We Think the World of You

by J. R. Ackerley

  Not a word about Evie! I noticed that at once. Well really! The easy retraction took me aback almost as much as the angry accusation had done. A few days ago I had been practically turned out of their house for a thief and a liar; now, as though nothing of any consequence had occurred, peace was blandly restored, and presumably cash too! I read the brief note again. Dickie and his revolting lump! And not a word about Evie! This lack of reference to the subject of the dispute troubled my already sore mind like an irritation. Not that any news of her that might have been vouchsafed could have afforded me the smallest satisfaction; I could guess about her, alas, all that could be told; but the fact that she was not mentioned affronted me. Was the controversial subject now closed? Was I being tactfully warned off? The equation was wonderfully simple, I thought, glancing over the letter for the third time: now that we’ve got the dog safely back under lock and key, we—and you—will say no more about her! Was that the medicine I was expected to swallow? If so, they would soon find out their mistake! But why hadn’t Megan phoned? This was Saturday; she must have seen Johnny by now. Had she given him my message? Or—what did she know about all this? She was there, of course, when the lie passed. Perhaps she had not liked to give my message after all; it would automatically expose Tom. Was it not possible—the suspicion flashed upon me—that they’d got at her? Now that I came to think of it she’d visited them on the Easter Sunday after she’d phoned me; it would be natural for her to mention my new plan for the dog. Could they have meddled, to save their faces? “There’s no call to worry the boy. The dog’s perfectly all right.” Had they said something like that to her? No doubt there was a conspiracy and Megan hadn’t given Johnny my message at all! Repugnant though the prospect was, I had better go and see her.

  The inadequate, stained rep curtains were pinned across the front window as usual, to prevent the nosey from looking in—and Johnny perhaps from looking out, for he once told me that if ever he stood, even for a moment, gazing into the street, Megan would be sure to say “What are you sticking out your eyes at? A skirt, I suppose.” If he ignored her she would come to inspect, and woe betide him if some girl did happen to pass just then, for, protest as he might, he would not hear the last of it for the rest of the day. Outside the house little Rita, aged five, was mincing and posturing up and down the pavement with a doll in her arms, engaged in some private game of make-belief. Whose daughter she was was plain enough; both she and her twin sister Gwen, now fortunately removed to their grandmother in Cardiff, had inherited not only Megan’s features and coloring, but also, it seemed to me, the low cunning which, when they were all together, appeared to unite them in a silent conspiracy.

  “Is your mother home from work?” I asked as I passed. Megan, I had gathered from Millie, was helping some crony to run a café somewhere in the Fulham Palace Road. Little Rita studied me for a moment with a dirty finger in her mouth (the wide-eyed stares she bestowed had nothing of the village idiot look of her brother’s), then shook her head. Blast! I thought; should I go home and return later or hang about? Perhaps one of the other tenants would know when she might be expected back. I mounted the steps and rattled the letter-box. Megan opened the door.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said, with a faint smile, standing aside to admit me. “I was just thinking of phoning you.”

  “Your daughter said you were out,” I observed sourly as I passed in.

  “I can’t do nothing with her,” said Megan complacently. I could do something with her, but I did not say so.

  Whatever else might be dubious about Johnny’s wife, there was no question of her condition, I thought with a shudder as I followed her into the front room. It stuck out, as the saying is, a mile. Doubtless the business of creation was a solemn, a sacred, affair; but if I could think of it at all in such terms, I could only think of her as full of another little Gwen-Rita or another Dickie.

  “I was just having a cup of tea,” said she. “Would you like some?”

  I declined stiffly. It was one thing to call, another to accept hospitality. The room, always scantily furnished with such odds and ends as Johnny had managed to add to the marriage suite that Millie had given him and the few objects that had come from me, was even barer than usual. The large clock with which I had presented him soon after he set up house, in the vain hope that he would sometimes glance at its face when he had an appointment with me, the wireless set, the Crusader who turned out to be a cigarette lighter and the metal goose that turned out to be a clothes brush, the gilt mirror and two hideous ornament vases, had disappeared from the mantelpiece and were no doubt back together where they frequently resided severally, in the pawn shop. On the other hand, a photograph of myself that had once held a prominent place until Megan contrived to mislay it was again on exhibition. It was, or had been, a jolly snapshot of myself and Johnny in his naval dress, which I had had enlarged and framed for him. The frame was now occupied by a repulsive colored photograph of Dickie, and I, Johnny cut away, was stuck into a corner beside him. Restoration could hardly go further; clearly Megan thought the world of me now.

