It was unfair, Mr Josser thought, that Mrs Josser should tax him with it as if it had been all his idea. But he tried to pass it off smoothly.
‘It’ll work out all right,’ he told her. ‘Things always do.’
‘Always do what?’ Mrs Josser demanded.
‘Turn out for the best,’ he persisted. ‘You see if they don’t.’
Mrs Josser drew in her lips and declined to answer. This wasn’t the first time she had been disappointed in him. It was like going into battle with someone who didn’t care which way the fighting went.
She glanced up nervously at the clock.
‘You’d better get dressed,’ she said. ‘They’ll be here any moment now.’
Mr Josser had finished shaving by now and he pulled out his own watch to satisfy himself.
‘Oh not yet,’ he said. ‘It isn’t six yet.’
But Mrs Josser had already left him, and he was simply talking to himself again. It had been like that all the afternoon. Ever since lunch‐time Mrs Josser had been darting about doing things. First of all, she had cleared up all the papers and magazines – they were Homefinders mostly – from the little table beside Mr Josser’s chair, and carried them mysteriously into the bedroom. Then she’d gone round swooping on things, even quite ordinary things that had a right to be there, like Mr Josser’s carpet slippers and his pipes, and she’d carted those away too. By the time she’d finished, the room had a bleak, unaccustomed look. It was as though looters had been round the place.
Mr Josser put his collar and tie back on and went through into the drawing‐room to see if he could help. On the way he met Mrs Josser carrying in the fern that had always stood on the window sill in the passage. She put it down where the papers and magazines had been.
‘What’s that doing there?’ Mr Josser asked.
‘Nothing,’ Mrs Josser answered promptly. ‘It’s just that it looks bare without anything.’
‘But why bother just because Doreen’s coming?’
It was a foolish, untactful question. And it got Mrs Josser on the raw. ‘Bother?’ she demanded. ‘Who’s bothering? She’s got to take us as she finds us. I’m not bothering.’
Then she caught sight of Mr Josser’s suit.
‘And you needn’t imagine you’re going to wear that,’ she told him.
Mr Josser had, as a matter of fact, been wondering about it. It was a suit he was very fond of. His favourite suit, in fact. But the trousers belonged to a different suit altogether. And it was apparently this that rankled with Mrs Josser.
‘What sort of people’ll Doreen think we are?’ she asked.
‘She isn’t coming here to see my trousers,’ Mr Josser objected. ‘She’s coming to see Doris.’
Mrs Josser refused to argue.
‘She’s coming here to meet me,’ she said tersely. ‘And I’m relying on you.’
So, in the end, Mr Josser went through to the bedroom and changed. He put on his new black, the one that made him look like a mute. He looked in fact so funereal when he saw himself in the mirror, that, without being asked to do so, he changed his tie. The one he chose was a brightly striped one that he didn’t often wear. And it certainly altered the whole effect. He still looked like a mute. But a mute on a Bank Holiday.
When he had re‐dressed himself he went down on all fours and dragged out his carpet slippers from underneath the chest of drawers where Mrs Josser had hidden them. They were loose and comfortable, and they seemed to make the whole evening easier. He was in a good temper again when he returned to the front room. Having given way, he had the gratified, indulgent feeling of a man who has done something to please a woman, even though he knows that it is silly. He almost expected to be thanked for remembering to change his tie. It was all the more hurtful, therefore, when Mrs Josser wouldn’t allow him to wear his slippers. But she was adamant about it. Apparently between the Best People and Mr Josser’s slippers was a gulf that was unbridgeable. Mr Josser said nothing and thoughtfully put his boots back on again.
Mrs Josser followed him into the bedroom and then asked him to leave her for the next ten minutes while she slipped something on. She made it quite clear, however, that there wasn’t going to be any dressing up on her part. From the way she spoke Mr Josser had been pestering her to change.
‘It’s all right for you,’ she said over her shoulder as he went out. ‘You haven’t got to do the dishing‐up. I’m not going to spoil my best frock to please anybody.’
