All the Way Home and All the Night Through (24 page)

“I love you, Vic. I really, really love you.”

“It's unbearable when you say that. I can hardly take it. It makes me feel so wholly—wholly glad.”

“I want to tell you all the time. Except I'm afraid you might become tired of me saying it.”

I smiled at her.

“I'd never grow tired of that, or of you, or of the two of us being together.”

The more I knew her, the more she surprised me. The most surprising thing was, of course, that she loved me, and each new thing I discovered induced that strange process of where you mentally gasp with pleasure and surprise at the confrontation of a sparkling facet.

Her intelligence revealed itself to me slowly at first. There had been no doubt that she had this intelligence but it was doubly valuable accompanied as it was by her generous sensitivity, all too often dispensable to the intelligence of others. She liked things; she was no more innocent in thought or innocent of the world than others, but her aura became her in such a way that I could never consider her thinking badly or acting wrongly. Rather, thinking honestly and acting genuinely.

She knew my failings intimately and smiled rather than derided. I think she knew that many of my attitudes at the beginning had been poses in the process of my courtship. But it didn't appear to worry her. She would hint at my early attitudes in the disguise of a joke, just to let me know. She had freely admitted to having deliberately made herself aloof at first, on the advice of her mother, after having told her how interested she was in this strange boy she had had a few words with at college who wandered about alternately scowling and looking bored. She told me that she had been irritable with herself and with me—from the time it had become obvious to herself that I was going to ask her out to the time that I actually did because the lengthy period in between seemed to her unending. She would get quite annoyed with me after yet another occasion had passed without my having asked, and she would return to her mother and complain that the methods she had suggested might not have been the best methods after all. Her mother had stood firm and not only that, she had advocated the continuation of the device into the early stages of our courtship.

Mrs Walker seemed to me to have a super-intelligence. The kind of intelligence that could come in on the end of a conversation, whatever the content or tone, and make what had gone before seem banal or unfunny, whichever the case might be. She could make you feel small with a charming smile. And yet, in spite of this, she had warmth. There were times when Janet would be in some other place, when Mrs Walker would talk to me frankly about herself and her life. There would never be any sense of an experienced and worldly wise adult talking to a boy of twenty. She respected my intelligence and in some subtle way we seemed to conspire in the knowledge that we were both more experienced than Janet. Every time that Janet entered the room after these sessions, I would feel a pleasant worldly largesse for a time until the sheer love my looking at her inspired made it disappear like puddles under the sun of a Disney cartoon.

And to look on her quiet loneliness made me painfully aware of my own inadequacies, of how, it seemed, the whole business balanced precariously on a thin wire waiting for my inadequacies to tilt it downward.

Though these inadequacies didn't seem to affect her. Rather, she didn't seem to notice them. I would look into her eyes and see myself and a love equal in every part to my own reflected back at me. This was the best part of all: it was implicit that each other's love was equally intense and not just intense but ultimately intense, so that we shared the wonder of two people loving to the limits of their capacities, each capacity being as full and as strong as that of the other.

Above all was the constant desire to be with each other all the time. Never at any time could I have wished to be anywhere but with her. The day wasn't long enough. Each good-bye became a moment to treasure all the way home and all the night through. Each meeting meant the rebirth of each other, a resurgence that made being only feel complete from the exact moment of seeing each other, touching each other, speaking to each other. To look on each other for the first time after a parting was almost too poignant for one nervous system to deal with. The world's life expectancy didn't seem long enough to enable us to work out the vein of our feelings.

Janet liked the same people as I did, the same music, the same films, the same streets, the same fields, the same days, the same skies, the same laughter, the same books, the same cups of tea, the same pictures, the same nights. Her quiet, composed face would transform into brightness however unfunny my passing remarks would be. She seemed to want me to go on being the way I was for the duration of my life. And I wanted her to go on being the way she was, too.

“He's a rum lad is our Victor,” said my grandmother. Janet smiled at her. A soft warm breeze drifted in through the open French windows and stirred a copy of the
Radio Times
which rested on my grandmother's broad lap, pinned securely by her knotty, rheumy hands. I shifted my slippered feet an inch or so further up the side of the marble fireplace.

