by Gee, Maurice
‘Take it easy, lassie,’ he said.
She sped on, and heard him grunt as he put weight into his pedalling. She could not get ahead, even though, turning left, she cut the corner sharply.
Slowly he came level with her.
‘Get away,’ she cried. She turned left again, into Cambridge Terrace and saw it stretch ahead to Woburn station.
‘I’ll see you home, Ailsa,’ he said.
‘How do you know my name?’
‘I know everything. Where is she tonight?’
‘Who?’
‘My Gloria. My heart’s desire.’
‘It’s you who writes those letters,’ she cried.
He smiled at her. ‘You’re a brave wee lassie. Clever too.’
‘I’m calling the police.’
‘It’s you they’ll arrest, without a light. Anyway, you won’t see me again. But tell her …’
‘What?’
‘Someone else is coming for her soon.’
‘You’re mad,’ she cried; and wondered if she should ride into one of the houses and ask for help.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Love can change you, Ailsa. Love is pure. You’ll understand when you grow up.’ He turned his bike. The ticking moved to the other side of the street. She slowed down and looked over her shoulder. He was pedalling with no hurry towards Waterloo. His reflector winked at her. He looked like an old man riding home, minding his business; and she was appalled at how easily he could change.
A car stopped. ‘Are you all right?’ a woman said from the window.
Ailsa realised her cheeks were wet with tears. ‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Well, go home, young lady. You shouldn’t be out.’
‘Yes. I’m sorry,’ she said. She rode towards home, not looking behind her.
A unit from Wellington pulled out of Woburn station. Half a dozen people walked down from the overbridge. One of them, stepping fast, wrapped in her coat, was Gloria. She crossed Cambridge Terrace in front of Ailsa.
Ailsa braked her bike and jumped off.
‘Gloria.’
‘It’s you.’ She did not stop.
‘Where’s Bevan?’
‘I told him to make himself scarce.’
‘Why? What happened?’
‘He tried to make me do it. And I wouldn’t. So I had to catch the train home. That’s the end of him. What’s wrong with you?’
Ailsa couldn’t help it. She started to cry.
‘Gloria.’
‘What? Ah, honey.’ Gloria put her hands on Ailsa’s cheeks.
‘He came here. That man on the bike,’ Ailsa sobbed. ‘And I followed him.’
‘Where?’
‘Up Cambridge Terrace. And then he was following me.’
‘Did he hurt you?’
‘No. I got away. But Gloria, he said to tell you — someone else is coming for you soon.’
Chapter 6
TEETH
‘Glasses,’ Ailsa said. ‘And a long black coat.’
‘He wears a hat like a bookie,’ Gloria said.
‘You should have called us sooner,’ said the policeman, rustling the letters in his hand.
‘What possessed you, Ailsa? You could have been murdered,’ Mrs McGowan cried. She wore her nightie and dressing gown and Ailsa saw the policeman sneaking glances at her pretty feet.
‘I’m all right,’ Ailsa said. ‘He couldn’t ride fast.’
‘If there’s any more letters I want to know,’ the policeman said.
‘What about catching the man?’ Mrs McGowan cried.
‘We’ve got a car out looking. But he’s probably home in front of his fire. Irish, did you say?’
‘And Scottish too,’ Ailsa said.
‘Not Welsh by any chance?’ The policeman went away with the coloured letters; with ‘disappoint’ written in black.
‘I’ll make your bed on the sofa tonight,’ Mrs McGowan said.
‘I don’t want Gloria to be alone.’
‘I’m used to it,’ Gloria said.
‘No. I’m coming with you.’
They made sure the peg was in place. A police car drove up the street and down, but even so Ailsa was sure she would not sleep.
‘I don’t think he really lives in Waterloo,’ she said. ‘He only went that way to make me follow.’
‘Stop worrying about him. He’s gone.’
‘But someone else is coming, he said.’
‘Not tonight. Let me get some sleep.’
She rolled over and pulled her blankets round her shoulders. But she was smoking a cigarette, propped up on her pillows, when Ailsa woke later in the night. Light from a gap in the curtains fell on her throat and Ailsa saw an artery throbbing there.
