by Geoff Ryman
It’s nothing personal, Oliver wants to tell her. It’s what we do. He knows then he’ll do this all his life, and that she will always be on the other side of the glass.
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64
MR MICHAEL LIPKIN
Outward appearance
Well dressed, long-faced man about 35, in grey suit, beige coat, and small round hat. He is reading a sumptuously printed book of Hebrew scripture with gold-tooled lettering. He nods in agreement, thoughtfully prodding a protruding upper lip.
Inside information
Works in the accounts section of Pall Mall Oil7 as a VAT specialist. The undertaking is vast: tributaries of information about every transaction from catering to cleaning, the staff newsletter or computer maintenance flow into his section. He clarifies policy on each kind of transaction and monitors adherence. It is a sideline.
What he is doing or thinking
The central facts of Michael’s life are God and loneliness. He is a naturally solemn man who does everything properly. His work for the company is technically superb and largely unappreciated. He jogs, one might say religiously, every day for the sake of his rangy figure. He thinks a lot.
Michael’s father is prominent in London Jewish affairs. Through him, Michael’s views on the scriptures are gradually gaining a reputation. Michael’s reading is thorough and his arguments, rehearsed in open debate, are authoritative.
Nevertheless, Michael feels continually, completely out of his time. Sage, thoughtful Jews like himself allowed themselves to be herded into camps. New Jews are big, bronzed, crew-cut soldiers who enjoy cunnilingus—and those are just the women. Michael is not a virgin except in his soul, which flowers when he reads scripture—or imagines that he has a wife.
The train stops and he gets out at Waterloo. He bounds long-legged up the steps as if to leap out of himself.
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Another helpful and informative 253 footnote
7 Pall Mall Oil does not exactly exist.
Imagine, however, a superbly constructed nest of buildings, stone and marble clad, reaching up imperially into the sky.
What you can’t see is underground. Snaking around and between the gas mains, the sewers, the storm drains and the tube tunnels for Bakerloo, Northern and City lines is an underground city for Pall Mall employees.
There is a huge gym, with squash courts. There is an olympic-sized swimming pool. There is a supermarket and a cinema for showing corporate films. Most unexpectedly there is a large underground theatre for live performances designed by Cecil Beaton. In its ceiling, tiny lights mimic stars.
There is also a bomb shelter, in preparation for nuclear war.
65
MS CORRINE TRACY
Outward appearance
Stylish black woman, late twenties. Long one-piece dress in a brown herring-bone pattern, brown overcoat with hood, matching flat-heeled boots. Hair short, combed forward, simple gold earrings. Handbag on floor.
Inside information
Works for Winona Hairdressers just behind the Elephant and Castle. She is now the only hairdresser left in the shop, which is seeing hard times.
What she is doing or thinking
Why does everyone assume a black hairdresser can only do black hair? Corrine has photographs of white ladies in her window as well. She’s grateful to her black customers, but there aren’t enough of them. She spends the better part of most working days staring into space. She is so bored.
She’s taken to designing toys, with some success. Leap Frog was a spring-driven wooden toy that jumped. Her brother managed to sell the patent for that. She has been trying to design Scissors Crab, a plastic crab with goofy eyes on springs and pincers that can cut paper. The problem has been safety.
Corrine muses on other useful things the pincers could do—like knit. Suddenly something moves inside her head. She sees the pincers weaving hair, spinning strands, making braids.
People buy cornrows, they spend hours braiding it, it costs a fortune…Corrine covers her mouth. Cornrow Crab, the hair-braider! Inexpensive, do it yourself at home. She reaches into her handbag to pull out her notebook. It isn’t there. She pauses, then decides. Sod the job, she’s getting back to her design pad. She stands up to get off at Lambeth North instead of the Elephant.
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66
MRS JULIE TILDSLEY
Outward appearance
The last to get on at Embankment, as the doors close. She’s youngish, about thirty, but rumpled hair and baggy eyes make her look older and a bit grumpy. She drops down into an empty seat and stares. She wears a shiny white dress.
Inside information
Works for FSD Courier Service near the Elephant. Takes bookings, fills in forms, contacts couriers, gives customers instructions. She lives near Aldgate East—a long way to come, but a job is a job, even one you could do in your sleep.
What she is doing or thinking
Julie actually is asleep. Her morning routine is so established that she dressed herself sleepwalking. She walked on automatic pilot to the tube and changed trains at Embankment without waking up. She is conscious of nothing until Passenger 46 clumps Passenger 47. She thinks: I’m dreaming that I’m sitting on the tube and a man comes in with a bicycle seat and hits a large black man with it. A spooky black lady smiles, nursing something terrible in a parcel. Mick Hucknall seems to be sitting next to the women, singing.
