England's Lane

by Joseph Connolly

  Even as he fell out of the back door of his shop, Stan was thinking quite feverishly: the boy, the boy—I can’t, I shouldn’t, I can’t just be leaving the boy! Have to, though—got to get out of there now. Such a scene …! Christ Alive—what an unholy scene that now I’ve just got to run away from. My face … the whole of my face is stuck with sweat, and yet when I go to wipe it, I’m feeling so cold. Shivering, I think—but it could be still just the tremble in my hands. I’m holding them both out in front of me now as I’m scuttling down the Lane—my heels on the pavement, it’s sounding like pistols—and useless, they’re looking: plain useless, they are, the both of my hands. And the night—couldn’t tell you if it’s an icy one: got no coat on and I’m boiling inside of me. Even hotter now that I’m barging my way to the bar of the Washington. Haven’t been in here for just so many years, and already now I’m remembering why. The beery hot breath of it, that gets you in the neck. This sweltering crush of men in their big gray belted gaberdines with an Evening Standard poking out of the pockets—folded to the racing, folded to the pools. The clatter and the stink of it. Smoke gets in your eyes. Doesn’t matter, though—it’s the drink I’m wanting. Once I get a couple of Scotches inside of me, I’ll maybe be calming down a bit.

  “Mr. Miller, isn’t it? Sweetshop, yeh?”

  “Yeh. Whisky please. Scotch. Large one.”

  “Don’t see you in here very much, do we?”

  “No. Whisky, yes? Large one?”

  “Quite a stranger.”

  “Mm.”

  “Haig all right?”

  “Black & White …?”

  “Don’t do Black & White, mate. White Horse? Vat 69? Bell’s, we got.”

  “Fine. Doesn’t matter. Haig. Fine.”

  “Oh so now you do want Haig. You want to make your mind up.”

  “Haig. Large one. Now.”

  “Yeh all right—you just hold your horses, will you? Some people. Want soda? Water with it? Something else?”

  “No. Just. That. Christ Alive …!”

  And it’s so bloody small even once you manage to get hold of it. And I’m ordering another from this red-faced man with his big raw hands who is eyeing me now with this open contempt which I’ve seen on people’s faces before—I don’t know why that’s all I ever seem to get from anyone. And now I’ve got that one down me as well—so I’ll get in just the one more, and then I’ve got to pull myself together, haven’t I? Work out what it is I’m going to do next. Be a man about it. Show some gumption. There’s nowhere to sit, though … couple of benches over the far side with a few old biddies sprawling all over them—cackling like witches, they are. Knocking back the port and lemon, gray little curls falling out of the hairpins: what an example to set, I ask you. What sort of mothers can they be? You just hope their children never get to see it. Yes so anyway … I suppose I’ll just stay standing where I am, then. Might as well. No real point in moving. Jammed all over. Handy by the bar anyway, for when I’m needing another.

  “Well blimey—this is a right bleeding turn-up and no mistake …! What you doing in here then, Stan? Ay? Ain’t never clapped eyes on you in here before, have I? Ay? No, not never. Here, Charlie—knows old Stan, does you?”

  “Yeh—wotcha, Stan. Gets my fags off of you, don’t I? Forty Capstan, regular as clockwork.”

  “Yeh—me and all. That’s how he affording the Scotches, ay? Nice for some. Look at us, Stan—two poor miserable bleeding bastards, ay? Both of us only got the leavings of a pint of Bass.”

  “Hello … Jim.”

  “Yeh. So what’s up with you then, Stan? Letting rip, is you? Having a bit of a night out? Bit of a knees-up? Painting the town wossname, is you? That’s the sort of style, is it?”

  “No I … not really. Just, you know—fancied a drink, that’s all. Think I’ll maybe have another one, actually. Lot on my mind. Oh, um—can I get you a, um …?”

  “Very handsome of you, Stan. That’s dead handsome of him, ain’t it Charlie? Ta very much—don’t mind if I do, you twisting my arm. Well we’ll join you on the Scotches then, ay? Keep you company. Funny old world, really—I were only just saying to Charlie, weren’t I Charlie? How it always the same old faces what you get in here. Weren’t I just saying that to you, Charlie?”

