England's Lane (47 page)

“It is awful about the shop—but well, it's hardly Stan's fault, is it? Didn't plan to go a bit loopy. Last thing in the world he wanted, I'm sure. Sally has said she can sometimes leave somebody else in Lindy's and go round to help him out a bit. But honestly, from what I've seen of the way she carries on, I'm not too convinced that it's altogether a good idea. When Stan comes back, he might take one look at everything she's done to his shop, turn right round and go straight back to the hospital. I suppose I might be able to do the odd afternoon … it's so awful to think of him losing the seasonal trade—and all those special Christmas lines, selection boxes and stockings and so on: not going to be much good to him in January, are they?”

“Got enough on your plate, ain't you? What with this party what you getting up. And now another kid to think about, and all …”

“Another … kid …? What do you mean, Jim …?”

“Well—you know. Anthony …”

“Oh yes. Yes I see. Jim—look, sit down, won't you? Shall I fetch you a glass of beer?”

“Well … it like I say—were going to go and stretch my legs, sort of style …”

“After, Jim. After. You just sit there. I'll get you a nice bottle of Bass from the refrigerator—or do you prefer one from under the stairs? Why don't you light up a cigarette, yes? Ah—you already have. All right, then. Fine. Well you just sit tight in here, Jim. Back in just a minute. And then we can talk.”

Yeh. Talk. That's what I bloody afraid of. On account of I know she been wanting to—busting to, she been. Women, that what they
always doing—yakking away. Can't just belt up about it. And after all of the talk—what you got? Ay? What you got? You ain't got nothing, has you? Nah—you just ain't got nothing.

“There we are, Jim. I've brought you the less cool one, I hope that's right? I know how you say they can get too gassy when they're overchilled. Is it all right? Oh good. Good. That's good. Oh Jim—the button on your cardigan …”

“What about it …?”

“Well—it's not there, is it? Have you got it? Do you know when you lost it?”

“Never knowed I lost it. Look—sod the bleeding button …”

“Well you can't go round with a cardigan with a button missing, can you? If it's lost, I can probably find a match for it in John Barnes. They do have quite a remarkable range.”

“Yeh. So that's all right then, ain't it? And so—well? Come on, Mill. You say you want to talk—so bleeding talk. I here now, ain't I? You want me to stop in, and I done it. So give it me. What you want to say?”

“Yes … yes, you're perfectly right, Jim. It's silly of me. I have been wanting to talk to you—wanted to for ages. And now that it's come to it … I don't know quite how to … um …”

“How to what? What you on about? Ay?”

“Well, Jim … it's rather hard. And I don't know quite how you will react. Well—the truth is, of course, I don't at all know how you're going to react. What you might think of me. Worse, even worse, than you already do. But anyway—the truth of the matter is, Jim … and it is all right then, is it? Yes? The beer …?”

“Gordon Bennett …! Never mind the bloody beer. Just get on with it …”

“Yes. Right. Well the bald fact is, Jim, that I'm … I'm, um—pregnant, Jim. I'm going to have a baby. Yes. There. Now I've said
it. I'm going to have a baby … yes. And that's what I wanted to tell you. Jim …? Jim …? Did you hear what I said, Jim …? I said …”

“I heard what you said. That it?”

“Is that … it …? Well—that's enough, isn't it?”

“Yeh. It's enough. But I knowed that. Knowed that a long time.”

“You …
knew
? But you never said anything! How did you know, Jim? How on earth
could
you …?”

“Seed my old Mum like it often enough. All what been wrong with you. All with the stomach, and that. Yeh—I knowed. I knowed it.”

“Well … well … I don't know what to say … I'm so … I'm just so—surprised. And—relieved, I think. Ought I to be relieved, Jim?”

“Don't know what you mean. Happy—that what you ought to be. What you always wanted, ain't it? Kid of your own. What you always wanted. And now you got it. So now you's all right. Ain't you?”