“I am that,” I said.

My grandmother laughed and nodded at Janet.

“Aye, he's a rum lad. I expect you'll know that though, Janet.”

“Oh, yes. No need to tell me that.”

My grandmother laughed again.

“Whose side are you on anyway?” I asked my grandmother. “If you're not careful, I'll cut your ration down to seven bottles a day.”

“I wouldn't take any notice of him if I were you, Mrs Jackson. He only does it when he feels no one's taking any notice of him.”

“Aye, you've got him weighed up, Janet. She has that, our Victor. Do you know?”

“Yes, I'm afraid I do. I don't stand much of a chance round these parts, what with the pair of you. No respect.”

It was an April tea-time. Janet and my grandmother and I were sitting watching “Juke Box Jury”. The Saturday evening outside was soft and still and an occasional late bird glided across the blue sky. I had been imitating the personalities just for something to do, and that was what had prompted my grandmother's remarks. My mother came in, wheeling the tea trolley.

“Here we are. I expect you're ready for something to eat.”

Janet got up from her chair and began helping my mother with the tea things.

I smiled to myself at the pleasure my mother felt at Janet's spontaneous action.

Later in the evening, Janet and I walked slowly down the garden and through into the orchard. The moon was on its ascent and the deep blue of night faded into the remainder of the day. The trees didn't stir in that placid comfortable warmth peculiar to April. The faint hum of the rest of the landscape outside the orchard could only just be heard. A chicken complained shrilly for a second, out of sight behind a tall hedge.

We didn't have to say anything. The evening expressed it all and for a time we stood and appreciated the fact that we were together.

William, the cat, emerged from the tall grass some yards away and sauntered nonchalantly toward us.

“Hello, William,” said Janet, half-kneeling. “Hello, fat old puss.”

I laughed. Cats always make me laugh.

I knelt down beside Janet. I put my arm across her shoulders.

“I can't remember the time when I didn't know you,” I said.

“Can't you?”

“I'll never feel like this again.”

“Do you think there will be an “again” for you?”

“No. There never will be. It'll always be you.”

It was one of the nights when Janet was to go home straight after college. Summer was round the corner and the streets dryly and warmly anticipated the heat that was to come.

As usual I took her to her bus stop opposite the college and we waited for her bus to arrive. We stood close to each other, not saying much, watching people go in and out of college. At one point, Jerry sauntered down the steps. Janet squeezed my hand.

I looked into her face.

“You—you don't discuss me with people at college, do you?”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, the things—well, the times at Jerry's flat. You don't tell them, do you? I hear how the others talk and—”

“Well, of course, Jerry knows.”

“Do you think he tells anyone?”

“No. I asked him not to.”

“Then you don't say anything yourself.”

“Of course not,” I said.

Janet had become quite friendly with Karen. At least they always came down to break or lunch together before Janet left Karen to join me. It disturbed me slightly. I wondered if Karen had ever heard about the night the boys had had the scene in the dormobile. I didn't want Janet to know anything about it. One break-time I mentioned it.

“I see you and Karen seem to be getting on quite well nowadays. Surprises me a bit, considering that she felt I gave her up for you.”

“Does it? I suppose we do see more of each other now that she's switched on to my course. We're not friends exactly but we do talk quite a bit. She's quite nice really.”

“You think so?”

“Why, don't you?”

“I think she's a silly bitch.”

“You make it sound like an accusation. I think she's a bit silly, too, but she's really quite sweet underneath.”

“It's not just that. I get the feeling that if she was given the chance she might do something to spoil what we have.”

“That's ridiculous. She may be silly, but she's certainly not malicious. Why should she want to spoil anything for us in any case? She's mad on Dick Castle.”

“She's the kind that's always mad on someone,” I said.

“What is suddenly so wrong with that? Besides, she's been going out with Dick since Christmas.”

“And mucking him about behind his back, too. When Dick's not at the Steam Packet, she's always disappearing with some Arab.”

