England's Lane

by Joseph Connolly

  “Come here—come over here, Paul, and let me give you a great big kiss …!”

  And he rushed to me, my little angel …! His eyes were glassy, his mouth sprung open into seemingly spontaneous glee. As I hugged him that closely, my eyes were so impossibly tightly compressed—and the tears, at last, they seeped out warmly before they tumbled, and I felt then so very utterly relieved—so loose, and quite unburdened. And when he pulled away from me, still he was beaming, and so very broadly. It appeared—oh thank you, Lord: thank you thank you thank you!—it really did appear as if somehow I had stemmed the tide: averted the sea that had risen to engulf us.

  “Why are you crying, Auntie Milly …?”

  “Not crying. Not a bit. Just happy, that’s all. Happy because I love you, Paul—I love you, I love you, I love you …! I have always loved you, and I always shall. How could you ever think anything else …? I love you more than any single thing on God’s sweet earth …! And I am just so happy that you are happy too. You are, aren’t you Paul? Happy? Yes …?”

  “I am. Course I am. Why shouldn’t I be? I knew you loved me really … I know I said all that, but I didn’t really think you didn’t, honestly Auntie Milly—and I was telling that to Amanda. Not long ago we were talking and I said that to her. And she said she was too—she said she was happy too and she really likes it because her mommy and daddy, they both love her. She says they’re always laughing and everything at home and there’s always these really special and expensive chocolates that Mr. Barton gets. He actually gets them for Mrs. Barton because she really likes them, but Amanda’s allowed to eat them as well. I think I know the ones she means—they’re in the glass sort of counter thing in Mr. Miller’s, funny kind of mauve bits on top, and Anthony says they cost two-and-eleven a quarter which you could get thirty-five chews or seventy Black Jacks for, which I do actually know because we both worked it out. And he laughed, Anthony was laughing when I said it’s just as well Mr. Miller never lets big fat Sally from Lindy’s anywhere near all those expensive chocs because she’d either eat the lot or else smash up the counter and then go and squish them all into the floor, like she always does.”

  And even as I continued to hold my special boy so very very close to me … even as I still was wincing away from such poisonous barbs already pricking at and burning the warm complexion of my new-discovered joy … still, oh God help me, did I find myself most shamefully yearning for him, the smell of him, the touch of his hands all over my body: it was Jonathan still whom I longed to be holding …! I gasped—I gasped, and I stepped away quickly, in the grip of such terrible shock. I had received my boy back into my arms, and all my thoughts were just to lustily grapple with a man who is lost to me. What vile manner of unspeakable she-devil had now I become …?!

  “And another thing Amanda said—and she’s really right, but I hadn’t thought of it before. Well I had, but I never said. It’s that all of you talk the same, and it’s really nice, the way you talk. I mean, you and her parents, obviously. Not Uncle Jim. Obviously. But you do, you know—you sound more and more the same. That’s what Amanda and me think. I’d sort of noticed, but not really, if you know what I mean. It was only when Amanda said that I realized. I wish I knew all the words you know. The way you and Mr. Barton sort of describe things. But I will one day, won’t I Auntie Milly? Anthony says he’s decided to become a famous author when he grows up, but I’d be better, wouldn’t I? Don’t you think? I’d be more famous, wouldn’t I? Auntie Milly …? Auntie Milly …? You’re crying again. What’s wrong? Have I said something wrong? Didn’t mean to. Don’t cry … Please don’t. I really do like the way you talk. Both of you. I mean it. Honestly. I really really like it …”

  “School, Paul. Yes? I’ve just got a weepy eye, that’s all—must have got some washing-up soap in it. And you haven’t said anything wrong at all. Of course you haven’t. Tell you what—I’ll go to the Dairies today, yes? Get you some more Corn Flakes. Yes—I thought that would please you. I know we haven’t finished the last lot yet—but it’s just the blue one that you’re missing now, isn’t it? Well maybe in this new packet, who knows? There might be a bright-blue submarine, and then you’ll have the complete set! Won’t you? Anthony will be green! And while I’m in there, I’ll get some fish fingers. For your tea. You’d like that too, wouldn’t you? And a Munchmallow for afterward …? Yes—I thought you would. Now hurry off then, Paul—you don’t want to keep Anthony waiting, do you? Course you don’t. And say hello to Mr. Miller from me, will you? Yes? Won’t forget? Good boy. Well off you go, then. One more kiss. There. Got everything? Satchel? All right, then. Bye bye, Paul. Bye bye. See you very soon. Just one more kiss … There. I love you … oh I do so love you …”