“And … you don't mind …? No—sorry, Jim. Stupid thing to say. Of course—of course you do. Of course you mind. Sorry—so sorry. What an absolutely frightful thing to say. What was I thinking of? Oh please do forgive me. It's just that … well, I don't want you to … hate me, Jim. Or the baby. I don't think I could bear it, you see. If you did that …”

“Right. So … you want to stop with me then, yeh …?”

“I … yes. Yes I do, Jim. I honestly do. If you'll have me …”

“And … that ain't just on account of he pushing off, then?”

“Who …?”

“You knows bloody well who …”

“Yes. Sorry, Jim. I actually wasn't aware of that … but I'm pleased. If that is the case, then I'm pleased. Very pleased.”

“I see. Right. Got it. Well I don't hate you, Mill. Won't never hate you. Can't, can I? Loves you, I does. Always I done that. Always loved you, Mill. And I bleeding always will. As to the kid … well—I done all right by Pauly, my way of thinking. So I don't see how I can't be doing it again. What you want, ain't it? As to having you, well—can't be doing without you, gel. Right lucky to have you. Always were. That's all I ever does it for. Shop. All of it. On account of I loves you, Mill … I loves you …”

My throat was stopped—I was close to strangulation. My heart was huge within me, the scattering of my brain quite utterly dizzied. I exhaled, once and so sharply, and was panting now from I think it must have been shock, and a nearly delirious gratitude: the sobbing which I felt just launching from my eyes, and tumbling away so freely, my lips an uncontrollable jumble. I just gazed at the man, and was gasping. I simply could not speak. And then on an unthinkable impulse, I rushed toward him and fell to my knees—held his hand, and kissed it with tenderness. I looked up into his wearied face that held for me no expression—a face that I had not even seen, and for so very many years. His lips were so firmly compressed, and in each of his eyes there trembled unfathomable tears.

It's great now it's the holidays and everything, but they did go and dole out piles of prep just like I knew they would because they always do. Madman Downes gave us the most because he's a stupid pig. And I know what Amanda said about getting it all done in the first weekend but I can't do that. Well—could, I suppose, but I'm not going to. It's the party today where everyone from the Lane goes which I always say to Auntie Milly I hate because it's all full of old people but I quite like it really—and there are children going, Amanda's going and other people from the council schools who she doesn't like because they're common—and Anthony, he'll
be there and everything. I've been trying to be decent to Anthony, but it's quite hard because he doesn't really talk much any more. I thought it was because his mommy died but he says it isn't because he didn't ever see her anyway. And I said well what's wrong then, Anthony? Is it because you're living with us? Don't you like it? Your dad won't be away very long, that's what Auntie Milly told me. But don't you like it? Living here with us? I like it, living here. Don't you? What's wrong with it? And he said it isn't that—that he does quite like it, living here, and he really likes my Auntie Milly because everybody does and what she cooks for us and especially sausages and fish fingers and sometimes chicken which is best of all and he doesn't even mind Uncle Jim which is really amazing because I do. Aunt Milly, she's been quite nice to him lately, Uncle Jim—and I don't know why or anything, because he's just disgusting, like he always is. I hope she stops. I really do. Anyway I said so what's wrong then, Anthony? Aren't you looking forward to Christmas? Because I jolly am, I can jolly well tell you that. There's this tank I saw in Toys Toys Toys and it's really great because you put a battery in it like you do with a torch and it actually moves on these rubber sort of tracks which have got a special name but I can't remember what it is, and all these sparks come out of the gun bit and it turns around. I've told Auntie Milly about it heaps of times but I don't know if she's got it for me because it's forty-two-and-six which is very expensive I know, but it's really really great. That's what I really want but there'll be lots of other stuff too and some of it will be good but not things like V-necks which she knits and hankies and things. But I'll get the
Beano Book
and the
Dandy Book
because I always do and sometimes the
Topper
and the
Beezer
as well and I've said I want
Take Jennings for Instance
which is new so they won't have it in the library but we're going to the library now for the party so I can check but I don't think
so. And I get a stocking from Santa which I know isn't really from Santa but it's jolly nice to get, and on television there's been all these commercials with Santa in and he looks really fat and kind and nice with his beard and everything and he makes me feel all excited and the commercials are only for pretty rotten things like Hoovers and Brylcreem and Woolworth's but he always looks really nice even if he's only black-and-white and not all red like you see on Christmas cards and things. I know he doesn't really exist, but maybe he does because nobody really knows.