In the end she was away rather longer than ten minutes, and Mr Josser without his Homefinder was left with nothing to do. He lit a pipe and went moodily over to the window, staring out into the street. But it was more than Doreen that was troubling him. A great deal more. It was his forthcoming speech on foreign policy.
So far he had managed to get through the present session without doing more than express the Government’s misgivings over the fact that Hitler should have decided to cross the Czecho‐Slovakian frontier and set up a Protectorate there. It had been a carefully guarded speech, because he hadn’t known at the time that Mr Chamberlain was going to be so outspoken over at Westminster the very next day and openly accuse the Führer of breaking his word. This was a side, the angry indignant side, of Mr Chamberlain’s nature that he hadn’t met before, and it warmed his heart towards him.
All the same, matters had been steadily going from bad to worse since then, and it seemed that perhaps Mr Chamberlain hadn’t used that tone of voice soon enough. The climax came when Germany refused to accept the British note of protest. And at this point, to Mr Josser’s relief, Mr Plumcroft decided to take over in the House. In the result, Mr Plumcroft made the best speech of his career. From the Front Bench he had spread peace and tranquillity over the agitated assembly, like an ointment. He was as calm as he was confident. And it nearly broke Mr Josser’s heart a couple of days later when Hitler (who had evidently missed what Mr Plumcroft had been saying) demanded Memel and got it.
He had already got the opening sentence of his address pretty clear in his mind when Mrs Josser came back into the room. She was wearing her afternoon frock with the sleeves that were a shade too tight and she had pinned on a cameo brooch that she hadn’t worn for years.
Mr Josser regarded her for a moment.
‘I thought you said you weren’t going to wear that dress,’ he remarked.
Mrs Josser turned on him.
‘And why shouldn’t I wear it if I want to wear it?’ she demanded.
It was Mr Josser’s second mistake already that evening and he wanted to do something to make amends for it. He asked Mrs Josser if there was anything that he could do to help. But it made no amends. It only aggravated her.
‘I don’t know what’s the matter with you this evening,’ she said. ‘You aren’t usually like this. Why don’t you sit down and read something?’
Mr Josser sat down. But as there was nothing left to read, he sat there picking absent‐mindedly at a loose place in the upholstery, and thinking about his speech. Mrs Josser sat down opposite to him and began to sew.
About six‐thirty Mr Josser’s clock struck, and Mrs Josser started.
‘That clock makes me jump,’ she said. ‘I’m sure there’s something wrong with it. Nobody could have meant a clock to be as loud as that.’
Mr Josser looked up in astonishment.
‘I thought it sounded just about right,’ he said.
There was silence between them after that. Quarter to seven struck and then seven. And each time Mrs Josser looked up as though the clock had hit out at her. It was not until quarter‐past, however, that she actually spoke.
She let the boom die away and said a trifle anxiously, ‘I hope nothing’s happened to them.’
That was all she said. And she did not speak again until the next quarter hour. This time the note of anxiety in her voice had increased noticeably. But there was something else as well. This time there was an unconcealed jumpiness.
‘It… it was to‐night Doris said, wasn
’t it?’ she said.
Mr Josser thought for a moment.
‘Either to‐night or Tuesday,’ he said at length. ‘I don’t really remember.’ He paused. ‘But even if Doreen isn’t coming,’ he said, ‘where’s Doris? She didn’t say she was stopping out, did she?’
‘She’d better not with all that ham and tongue,’ Mrs Josser replied, and went on with her sewing.
At quarter to eight, she could endure things no longer. She glared at the clock waiting for it to strike and, when it had done so, she turned to Mr Josser again.
‘If they’re not here in a moment,’ she said, ‘we start. You don’t catch me waiting for anybody.’
‘Give ’em till eight,’ said Mr Josser. ‘No point in getting two meals in one evening.’
‘There aren’t going to be two meals,’ she said briefly. ‘When we’ve had what we’re going to have, the table’ll be cleared.’
Then at eight o’clock everything happened at once. The clock struck, Mrs Josser sprang sharply to her feet, and Doreen and Doris came in together.
Mr Josser smiled indulgently.
‘There you are,’ he said. ‘I knew they’d be here by eight.’
