for the obvious solution.'

  'And is there a girl?'

  Jim laughs. 'As a matter of fact, there is.'

  I have to laugh with him.'Well, I mean, they're not all that daft, Jim. They do know something about what makes people tick... Is it serious?'

  'I suppose it is. Oh, she's sweet, though, Jacqueline. You'd like her, Vic. She's got everything. I mean, it's not just a question of bed; I like to be with her all the time.'

  And there, if you want one, I think a bit sourly, is an echo of me at his age, only he seems to have hit the jackpot and I wonder if I'm supposed to interpret what he's said in the way I do.

  'You mean you have been to bed with her?'

  'Well, it's not all that easy to set up, but we do sometimes manage it.'

  'You won't go and do what I did, will you?'

  'I'm not stupid, Vic.'

  'Thanks very much,'I say and he shoots me a quick embarrassed look.

  'I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. Only we have sense enough to take the usual precautions.'

  Usual, I think. It's usual to take your girl friend to bed and when you've got her there you take the usual precautions. And I'm where I am now because I hadn't the nerve to go into a shop and ask for what I wanted. Do the generations change so quickly, I wonder, or is it something wrong with me?

  David and the Old Man catch us up outside the Bunch of Grapes and we can't say any more. We go into the best room where there's a fire as good as the one we've left and a fair gathering of men keeping out of the way while their wives cook whatever it is they've got to look forward to. The Old Man insists on buying the first round and asks us what we want.

  'D'you mind if I have a whisky, Dad?'David asks.

  'I don't mind at all, lad. What about you two?'

  'A pint of bitter for me, please,'I tell him, and Jim says, 'Same for me, Dad.'

  'Well,'the Old Man says, 'I was going to have a half meself but I'd better make it a pint. Can't let the younger generation show me up.'

  Jim and I smile at each other and move over to the fire as David and the Old Feller go to the bar counter.

  'Don't say anything to my mother or anybody, will you?'Jim says. He looks at me as I laugh. 'You know, I'll tell 'em myself when I want 'em to know.'

  I'm still smiling. 'Sorry, only you sound just like me talking to our Christine.'I see them turning from the bar and I take the last moment to get serious. I'm looking Jim straight in the eye and the laughter's gone from my face as I say to him:

  'Only, listen to this, Jim. It's your life. You do what you want to do and don't let any of 'em push you around. Just remember.'

  And that's the last chance I get to say anything to him. Which is perhaps just as well. There's not much more I could say without telling him things I don't want him to know; and there's a limit to the advice anybody can take. They've got to experience things for themselves. No two cases are alike and once they begin to find out a bit of what it's all about it's probably too late for them to do much more than start handing out advice to somebody else.

  We're back home on time so there's nothing my mother can grumble about, though her face doesn't slip as she sets the dinner out and we all gather round to shift it. I wonder sometimes what sort of bloke I'd be if the Old Lady had been a merry, laughing woman.

  After dinner the women tackle the washing-up then join the men in the front-room, which is warm now, and we sit round making chit-chat about this and that: young Bobby, my new job and what it's like living in the south; David's new job (which he's got) and what it'll be like living in Leicester (of course, the Old Man knew somebody from Leicester in the first world war and he's played in one or two brass-band concerts there, so he's an expert on it), and a few guarded references to Mrs Rothwell's forthcoming operation.

  After a while the Old Man slips off to sleep with his head back and his mouth open and I - always drowsy after beer at lunchtime -shut my eyes, and though it seems to me that I'm hearing voices all the time, I must go under as well because the next thing I know the women are moving about laying the table for tea.

  On Boxing Day morning Ingrid and I sleep in, waking to come together in the after-night warmth of the bed in a way that needs no words, nor even conscious signs; only a knowledge of wanting that more often than riot matches a similar need.

  Brown, the great lover, boosts his ego in the rests in the rhythm of desire:

  'Do you miss me?'

  'Mmmmm.'

  'Do you miss this?'

  'You know I do.'

  'You're a proper little sex-pot.'

  'And aren't you glad.'

  'I don't know. I go back with bags under my eyes after a weekend at home.'

  'I expect everybody feels sorry for you.'

  'Oh, they do, they do. The men think I've left home because I can't cope with it on a full-time basis.'

  'I never know when you're kidding and when you're not.'

  'Don't you?'

  'You don't... you don't talk about it, do you?'

  'What?'

  'I mean this.'

  'Not as far as you and I are concerned. Men don't, y'know.'

  'Don't they?'

  'Only about the subject in general, sometimes.'

  'I see... You don't think, I mean deep down, that it's not very nice, do you?'

  'What isn't nice?'

  'Me ... well, me liking it so much.'