‘Are you awake?’
‘What does it look like?’
‘Are you frightened?’
‘Not about him.’
‘Who then?’
‘No one. I’m not frightened.’ Gloria drew on her cigarette. The glowing end lit her face with red. She let out an angry stream of smoke. She was a dragon. ‘I think a lot in the middle of the night.’
‘What about?’
‘Things. How you always get the dirty end of the stick.’
‘Bevan?’
‘Yeah, him. Even though he’s not worth it.’
‘Did he really try — you know?’
‘“You know”.’ Gloria laughed. ‘Yeah, he tried.’
‘Can you tell me?’
‘No, I can’t.’
‘I want to know.’
‘You’re too young. Go to sleep.’
‘Where did he make you walk from?’
‘By Petone wharf. I had to walk up to Petone station.’
Ailsa thought she was lucky that the man on the bike had not been there.
‘He said “heart’s desire” again,’ she said.
Gloria stubbed out her cigarette. ‘There’s no heart. It all starts lower down. Go to sleep.’
Nurses clustered round them in the morning, asking questions. Gloria shrugged it off by saying ‘Some wacky moron’, and Ailsa tried to take the same line. At school though she told Helen, who was excited and wanted to know if the man wore any clothes under his coat.
‘He had trousers, I know that,’ Ailsa said.
She told Helen that Gloria’s boyfriend had made her catch the unit home because she refused to have sex with him. Helen was even more excited by that.
‘Don’t tell anyone,’ Ailsa said.
After school she changed into her tennis clothes and rode along to the public courts, where Calum was waiting. She felt tired after her late night and broken sleep and was not interested in practising tennis, would rather sit on a bench and talk, but Calum was bossy so she did her best. After 20 minutes she said, ‘That’s enough.’
‘You need to do some serves.’
‘I don’t want to do serves.’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I’m never going to be as good as Helen.’
‘Yes you are. You can beat her.’
‘What if I don’t want to? Calum, remember those letters my room-mate was getting? Well, last night …’
She told him everything, even her talk with Gloria at 2 am.
‘She’s better off without that guy. Jaguar or not,’ Calum said.
‘What about the man on the bike? He said someone else was coming for her.’
‘What did the police say?’
‘They think he’s just fooling. They don’t think there’s anyone else.’
‘He sounds as if he’s good at scaring people.’
‘Yes, he is. The spookiest thing was how he changed his voice. It was Irish at first, you know, “Mavourneen”. Then he called me lassie, kind of Scotch.’
‘Errol can do that. He does voices,’ Calum said.
‘It’s not Errol.’
‘No.’
‘This man wears glasses. He’s got black hair.’
‘Errol’s a good actor though. I remember him doing the
hunchback of Notre Dame when I was a kid. Even his voice was hunchbacked, you know.’
‘It’s not Errol.’
‘He got the girl — I forget her name but it was Mum — he got her on his back, on top of his hump, and rescued her. Ran off stage.’
‘He’s not big enough.’
‘He is when he acts. I feel sorry for him.’
‘Why?’
‘His wife’s gone to hospital. It’s her liver or kidneys or something. Mum says this time she won’t come out.’
‘He’s got his dog,’ Ailsa said.
‘Yeah.’ Calum grinned, showing crooked teeth. ‘Poor old Errol.’ He lifted his bad leg with his hands and put it down in a new place. ‘Anyway, are you going to try some serves?’
‘Calum!’ Ailsa said. She’d had a small idea; but suddenly it was huge, flashing lights in every direction.
‘What?’ he said.
‘It could be Errol.’
‘How?’
‘If he saw Gloria on the train and fell in love with her. Men do that.’
‘He’s got a wife.’
‘It doesn’t matter. She’s sick.’
‘Yeah, but —’
‘How did the man on the bike know my name? Errol knows. He knows I’m Scotch.’
‘You said he had black hair.’
‘Actors wear wigs. They can have fake glasses too, with plain glass for the lens.’