Mrs Josser smoothed down her dress and went out on the landing to meet them. As she did so, she sniffed. But it was nothing from her kitchen that she could smell. It was something going on upstairs on Mr Puddy’s gas‐ring. And Mr Puddy was in charge of that smell. He had been cooking himself a nice piece of cod when the fat had caught. The staircase was now full of dense blue smoke and Doreen and Doris came upstairs, their eyes streaming.
Mrs Josser had already decided that the ladylike thing would be to ignore it. She was holding her hand out in readiness when Mr Josser’s voice came through from the front room.
‘There’s something burning, Mother,’ he said. ‘It must have caught while we were waiting.’
And Doris didn’t make it any better either.
‘Good gracious,’ she said. ‘What a smell! Have we got to eat it? Mother, this is Doreen.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Mrs Josser studying her hard.
‘D’y’do,’ said Doreen.
They went into the front room into which blue tendrils of Mr Puddy’s cod were already penetrating, and Doris introduced her father.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Mr Josser.
‘D’y’do,’ said Doreen.
‘Sorry if I’ve made Doris late,’ Doreen said in a sudden apologetic rush as though she had noticed a coldness somewhere. ‘We had a most hectic time getting here.’
‘Are you late?’ Mr Josser asked politely. ‘We were just sitting here talking and didn’t notice.’
Mrs Josser caught his eye as he said it, and Mr Josser looked down at his feet again.
‘Well, I expect you’re ready for a meal, now you are here,’ Mrs Josser observed.
‘I must do my face first,’ Doreen said. ‘I’m sure I look a perfect fright.’
‘Take her along, Doris,’ said Mrs Josser. ‘It’ll be all ready when you get back.’
As soon as the door was shut, Mrs Josser turned to her husband. ‘I’ve met her type before,’ she said.
She did not say where. Nor did she say what type it was. It was apparently sufficient that it should be at once a type and familiar.
‘She’s a nice looking girl, isn’t she?’ Mr Josser observed. ‘A good bit older than Doris I should say.’
It was some time before they started. But apparently the wait hadn’t given Doreen an appetite. She refused the ham altogether and took only a small section of the bottled tongue. Mrs Josser apologised for the potatoes which had boiled themselves into a paste but Doreen said that she simply didn’t ever dare to eat potatoes they made her so fat. She’d like just the weeniest bit of bread instead.
‘Do you good to eat potatoes,’ Mr Josser said in an indulgent sort of way. ‘A big girl like you needs building up a bit.’
‘Please don’t call me a big girl,’ Doreen exclaimed. ‘It makes me feel absolutely enormous.’
‘I don’t see why,’ Mr Josser answered. ‘We can’t all be the same size.’
Doreen did not attempt to reply because she got a curious impression that the light was going out. Gradually at first, but rapidly quickening up, the darkness was descending. It was already dusk in the room.
Mrs Josser was the first to speak. She turned to Mr Josser.
‘Didn’t you do what I asked you?’ she said coldly.
Mr Josser shook his head.
‘I forgot,’ he said.
‘Well, do it now,’ she told him.
Mr Josser thrust his hand into his pockets one by one. But they were empty.
‘It’s in my other suit,’ he explained.
By the time he left them the little party at the table were in almost total gloom. Only Doreen’s white silk blouse could be seen gleaming in the firelight. And in the darkness they gave up attempting to eat. They just sat there, wondering.
Then, with a rattle of silver on the landing, the light shot up again, and Mr Josser came back in rubbing his hands.
‘Where was Moses?’ he asked pleasantly.
After the interruption, they ate for some minutes in silence. The going down of the light seemed temporarily to have damped everybody’s spirits, and Doreen appeared frankly sceptical about the whole affair. She kept glancing up at the red‐shaded chandelier again. It was obvious that she wanted to know where things were in case the light should suddenly go out again.
When they had all finished Mrs Josser looked round the table.
‘Will anybody have some ham?’ she asked pointedly.
‘Oh I really couldn’t,’ Doreen answered. ‘Not after what Mr Josser said about me being so simply huge already.’
