The Last Girl (12 page)

'Oh, I see.
You're talking about the phone call. Did you think it was bad news? Honestly, I
don't know why you had to go worrying yourself, Larry. It was good news, the
best I've had in I don't know how long. Remember that friend I told you about
once, the one who lives away up in Edinburgh?' She didn't even wait for me to
nod or shake my head, for that matter. 'Well next weekend I'm having a visit.
Just four days from now. I know it's not long, but oh, I can hardly wait.'

'Oh,' I said.
'Oh.' And after that I couldn't think of a thing to say. Until finally I came
up with, 'Coming all that way just for the day, this pal of yours?'

That wasn't
meant to be a joke, so there was no need for her to laugh like that. But laugh
she did. 'Four hundred miles, just for the day? Oh Larry, of course not. How
could you think such a thing? I'm talking about the whole weekend - Friday to
Sunday. It wouldn't be worth it otherwise, would it?'

'No,' I said
faintly. 'No I suppose not.' And it was then, laugh or no laugh, that my heart
started to bleed for the poor  kid. 'Mandy, love,' I said at last. 'You know,
I'm awfully sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Ethel's not going to have
it - not if your friend's planning to stay here. It's just not her way, love.
You thinking otherwise, well, it just shows what a lot you've got to learn.
Why, I can remember...

'She never
even let me finish. 'It's all right Larry. You see I've already had a word with
Mr Duck. He says there'll be no problem. He's going to talk to Mrs Duck. But he
said she wouldn't mind at all. So you see, nothing to worry about.'

And with
that, she gave her arm a little shake and squeezed right past me into the
bathroom. Shut the door behind her. A few seconds later you could hear the
water heater explode with the sort of racket that would have sent all the other
girls flying back into the passageway. Not Mandy though.

In other
words, I'd been given the brush-off, had all that sympathy and concern thrown
right back in my face. Yet would you believe it, even now, I couldn't shut off
worrying about her. The next thing is I'm standing with face pressed up against
the door trying to make myself heard above the roaring and hissing from inside.
'Mandy, love,' I said. 'You just watch out with that Ascot. If it starts
playing up, you give me a shout. 'I could even wait out here if you like ...'

But there
wasn't any answer. I suppose there was too much noise for her to know I was
there. But downstairs, the kitchen door opened, and there was that quiet which
comes over the house when Ethel's on the prowl, wanting to know what's going
on. Come to think of it, I could have told her a thing or two.

Still, if you think that was bad enough, wait for the rest.
Because that was when the rot really set in. Nothing between us was the same
after that, and I'm not just talking about Gilbert.

The problem
was the girl herself. Mandy. It's no use making any bones about it. She was the
one that got me worried. Only how do I explain what nobody else would
understand? You would have had to know her the way I do. To see her in those
next few days - it was a case of bright eyes and a smile for everybody, never a
frown or a cross word. You'd have thought it would do your heart good seeing
her like that. But what you've got to remember is, there's a difference between
controlled high spirits, and the state she was in just then. It was unnatural.
She couldn't stay put more than five minutes. Sit her down, and she'd be up
again, looking for an excuse to get going. Wednesday night, I don't know why
she bothered coming up at all. She'd no sooner arrived than she was leaving,
going on about all the college work she had to do so she could have the weekend
free.

Of course, it
all came down to The Weekend. You'd have sworn it was a mixture of Christmas
and birthday rolled into one the way she was behaving. Pretty soon it was
starting to loom large in my eyes too, but not in the same way. Right from the
start I was wishing we'd never had it crop up. Half the problem was having to
watch the girl act in a way that's just not like her. And the other half was
concern.  She hasn't lived long enough to know what Larry found out half a
century ago - namely, the more you let yourself get excited about something,
the bigger the let-down.

But one other
thing couldn't help but cross my mind, watching her struggle home last night,
Thursday, with a load of shopping on each arm: she'd never gone to this much
trouble for anyone else. She's never even offered a certain person so much as a
biscuit. Now here was this friend of hers about to get the whole treatment, by
the look of it.

