The Rabbit

by Ted Lewis

  I sat down at the kitchen table. By now my mother had made some more tea. As she poured a cup for me I said:

  “You remember that phone call I had the other night?”

  “Oh, yes?”

  “Well, it was about this party.”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, it’s on Saturday night. Over in Hull. This girl’s having a do for her birthday. The girl I told you about.”

  My mother lit a cigarette.

  “Well, as my digs are finished for the holidays, Ron said I could always stay at his place. You know, if there was something on or I missed the last boat or something.”

  “Couldn’t you get the last boat home, anyway?”

  “The party doesn’t start till eight. I’d only be there about an hour.”

  “Well, I don’t know. Have you spoken to your dad?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “We’ll see what he says, then.”

  I took a sip of my tea.

  “You couldn’t have a word with him, could you?”

  “We’ll see.”

  My father and Uncle Eddie came in from the garden.

  “Hello Victor,” Uncle Eddie said. “How are you?”

  “All right, thanks, Uncle Eddie.”

  He gave me his veiled, knowing grin.

  “Keeping the old bugger toeing the line, are you?” he said, nodding in my father’s direction.

  “I do my best,” I said.

  After tea I sat in the lounge with my father and Uncle Eddie while my mother and grandmother cleared up in the kitchen. Both men eased their flies and kicked their shoes off and stretched out in their chairs and in this room, on the sunless side of house, the quiet creaking atmosphere was like that of a smoking room in a men’s club. I was glad to be part of the atmosphere the two of them created together. It was mellowing, maturing somehow, as though in their company I became temporarily older than my years. I even found myself adopting their attitudes, agreeing with their pro¬nouncements on the state of the world and of Manchester United. It was false, but cosy, to relax in the atmosphere they created, to be drawn into their aura. Oddly, I felt more stable in the endorsement of their attitudes, more content, even though at the back of my mind I knew I was agreeing with them mainly to keep the atmosphere going. It was also odd that without the third person of Uncle Eddie, the atmosphere would have been impossible with just my father and myself. Perhaps that was one of the reasons I was always pleased to see Uncle Eddie.

  Eventually the conversation tailed off and the two men folded their arms and sank deeper into their chairs and by tacit agreement began to nod off. I closed my eyes too and although I didn’t sleep I savoured the room’s hush and the creaks from the chairs and the soft regular breathing and the occasional clearing of throats. I stayed like that until the door handle rattled and the door slowly opened and my grandmother shuffled her bulk round the curtain and into the room. I opened my eyes. A frown of annoyance lightened my father’s closed eyelids but Uncle Eddie shook his head and stood up straight away.

  “Come in, Ma,” he said. “I think I’m in your seat.”

  “Nay, you’re all right, Eddie.”

  “No, come on, park your bloomers down here if you’re wearing any.”

  “You’re a rum bugger, young Eddie, you are that. Isn’t he, Victor?”

  My father’s frown deepened and he cleared his throat, a sound to demonstrate his annoyance. The atmosphere had now gone for the rest of that evening.

  I walked down the road and tried to decide whether I could resist calling on Veronica or not. During the day I’d fluctuated between the resolve of the previous evening and the nagging fear that there may be a slight possibility that Veronica had meant what she’d said about not seeing me any more. But the balance was struck in favour of calling on Mart and spending the evening in the pub. I knew that because Uncle Eddie was staying, there would be less likeli¬hood of there being a scene if I went home pissed; my father would have been to the pub as well, warmed by the presence of Uncle Eddie, and unless I actually provoked my father, the possibility of friction was very slight.

  So I called for Mart and we went to the George. We got our pints and sat down by the window and were quiet for a few minutes. I wondered if Mart and I would be the way my father and Uncle Eddie were together when we were at the age of fifty. After a while I said:

  “Don coming down tonight?”

  “Should do.” Mart said. “Usually does on a Thursday.”

  We drank some more beer and a few more minutes passed and then Mart looked at his watch.

  “As a matter of fact,” he said, “we’ve started drifting down to the Blue Bell on a Thursday these days.”

  “Oh yes?” I said. “How’s that?”

  “Well, these last Thursdays Harold Johnson’s been getting in there and playing a bit,” Mart said. “It’s not Teddy Wilson but it makes a change. Been quite a crowd for Bell. Landlord’s putting him on regular. Can’t believe his luck. He’s actually selling that stuff they’ve got down there.”

  “Sounds all right,” I said. “Comes on about nine, does he?”

  “Nine, nine thirty.”

  I got up to get us some more drinks. The door opened and Cec came into the bar.

  “Perfect timing as usual,” said Cec.

  “He’s been on Hopper’s roof with binoculars waiting for one of us to get up.”

  I bought the drinks and we all sat down and talked until it was nearly nine o’clock.

  “Don should have been here by now,” Mart said. Cec stood up.

  “Anyway, let’s stroll down there. We can leave a message with Lila. I mean, he might even go straight there.”

