Cold Eye of Heaven, The (24 page)

He sees the green slab of his last bus jostle around the corner at the top of the street and decides he might as well hang on and wait for the others – he can walk home with Jacobs because, unlike Conroy, he always goes home alone.

He steps over to the railings. He's not in the best; the drink gone dead in him, the waste of an entire evening, apart from Jackie's poems, the end-of-summer purple sky. Everything is annoying him. And Monday tomorrow, his day off, nothing to do only look at the face on Ma.

A middle-aged man in a beret comes down the steps of a house, ties a
brown parcel to the back of his bicycle, then loops a cardboard suitcase over one handle and struggles off up the road. The lonely sight of the man drags him down even further. He turns and looks to the other end of the street; no one in sight as far as the eye can see; only himself and the quiff on his Lambretta. A sound cracks the silence; Farley jumps, then turns. The bouncer is holding the door at arm's length, allowing just enough space for a slim girl to slip through. The Lambretta clicks and growls. She perches herself dainty-sideways on the back seat. And now that space too is vacant. There's a muffle of music through the walls; the occasional blurt from Gene Pitney whenever the bouncer opens the door to let somebody else out. Across the road a nurse comes from the direction of the children's hospital and he stands to watch her, cloak stirring softly at her back. She has car keys in her hand and she's heading for a Ford Prefect parked under the street light. She opens the car, throws in her handbag, then pulls the nurse's hat off her head, fires that into the car as well. For a minute he thinks it's her, the girl from Butlin's, and he feels himself lift from the soles of his feet through to his stomach into his chest. But it's just a tired girl with black hair on her way home from work.

It was the hair he'd noticed first; a swatch of black satin on the back of her head. It was easier to notice things like hair and hands, when all the women were dressed the same – red blazers, white shoes, white skirts. There'd been other women around; holidaymakers or campers as they called themselves, but there was something about the redcoats, a sort of air hostess glamour that blew the rest of them out of the water. Redcoats or civilians, they all tended to have backcombed hair; blonde and mousey-browns, an occasional ball of orange. That stiff webbed stuff that he didn't care much for, scratching the side of his jaw on the dance floor or in a shop doorway where there was always the fear that if things got too heavy, he might knock it sideways off the top of her head. If the girl was much smaller, and she often was, when he looked down into her hair, he half expected to see some scrawny live thing inside, squawking for food.

Her
hair, though, was real hair. Real and smooth and coiled like a thick glossy snake at the nape of her neck. He couldn't stop looking at that, wondering what it would be like to weigh it in the palm of his hand.

Jackie, even though it had been his idea and his college mate who had organized everything, never stopped moaning from the time they'd got off the train. ‘A glorified concentration camp,' he'd called it, ‘a bone to appease the lower classes while the big boys eat their dinner.'

‘Do us a favour, Jack?' Conroy had said after a few such comments. ‘Go fuck off somewhere and read a book.'

‘I would if I had one,' he huffed.

As prearranged Jackie's redcoat mate gave them the recce over by the boathouse, holding a map open as if giving ordinary directions to respectable campers while talking out the side of his mouth. ‘The trick,' he'd said, ‘is to keep on the move. Don't stay at any one place too long, don't do anything to attract attention; no getting involved in slagging matches with the Northies, no whistling at the birds, no hogging the billiard table. You'll be alright till six, but after that you're illegal. So keep it clean – right? If one of the head honchos comes into the ballroom, ask a bird up to dance. If you notice anyone – other than a bird – looking at you for more than a few seconds, move on to the next spot. It's August and the place is jammers anyhow, but there's always the chance that someone not enjoying themselves is looking for someone else to blame – know what I mean? Once the campers are all tucked up, we'll get you into the staff quarters where there's a party tonight – boss away, cats will play. You can relax then. You'll be kipping in my chalet; the room-mate's old man has snuffed it; local bigwig – they're all gone to his funeral. Two beds and a floor, I'll leave it up you lot to fight it out between you. O, and in case you're worried about me – don't, I'm on a promise – winkedy wink. And if you're all good boys, tell you what – I'll sneak you in for first breakfast in the morning. After that you can fuck off home you and your ugly mugs.'