But it was
her I was thinking about really. Worried all the time that this friend of hers
might cancel, and what I'd have to do to cheer her up. But come this morning,
Friday, I decided a new attitude was called for. Now that the big day had
arrived and it didn't look as if there was going to be any cancellation to
disappoint, maybe it was time to start giving this friend the benefit of the
doubt. In other words, it was time to think in terms of there being the three
of us here instead of the two. After that, it only took a bit more effort to
start looking on the bright side. If this friend - who was a friend of Mandy's
after all - turned out to be only half as nice, the chances were the three of
us would get on like a house on fire.

That's why,
just before lunch, I popped out and did some shopping for us three - just in
case.

Only, what is it they say -
There's
no fool like an old fool?
That's it, isn't it?

Coming home,
I reckon I was more loaded than Mandy was last night. I couldn't have got any
more into my carrier. Chock-a-block it was with all the things that young girls
like. Angel Delight (various flavours), gypsy creams, French fancies, Viennese
whirls - it was all there. Not that Mandy is all that easy to tempt when she's
by herself; it's hard enough to get a cup of tea down her normally. But I
thought, once she saw her friend tucking in, the chances were she might do the
same.

So I'd done
my bit in one sense, then. But there hadn't been time to get downstairs for my
rounds this morning - though doubtless Ethel would have been in before me - so
the first thing I did was nip back down to the middle landing to see if there
was anything for me to do. And straightaway I noticed. There were flowers,
everywhere, stacks of them, stuck up in jugs in every room. Don't ask me how
many there were or what kind, just ask yourself the number of bus rides she
could have had for what they must have cost.

What I do
know is, the moment I set eyes on them, and caught the whiff of them in the
back of my throat, I could feel myself getting unsettled. It was so - how can I
put it - out of character for Mandy.

And that
wasn't all. There was the sheer amount of stuff on her larder shelves, half of
which I'd never even seen in the shops before. I mean, anchovies. What would
young girls want with anchovies?

After that,
the day just seemed to go on for ever, I've never known one like it. Then, as
if she was trying to make matters worse, Mandy seemed to have forgotten about
coming home.  All I could do was sit here, watching the clock, waiting for
something to happen.

Then at last,
on the dot of ten, I heard it - the sound of the front door. I could hardly
have missed it. The wind must have snatched it out of someone's hand, and
slammed it shut with an almighty crash that shook the entire house. Not that I
minded. You could forget the din, at least the waiting was over.

Then there's
Mandy's voice in the hall, not just talking, but chattering away, nineteen to
the dozen, and
every
word clearly audible
despite there being two flights of stairs and a
landing between us. And the first thing that hit me was - this was not the
Mandy I know, the one who tiptoes between rooms as if she's scared of
disturbing the mice. This was a different Mandy altogether.

If you'd
heard her, you would understand why it was I couldn't move, why I just stayed
where I was, clutching the side of the sink wondering what to do next. The plan
had been to toddle on down the moment I heard them, introduce myself on the
stairs and save Mandy the embarrassment. But suddenly I couldn't do that now,
not with a Mandy I didn't know.

Then, blessed
relief, she actually stopped talking. Maybe she had run out of breath, or even
- and here was a thought to brighten me up no end - that was the end of it; she
had calmed down. Excitement over. In which case, I could go and shake hands all
round, offer them a warm fire, even a cup of hot chocolate seeing it was so
late ...

And then it
happened.

Another
voice, picking up where Mandy's had left off. Not saying very much - no more
than half a dozen words. But that's all it took to turn the world upside down.

You see, it
was a man's voice.

It was no
good trying to think. Thinking was the last thing on my mind. 'Mandy,' I
shouted. 'Mandy love is that you? Are you all right?'