  We walked down to the Blue Bell. The evening was quiet and there was no sound of piano music coming from the lounge. We went in. There were about half-a-dozen people sitting quietly under the bright neon strip. We ordered our drinks from the landlord. While he was pulling them Cec said to him:

  “Harold not down yet, Bob?”

  “He won’t be, tonight. Sprained his thumb at work.” He caught the expressions on our faces and saw that the loss of three customers was imminent so he said: “But don’t you worry yourselves, lads. I’ve got somebody else coming, just as good. Should be here any minute. Smashing player.”

  We sat down at one of the tables.

  “Wonder who he’s got?” said Cec.

  “Mrs Keel?” said Mart.

  We all laughed. Mrs Keel used to be resident pianist at the Minerva before it had closed down, and the old joke was that her piano playing had been instrumental in bringing about that event.

  I took a sip of my drink. The saloon door opened and in came Mrs Keel. We all looked at each other. Mrs Keel beamed at the company and put her stack of music on the piano stool then went over to the bar where she asked for a Babycham with a cherry in it.

  “Right lads,” said Mart, “let’s drink up.”

  “Hang on, hang on,” said Cec. “Let’s wait a bit. She’s always good for a laugh, isn’t she? Let’s just wait.”

  “Yeah, why not?” I said. “Give the little lady a chance.” Mrs Keel walked back to the piano. We looked at her and managed to suppress our giggles into smiles. She smiled back, happy to have an audience. She was wearing a white lace blouse and a shiny black skirt. Her winged glasses twinkled under the neon. She sat down and began to play.

  The door opened and Don came in, followed by Veronica.

  “What a man,” said Cec. “Bravery above and beyond the call of duty, opening that door.”

  Cec was referring to Don’s exposing himself to Mrs Keel’s piano playing, not to his entering with Veronica. To Cec and Mart there was no situation, because they didn’t know what had happened between Veronica and me. But Don knew. The awkwardness and e
mbarrassment of his knowledge was perfectly described by the crookedness of the smile he was forcing on himself. And as for Veronica, she wasn’t smiling at all, because she hadn’t expected me to be there. Neither of them had.

  I felt the muscles in my chest and my forehead tighten. This wasn’t an accident. Their coming with one another had been arranged. All the possibilities of the situation stumbled through my mind. Was this a way of Veronica trying to show me that she didn’t care when in fact she did? Or was it a gesture to underline the fact she’d meant what she’d said? Or perhaps I’d been totally blind, and my ploys had been a godsend to her, giving her an excuse to finish it herself. Perhaps she and Don had been seeing each other while I’d been away, and I was the only person who didn’t know what had been going on. My immediate reaction was to blindly walk out of the situation in order to avoid an hour or so in which I would be shown to be the loser. But if in fact I walked out and it was only a case of Veronica trying to show me she didn’t care, there was no way the others would know that. My exit would have the same effect.

  Veronica sat down and Don remained standing.

  “What are you all going to have?” he said.

  “What do you think?” said Cec.

  “Three pints, then? What are you having, Veronica? Half shandy?”

  Veronica nodded. Mrs Keel came to the end of her number and put another sheet of music in front of her. I had to say something.

  “I thought you couldn’t come out tonight?” I said, hoping I was giving Mart and Cec the idea that in fact all that was happening was that there’d been a change of plan, but in fact I probably couldn’t have said anything worse.

  “You know I never said that, Victor,” she said. Her tone caused Mart and Cec to look at each other.

  I blushed and said:

  “You did, you said your dad was doing an extra shift.”

  Veronica shook her head. She smiled slightly and as though it was a matter of no real importance to her:

  “No, I didn’t, Victor.”

  “I thought you did,” I mumbled.

  Don arrived with the drinks. As he doled them out he said: “Saw Veronica on my way down, about to go into George. Told her we came down here Thursdays now.”

  That of course was a lie; otherwise there was no reason for Don to have made the statement. In the past Don and Veronica had often walked down to the pub together because they only lived a couple of streets away from each other.

  “Oh, yes?” I said.

  “Yes,” said Veronica. This time she glared at me. By now Mart and Cec had caught on. There was a silence which was finally broken by Mrs Keel striking up on the piano again. It was difficult to talk with the music going on without everyone leaning in over the table and no one was in the mood for that so we drank our drinks and looked in our particular directions until the tune was over. But the silence was even worse because now we were able to talk and nobody did. Eventually Cec said:

  “There was a dead frog on our lawn this morning.”

  Mart snapped his fingers and said earnestly:

  “Now there’s a coincidence. There was a dead frog on our lawn this morning as well.”

  There seemed no way I could save face in the situation. After being in Veronica’s company for the last five minutes I was fairly certain that my first guess had been right, but to the boys it looked a straight case of changing partners. I couldn’t stand the thought of being with them all night and having them think that what they were thinking.

  The saloon bar door opened and two girls came in I’d never seen before. They certainly weren’t from the town. They had identical bouffant hair-do’s and identical lilac sweaters and they were both wearing black jeans with musical notes stitched on the pockets. They bought their drinks and went and sat down on one of the long seats against the wall and almost immediately they began eyeing up our group and making remarks.

  “Hey up,” said Cec. “Talent.”