  Well all that was a bit funny—bit odd, really. She keeps on crying all the time, I don’t really know why. Well I sort of do, I suppose, because of what Amanda told me—but Amanda said she looked really happy, Auntie Milly, when she saw her, so I don’t really get what there is to cry about, except that ladies do that because you see it on the television in things like Emergency Ward 10 which is on just before Take Your Pick which I’d really like to be on because they dole out piles of money if you don’t open the box, and if you do open the box you win stuff, and then there’s the yes-no interlude when if you say yes or no they bash a gong but if you don’t, then they give you more money. I think it’s better than Double Your Money though because on that you have to know the answers to questions but I like Hughie Green because he’s funny.

  We were on Primrose Hill when Amanda said it to me.

  “Paul … there’s something, and I don’t know if I should tell you. God, you know—I’m absolutely freezing …! Shall we move, do you think? Walk a bit?”

  “Yes, if you like. We can go down the other side and then round the long way, if you want. So what were you saying about …?”

  “Well I was saying I don’t know if I should tell you or not.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Oh honestly, Paul! That’s what I don’t know whether I should or not. Tell you. Haven’t you been listening?”

  “Yes I was. Have been. I have been listening. I just don’t know what you’re on about, that’s all. Do you want another sherbet lemon? I’ve got just two left.”

  “Okay—let’s walk, then. Feet are like ice. Well it’s just that I saw your auntie. That’s all. Thought you might want to know.”

  “My auntie? You saw her? What do you mean?”

  “With my daddy, I mean. In his office.”

  “His office. I didn’t know he had an office. But I suppose everybody does. In the Lane. Have some sort of an office, don’t they? Uncle Jim’s is like a dustbin. Did you say you didn’t want a sherbet lemon …?”

  “No I don’t. I don’t really like them, actually. Haven’t you got anything else?”

  “Afraid not. I’ve got a Black Jack but the paper’s half come off and it’s gone a bit yucky. Don’t think you’d like it. I did have some liquorice comfits, but they’re all gone now. What was Auntie Milly doing in your dad’s office, then? Paying for something, or something?”

  “No—they were having a very nice time, it looked like. It’s a jolly shame you haven’t actually got any of those liquorice comfits left, Paul, because I really do like them, liquorice comfits. One of my favorites.”

  “I can maybe get some more tomorrow. Not sure I want to go to Mr. Miller’s now though, what with Anthony the way he is. Oh and they’re shut tomorrow anyway. Sunday.”

  “Do you want to know about your auntie or not? I feel a bit better now we’re moving. I was turning into a statue up there. Not literally, obviously. The branches of the trees … they look really lovely, don’t they? All bare and black and wintry. I did them like that once in Art with charcoal.”

  “Yes I do want to know. Course I do. What were they doing, then?”

  “Well … laughing, and things. Having a drink of something.”

  “Oh really? That’s nice. I didn’t actual
ly know that they knew one another. I mean—apart from Auntie Milly buying our chops and chicken and things, obviously. But it’s good they do, isn’t it? That they know each other. Don’t you think? Because we do, don’t we? Know each other. So it’s good that they do too, I think. Don’t you?”

  “Let’s go under the trees, shall we? So beautiful. Yes and then they kissed. It was all very romantic. Like in those ancient films Mommy watches on Sunday afternoons. And her books. She reads all these books, and they’ve always got a man and a woman on the cover, holding each other and wearing really lovely clothes. Did you hear me, Paul? I said they kissed.”

  “I … yes, I heard you. I just don’t know quite what you mean …”

  “What do you mean you don’t know what I mean! I mean they kissed! They kissed! They gave each other a kiss. Do you know what that is …? It’s like … well look—close your eyes …”

  “What …?”

  “Close your eyes, Paul …”

  “What …? Close my eyes? What for …?”

  “Close them.”

  “But why should I close them, Amanda? You’re not going to play some beastly trick on me, are you?”