  “You was, Jim. You was. He were, Stan.”

  “Yeh and then who go and pop up but good old Stan here. Funny old world, ay? Ooh—lovely, that is. Liquid gold. Keep the chill out, ay Charlie? Just what the doctor ordered. Better than any hot-water bottle, that is. Here Stan—Charlie and me, we just been thinking we might sort of, er—go on some place else, kind of thing. Bit later on. Ay, Charlie?”

  “Yeh, Jim. Some place else. One way of putting it …”

  “Just wondering whether my dear old mate Stan here might quite like the idea … What you reckon, Stan? Up for a bit of that, might you be?”

  “Um … sorry, Jim—I don’t quite, um … what are you talking about? I don’t know what you’re saying. I feel a bit, um … I want to buy one more of these, if I can just get that man’s attention …”

  “Here, Reg! Hoi! Reg! Over here, mate! Good lad. This is Reg, Stan. You met? Yeh? Reg—Stan. There we go. Who would like three more Scotches off of you—and maybe one for Reg and all, ay Stan? What you say? Yeh? That’s the style. You’re a real good bloke, you are. Diamond. Ain’t he, Charlie? Don’t you reckon? Yeh—see? That’s what Charlie think and all. Diamond. Now see, Stan … about that other thing. I mean. I don’t know how you fixed, like. At home, sort of style … Missus, and that. But from what I heard, well …”

  “What? What have you heard?”

  “Here here—keep your hair on, Stan …! What wrong with you?”

  “You can’t possibly have heard. What have you heard? Unless it was Milly. But she wouldn’t. Not Milly. She wouldn’t ever. Was it Milly? Was it? Has Milly been talking to you, Jim? She hasn’t been talking to you, has she?”

  “Mill? Nah. Don’t know what you saying. And she don’t much, if I’m honest. Talk to me. Not much. Nor do nothing else, if you gets my drift. Not for me, any road. Nah—not for me. Something I got to look into, matter of fact. Yeh well—never mind all that. But it’s all that what I’m sort of like … kind of on about, see? Not to beat about the wossname. See what it is, Stan—there’s these two gels. That right, Charlie?”

  “Yeh. Lovely, they is. Aggie—that’s the one for me. Do anything for you, Aggie will. And ever so pleasant with it.”

  “Yeh. Reckon she’d suit our Stan here right down to the ground, Aggie would. What you say, Charlie? Here—don’t mind, does you?”

  “Nah. Can’t get down there tonight anyway. Skint, aren’t I? Cheers, Stan—your very good health, sah! Scholar and a gentleman. Ooh yeh lovely—hit the spot, that do.”

  “What … you mean—women who …?”

  “Yeh. You got it. Ain’t he, Charlie? He twigged now, ain’t he? Women what does. Nutshell. And I ain’t talking charring neither. Think about it. All right? Take you down there, you fancy it. And they better than a hot-water bottle, and all—tell you that. Put hairs on your chest. Have a couple more, maybe, and then we’s can have ourselves a little wander down there, you like the idea. Ever so near. Adelaide Road. Just over from the bus stop, there. Telling you, Stan—make a man of you, Aggie will.”

  “Let’s go. Let’s do it. Let’s go now. Show some gumption. Do it! Do it! What are we waiting for? Let’s just do it now …!”

  “Ay …? Blimey! Listen to it, Charlie! You hearing all of this, is you? We got a right keen one here, ain’t we? Dear oh me. So all right then, Stan—listen: we’ll have us just the one more for the road then, ay? And I’ll slip round the back—give them a quick ring. Don’t want to be walking in on nothing. Got any pennies on you, Stan? For the phone, like? Then you can get us in a last one, and we’s off. It thirty bob they’re wanting, you wondering. Each, like. Got thirty bob on you, Stan? Yeh? Good lad. Only you ain’t got, say—three quid, has you? It’s just I’m a
bit short. Yeh? You does? Right then, Stan—Trojan. What a time we’s going to have, ay? So what about you then, Charlie?”