‘Yeah, maybe.’
‘What’s the time?’
He looked at his watch. ‘Quarter to five.’
‘If he’s on the unit he has to get off at Waterloo.’
‘So?’
‘I want to see him again.’
‘What, stand and watch him come off the train. He’ll think you’re mad.’
‘He won’t see me. And if he does, I’m just sort of passing by with you.’
‘Not with me.’
‘You mean you won’t come?’
‘It’s stupid. Anyway, he’s our next door neighbour. We’ve known him for years.’
‘I’ll go by myself.’
She clamped her tennis racket with her schoolbag on the bike.
‘Hey, wait on.’
‘I’ve got to hurry.’
‘OK. I’ll ride with you. But I’m not spying.’
He could not ride as fast as her. He held her back. The unit was pulling in at Waterloo when they arrived. They stood over the road and watched as passengers stepped out. Ailsa wondered if Gloria had been on the same train. She would have reached House 4 by now and be safe inside.
Errol Parkinson strolled on to the platform with his folded newspaper in his hand. He looked down the line to Woburn, then settled his hat on his head. He was a neat civil servant, every inch, and Ailsa felt her certainty vanish. No matter how good at acting he was he could not turn himself into a shabby man on a bike.
‘What now?’ Calum said.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Shall I say begorra to him?’
‘Calum, it’s not a joke. Whoever it is could hurt Gloria.’
‘Yeah, but not old Errol. Gidday, Mr Parkinson.’
Errol Parkinson looked around, surprised.
‘Ah, young Calum. What are you doing here?’
‘Going home from tennis. We play at the public courts.’
‘I’m glad your leg’s improved that much. And this is your young lady. Yes —’ stopping Calum — ‘we’ve met. Hello, Ailsa.’
‘Hello,’ she said.
‘It’s a roundabout way to go home. It is the Woburn hostels where you live?’
‘Yes.’
‘Remarkable.’ He smiled, showing his horsey teeth; transforming himself from a civil servant into — what? Ailsa stared.
‘I was telling her you do voices, Mr Parkinson. And you used to act with Mum,’ Calum said.
‘In my salad days,’ Errol Parkinson said. ‘Well, I must be going. I do hope your tennis is improving, Ailsa.’ He raised his hat to her. His hair, silvery gold on his pink scalp, flashed in the sun. He walked away.
‘He knows it’s fishy us being here,’ Calum said.
‘Calum, it is him. I know.’
‘How?’
She could see herself riding down Cambridge Terrace, hear his spokes ticking; and see him smile at her in the light from the street lamp.
‘By his teeth.’
‘What?’
‘They’re the same. Errol’s and the man on the bike.’
‘Ah, come on.’
‘I saw them when he smiled at me last night. And he smiled just now.’
‘That’s not proof.’
‘Are you on my side, or what?’
‘Not with teeth.’
Ailsa saw that he was getting angry. But she was angry too, and afraid. Errol Parkinson, walking away from them in his grey suit, had shifted into his everyday role. She felt him playing games with her mind. He turned the corner without looking back and went from sight.
‘If you tell that to the cops they’ll think you’re barmy,’ Calum said.
‘He didn’t like it when you said you told me he did voices. Has he got a bike?’
‘He used to have one. It was a big old Raleigh. But that’s not proof.’
‘I don’t know if it was a Raleigh. I think it had gears.’
Calum shrugged. ‘It’s a waste of time. Anyway, I’ve got to go home.’
‘Is it your leg?’
‘Not everything I do is my leg. Do you want to play tennis tomorrow or not?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Just as well. You’ll never beat her.’ He got on his bike and rode away.
Well, bugger him, Ailsa thought. But she felt as if he’d snatched away something that he’d promised — his liking and his company — and she started back to the hostel as though going somewhere she didn’t belong. Riding brought back the Irishman, brought Errol back, and soon he grew stronger than Calum in her mind. Being other people was what Errol did: an Englishman in the tropics when he sat with his drink and panama hat in the summer house; a civil servant reading his paper on the train; and an Irish/Scottish prowler on a bike. Maybe he was the one who had said, ‘Will I do?’ through the open window, using a George Sanders voice. He could have been spying on the hostels for years. And now he had found his heart’s desire.