  “Oh God just close your eyes, can’t you Paul …! Right. At last. There, now … There. Did you like that, Paul? Did you …? I did …”

  “I … oh my gosh. You kissed me! You actually kissed me, Amanda …! Oh thank you. Yes I did. I liked it a lot. Really did. Really did. Yes I really did … I’m really sorry I didn’t close my eyes when you told me to, Amanda—it’s just that you see I didn’t know what on earth you were talking about …”

  “Wanted to for ages … except that they weren’t kissing like that. My Daddy and your Auntie.”

  “They weren’t?”

  “No. They did it with mouths.”

  “Oh right. Well what did you just use, then …?”

  “No—no, stupid. I mean mouths. Both their mouths. They did it on the mouth.”

  “Mouth? Really? Are you sure? Because I don’t think that’s actually allowed, is it? Because they’re not married. Well—they are, obviously, but not to … um …”

  “Right on the mouth. With lips. Like this, Paul … like this … like this … yes, just like that. Are you all right? Are you? Give me your hand, Paul. Are you all right …? Give me your hand …”

  “I am. I am all right, thank you for asking. Are you all right, Amanda …?”

  “Give me your hand, Paul.”

  “Why? I mean—right you are, then. Here it is …”

  “Oh God, Paul—take your glove off …!”

  “It’s really freezing …”

  “I’ll make it warm. Come here, Paul. I’ll make it warm. Promise.”

  And she jolly well did—keep her promise, Amanda. She opened up her coat and I said but oh look you’ll get cold Amanda, and she put my hand on her leg just under her frock and then she started sliding it—right up to her knickers, actually, which she said were her best and special ones—and I said oh my gosh, Amanda—someone might see us! Someone could be watching! And she said no, shh, no one’s watching, nobody can see anything and so what if they can … and then she touched me at my front and I felt really sick inside, and that was just so great. Really really great—can’t explain. And I’ve been thinking about it all. Well obviously. Haven’t been thinking about anything else. And what I’ve decided is that it’s really nice if Amanda and me are kissing, and her father and Auntie Milly are kissing—I think it’s really nice. A bit like a Keats poem or something which we’re doing in English. I asked her though, Amanda, what would her mother think about it, how she might feel, because she’s married to Mr. Barton, and she said that she already knows because she always does, which I don’t know quite what she meant. And then she said that everybody in the whole of the Lane knows—that everyone does. So that must mean then that Uncle Jim, he must know too. Well I don’t suppose anybody minds what he’s feeling. Don’t suppose he ever feels anything. Maybe Mr. Barton will biff him on the nose and take him by the scruff of his neck and chuck him down the stairs and then dust off his hands afterward: maybe now, me and Auntie Milly, we can get rid of him. He deserves it. Doesn’t he? Of course he does. Because look—if he’s so disgusting, why shouldn’t my Auntie Milly go and kiss somebody who isn’t? I don’t know why it makes her cry, though. If that’s what it is that makes her cry. Don’t understand. Because when Amanda kissed me … and when I touched her like that … and then when she touched me … I didn’t want to cry. It was such a freezing afternoon and I was so red and hot, and all I wanted was to laugh and laugh and laugh. And I had a secret now. A really proper grown-up secret. Everybody knows about Mr. Barton and Auntie Milly, but nobody knows about Amanda and me. And I like that. Except I had to tell Anthony, obviously. I told him all of it. Knickers and everything. I did just because I wanted to, and there was nobody else I could tell. And he looked at me—just looked at me at first. And then he started crying. It was in the middle of break in the changing room, and he cried and cried and cried. I couldn’t say anything to stop him. I tried to say that if anyone came in they’d laugh and say what a baby he is and maybe cuff him round the head and give him a Chinese burn and pinch one of his crutches and then go and tell everybody about it, but that didn’t work. Nothing did. So I just left him, in the end.

  “Stan …? Stan …? Hello …? Are you there, Stan …? Oh God … Look, I’m trying not to make much noise, because of Anthony. Yes …? It’s Milly, Stan. Where are you …? Oh do come on, Stan—I can’t go on whispering like this—I can’t be any louder. And the light—the light on the landing, Stan. It isn’t working …”