  'I don't think it's nice, I think it's bloody marvellous.'

  'Do you really, Vic?'

  'Well, don't you know?'

  'Oh, I know it's all right for you that I do, but I wonder sometimes ...'

  'Look, I don't despise it in a woman, I admire it.'

  'Do you?'

  'Yes, I do. Proper bloody order.'

  'Well, I just-'

  'Shut up.'

  Her mouth is laughing as I put mine over it. For a second. Then it's serious and responding, taking and giving back, driving us on into that private frenzy where what's said and done is nobody's business but ours, belonging here in the dark arid the warmth away from cold sober daylight.

  Which always comes ...

  'Are you going back to sleep now?'

  'Mmm. It's lovely and warm.'

  'What time have you to get away?'

  'Two o'clock.'

  'That's all right, then. We'll have time for a little chat.'

  'What about?'

  'Never mind. It'll do after.'

  'No, go on, I'm listening.'

  'Well... you know you once said I could always move in with Mother if it was necessary?'

  'Mmm.'

  'I think I ought to do that for a while. Till she's had her operation and got back on her feet... I mean, we'd keep this place on and live here when you came home.'

  I think about it for a minute and can't see any real snags.

  'That's all right. I don't mind.'

  'You're not busy looking for a place down there, are you?'r />
  'I'm weighing the situation up.'

  'But you won't come home some week-end and expect me to pack up and go back with you?'

  'There's no hurry yet.'

  'No. You might fall out with the job, or something.'

  'Oh, I think that'll be all right. You ought to come down and look things over, though.'

  'I will, in a while.'

  'Well, do what you think's best and we'll talk about it again later on.'

  'Righto. I'll tell her. I'm sure she'll be easier in her mind.*

  'But you're coming eventually, and on your own.'

  'Yes.'

  'Don't create any false impressions about that.'

  'No ... What do you want for your breakfast?*

  'Better make it dinner and breakfast in one.'

  'Eggs, bacon and sausage?'

  'And a few chips.'

  'Righto.'

  'Are you getting up now?'

  'Yes... Unless you want me to stop for a while.'

  'You know what? You're insatiable.'

  'So are you.'

  'No I'm not. I'm physically incapable of being insatiable.'

  'I just want to know you'll be all right for the next fortnight."

  'Oh, one of my second strings'll look after me.-''

  'Eh?'

  'Don't you know? They can see it in my face. They're queuing up for samples.'

  'Oh, are they?'

  'Good old Yorkshire stamina. It's at a premium down there.'

  'Let Conroy demonstrate. He's got nothing better to do.'

  'He doesn't seem all that interested.'

  'But you are?'

  'Oh, all the time.'

  'Vic

  'What?'

  'I know you're kidding, but...'

  'What?'

  'Oh... nothing..,'

  'Then don't be daft.'

  10

  There's already been enough of winter to cure me of any idea that the move south might bring me into warmer, sunnier climes, and the next few days convince me that as far as weather's concerned I'd have been better off staying at home.

  First it turns colder; not bitter cold - grievous cold, and work has to stop on a few of the outside projects. Then it begins to snow, seriously, as if it means it, hour after hour, in heavy swirls of fat dry flakes that settle in a deepening layer on the frozen ground. Then a few more outside jobs stop. With reports of similar conditions all over the country, but especially grim in the west, we realize we're in the middle of one of the worst winters in living memory.

  There's a bit of post-Christmas gloom hanging about the office in the couple of days after we get back. It seems to affect everybody. Franklyn, bothered about the effect of the weather on his contracts and preoccupied with finding alternative work for the men concerned, shows a testy side of his personality I've only glimpsed before; which might be one reason why Cynthia's in a deep sulk. Martin's his usual polite but unforthcoming self - no apostle of cheer at the best of times - and I know Jimmy's fed up because I listened to his tale of woe on the train coming down. A conscientious lad, Jimmy, who can't get on with his folks any more and can't bring himself to turn his back on them altogether.

  On the Friday afternoon the phone rings. Jimmy answers it then says it's an outside call for me. I wonder as I go over to pick up the receiver who can be ringing me from outside, and I don't recognize the woman's voice on the line straight away.

  'Is that Vic Brown?'

  'Yes, it is.'

  'This is Donna Pennyman.'

  'Oh, hello!'

  'I hope it's all right for me to ring the office.'

  'Oh yes, that's okay.'

  'I asked for Albert actually, but I understand he isn't in.'

  'No, he's out Chelmsford way. He should have been back yesterday but he rang in to say he'd got snowed-up.'

  'Yes, hasn't the weather been awful these last few days?'

  'It'll get worse before it gets better, as well.'

  'Cheerful! Look, I'm ringing to ask if you and Albert are doing anything on New Year's Eve.'