  “They’re about as talented as Mrs Keel,” said Mart.

  “They’re all right,” said Cec. “What’s up with them?”

  Mart shook his head.

  “Dog rough,” he said. “Aren’t they, Vic?”

  “I’ve seen worse,” I said.

  “There you are,” said Veronica. “The voice of the expert.”

  I smiled and began to feel a little better.

  “All I said is I’ve seen worse,” I said.

  “Yeah, but how much worse?” said Mart.

  “Go on, you want to get stuck in,” I said.

  “Yeah, come on,” said Cec. “It’s obvious they’re on the lookout.”

  Mart smoothed down the lapels of his jacket and began to get flustered, the way he always did when there was the possibility of making some sort of contact with girls.

  “Come on,” he said. “Jack it in. You must be out of your mind.”

  “No,” said Cec. “They’re all right, I tell you.”

  “Christ, you won’t have to propose.”

  “They’re scrubbers, that’s all they are.”

  “Most birds are,” I said.

  I looked at Veronica but she was drinking her drink. Mart lit a cigarette and didn’t say anything.

  “Go on, buy them a drink,” I said. “It can’t hurt.”

  “Isn’t it obvious that Mart just doesn’t feel the need to show off?” said Veronica.

  “Typical female thinking,” I said.

  “Hey up,” said Cec, “I think we’ve been beaten to it.”

  We looked across to the women. Jackson Simons must have come in while we were talking because now he was sitting next to them and trying to make conversation. They were giggling to each other and making faces but they were at least answering Jackson whenever he said something to them. He was wearing his flat cap and a clean collarless white shirt and a sleeveless pullover that his mother must have knitted for him. He was eating crisps from a bag which he occasionally offered to the two girls. When he saw me he beamed, proud to be seen chatting up two birds, and he called over:

  “Are you all right, Victor?”

  “Fine, Jackson. You?”

  “I’m all right.”

  “You look as though you are.”

  Jackson leaned across to the two girls and said something and they looked over at me. While this was going on I was vaguely aware of Veronica saying something.

  “I beg your pardon?” I said.

  “I said why don’t you get him to touch his forelock as well?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She shook her head and took a sip of her drink.

  “Well, I rest my case,” said Mart.

  “Pardon?” said Cec.

  “The birds. It proves it. Dog rough, like I said. If Jackson can sweep them off their feet, well, I mean to say. He’s not exactly Donald Sinden, is he? They must be hard up.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” said Cec.

  “Anyway,” Veronica said, downing her drink, “I’d better be off.”

  “You’ve only just come,” said Cec.

  “Come on, have another drink,” said Don. The look on his face showed that the last thing he’d expected was for Veronica to go as early as this.

  “Yes,” I said. “And it’s my round.”

  I picked up the glasses from the table and put them on the tray and stood up and went over to the bar. I’d had to prevent her from leaving because the possibility was that Don could go after her and cause me further embarrassment in front of Cec and Mart.

  Jackson got up and joined me at the bar.

  “What do you think of them, then?” he said.

  “You seem to be doing all right.”

  “Smart, aren’t they? They’re from Grimsby. Came over tonight because
they thought the George singing room was off to be open but I telled them it’s only open on Saturdays.”

  “Well, look after them, Jackson. Make sure they don’t get into any trouble.”

  Jackson managed to snort and giggle at the same time.

  “Hell, Mam’d kill me if she knew I were boozing with two lassies. Here, one of them likes you, do you know?”

  “Oh, yes?” I said, turning slightly so I could see the girls.

  “Yeah,” said Jackson. “The one nearest to us.”

  The one nearest to us was the smaller of the two. Neither of them was particularly good-looking, but the one Jackson was referring to had narrow eyes and high cheekbones and there was a kind of cat-like look to her face. I ordered the drinks and realized that here was an opportunity for me to save face in front of the others.

  “What are you and the birds drinking, Jackson?” I said.

  “I’ll have a large dark and they’re drinking gin and orange.”

  I ordered the drinks and pushed them along the bar to Jackson.

  “I’ll be over in a few minutes,” I said. “Get these down them to be going on with.”

  I carried the tray back to our table. Mrs Keel was into another number. Still standing, I passed the drinks round and while I was doing this the saloon bar door opened again and in came Billy Hanson, Howard Bird and Pete Swift, full of beer, green velvet collars greasy and spotted with dandruff. The minute they came in they looked over at the piano and laughed and jeered at Mrs Keel. Mrs Keel blushed and carried on playing, which was all she could do. Then the three of them looked round the bar to see if anyone was going to tell them to keep quiet, but nobody was. Billy Hanson looked at me briefly in memory of the fight we’d once had, but the main interest for the three of them was Jackson and the two girls. I swore to myself. It was obvious that they were going to move in on Jackson and once that happened that would be the end of my charade. I sat down and waited for the inevitable.

  The trio got their drinks and sauntered over to where Jackson and the girls were sitting, moving any chairs and stools that were in their way by using their legs alone. Howard Bird and Pete Swift sat down opposite the girls but Billy remained standing for a moment.