  Oh Lord in heaven—this really is just too too typical of the man. He’s on the telephone to me like some sort of a stuttering lunatic simply beseeching me to visit, and then when I—all right, yes, with quite some considerable reluctance, finally agree to it, does he then just decently thank me and politely replace the receiver? Oh no. He’s pressing me then for a time: now, Milly? Can you come right now? Right this minute, yes? That would be prime. No? You can’t? You really can’t? Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear. Well when, then? Soon, yes? You will come really soon, won’t you Milly? Oh Christ Alive, Milly—please God come soon …! Yes well: I’m here now, Stan, aren’t I? I’ve been blundering about downstairs in this awful perpetual twilight they do seem to so much enjoy here, I can’t for the life of me think why. But now that I’ve somehow groped and clambered my way up to the top of this deathtrap staircase, it’s pretty much pitch. So that single remaining and dimly miserable lightbulb in one of the cockeyed wall sconces must finally have surrendered, thus marking the end, then, of all illumination within the Miller ménage from now until quite possibly the whole of eternity.

  “Milly …? Milly …? Is that you …?”

  “Oh—at last! A chink of light amid the gloom! Well of course it’s me, Stan—who do you think it is? For heaven’s sake! Who else might you have been expecting at this time of the evening? Cliff Richard and The Shadows? Honestly, Stan. Open the door a bit wider, won’t you … then at least I’ll be able to see where I’m going …”

  “Sorry, Milly. Christ Alive, though—I’m that pleased to see you. And I’m sorry about the light. It went. It went pop, just like that, while I was down in the hall, telephoning you. I know I’ve got another one somewhere, lightbulb, but I can’t seem to put my hand to it, just for the moment. Have you been here long? I’m so sorry, Milly. Come in, come in. Now listen … I do hope you won’t be too, well … I just think you ought to prepare yourself, that’s all. That’s all I’m saying. No no—that’s all I’m saying. See for yourself, soon enough. Can’t think why I didn’t hear you earlier, though. I don’t think I dozed off. No—fairly sure I didn’t doze off, but I’ve been thinking a bit, you see. About this and that. In my mind, you know. Yes … I think it’s fair to say that my mind, you see Milly … my mind, yes … well, it’s been elsewhere.”

  Yes: fair to say that. Because I’ve been up here wi
th my Janey, just sitting here quietly, since the time I closed the shop. Even shut a bit early, which I’m hardly given to doing. Only just pulled down the blind on the door—about five-ish it was, I suppose, not too much later—and I’m hearing someone rapping away on the glass. Well I didn’t open up again—ignored it, which fair amazed me. Ducked right down so they couldn’t see me through the window—felt like a fugitive. Noticed a couple of crushed-up boxes of Jelly Babies while I was down there: that’d be Sally from Lindy’s, then: Hippo. Yes so heaven knows which of my customers it was I offended, annoyed like that, but it just had to be done, you see. I’d had enough. I’d had enough, is the truth of it. Because up till then, I’d been keeping things fairly normal. Got Anthony up and off to school with a bowl of Shreddies inside him—was waiting for him to moan at me because it wasn’t Corn Flakes with the bloody submarines inside, but he never did. He did seem a bit funny all round, little lad, but I don’t think it was because he was, I don’t know—sensing something, sort of style: I don’t think it was anything of that order. And Paul too, when he turned up to fetch him, he didn’t seem … well, what do I mean …? He was happy enough in himself all right, but he wasn’t so bright with Anthony as usual. Barely said a word to one another, the two of them, and in the normal way of things they’re gossiping away nineteen to the dozen like a pair of old biddies over the garden fence. Offered Paul a couple of little bits off the penny tray and he says to me “No thank you very much, Mr. Miller—not sure Anthony would like it.” Ever so politely—but that was a funny thing to say to me, wasn’t it? I thought it was. Looked over to Anthony, but he never spoke. So it all seemed strange, of course it did, but me—I had other things to think about, didn’t I? I should say so. And my head …! Christ Alive …! I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. Little bit better after a quick nip of Scotch. And trying, I was—all the time trying to piece together bits of the evening, bits of the night. I remembered the scene in here all right. In this room. Then the Washington. Some of that, I can remember. Bloody Jim, and that friend of his—though I can’t recall his name for love nor money. Lost in the mists, that is. Then we went down to Adelaide Road … and that’s a bit sketchy as well. Except that she was a lovely girl, that Aggie. And yes I do remember her name, of course I do. Fine young woman. Very understanding. And she did me a very choice cup of Cadbury’s Drinking Chocolate, which helped me out a bit. Don’t ask me how much money I tore through: pretty much everything I’d had in the till, and it’s not as if I can afford it, or anything.