But where was the proof? Having the same sort of teeth would not do.
She reached House 4 and was wheeling her bike through the gate when her mother opened the window and called, ‘Ailsa, there’s someone on the phone for you.’
‘Who …?’
‘I think it’s Calum.’
She hurried up the stairs.
‘Hey, come out and meet me,’ Calum said.
‘I just did. You rode away.’
‘Yeah, I’m sorry.’
‘If that’s all it is you can say it over the phone.’
‘No, listen. I thought of something while I was riding home. It’s about Errol.’
‘What?’
‘I can’t talk here. Come out and meet me for a minute. Half way. I’ll be riding down Oxford Terrace.’
‘Calum,’ Mrs Page said distantly, ‘you’re not going out.’
‘Ten minutes,’ Calum said into the phone. He hung up.
‘Ten minutes, Mum,’ Ailsa called. ‘I’ll be back.’
‘You’ll be late for tea.’
‘Save me some.’
She ran out to her bike and rode away; went across the overbridge; set off along Oxford Terrace. Soon she saw Calum riding towards her. He crossed the road and stopped on the footpath. Ailsa thought he looked exhausted.
‘Mum’s mad at me,’ he said.
‘Because of me?’
‘No, my leg. She reckons I’m using it too much, I’ll mess it up.’
‘Will you?’
‘I’m all right. Listen, Ailsa. It’s about Errol and his acting. I remembered it riding home. About four years ago they did a festival of one-act plays. Mum dragged me and Helen along.’
‘Yes?’
‘Errol wrote one of them. He acted in it too. It got nowhere, it was stupid.’
‘What was it about?’
‘There was this guy who loved this girl. She was supposed to be too good for him. Poor, you know, but sort of superior. Pure and spouting poetry and stuff. And this poor dope kept writing notes to her.’
‘Yes?’
‘In coloured pencil. Blue for her name — it was Dorothea or something — and red for being in love with her and black for sad. He got her in the end. God, it was stupid.’
‘Calum …’
‘Yeah, I know. It’s the same sort of notes your room-mate gets.’
‘So it must be him.’
‘I reckon.’
‘What shall we do?’
‘There’s no one I can tell it to. They’d laugh.’
‘We could tell the police.’
‘They’d laugh too. They just want to catch him while he’s looking in the window.’
‘I’ll talk to Gloria.’
‘Do that.’ He winced. Ailsa saw how he leaned on his bike to keep his balance.
‘Calum, your leg?’
‘Yeah, it’s sore.’
‘Go home. I’ll ride with you.’
‘No, that would really make Mum throw a wobbly. We’ll think about it, eh? Old Errol’s a beaut. Will I see you tomorrow?’
‘I’ll try.’
‘Ailsa. Be careful around there.’
He rode away, pedalling with his good leg and letting the bad one dangle. She watched until he turned out of sight. She wished she could have found something special to say to him. He had said something special to her. But the other thing he’d given her had put her in a turmoil — excitement, fear and anger all at once. Errol was the prowler, there was no doubt now.
‘I’ve got a letter,’ Gloria said.
‘Not another one?’
‘Oh, not him. Ailsa, it’s from Auckland. From my sister.’
‘The one who ran away?’
‘Kathleen. She wants me to go up there and share a flat. She’s got a job as a secretary.’
‘How did she get your address?’
‘From Mum. They’ve been writing secret letters. That’ll teach Dad.’
‘Will you go?’
‘I might when I’ve finished my training. Isn’t it wonderful though. My sister’s come back to life.’
‘It’s great,’ Ailsa said, but somehow it seemed small news alongside what she knew.
They hurried along to dinner, Gloria with the letter, which she read again. She ate lumpy mashed potato without seeming to notice. Ailsa had never seen her looking so pretty. Her mouth made a smile not a pout.