He backed off then, waving a cheery goodbye. ‘Well, enjoy yourselves at Butlin's, chaps – anything else you need to know don't hesitate to ask any of our redcoats. So long now!'

Jackie decided to go for a swim. Conroy, Jacobs and himself had wandered around; Jacobs walking backwards looking at the women. They'd ended up in the coffee lounge sitting in front of these big glass windows that turned out to be the bottom of the indoor swimming pool. Disembodied legs wriggling about like big fat sea worms. Jacobs decided to look out for Jackie's legs and in the process nearly gave himself a heart attack. ‘Jaysus,' he whispered, ‘you can see the – you know, the hair on your woman's you know? Stickin out like, out the side of her togs.'

‘You mean her pubic hair?' Conroy had said. ‘For fuck sake, Jacobs, calm down, you think you'd never seen a fanny before.'

‘I haven't!' Jacobs squealed and they all nearly died laughing.

That's when she came up to them.

‘Well, gentlemen, I see you're enjoying yourselves anyway.'

‘O yea, it's great yea,' Jacobs spluttered

‘Mind if I ask to see your passes?'

Even Conroy had puced up to the roots, although he did manage to find his ticket.

‘This is a day pass,' she'd said.

‘That's right.'

‘So we won't have the pleasure of your company this evening then?'

They just stood looking at her. She looked back at them. ‘Because if I do see any of you boys still hanging about the place after six, well then, I'd have to inform security.'

‘Right,' Conroy said.

She handed him back his day pass. Then she winked.

Jackie's mate had come strolling past them, grinning and wagging his finger. ‘Ah-ha,' he said, ‘caught youse out there.'

She lifted her eyebrows and then disappeared.

‘She's a bit of alright – wha?' Conroy said.

‘Yea,' Farley said, ‘yea, she is.'

‘Would you say she's his bird?'

‘Whose bird?'

‘Jackie's mate's bird.'

‘What? O, don't know. Maybe.'

Later in the ballroom he saw her again. He'd been dancing with some butty little one from Finglas who'd asked him what chalet he was staying in, and when he said he couldn't remember she didn't seem to think it was odd that after nearly a week a grown man couldn't hold the number of a door in his head. The redcoat was foxtrotting an elderly man around the floor, soft blots of green and pink lights preceding them. The little one from Finglas kept rattling on about the great time she'd been having so far; fourth in the Miss something or other while her granny got fifth in the granny competition; her brother third in the table tennis. Meanwhile her ma and her baby sister won second prize in the Mother-and-Child Contest. Only her da didn't enter anything because he couldn't drink on account of his half of a stomach.

‘Right,' Farley had said, steering her after the redcoat and the elderly man.

Then Conroy came along and tipped him on the elbow. ‘Time to move on.'

He'd felt sorry for the poor girl all the same, having to leave her standing on the floor on her own with her family of runner-ups looking on from the shadows.

‘A phone call,' he muttered. ‘Have to go. Might see you later?'

‘What time?' she said.

‘Depends really.'

‘Where then?' she said.

‘In the bar.'

‘Which bar?'

‘Don't worry, I'll find you.'

He saw the redcoat again in the Pig and Whistle while a load of English people were swaying through an old Vera Lynn song.

‘Look at them,' Jackie had said, ‘don't know what to be doing without a war to fight, the dregs of the British army, redundant cannon fodder put out to grass. Jesus almighty!'

Then he spotted her again, outside the American Bar stopping to sign her autograph and have her picture taken.

‘Fucking morons,' Jackie had said, ‘pretending to be film stars. Pathetic self-delusional fools. God, the sooner I get out of this place.'

‘Ah shut up, Jackie,' he'd said, ‘do you have to be such a pain in the hole
all
the time?'

Jackie's mate was called Bob. He played the clarinet. He was a commerce student in real life, he said.

‘Commerce?' Conroy said. ‘Why did you pick that?'

‘Because my oulfella is a prick.'

‘O right, yea.'