  “Me—nah. I’m buggering off home, aren’t I? Had a right skinful, I have. Them Scotches just about done me in. Get my head down. Be out like a light. So yeh look—I’ll see you then, Jim. All right? Tomorrow night, shouldn’t wonder. See you Stan, yeh? Ta for the Scotches. Be in in the morning for my Capstans, ay? Here—that reminds me, Jim … ain’t got a fag, has you? Just smoked my last one, haven’t I?”

  “You don’t get no better, does you Charlie? Ay? Telling you, Stan—Charlie, he don’t get no better. No matter how many Senior bleeding Service he have off of you, still I got to be giving him another one. Reckon he owe me about a million quidsworth.”

  “Write you a check, Jim.”

  “Yeh—bugger off Charlie, can’t you? Here—take it: that’s your last, you bleeder, I’m telling you. Here Stan—talking of fags, something you can maybe tell me, ay? You ever seen black ones, have you? Don’t mean whiffs nor nothing—fags, proper fags, yeh? But with all black paper on them and a tip what’s gold, if you can believe it.”

  “Gold? Nah—never, Jim! Having us on …”

  “Telling you, Charlie—I seen it. Yeh so what about it, Stan?”

  “Let’s go. Now, Jim. Do it! Do it! Let’s just do it. What are we waiting for?”

  “Right you are then, Stan—right you are. Blimey—never seen a bloke so keen. So look, what I’ll do—I’ll go and give them a little ring then, yeh? And you get us in a last one, ay? Good lad. Oh yeh, and Stan—you got some pennies then, yeh …?”

  I don’t really remember it, you know. No, not really—the journey down there to Adelaide Road. I think we might have had a few more, Jim and me. In that pub. In that horrible pub. He only put the brakes on me when he thought I might not have enough money left for what was to come after: read him like an open book. No … I’m really straining now, and I can’t—can’t at all remember it, the journey down there. Not even certain I could take you to the right door. Down a few steps, that I am fairly sure of. Cozy little place. They’d made it very cozy, the two girls who live there. Not sure then what happened to Jim, exactly—he seemed to have just sort of drifted off, and I wasn’t too sorry to be seeing the back of him, that much I do recall. He’s friendly enough, Jim—I’m not saying he’s unfriendly. It’s just that he grates on you, after a while. And especially then, after all I’d been through. And then the drink. No … I wasn’t at my best, it’s fair to say. One thing that really did begin to irritate me, though … I might even have let fly at him about it, I’m not too sure. But the way he talks, the way he’s putting things—he always ends up asking you all these stupid questions. Like “hear me, do you Stan?” Well of course I bloody well hear him: not deaf, am I? And he’ll ask you if you know what he’s saying, what he’s meaning, what it is he’s on about—and then of course you have to keep on saying to him Yes Jim, Yes Jim—like you’re, I don’t know—some sort of a parrot, or something. Or his bloody budgie, Cyril. You just find yourself doing it. Reflex—is that what they call it? I suppose that’s what it is. And you hear yourself going Yes Jim, Yes Jim and you think you could lose your bloody mind. “You got a fair old drink there, ain’t you Stan?” Yes Jim. “Go in the door now, will we?” Yes Jim. “Here, Stan—you’re a right one, ain’t you?” Yes Jim. Yes bloody Jim. Christ Alive—fair gets on your wick.

  Anyway—it was lovely, really, just to be shot of him. And then there was Aggie … Aggie, she did seem to be ever such a kind person. Brought me a nice big cup of Cadbury’s Drinking Chocolate, a thing I’m always rather partial to. Settled the stomach a bit. Lost track of how many Scotches I had in the end. And then she was sort of stroking my brow. Which was nice. I was in an armchair by the little gas fire, and she was sitting … I don’t know—on the back of it? On the arm? Well wherever she was, I couldn’t quite see her, not all of her I couldn’t, and she was stroking my brow. And it made me think. How long is it? Since a woman so much as touched me? How many years? How many years? The only touch I had is when I went and kissed Milly, like the damned fool I am. And where did that get me, I’d like to know. She probably hates me now. Must do. And if she doesn’t … well then soon she will. That’s for sure. Because I didn’t, did I? Do what she said. No. I’m not at all sure I’ve been a man about it.