“I don't really see how it affects us.”

“I don't know--- girls like that--- I've found they're never satisfied unless they've converted other, happier people to their own way of carrying on.”

“Don't be silly. You think she would try and do that to me? It wouldn't matter if she did. It wouldn't affect me in the slightest. It's not very flattering of you to think it would. It seems as if you think my emotions are just superficial and weak enough to change under the slightest pressure.”

“I'm sorry, Janet. It's just that you mean so much to me that even the most innocent things seem dangerous.”

“How do you think I feel not being allowed to come to the Steam Packet? How do I know that you never go with anyone else? I'd never know, would I?”

“Janet, you know I'd never go with anyone else. You know it.”

“I think I do. But you see, I have much more to contend with than your worries about Karen.”

“I suppose so. I was being stupid.”

June.

Nine months since I'd first taken Janet to the fair. Now we knew each other properly and we felt more love with the realization that the knowledge enhanced our romantic feelings rather than disposed of them.

The weather was perfect. Day drifted after glorious day as the term began drawing to a close. The Ministry of Education examinations were over and the people concerned, myself among them, could only wait until sometime after the end of term when we would receive an envelope through the post containing a compliments slip from the principal and a small piece of paper saying “Pass” or “Fail”.

So college began running down. People took more time off than usual and members of the staff bothered about it less than usual. The sun appeared daily from morning to late evening. I began to realize that I would soon no longer be at college.

Now summer had really arrived; to celebrate its coming and to utilize its clear still evenings, one of the local jazz clubs hired a ferry and organized a river boat shuffle. A couple of name bands from London were engaged together with three local groups, ours included. Janet's mother was allowing her to come along, too, so I was looking forward to the whole business.

On the Saturday afternoon before the dance set sail, I was invited to the Walker's for tea. We had our meal on the sun terrace which opened onto the garden. When we had finished eating, we just sat round and enjoyed the sun. After a while the phone rang. Janet left the porch to answer it.

“You have a wonderful day for your dance, Victor,” said Mrs Walker.

“Yes. It's just the job.”

“Janet's quite excited at the prospect of this evening cruise.”

“Yes, I suppose it is a bit unusual.”

“Not too unusual, I hope,” she smiled.

“Oh no. No rough seas.”

“I hope not. I'm relying on you.”

“Yes. I know you can.”

“Good. Then I've nothing to worry about.”

Janet came back from the telephone. She was grinning.

“My God,” she said.

“What's up?” I asked.

“It's my admirer,” she said.

“Not Martin,” said her mother.

“Yes, Martin,” she said.

“Who's Martin?” I asked.

“Doesn't he ever stop trying?” said Mrs Walker.

“Who's Martin?”

“I may as well tell you,” said Janet. “I suppose it's a bit pathetic but it's funny, really. You remember the dance? The one where you first saw me when you were playing in the band? Well, this boy Martin, Martin Farr, he took me to the dance. That was the only time I ever went out with him. Anyway, since then he has telephoned me almost every evening asking me to go out with him. The point is he's such a drip. Really. His voice alone is enough: ‘Hello, this is Martin here.' He really is wet. Isn't he, Mummy?”

“It's not surprising. I know his parents.”

“So what do you say to him, then?” I asked.

“Well, I tell him that I'm going out with you. But it doesn't seem to sink in.”

“What does he say?”

“Oh, I don't know. I don't really listen. It's just like a gnat buzzing on the other end of the line.”

“Why don't you tell him to buzz off, then?”

“You can't. He's that kind of person. You just listen then wait for him to go away.”

On the bus into town, I asked Janet what the Martin character had wanted anyway.

“He wanted to take me to the Ferryboat Dance,” she said. “He said he had a spare ticket as though he was doing me a great favour.”

“He sounds a right twit to me.”

“Oh, he is. You'll probably see him tonight. I'll point him out to you.”