  'Well I'm not and I don't think he is.'

  'We're having a party at my place after the show. You might like to come if you're not doing anything else.'

  'That's very nice of you.'

  'It'll be just the people from the theatre, mainly. Bring a bottle, and all that.'

  'I'll be glad to come. Can I ask Albert to ring you back and confirm about him?'

  'No, there's no need to do that. Just be in the Mitre after the show on Monday and we'll go on from there.'

  'We might come to see the show.'

  'I shouldn't bother. It's only the Christmas play and it's mainly for children.'

  'Haven't you heard that all men are really little boys at heart?'

  She chuckles over the line.

  'Well, just as you like. Only you've been warned.'

  'See you Monday, anyway.'

  'Good.'

  'And thanks again.'

  'That's all right. I just thought you might be at a loose end.'

  'Tell the truth, I was feeling a bit dreary. Something to look forward to now.'

  'It'll only be drinks and a bit of shuffling round to the gramophone, you know.'

  'Shuffling's the right word as far as I'm concerned.'

  'Don't you dance very well?'

  "Not so's you'd notice.'

  'Me neither.'

  'Perhaps we can have a shuffle together, then.'

  I'm aware that I'm grinning as I go back to my board. Jimmy glances at me for a second but says nothing till a minute or two later when I start to whistle.

  'Do I detect the intrusion of a note of good cheer?'

  'Here's another one,'I tell him, looking at Conroy, who's just coming through the door and glowering round at everything and everybody in sight. 'The original abominable snowman.'

  'What a performance!'he announces to the office in general; then walks over to us and tells us the tale of how he was caught in a snowstorm last night, had to abandon the car and walk two miles, then go back and dig it out this morning.

  'Talk about Scott of the Antarctic! From now on a shovel's standard equipment in that car. Better still, mebbe I'll get Franklyn to buy a team of huskies and a sledge.'

  'It's bad out in the country, then?'Jimmy asks him.

  'You're not kidding, mate. There's six-foot drifts across the road in places.'

  Cynthia speaks to him across the office without lifting her head:

  'Mr Franklyn said he wanted to see you as soon as you got back.'

  Conroy turns to her.

  'Is he in?'

  'No.'

  'Where is he, then?'

  'I don't know exactly.'

  'Well tell me roughly.'

  'Somewhere in the works, I expect.'

  'What a rare pleasure it is,'Conroy says, 'to return from the brink of death and bask in the radiance of your personality.'

  'I'm only telling you what he told me to tell you.'

  "Thank you very much.'

  'You've come back in a right mood, haven't you?'

  'I've got good reason for my mood. What's yours? Isn't he being nice enough to you?'

  Cynthia flashes a murderous look and the colour rises in her face. Then she's on her feet and slamming out.

  Conroy looks at Jimmy and me in turn.

  'Oh Christ, I suppose I shouldn't have said that... Still, it went straight to the target, didn't it?'He starts to take his coat off. 'I can't bloody stand moody women.'

  He walks across to his board, dumps his coat over his stool, then goes down the corridor towards the washroom.

  I look at Jimmy. His gaze switches from the door to me. There's a gleam in his eyes.

  'What was all that about, then?'I ask him.

  'Don't you know?'

  'I know she's supposed to be sweet on Franklyn.'

  'Did you know Albert used to take Cynthia out a bit at one time?'

  'No... He did, did he? Well, well. You int
erest me, James lad. Carry on.'

  Jimmy shakes his head.

  'That much is fact. Anything else comes under the heading of speculation.'

  'Well speculate a bit.'

  'You mean is Franklyn knocking her off on the quiet? I don't know. Maybe Albert does, but he doesn't talk about it.'

  'Was it serious, then? Between him and Cynthia, I mean.'

  'I shouldn't think so. But enough to cause an occasional flash of spite.'

  'He's a close devil, isn't he?'

  'When he wants to be.'

  'Do you know anything about that marriage of Ms?'

  Now it's Jimmy's turn to look gone out.

  'You what?'

  'You mean you didn't know?'

  'I'd no idea. Is he wed now, then?'

  'I don't think so. They split up. He told me once when we were at Whittaker's. At the staff party, it was. He'd had a few pints... I thought you'd know or I wouldn't have mentioned it.'

  'You're right, mate, he is close.'

  'I don't think there's anything mysterious about it. He just doesn't talk about it.'

  'He certainly doesn't. I never knew.'

  'Well for Pete's sake don't let on I told you. He asked me to keep my mouth shut.'

  We stop talking as Conroy comes back in. He gives us that same glowering look and growls at us:

  'There's still some work to do, isn't there? Don't stand nattering all day.'