  “Sit down,” said she in her toneless way, indicating Johnny’s easy chair. I chose an upright one by the table, as signifying a more formal visit and, removing with my finger-nail some congealed baked beans from its seat, placed myself on that. Megan resumed her chair and teacup by a small flickering fire.

  “How are you?” I asked frigidly.

  She shrugged:

  “Not too bad. It’s dull on your own, you know.” What did she mean by “you know”? “Isn’t it cold today?”

  Women are always cold, I thought, and how did they expect to be anything else, going about as they did with scarcely any clothes on? The very sight of her bare legs chilled me.

  “You’re nice and cozy in here anyway,” I said.

  “I’ve not long lighted it,” she answered quickly, almost defensively, as though I’d accused her of something. “The lady upstairs lent me a mite of coal.”

  “What about your visit to Johnny?”

  “I saw him Wednesday.”

  “You said you would phone me at once.”

  “I was just going to.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he’d be sending you a visit soon.”

  “Yes, yes. What about Evie?”

  “Oh, he says he doesn’t want her to go away.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “I don’t know. It’s what he said.”

  “But he must have given a reason. Did you explain to him properly that it’s a kennel and not a friend?”

  “Yes, I told him.”

  “Well, what did he say?”

  “He said he’d soon be out to look after her himself.”

  “Soon!” I exclaimed. “It’ll be another five months!”

  “Four,” said Megan. “That’s not so long.”

  “It may not be long for him,” I said angrily. “He’s got plenty of four months in his life. But a dog only lives about twelve years. Four months is a large slice out of Evie’s life.” Megan knitted her pallid brows at me. “Are you sure you told him everything I asked you to?”

  “Yes, I told him.”

  “I can’t understand him. Why on earth should he mind? I wish I’d seen him myself. When is the next visit due?”

  “It should be in about two weeks.”

  “I hope I get it. I’m most anxious to speak to him about her.”

  “What’s the matter with her?” asked Megan.

  I opened my mouth. Then I closed it. Then I opened it again.

  “Perhaps you didn’t catch what I told you on the phone?”

  “About her not going out?” said Megan, staring at me with her pale green eyes. I nodded encouragingly. “But I thought you said you’d had her over to Barnes with you?”

  “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “Well, she’s been out, hasn’t she?”

  I contemplated her for a moment in silence. Her black hair was coi
led above one eye in a sort of limp loop. Was the woman half-witted? Or was she fooling me?

  “You think it’s enough for a young dog to have a weekend of exercise once in six months?”

  “I don’t know. I never thought.”

  “I expect you never thought to tell Johnny about it either?”

  “I told him,” she replied tonelessly.

  “That was good of you,” I said with a kind smile, “after they’d asked you not to.” She squinted at me in her focusing way. “Millie and Tom,” I added.

  “They never said nothing.”

  “Oh come now! Not after you talked it over with them on Easter Sunday?”

  “I never said nothing,” said she, poking at the fire.

  “I’m not blaming you at all, you understand.” After a moment I added: “You see Millie says he doesn’t know.”

  “Does she?” Megan fixed her pale eyes on me again.

  “Yes. She says Tom told him different. They thought he had enough to worry him already, she said.” Megan did not speak. “Wasn’t that what they told you when they asked you not to bother him about Evie?”

  “They never said nothing to me,” she replied flaccidly.

  “I feel certain Johnny would have let me put her in a kennel if he’d understood what was happening to her.”

  “P’raps he didn’t know what to think if Tom told him different,” supplied Megan helpfully.

  “Very likely. What did Tom tell him?”

  “I don’t know what he told him.”

  “But you were there too!” I exclaimed irritably.

  “I wasn’t listening. I don’t pay no attention to what Tom says.”

  “But you must have been listening! You said on the phone that you’d heard Millie ask Johnny about sending Evie to my cousin.”

  “I never said,” said Megan flatly.

  “But Megan, you did. I remember distinctly.”

  “I never.”