The pubs round the pier were jam-packed with mobs of people waiting to go onto the Ferry. Already there was a great queue at the barrier. Janet and I walked toward the pier. Ron and the other members of the band were unloading the drum kit from the trumpet player's car. The eyes of the queue followed every detail of the band's performance. We were to be allowed onto the ferry first, being the privileged people we were. With Janet next to me, making me feel proud, and in my uniform, part of the band, I hammed it up for the queues' benefit.

We strolled down the gangway. At half-past six the faint whisper of a breeze complemented the nervousness in our stomachs, the nervousness we always felt before we played a big date.

At half-past nine the boat was like a floating beer bottle. Seven hundred people were describing every single different way of being drunk. At half-past nine we were playing the final number of our second session. At nine thirty-one I walked off the stand, out of the saloon, and onto the car deck. Five minutes earlier Janet had told me that the car deck was where she would be so that she could get some fresh air. I couldn't see her straight away so I sat down on a pile of ropes and drank my beer. Angela arrived.

“Now then, Victor.”

“Now then, Madame.”

She sat down next to me.

“What do you think of the do?” she asked me.

“Very good from where I am. What do you think of it?”

“I'm enjoying it. Your band's playing best.”

“What about the London lot?”

“They're all right, but you're best.”

“You're biased because I'm in it.”

“That's right. But it won't get me anywhere.”

“Oh, I don't know. It might get you a free gin and whatever it is if you're lucky.”

“That's all though.”

“I don't get you. The one time we both had the chance you said no. Now you're always insinuating the opposite.”

“I had reasons.”

“Rubbish.”

“I did.”

“Yes. Good reasons. Like you didn't want to.”

“That's right, Victor.”

“I wish you'd have a drink and be quiet.”

I passed her the bottle.

“Anyway, have you seen Janet round? I was to meet her up here when I finished playing.”

She passed the bottle back.

“Janet? I thought you knew where she was. I thought you were giving it a rest.”

“No. I don't know where she is. Why, have you seen her?”

“Well, I might have done. But honest, I thought you knew where she was.”

“No.”

“How's it going anyway? Between you and Janet?”

“All right. Why do you ask?”

“Just interested. I'm surprised it's lasted this long. I would have thought you weren't really suited.”

“Oh, you would? Well, it's going to last a hell of a lot longer, so you can stop worrying.”

“I'm not worrying, Victor. It's not me as should worry.”

I didn't answer.

“I would have thought that somebody else had cause to be worried before me,” she said.

“You mean me, don't you? Come on then, stop acting about. What has your evil little mind stirred up this time?”

“It's not for me to say, Victor. After all, I've nothing to worry about.”

“All right. You've nothing to worry about. Now let's have it.”

“Oh, it's nowt really. Just a certain name that's been floating round the Ladies' cloakroom recently.”

“In connection with Janet?”

“You know, don't you, Vic. I thought maybe you would.”

“I don't know anything until you tell me.”

“Do you know a lad called Martin Farr?”

“No.”

“He's here tonight. On the top deck. But I honestly thought you knew where Janet was. I really did.”

“Well, I do now, don't I?”

“You asked me.”

“Yes.”

I had made up my mind not to go to Janet because I didn't want to give Angela her satisfaction. Instead I got up and walked over to where Hilary was standing and asked her to dance. Her friends didn't like that part very much.

“Having a good time?” I asked.

I was burning with the need to go on to the top deck and I was frozen with the fear that it might be as Angela had said.

“Fine thanks,” said Hilary.

“Good,” I said. “I am, too.”

“Is Janet enjoying it?”

“So I understand. I wouldn't know, really.”

“Oh.”

The music stopped. It was time for the band on the car deck to leave the stand and for another one to take its place.

“How about going up top and having a drink?” I asked Hilary.

“All right.”

We climbed the steps to the top deck. We moved to the bar, my eyes not trying to find Janet. I bought some drinks.

“Janet's over there look, Victor,” said Hilary.

I looked. Janet was standing with Karen and Karen's boyfriend and someone I supposed was Martin Farr.

“So she is,” I said. “How nice for her.”

Karen looked in our direction and touched Janet on her arm. Janet looked at Karen and Karen spoke to her. Janet turned toward me brightly, took a step forward and then saw I was with Hilary. She looked into my face and turned back to the group. Martin Farr looked over Janet's head in my direction. I smiled at Hilary.