‘You could leave the fat,’ Mr Josser suggested.
But Doreen was not to be tempted and Mrs Josser turned to Doris.
‘Bring in the jelly,’ she said. ‘It’s in the kitchen with the pineapple. Don’t forget the cream.’
To Doris’ astonishment, Mrs Josser didn’t move. She just sat there ordering her about. And there was nothing that could be done about it. Not until later, at least! Doris gathered the plates together – she positively snatched Mrs Josser’s from in front of her – and piled them up on a tray. As she went out of the room she heard Mrs Josser talking confidentially to Doreen.
‘I don’t know what I should do without Doris,’ she was saying. ‘She helps me so in the house. I could never get along without her.’
It was a cold night, and the fruit jelly and pineapple had an unusually chilling look about them. Even the pineapple seemed sub‐Arctic rather than tropical. The little cubes slid icily on to the plates as Mrs Josser spooned them out. Doreen begged Mrs Josser to give her only the teeniest little bit.
Doris wasn’t eating properly either. Some sixth sense told her that Mrs Josser was about to get on to the subject of the flat. And she was right.
‘Doris was telling me all about this scheme of yours,’ she said suddenly, turning to Doreen, ‘and I don’t…’
She got no further, however, because there was someone at the door. Whoever it was knocked twice, like a postman.
‘There’s someone there,’ Mr Josser said unhelpfully.
‘See who it is, dear,’ Mrs Josser said still without rising. She turned to Doreen. ‘We’ll talk about this flat idea later,’ she said. ‘I want you to hear my side.’
When Mr Josser opened the door, he was quite surprised to see Percy. And a very much embarrassed Percy. He had been holding himself back for the last half‐hour until he was perfectly sure that the Jossers would have finished supper. And now here he was at a quarter to nine gate crashing right into the middle of it. Because it had been Doris whom he was going downstairs to see, he had taken pains with himself. He had thrust a new crêpe de chine handkerchief into his breast pocket and he was wearing his yellowest shoes – the pair that were so tight they wouldn’t do up properly. He hadn’t gone so far as to ch
ange his suit as well. And – until you noticed his hair – it seemed a rather stained and oily figure that was standing there. But the hair was immaculate. He had just rubbed a handful of brilliantine into it and he came forward into the room smelling like a conservatory.
Halfway across, however, he stopped dead. He had caught sight of Doreen. She was resting her chin on her hands and staring at him. He became aware of dark‐lashed eyes, a fringe of gleaming hair and a pair of dangling jade ear‐rings.
‘She’s O.K. She knows her way about,’ he thought hurriedly.
It was the first time, so far as Doris could remember, that Percy had come down to see them in this way. She was puzzled. But she didn’t want to seem put out by it.
‘Oh this is Mr Boon,’ she said. ‘You haven’t met my friend, Miss Smyth.’
‘Hahjahdo,’ said Percy, stretching across the table to shake hands with her.
‘D’y’do?’ Doreen replied politely.
After that there was a pause. Percy felt awkward. He just stood weaving his hands together.
‘Did you come down for something?’ Mrs Josser asked unencouragingly.
‘I… I wanted to know if Doris was doing anything. Next Saturday I mean. I thought we might have gone to the Palais,’ he replied. And then, because it sounded a bit flat and not the way a man of the world ought to talk, he added, ‘Just the usual hop, you know. Nothing special.’
‘Oh I can’t, thank you ever so much,’ Doris answered promptly. ‘I’m going out with Doreen. It’s all fixed up, isn’t it, Doreen?’
Doreen was quick on the uptake for that sort of thing. She understood at once.
‘Such a pity,’ she said. ‘If only we’d known we could have put it off. But we can’t now we’ve asked all those people.’
Percy stood there looking down at his feet.
‘Well, I suppose I ought to be going in that case,’ he said.
‘What’s the hurry?’ Mr Josser asked. ‘Why don’t you come and sit down.’
‘Thanks,’ said Percy.
He sat down in Mrs Josser’s chair, and took out his cigarette case.
‘Mind if I light a fag?’ he asked. Then he remembered his manners.
London Belongs to Me Page 15