  I looked at her with distaste. Johnny had often told me that she was as obstinate as a mule, and that if she had once adopted a line of argument that suited her, the most incontrovertible proof of error would not induce her to relinquish it. I did not want to antagonize her. Her disdainful references to Tom suggested another tack.

  “What do you think of Tom?”

  She shrugged:

  “He’s dry.”

  “You don’t like him?”

  “I don’t take that notice of him.” With a bloodless hand she pinned back the limp loop, which had come unstuck. “He doesn’t like me, I know that.”

  Here, at any rate, was a truth; the first, in all probability, that we had stumbled on.

  “He doesn’t like me either,” I said.

  She studied me curiously for a moment.

  “Have you been having a row?”

  “Well, we’ve had a few words,” I replied carefully, “but it seems to have blown over. I kept Evie a couple of days longer than I said and they made a fuss. In fact they were jolly rude. I was sorry really, because I’m fond of Millie and didn’t mean to upset her. Tom was at the back of it all.”

  “I don’t like that Tom,” said Megan reflectively, scratching her leg. “He’s jealous.”

  This remark, as coming from her, stunned me to such an extent that I gaped at her. Then I recovered myself and said:

  “You mean he’s jealous of me?” She nodded, with a smirk. “I guessed that. But it’s his own fault. If he’d taken the poor bitch out more and thrashed her less she’d have liked him instead of me.”

  Megan gave a single shrill squeal and clapped her hand over her mouth, as she always did when she laughed to conceal the fact that her front teeth were badly decayed. I looked at her in astonishment.

  “He’s jealous of Millie too,” she said spluttering.

  “Is he?” What was so funny about that, I wondered.

  “He thinks you’re after her,” said Megan with another squeak.

  I stared at her in stupefaction.

  “I? Millie?” I couldn’t take it in. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  With an effort she pulled herself together.

  “You kiss her, don’t you? He doesn’t like that.”

  “Nonsense!” I felt my face redden. “I’ve kissed Millie for years in a friendly way.”

  “He doesn’t like it. You ask Johnny. Johnny told him not to be so daft.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Oh a long time back. But I thought it’d come up again from something I heard Tom say.”

  “What did you hear him say?”

  Megan hesitated. Then she giggled.

  “I heard him say ‘I’ll knock his block off if I see him do it again!’ I don’t like that Tom.”

  “He must be mad!” I said disgustedly. Millie! But now that such a monstrous conjunction had been suggested, I remembered some puzzling incidents. “Well, I suppose it’s something to know. Thanks for telling me. I’m surprised that Johnny didn’t.” The subject was embarrassing, to say the least. My gaze wandered round the bare, untidy room. “If Johnny won’t let me put Evie into the country, do you think he’d sell her to me?”

  “Sell her?” Megan regarded me attentively. “No, I don’t think he’d do that.”

  “You see he’ll never be able to keep her himself. It’s out of the question. He’ll have to get a job as soon as he’s released, and he’ll have his work cut out to keep you and the children—four of them,” I added, nodding at her stomach, “without the trouble and expense of a large dog. How will he feed her, for instance? She needs horse meat, it’s expensive, and Tom has to stand in a queue for it. You can’t see Johnny doing that, can you, even if he had the time? And I don’t suppose you’re going to, are you?”

  “Oh, I’m not!” said Megan with a laugh.

  “Well then. And who’s to take her out? She’s wild. You couldn’t possibly hold her, and Johnny will be at work all day.”

  “I don’t think he’ll sell her,” said Megan.

  “I’ll give him a good price for her. I’ll give him twenty-five pounds.” I hadn’t thought of the sum; it simply came into my head. Megan goggled at me. “You’d sooner have that than the dog, wouldn’t you?”

  “Oh, I don’t want the dog!”

  “It’s far more than she’s worth, I’m sure. The poor thing’s no good at all now. And a sum like that would be a great help to you both, wouldn’t it? Don’t you think it’s a sensible plan?”

  A pleading note had entered my voice. Megan noticed it.

  “Why do you want her if she’s no good?”

  “I don’t want her. That’s to say I can’t keep her, any more than Johnny can. Just those few days with her reduced me to a nervous wreck. But I’m sorry for her. That’s all. I’ve no other interest. I—I can’t bear to think of her. Her loneliness. I can’t bear it. It upsets me. But if she belonged to me, you see, I could fix her up somewhere better. . . .”