The words
were out before I could stop them. Downstairs everything went quiet. Then
Mandy's voice floated up, awkward, like you'd expect, scarcely loud enough to
be heard, yet at the same time, clear as a bell. 'Of course it's me, Larry. Who
did you think it was?'

And that was
a small shock in itself. Because it was exactly the sort of thing Doreen would
have done - answer a question with a question. Twisting your words right back
at you. You can't win.

And she knows
it. A second later there comes her voice again, only louder this time. 'Larry,
that friend of mine is here. Would you like to come down and say hello?'

To which the
answer was most definitely, most emphatically and positively 'no'. Larry had
been all set to meet a young woman. Had waited here all day to make her welcome
for Mandy's sake. A girl, that is, not a man. Never, for one second, a man.

But what
could I do? I let go of the banister, said goodbye to the good times, and made
my weary way downstairs.                  

At first all I can see is Mandy. For the simple reason it's
impossible to take my eyes off her. I'd seen something of the way she could
change before this - quick flashes of temper lighting up her cheeks, the same
when she's excited. But it never lasted. One well-chosen word, and all that
unnatural colour would simply drain away and she'd be her sweet pale self
again. Not now, though. Even in this light you could see it was here to stay.
She was rosy as a child who's run all the way home from school, the exact same
colour Doreen used to be when she'd go out night after night and tell me she
had been visiting her cousin. The trouble being, her cousin didn't know
anything about it. Her eyes are as bad, still sparkling from the cold and the
traffic fumes - and something else again. For the first time ever you could
imagine men noticing her in the street. Only what I would say to them would be:
walk on by. Because I know all about what goes on behind those sort of eyes and
that sort of colour. Better not to look. Except I have to, just in case she's
still there, somewhere, Mandy, my lovely pale girl.

And then she
smiles at me, and straightaway I know she's gone. My Mandy never laughs at me
when she smiles.

So it's
almost a relief to look past her, and see who's there instead. As if even a
stranger would be less strange than the girl who was standing where Mandy
should be. Besides, it might only have been a minute since the whole world was
turned on its head, but I was already getting used to the idea. I knew what to
expect - a boy, the same age as her, another kid.

It was a
small certainty - I hadn't even put it into words as such - but it was
comforting in its way. Knowing what to expect in all this mayhem. And at least
we knew where those jumpers of hers had come from.

Which only
made it worse when I saw what was really there.

There was no
boy here. Standing behind her was a man, I repeat, a man. By which I mean not a
day under forty, older than that even.

'Larry,' says
Mandy. 'Larry, this is Francis. Francis, this is Larry.'

I didn't
shake hands. What reason was there? He didn't make a move towards me. In any
case, I was too busy looking. Trying to get it straight. I can only seem to
take in the bare essentials. He's tall and dark, with a lot of hair. His own.

But I still
have ears. In a crisis they can sometimes tell you more than eyes. So I don't
miss a trick when he casts a look in my direction and says, 'Aha. So this is
the famous Larry. Amanda's told me all about you.' He's doing an impression of
a man who's just lifted the stone off some interesting wildlife. And to go with
it, the voice. Fancy accent. Officer class. Although this man has never been in
the army.

I expect
Mandy's waiting for me to say something, but she can wait for ever as far as
I'm concerned. I'm still too busy, listening to that voice, trying to see my
way past it, and what I suppose would pass as good looks, all the time trying
to get through to what's really there. And it's coming, it's dawning on me. I'm
beginning to put him together; His eyes are set too close, his nose is too
long. When I said he was dark, I meant it. There might even be foreign blood
there. What's more, that tweed jacket of his might set off his shoulders just
nicely, but I reckon there's not an ounce of muscle on him. And I'll tell you
this for nothing - Doreen wouldn't have thought much of him, not after the first
impression.

But what you
can't get away from is the fact that he's so sure of himself. Confident. That's
what they all are, men like him. He knows what I'm doing, but he doesn't give a
monkey's. He's said his hello, now he's just pretending that I'm not there, the
way these people can. Namely, the upper classes. In others you'd call it plain
ignorance. However, he can't move while I'm still there, taking up all the
space, not budging till I've looked at him, and then looked at him some more,
searching till I've found something I can pin on him.