And Anthony said he is looking forward to Christmas but he doesn't know if he'll get any presents because his dad's in a hospital somewhere but he knows where the spare key to the stockroom is so he says he can get us a Cadbury's Selection Box each—and the seven-and-six big one as well—and I said all this to Auntie Milly and she said that she was quite sure that Santa wouldn't forget him, which I told Anthony but he didn't say anything. And then I said can you get a Cadbury's Selection Box which I can give to Amanda as well because all I've got for her is a slide for her hair with a ladybird on, but he didn't answer. And so I said it again and he still didn't answer and then I saw he was all sort of blubbing, like a little baby. So I said what's wrong now, Anthony? Why are you blubbing like a little baby? And I didn't expect him to answer me or anything, but he goes and says Amanda, and I go well what about Amanda? What's she got to do with you? And he says Nothing—she's got nothing to do with me at all and then he goes on crying which was pretty embarrassing actually and it's just as well we were at home and not at school because people like Robbins and Marshall and Hirschovitz would have tied him on to the pegs in the changing room and pelted him with inky blotch or something until he packed it in and if he didn't they would've poured water into his indoor shoes which they did to Handley the term before last.

Just thinking of Amanda, though—it's all been just so great with her lately, but I'm really really sad and it's the only thing that's really rotten. Because we'd been on the Hill again and she'd let me touch her and everything and she kissed me and everything and I get this really funny feeling when she touches me back on my thing and everything that I don't get when I go and do it myself because I tried it and it doesn't work. And then she told me that her dad had told her that soon, some time in the new year, they were all going to go away and I said what do you mean, Amanda? For a holiday? Is that what you mean? Why aren't you going in the summer because it'll be beastly and freezing in the new year because it always is and she said no Paul, not for a holiday—we're going away for good. Moving. Don't know where. And we're selling the shop and everything. And I said oh no that's terrible—but what about your school? And she said she didn't know. And I said well maybe you're not moving far away—like only up to John Barnes or something and he can be a butcher in there, your dad. And she said she didn't know. And so I told Auntie Milly and said I was really really sad and she said she was sad too. And I said but even if she does go away, Auntie Milly, I still will see her again won't I? And she said of course you will Paul. And I said well that's good Auntie Milly because I want to marry her, you see. Not yet obviously because I'm still going to school but when I do I've got to know where she is, got to have her address, haven't I? And she said I would. She said I would. And I'd already decided about that before, about marrying Amanda, because she's pretty and really nice and I'm obviously not ever going to marry Elizabeth Taylor because she's a film star which you're never going to meet in England's Lane because nothing exciting ever happens in England's Lane because everyone in it's so stupid and boring, and anyway she's probably quite old. Anyway—I'm going to see her now at the party—Amanda, obviously, not Elizabeth
Taylor—and I'm really looking forward to that. She said she'd got a new dress for it with what she says has lilac ribbons on it and I bet she'll look really smashing in it. But still you know I don't get what Anthony's got to cry about. He doesn't even know Amanda.

“Paul …! Paul … can you hear me …? I'm downstairs …”

“Yes, Auntie Milly …?”

“I'm going off now to the library, Paul. Got to see to all the little finishing touches before everybody starts to arrive. Oh heavens—do you know I've been there twice this morning already? Completely exhausted. One of the trestle tables that Mr. Bona lent to us, yes …? Chose to collapse just as Edie had put all the plates on to it. Can you believe it? Most of them were those Bakelite ones from Lindy's, thank the heavens, so there wasn't too much breakage. So anyway—can you and Anthony come along in about an hour, then? An hour, yes Paul? You can come with your Uncle Jim if you want … although he might be popping in somewhere else first, of course …”