  “I don’t think he’ll sell her,” said Megan. “But I’ll ask him if you like. I’ll be writing him soon.”

  “Yes, do. I shall ask him myself when I see him. But I’ve a feeling it’s terribly urgent. Tell him I’ll put twenty-five pounds into your hands for him the moment he agrees.”

  “Oh, I’ll tell him, don’t worry.” And it did seem a message she might possibly get right. “But I don’t think he’ll sell her. He’s soppy about her.”

  “Soppy?”

  “You know, sentimental. Tears run down his cheeks when he speaks of her. They do, honest! It’s a scream! He asks after her every time I go, and he only has to say her name and the tears run out of his eyes! Like a baby!”

  What was the woman talking about? I said:

  “But he hasn’t seen her since she was a puppy.”

  “Oh, he thinks the world of her,” said Megan with a laugh.

  Incomprehensible people! What was one to make of them? I got up to go.

  “Well, if he thinks that much of her,” I said brusquely, “he’d
better sell her to me at once, or she’ll be dead by the time he comes out!”

  Little Rita was still mincing up and down outside, making her buttocks slide. I scowled at her as I passed. A mistake, as I was to discover to my cost. She stared at me silently with that wide-eyed, baffling look she had doubtless learnt to bestow upon detectives and other unwelcome callers. Before turning the corner I glanced back. She was still standing there, her finger in her mouth, gazing after me.

  But I could not rest. The image of the frustrated dog continued to haunt me, and the suspicions that had been fretting my mind, now more outraged than ever, were sharpened by my conversation with Megan. Tom Winder hated me. I had sensed it before, now I had no doubt. A number of inexplicable incidents fell convincingly into place around Megan’s shocking revelation; and in an atmosphere so much more sinister and highly charged it seemed to me absolutely imperative to expose the truth of the matter at once. What were their intentions with regard to Evie? If I asked for her again, what would the answer be? That, to my troubled mind, was all that counted. That was the test upon which everything else depended. Was it really possible that I should be obstructed? How could I find out, without disturbing the peace which Millie’s letter—now in my hand and still unanswered—so disarmingly re-established? Actually there was nothing more I could do for Evie at present. I had only just taken her back, and had not the time, nor, it had to be admitted, the inclination, to have her again. I loved her, but the sweet creature was too much of a good thing; I was not ready for another dose of her yet. Nor did I want to go to Stratford to see her. I wanted to see her, but I did not want to go to Stratford. The very thought of my next visit, still some weeks off, filled me with utter repugnance. Yet although I had no immediate intention or desire to carry her off again, the suspicion engendered in me by this letter and intensified by Megan’s disclosure that I should meet with resistance if I tried, affected me like a fever. How could I find out? How could I frame a reply which, without being objectionable, would force them to put their cards on the table? The subject had become so tender that even to mention Evie might seem to them like taking a liberty, like further interference in their stupid lives. . . . Perhaps, I thought with savage humor, putting the letter down, it would be wiser to let sleeping dogs lie, and wait until I had seen Johnny or received an answer to my proposition. . . . But wait, wait, wait! Life was nothing but waiting! Waiting for this, waiting for that. . . . Did they wait? Not a bit of it! They did as they wished and got what they wanted! Besides—I picked up the letter again—if this soothing peace was genuine how could it be disturbed? With an easy twist of the wrist Millie had set the clock back; my honor had been vindicated, apologies made, she had put herself in the wrong. Presumably, therefore, the status quo was wholly restored—friendship, cash, confidence: confidence, dog. Indeed, why hesitate? This artless acquittal actually dictated its artless reply, the reply of the innocent man. Of course! The trick, if trick it were, was catching! I sat down at once and scribbled off a jolly, even effusive, letter to say how happy hers had made me and how relieved I was that our friendship was unimpaired. I inquired affectionately after everyone’s health, said that I was particularly cheerful myself since I was shortly to receive a visit to Johnny, and ended with a deliberate lie: “There’s a chance of my getting the loan of a car this coming weekend, in which case I should like to run up to see you all. I might also, with your permission, carry Evie off to Barnes in it, just for one night. It would be a good opportunity to get her out into the country, and this time, you may be sure, I shall be most careful to bring her back on the dot.”