It takes time
though. Beside me, Mandy is clearing her throat, wondering how to get past. But
it's no good. Not when I've almost found what I'm looking for.

And suddenly,
there it is. It was staring at me all the time, in the set of his shoulders and
the crease in his shirt.

Married.

The
satisfaction is wonderful. Suddenly I feel as if I could almost laugh in his
face, because it cuts him right down to size. It's enough to cheer anyone up.
After that it's almost a pleasure to step aside and let him pass, because now I
know what we're dealing with. What's more, I reckon he knew it too. I'd no
sooner got out of the way than he was hurrying on into the sitting room,
propelling Mandy in front of him. And me, I'm letting them go, all buoyed up
because I'd got his measure. Then the door closes and half a second's
satisfaction dissolves into nothing. Because if he is married, then what does
that make Mandy?

Fifteen
minutes pass, and I hear them on the stairs again. You couldn't have missed
them. He was taking her out to dinner - at this time of night. But then, you
could tell he was the sort who could make places stay open. And you could just
imagine the place they'd be going to now. Somewhere where the waiters look down
their noses at you, and ask you to test the wine, just so they can see the look
on your face. Only not him. They would be all over him. He was the right sort.

Oh yes, you
could imagine it all right. Big hellos, then on to the wine and the steak and
the gateau, and mints and Cointreau. After the last tipple and the taxi home,
what would you say would be coming next?

I saw them
walk along the road together on their way out. From up here, in the gloom, she
even looked like my Mandy again - no more than a kid - going out for a
late-night walk with her dad. Then all of a sudden at the end of the road, she
stops and throws her arms around his neck, and because of it their faces meet
and merge, and it's no good thinking of fathers any more. Fathers get arrested
for less.

You won't believe this, but after all that I never did hear
them come in. I was asleep. Oh I meant to listen out for them all right, and
when I finally did get to my bed, sleep was the very last thing on my mind.
There was that one fact I needed to know, and I was only going to discover that
by staying awake. But maybe that's what happens when a thing is that important:
your brain plays you false and sends you off to sleep before you even know
what's happened. Added to which there was the shock of it all. It takes it out
of you.

The upshot
is, I'm sound asleep within minutes, and there's Doreen. She's standing in
front of a mirror putting on a scarf. Orange lipstick and a mouth that says,
I told you so, I told you
so.
Women and their mouths. Some things never change, no matter what you
do. Still, at least she should have been some kind of preparation for waking
up, for all the unpleasantness ahead. But she wasn't. Nothing could have
prepared me for that.

At first I
thought I was still dreaming, or that I'd woken up in the wrong place. Other
people's voices shouting to one another. Her voice, his voice, and no attempt
to keep a lid on it, not letting you get away from the truth for a second:
there was a stranger in the house. Two strangers. And of course this was no
dream.

Having fallen
asleep, I hadn't learned the answer to my question, either.

The fact was,
even now, twelve hours later, the shock hadn't gone away. It took until they
went out again for the second time - to some art gallery on the other side of
town, as if we had wanted to know - for the rest of it to sweep over me, the
sorrow and the anger, the disillusionment. In one word, the disappointment. It
made no difference which way you tried to look at it, the truth always remained
the same, blinding from each and every angle. Mandy had lied. No more, no less.
She had led me, led us all, in one long merry dance up the garden path with all
that talk of a 'friend' and so on and so forth, yet somehow forgetting to
mention that this 'friend' of hers just happened to be a man. It didn't matter
that nothing was said as much in words; you can lie by omission every bit as
well as by other means. Ask any woman. And that's what she had done. She had
lied. Lied to her Larry.

If it weren't
for that one question that remained to be answered, it would all be very
simple. In short, she never was any different. All you had to do was trust
Larry to find it out. Then again, I'd forgotten how other people would react.
Reminder, when it came, was like another explosion, smaller, but at closer
quarters.