“What's up, Victor?” she asked.

“Nothing, Hilary. Should there be?”

“What's up between you and Janet? Or rather what are you making up between you and Janet?”

“I don't know what you're on about, Hilary. All I know is I'm having a good time.”

“I'm off down, Victor.”

“Why?”

“I'm off, that's why.”

“Sod you, then.”

She went away. I turned back to the bar. I felt sick seeing Janet over there, making her feel lousy about letting her see me with Hilary. I felt lousy about seeing her with Martin Farr, and I knew it was only my pride which was making me feel lousy. I felt angry that she should put herself in a position which could damage my pride. I felt about eleven years old. Why didn't I just walk over to her and say I was sorry? The only way I could come out of it with my pride undamaged was to make her come over to me.

I drank my drink and walked away from the bar and toward the steps which led down onto the car deck. I made sure I didn't look at her. I was banking on her coming over to me. If she didn't, I would have to think of something else. I thought she wasn't going to come and I was halfway down the steps when I heard her close behind me call my name. I turned round and smiled at her. She stopped, a few steps above me.

“What's the matter?” she said.

“Nothing. Why? Should there be?” I continued smiling.

“I see,” she said. Then she turned to go back up the stairs.

“Janet.”

She carried on walking. I went after and stood in front of her.

“Look. What do you think's the bloody matter?”

“I don't know. I really don't know.”

“I'll tell you then, seeing as you're all so innocent about everything. I suppose I'm expected to hang about down there until you're ready to tear yourself away from that happy band up there, especially Martin Farr, Esquire.”

“Don't be so ridiculous.”

“I'm being ridiculous. I see. Of course, you wouldn't know that Angela has been filling me in on the Ladies' cloakroom gossip you've been giving them about that prick. You and Karen must have a good time together.”

“Oh my God, you are a fool. What on earth do you think I said? I talked about him exactly the way I talked about him to you.”

“I'm sure. I expect you told them about him because you felt flattered that this clown rang you up every night and you wanted them to know.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“And while I was there hanging round waiting for you, you were enjoying the bastard's company for everybody to see.”

“Is that all you care about? That everybody can see? Why didn't you come over to me? I was waiting for you, and Karen and her boyfriend offered to buy me a drink. We came up here and Martin came over and butted in. Karen and I were making fun of him, if you must know. I wanted
you
to come to us, to show him how I am with you, so he would see how ridiculous he is.”

“You expected me to come over to you like a lap-dog, did you? Well, you were disappointed, weren't you?”

“Yes. Yes, I was.”

“Well, you'd better get back to your friends. They won't disappoint you. They're too predictable.”

“All right.”

She turned away again. I remained where I was. She walked up the steps. She stopped at the top and looked at me. I walked up toward her.

“I'm sorry.”

She looked at me.

“I didn't mean it. Honestly.”

“Why did you come up with Hilary?”

“I don't know. I was jealous.”

“You knew there wasn't any need.”

“It was what Angela said.”

“Don't you know I love you?”

“Yes.”

I took her hand. The blue of evening tinted her white dress. I pulled her toward me and against the rail.

“I don't know why I get like this,” I said. “I don't know. I love you.”

The girl drifted into my line of sight. The night was hot and the crowded room perspired in time to the music. The time was one thirty. The place was my digs. The occasion was my farewell party sponsored by my landlady. The last time I would have a party in that city. Janet wasn't there. She hadn't been allowed to come because the party was to take place after the Friday night session at the Steam Packet. The boys were there though and apparently nine-tenths of the Jazz club. And my landlady and her boyfriend and her sons. And this girl who I'd wanted to be introduced to for the last four years who was now superfluous because of Janet.

The girl was wearing her fair hair up and a few unmanageable strands tickled the back of her neck. She wore a white sheath that set off her tan, shiny skin perfectly. She moved with a model-like poise, holding her glass to her bosom. She seemed to be on her own and not worrying about it. Her face gazed pleasantly round the room.