Gradually, Julie realizes it is not a dream. She really is sitting on the tube fingering her white dress. The FSD uniform is a grey skirt.
She’s only wearing a slip. Oh my God! she thinks and sits up as the train slows into Waterloo. I’m not dressed, I’ve got to go home!
All the way to Aldgate East and then walking up Commercial Road, wearing only a slip. But this time she won’t be asleep.
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67
MISS SAMANTHA ALLERS
Outward appearance
Young, carefully groomed. Black trousers, black sweatshirt with Paperchase logo. Pink, puffy overcoat. Burnished bronze hair pulled up into a kind of curly nest on top of her head. Her earrings are the same colour.
Inside information
Sam is late for her job in a sandwich bar on Lower Marsh.
What she is doing or thinking
She’s had a bad night. Sam recently moved with her boyfriend into a new flat. She was thinking about wallpaper, carpets, and damp around the windows—until the police called on her neighbour next door. It turns out he’s a bit of a villain—and a friend of the three who have just escaped from Parkhurst prison8 on the Isle of Wight.
They might have turned up just one door along. That’s what the police said. They showed her photographs. They didn’t look hard, but then villains don’t always. They looked squishy and fat—horrible.
As far as Sam is concerned, she and Terry her boyfriend are moving on and up, away from London’s past, out to the suburbs, into the future. The whole thing is like finding yourself living next door to the Krays. It’s depressing. It’s old.
Sam is pregnant. The job is to pay for all the things they’ll need. In her mind the new flat and the baby are intertwined. She doesn’t want to bring her baby up next to criminals. After months of looking for somewhere to live, Sam becomes determined to move.
Milton Keynes? she wonders.
As they come into Waterloo, there is a waft of a terrible stench.
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Another helpful and informative 253 footnote
8 The Governor of Parkhurst and his staff did not stay the only scapegoats for the Isle of Wight escape. In October, the Governor General of the Prison Service Derek Lewis was also dismissed. Later described as the highest paid civil servant in Britain, Lewis brought a private case for wrongful dismissal and the High Court judged in his favour in March 1996.
In May of 1997, when th
e Conservative Party must have felt it deserved a vacation from trouble, Ann Widdecombe, who had been junior minister under Michael Howard, threatened to reveal details of Howard’s misconduct during the affair, in a deliberate effort to destroy his chances for the leadership of the Party.
68
MRS GRISELDA STEWART
Outward appearance
A television granny. She holds a little girl’s hand and helps her step up into the carriage. Mrs Stewart is short, round and comfy, grey jacket, tartan skirt, and a tartan shawl perfectly draped and pinned over her shoulders. Carries a picture book.
Inside information
Down from Scotland to see her granddaughter and make sure the little darling is getting enough attention. Her daughter works all hours in local radio, she’s split up with her boyfriend, and who can trust childminders these days?
Amy is a picture, in her pert wee bonnet and a lovely blue dress. She’s only four-and-a-half but good at her reading. They’re going to spend a lovely day out at the motion picture museum.
What she is doing or thinking
Trying to get Amy settled while holding onto her book. There is a real horror sitting on the train, one of those punks. Poor Amy pulls away and no wonder. ‘Come on, Amy,’ coaxes Mrs Stewart. ‘Up you go, onto the seat.’ Mrs Stewart opens the book to distract her. ‘Read me something, Amy. What’s that?’ She points, and Amy says, definitely, ‘Train.’ She’s still staring at that frightful creature.
Mrs Stewart thinks: how can you bring up a child in a place like this? Someone sleeps in the doorway of Angie’s mansion block. She’s getting nowhere in that radio station, and I know she’s feeling a bit lost. I’m going to put my foot down. She can come back home. There’s Stirling nearby, and Gran to help, and we’ve got such a lovely school in Dunblane.
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69
AMY STEWART
Outward appearance
A little girl, pre-school, neatly turned out in a blue dress, and polished black shoes. So pale that there are blue veins in her cheeks.
Inside information
Mum works and Daddy visits on Sunday and takes her out which is nice because she can get away from Mum who needs her rest. They go to the park or the movies, and Daddy always drives her in a car. Her most favourite place is under her bed where the carpet ends. Everyone tells her that Granny Stewart’s house is full of nice things, so that is her favourite place too.
What she is doing or thinking
There are all these people with big feet who are in a hurry. Amy doesn’t like the tube, and pulls back because she wants to get off. Her Gran tells her to get onto the seat. It’s high and if it’s dirty it will get her dress dirty, but she wants to do it herself, so she climbs up and there is this man with white clothes and a funny haircut who looks like something from the telly.
