All the Way Home and All the Night Through (35 page)

“Are you in your car?”

“Yes.”

“Come on. We're all set. It'll make that change you're always moaning about.”

“All right. All right, why not?” she said. “I might even get myself talked about.”

We walked up the slope of the field and passed the refreshment table. Some nosy heads turned toward us. Monica pretended she hadn't seen them, but I smiled at them so that whoever caught my eye had to smile back.

We reached the car. Monica went round the far side and got in and reached over and unlocked my door. I looked back down the fields toward the fire. Not one of them could touch her, I thought. Not one of the bloody bitches. And they don't know that they can't. They all think they're so marvellous, but they couldn't get anywhere near her. Nowhere near.

“One big pint of beer and one vodka and lime right on schedule.”

I put the drinks on the table and sat down opposite Monica. She smiled at me, happy with the drinks she had inside her. We were in the quiet lounge of a quiet pub in a quiet village ten miles up the river from home. We had been sitting there for an hour-and-a-half. Monica had been doing most of the talking in the last half-hour.

“I've never known you to be so quiet,” she said. “The idea of coming was to probe the surface. You usually have so much to say for yourself.”

“Too much, as a rule.”

“Tell me, do you think you'll ever be able to love someone besides yourself?”

Oh hell, I thought, she's feeling the vodka that much.

“No,” I said, to keep her happy.

“Why not?”

“Because nobody could ever take my place in my estimation of myself.”

“You're awful. You're so conceited.”

“I know. I think I'm marvellous.”

“Terrible.”

“I'm serious.”

“I know you are,” she said. “Even though you are smiling.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do. You can tell. Still, it seems to work on the girls you take out.”

“I'd never try it on you. You're too intelligent.”

“I'd never go out with you,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because of the way you are,” she said.

“Don't you find me attractive?”

“No.”

“Yes, you do.”

“You're not my type. Gosh, you are conceited. But I like you.”

She smiled.

“I know,” I said. “Have you ever been to bed with anyone?”

The smile remained but she reddened a little.

“What makes you ask that?”

“I don't know,” I said. “Yes, I do. But I'm not going to tell you.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm not.”

“Why not?”

She leant forward across the table, still smiling, flushed with the drink and the unusual conversation.

“I'd be embarrassed,” I said. “Besides, it's my business.”

“You embarrassed? Oh, Victor.”

“I would. You'd understand if you knew.”

“Well, tell me then.”

“No. You answer my question first.”

“No.”

“Then you have been to bed with someone.”

“No, I haven't.” She went redder and redder.

“Yes,” I said. “Or else you would have denied it.”

She leant back in her chair and looked down at her lap, her face serious and scarlet. Then her hand went up to her face, her palm covering her nose and her mouth. She snorted with laughter at my finding out, embarrassed laughter and also a little satisfied with the fact of my knowledge and then again slightly proud laughter, proud that she was found out to be a woman.

“Well,” I said. “How about that. How about it.”

She sat up in her chair pretending she was trying not to grin. She shook her head so that her hair flicked back from her face. She straightened her jeans over the sides of her thighs and looked me in the eyes.

“And now you know, what of it? I'm not ashamed of it.”

“Why should you be? I'm just a bit surprised, that's all.”

“Well, I should hope you would be. I wouldn't like to think that people thought I was easy.”

“And are you?”

“No.”

“How many times?”

“Twice.” She was smiling even more proudly.

“How many?”

“Three.”

“Same person?”

“No, two.”

“Boyfriends?”

“One was. Twice with a boyfriend, that is,” she said. “The other time was after a dance.”

“You're very frank. Surprisingly.”

“It doesn't make any difference now you know.”

Her face suddenly stopped smiling. “You won't—.”

“No, I won't,” I smiled.

“Because I'd die if anyone was to find out. You know what the town is like.”

“I shan't say anything.”

She took a drink.

“Why did you want to know?” she asked. “You've got to tell me now. It's only fair.”

“I know but there's no point.”

“Why not? Now you can't wriggle out of it like that.”

“I'm not wriggling out of it. You said something earlier that makes me realize there's no point in telling you.”

“What was that?”

“I'm not telling you.”

“Come on. Oh, you are mean. It's not fair.”

I smiled, my face assuming a rueful expression.