  “Fancy a bit of a lie down, do you Bert? Nice relaxing lie down—how’s that sound …?”

  “Wonderful. Sounds wonderful, Aggie. It’s Stan, my name. Not Bert, no. I’m Stan.”

  “Course you are, Stan. Course you are. Let’s just go into the other room then, shall we …?”

  “Not sure I can stand …”

  “Your Aggie’ll help you. Won’t she, dear? You lean on me, eh? Have you there in no time.”

  And I suppose, then, that’s what must have happened. Though how she took my weight I’ll never know, because she was only a little slip of a thing. And then I was on this bed, divan sort of a bed, and Aggie—lovely pink cheeks, she had, bright and shiny eyes—she was smiling at me. Perfume—I liked the perfume she had on. Like a garden, full of flowers.

  “Right then, dear. Comfy, are we? Nice and comfy? That’s the way. Now let’s just see what we have here then, shall we …? There, my love … like that, do you? Nice, is it …?”

  “Yes Jim.”

  “Ay …?”

  “Nothing. Nothing.”

  “Bit tired—that it, dear?”

  “Am tired, yes. Had quite an evening of it, really …”

  “Couple of drinks with your mates, eh?”

  “Couple, yes. Something like that.”

  “Well I expect that’s it then, lovey. Don’t you worry about it. Quite normal, you know. Oh yes. See it all the time.”

  “Normal? Is it? It’s not really though, is it? Normal. Not really.”

  “Course it is, dear. Don’t you worry.”

  “I think you are very … attractive …”

  “Well aren’t you the perfect gentleman.”

  “So why can’t I …? I want to. Do it. Just do it …!”

  “Blame it on the distillery, dear. Not your fault—course it’s not.”

  “I think, Aggie … I’ll go now, then. Things to see to.”

  “All right then, dear. If you’re sure. Well now … why don’t we just call it fifteen bob, then? All right? Under the circumstances.”

  And then … well then I found myself fumbling about with the lock on the back door of my shop. Heaven knows how I got there. I remember her waving me off, waving me away. Holding that shiny red gown around her, and standing in the doorway. “Bye, Bert …!” she went—and she kissed me on the cheek. Well look—it’s the thought that counts. And I do wonder, though—I have to—if it was the drink. Or if it was something else. You sometimes just have to wonder about yourself, really. So anyway … somehow got myself up the stairs. Didn’t make a noise. Crept into Anthony’s room—had a little look. Peaceful. All quite peaceful. And then I went in to see Janey. Quiet as the grave in there. Oh yes. Peaceful as you like.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Art of Persuasion

  Have you ever, I wonder, heard the tale of the shadowy and unspeakable creatures who happily will compensate the more lowly and gullible, the needy people, in easy exchange for attending to—as it is customarily termed—their “dirty work” …? The moneyed and well-suited gentleman bruisers …? If not, you will surely have heard tell of them. And I am delighted and irremediably relieved to be able to announce that from this very bright and icy morning, now I am firmly of their number: yes indeed—I have joined their despicable ranks. Although it is true that in the past, my past—and in Henley, most certainly—I had not the least hesitation, no qualm whatever, over personally seeing to any little necessity, taking a certain measure, the immediate need for which might unforesee-ably have arisen during the day-to-day running of what, by this stage of the proceedings, I had come to regard as being my business, and my
business solely (this headstrong attitude of mine being the source, I suppose, the fountainhead, of the subsequent … well now—shall we call it a rift? Rift, yes—which very rapidly yawned and deepened into a fathomless chasm of mutual sin, then ultimate depravity). No … I did not at all mind taking care of any such things—indeed, one might even say with not inconsiderable justification that positively I relished it. While always remaining rather tediously aware, of course, that intimidation, even physical harm—the threat of it, or its execution—if it is to be inflicted upon so very evidently inferior a victim … then it all and always was so very effortlessly accomplished: elderly ladies bound by correctness, embarrassment, the necessity for manners … inarticulate and greedy legatees, a legion of casually ignorant and slaveringly avaricious idiots …? Barely challenging, I think we can agree.