They were in the staff area by then; she was sitting on top of a table, hand jiving to the music of ‘El Paso' with a couple of other girls. Her hair was down over one shoulder, her blazer off, her white sleeves rolled up, her white shoes off. In a minute now, he'd decided, he was going ask her to dance.

He was half-drunk by then, all the moving around from bar to bar between trying to avoid the security men and the one from Finglas. More drink in here stacked under the table, the girl with the black hair swishing her legs to the side anytime anyone wanted to pull a bottle out of the crate.

‘The thing about the sugar stick,' Jackie's mate was saying, cradling his clarinet like a baby.

‘Can I ask you something?' Conroy interrupted.

‘Shoot.'

‘That bird, over there – is she your girlfriend?'

‘Wastin your time there, but, my friend, you have my blessing. God loves a trier.'

A few seconds later she was standing on a chair singing ‘Volare' and he could see Conroy getting ready to pounce, and he knew if he didn't move soon, he may as well forget the whole thing.

*

She'd insisted he borrowed some bloke's blazer before they went outside, in case security spotted him, then took his arm and brought him on a walk through the trees. He could hear the sea somewhere. Then smell it, then see it. The badges on his lapel rattled as they walked. She said, ‘God, you don't wear yourself out talkin, do you?' and he couldn't think of how to answer that, so he just kissed her. And he didn't know what to do then so he just kissed her again, her long hair plush in his fingers.

When they got back to the party Conroy had disappeared and Jackie was asleep on the table. And his mate Bob, whose promise had obviously been revoked, had locked himself into his chalet. They could hear him snoring inside and when she'd shone a torch through the window, he was fully clothed on top of his bed, sugar stick lying across his chest. This left himself and Jacobs with nowhere to sleep. By then it had started to rain. Jacobs, with his hands dug deep into his pockets, was gently swaying from the drink. She'd taken pity on them and said they could stay in her chalet. She gave them her bed: he got in one end, Jacobs the other. She'd got into the end of the bed where her chalet mate was already asleep; small head deformed with layers of curlers. Jacobs fell asleep straight off, and they talked to each other across the few feet of darkness until Jacobs woke up again, giddy and full of jokes. He could see her stuff her face into the pillow to stop herself laughing out loud.

In the morning the rain had stopped, the sun pricked through the little boats on the blue and orange curtains, and her black hair, luscious and dangerous only an arm's stretch away from him. He noticed her mate had disappeared from the end of the other bed. She woke then and turned and sleepily looked at him and he hoped he hadn't too much of a gammy head on him. She stayed where she was while Jacobs and himself put themselves together. Nobody spoke but he could see by her face, now pale and a little strained, that she was worried in the light of day, away from her mates, away from the music. He touched the bed because it hadn't seemed right to touch her while she was in it. ‘Thanks,' he'd whispered. ‘Listen, could I see you again?'

She whispered back, ‘Jesus, will you just get goin?'

When they got outside a security man was waiting.

As Jackie's mate had said – there's always someone.

They met Conroy and Jackie at the train station; Jackie sullen and silently smoking; Conroy grinning like a cat. And Farley had been shocked by the sight of his grin, knowing what it meant and knowing too that they'd probably have to hear all about it.

‘I hope you were careful, anyhow,' Jacobs said, ‘you've already got one pregnant, you can't marry two of them you know.'

‘O yea? Well, at least I wasn't sharing her – not like you two perverts.'

When he said that Farley wanted to grab him, slap a loaf into his stupid head, smash his ribs with the heel of his boot and throw him down onto the tracks. And that's when he knew.

In the morning he wakes to a silent house. No tick-tacking from Ma's typewriter, no ill-humoured Jackie bashing around. Monday, his day off, the day after the poetry reading; that's right. He can hear the trees swishing across the wall of the Phoenix Park and from the army barracks down the road, a long disgruntled whinny from one of the horses. He lies for a while and stares at the ceiling, still in bad form although he can't figure out why. He says the word Australia. A short while ago, whenever he heard or even thought that word, it gave him such a lift. Now it hangs around his neck like a stone.