“All right,” I said. “You said you didn't find me attractive.” She looked at me concentrating on my face. The vodka was knitting her forehead.

“You said I wasn't your type.” I looked at my beer then smiled up at her. “So figure it out.”

She carried on staring at me. Then she leant back in her seat. She tried not to smile. She tried to keep the evidence that she was flattered out of her face.

“But don't be ridiculous,” she said. “We're so opposite. You don't mean it. You're drunk.”

“Have it your own way.”

“But I—Oh, you're impossible. I can't take you seriously.”

“Don't then. Have a good laugh,” I said, pretending to be cross.

“Vic. Don't be like that. You must realize it does sound im-probable.”

“I suppose so,” I said. “Anyway, forget it. You made your feelings clear earlier.”

“But—but if it is true, I mean, you never asked me out or any-thing.”

“I know. I guessed what your answer would be.”

She stared at me in smiling confusion, her mind racking round all the possibilities engendered by what I had said. She brushed some hair back from off her forehead. I took a drink from my beer.

“Vic, you're pulling my leg, aren't you?” she said.

“Yes. Can't you tell? I'm weeing myself with laughter.”

“No, seriously.”

“No, I'm not pulling your bloody leg. I've always liked you. All through school and everything. For years. But I never stood a chance so I never said anything. And I wish I hadn't now.”

She didn't say anything; she stopped smiling. She looked at her hands which were clasped round her glass.

“When—when I said I wasn't attracted to you—” she smiled self-consciously— “I, well, I was doing the same as you were, in a way. I mean, I've always liked you but not just in the way you thought I did. I thought the way you did, that it couldn't be anymore than just friends, so—I resigned myself to it.” She looked at me, smiling a little sadly, a little awkwardly. “But—it's awfully difficult saying this, and I'm still not sure you mean it—but I've always liked you, in the way that you say that you like me. I've always been attracted to you. There, now I've said it.” She laughed in embarrassment.

I looked at her nice pretty face.

“Of course, I'm going crazy,” I said.

She looked away from me, still smiling, a small frown on her forehead.

“No, you're not,” she said.

We looked at each other and after a minute we laughed.

“Well, would you bloody well believe it,” I said.

“No,” she said. “I wouldn't.”

I wanted to tell her I hadn't meant a word of it. I couldn't summon up the courage to tell her the truth, that it had all been said to take my mind off Janet. I'd always suspected what she had just explained. Anyway, I thought, it's too late to go back now. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.

Monica drove the car off the road and onto the track that led through the wood. She stopped the car and switched off the headlights. The wood was on the top of the escarpment that fell away down to the river. Through the trees and below I could see the lights of the city over the river flickering across the evening. Monica stared ahead of her, too, waiting. I lit a cigarette. A rocket sparkled noiselessly into the sky below us. It seemed to move very slowly. I watched it until the last sparks were absorbed into the night sky.

Monica shuddered.

“The lights of civilization,” I said.

“Yes,” said Monica.

“Flicker, flicker, flicker.”

“I imagine you're sorry not to be living in the way you did when you were over there.”

“Yes and no.”

“Don't you miss the girls you knew?”

I rolled the window down and threw the cigarette out. I turned and looked at her.

“No,” I said.

“Vic, what you said tonight and what I said—well, I meant what I said.”

“Did you?”

“I'm glad to have said it. I wanted to for a long time.”

I put my arm round her and pulled her to me. She put her arms round my neck.

“How funny,” she said. She smiled at me. Her smile disappeared slowly as I made to kiss her. After the kiss, she drew her head back a little and her lips framed a word but no sound came out. I pulled her head back and kissed her as hard as I could.

She drew her legs up and I put an arm at the back of her knees and pulled her legs across mine. We kissed again and she was passionate. After a while, I moved my hand across her stomach and then down between her legs. She pushed herself onto my hand. Her mouth seemed to be trying to encompass not only my lips but my nose as well. I felt her spittle on my face. I moved my hand up again and began to undo the belt of her jeans. She stopped kissing me and moved her mouth next to my ear biting my neck and ear as she spoke.

“Vic,” she breathed. “Vic, Vic,” I pushed my hand inside. “Vic, because of what I said—don't think I'm easy. I'm not. Oh Vic, it's because it's you. Honestly it is. Honestly, honestly.”