Gran wants Amy to read the book to show how much she’s learned, but she looks at the picture instead. It shows boxes with rows of faces. ‘Train,’ Amy says, but it looks nothing like this train. No one looks out of the window in this train. No one waves and smiles. But Amy likes the man who looks like something from the telly, even if he is a bit scary. Television has taught her: everything real is scary.
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70
MISS FLORENCE CASSELL
Outward appearance
Gamine, Italianate, tiny. Olive skin, curly hair cut short, lots of freckles. Handsome coat with black leather sleeves, and diamond patterns of different coloured leather. Picks disconsolately at its surface.
Inside information
Came to England from Kenya when she was a little girl. From time to time people made comments. Manages an Oddbins; shares a flat with a college friend near Elephant and Castle. Has spent the night with friends after a crisis.
What she is doing or thinking
It started with continual trouble from minicab drivers. They would pull over and ask if she wanted to have some fun. One of them showed up on her doorstep and asked her out. She turned him down and he left with reasonably good grace.
Last night the same driver showed up to take her to friends in Queen’s Park. She refused to go with him. ‘Look, I’m just here for the fare,’ he said, affronted. They ended up driving across London in brooding silence. Parked outside her friends’ flat he said, ‘There. All safe and sound.’ Then he said, ‘And listen you half-caste bitch, just ’cause you got some white in you doesn’t make you any better than anyone else.’
That’s all. It was enough.
She spent the evening in the bathroom looking at her face. She had always seen it in her face, but thought her mother would have told her if it were true. Why wouldn’t her mother tell her? It doesn’t make any difference, it shouldn’t make any difference. And yet it does, and yet it always does.
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71
MR ALLAN MARJORAM
Outward appearance
Bearded man in a suit and waterproof bunched around his burgeoning body. Oversize head, spectacles, white hands, scuffed shoes. Hunched over Time Out, with two different coloured markers. Holds both tops in his mouth.
Inside information
Works in the Foreign and Commonwealth Office Library on Stamford Street. Lives in Harrow with his parents. He is 32 years old.
What he is doing or thinking
Inspecting the Time Out personal ads with methodical diligence. His priorities are written on an envelope held underneath each ad. Red: Short term, pref exotic. Green: Partner, first time advertiser.
He circles an ad in red.
Attractive Black Woman, 33, graduate professional mature seeks gallant gentleman 33-45, professional, warm hearted…
He havers. It would be unfair to pretend he was looking for a permanent relationship with a black woman. Besides, he is one year too young. He puts a question mark.
Green Eyes, Red Hair Lady 30 trendy (ish) creative job WLTM sexy man with GSOH for warm nights in. Photo please.
He promptly circles this in green. It meets all his requirements. He’s not sexy, though. On second thought, he changes the colour to red.
Allan wishes someone would tell him what a GSOH was. And why did so many people want someone who speaks Chinese or Arabic?
Woman, 32, part-Jewish, sharp tongued seeks someone understanding…
That sounded a bit fierce.
Cute half-Italian lady, 35, seeks affectionate, understanding, trustworthy guy…
Green. That’s all there are. He ranks the greens in order of preference. The train slows and he takes the pen tops out of his mouth.
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72
MISS HILARY VIALLS
Outward appearance
A businesswoman in a TV commercial. Slim in a sharp grey suit. Legs elegantly crossed in sheer charcoal nylons. Small gold hoop earrings, which she fingers nervously. New blue bag, new black shoes.
Inside information
Hilary never thought that she would make 35 without being married. She is cripplingly shy. Works as an administrator at the London Television Centre. Studied the newsreader Gargy Patel, who looked half starved and scraggly at first but became stylish through grooming.
What she is doing or thinking
There is a terrible smell, which she thinks is coming from the man next to her. This stench of male makes her feel giddy. She doesn’t quite hate it. It’s like a sexual call for help. It fits with what he is doing.
She can’t help staring. How can he be so brazen, circling sex ads in public? Those criteria! And the way he changes his mind!
It’s also moving in a way. The need is moving. So is the air of hard work. There’s nothing lewd about it. He’s treating it like an engineering problem.
That is irredeemably male, as are his clumsy baggy body, his fat hairy fingers.
She dresses to attract…who? She can’t even picture him anymore. Someone handsome, but
what is handsome, without a picture? Just a word. This man would need her. She might need him, even if he did treat her like an engineering problem. The train slows at Waterloo and both prepare to go their separate ways.
But she does not fancy the kind of man she thought she did.
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MR MILTON RICHARDS
Outward appearance
Small, neat man in blue trousers, blue padded anorak, cloth cap. A fiercely trimmed moustache and a general air of rectitude. One of his sleeves, jammed into a pocket, is empty.
Inside information
Milton lost his arm in an accident at a textile factory in Hackney. The factory went bankrupt soon afterwards: there was no compensation. Lives on benefit. The stepfather of Eveleen Doyce.