'Mr Mann?
Cooee, Mr Mann, are you there?'

Ethel. Yes
it's true. In all this, I really had forgotten Ethel. My heart heaves itself
out of the pit of my stomach with a mighty bound. Whoever would have thought
that the mere sound of Ethel's voice could, out of the blue, lift a chap's
spirits like that? But it did, because it changed everything. As if Ethel would
ever put up with a man in the house, for a single hour let alone a night. The
very idea was laughable. There couldn't be a moment's doubt what she was
calling me for now; she wanted him out. Only she needed someone there to help -
just in case it all turned nasty. Now it was a case of plans having to be made,
the police called even, just to be on the safe side ...

'I'll be down
in two shakes, Mrs D,' I called out, loud and clear. The woman must know that
she could depend on someone. She deserved it. For once in her life, there could
be no faulting her character. And for the first time that morning, there was
something close to a smile on my face.

I was halfway
down the stairs before it hit me. What about Mandy, though? It was all very
well chucking him out - the sooner the better for all concerned -
but what about Mandy?
She was the one who had gone ahead and done It, broken the very first Law of
Ethel Duck, and of all landladies of the old school. No Men in the House. Ever.

Only when it
came to this one, he wasn't the problem, not really. All she had to do was
close the front door and lock it. No, there was another reason for wanting me.
Age had finally caught up with her. The good old days had gone when she could
haul suitcase after suitcase into the street all by herself. She needed help
for that. In other words, it was Mandy she wanted out.

And it's
then, just to add to the chaos, that something else occurs, not so much a
thought but a face - Mandy's, the way it is usually, when he's not there.
Mandy's face, turned towards yours, listening to every word. I reckon I've come
to know that face as well as my own - and the person who goes with it. And
suddenly, that's all it takes - one flash of those sweet features, and I’m
seeing clearly again. My Mandy could be naughty, she could come out with her
little fibs and think she was fooling us all, but she wasn't the sort to bring
men home just so she could... do whatever it was Ethel had in mind. Surely not.
Not my Mandy.

Not my Mandy.

What was
needed here was a second chance. A bit of give and take. Not that anyone would
suggest that she get off scot-free, but several sharp words should be enough,
resulting in a few tears maybe, proof that she realized how serious it was.
After that, a fresh start, a new beginning all round.

Only someone
would have to tell Ethel.

Ethel. She
was always going to be the problem, You do not lightly set about persuading a
woman like Ethel Duck to change the habits of a lifetime. Because that's the
way of women, always wanting to think the worst of others like them. And nine
times out of ten they'd be right. Unless it's my mother you're talking about,
in which case make that ten out of ten. She saw through Doreen from the very
start, and it's matter for thankfulness that she never lived to see herself
proved right. But it's Ethel we're talking about now. The very thought of her
would be enough to drive most men back up those stairs. But not Larry, not when
there was Mandy's face, lighting every step of his way.

At the
bottom, Ethel is actually smiling.

In the
circumstances, I found it rather confusing, but this was no time to be
sidetracked by small things. Not when I needed to plan what I was going to say.
There were the sentences to be shaped and got into line, polished and stored up
ready to be trotted out no matter how thick the enemy fire. And most important
of all, there was knowing when to choose the moment.

In the
kitchen, Gilbert waves a hand (and both of us know where that's been) and
Ethel  folds her arms across her pinny. For a moment not one of us says a word.
The temptation is to throw caution to the four winds and go in all guns blazing.

'... Only young, Mrs D.
That's all... Just needs a second chance... We all need to learn...'

Willpower
triumphed, however. Some-how I managed to hold my fire and in the event, it's
Ethel who speaks first.

'We need a
few moments of your time, Mr Mann...'

I nod. But
the words keep trooping through my head, threatening to spill out if I so much
as open my mouth.
'Mere
slip of a girl. No doubt about it. Needs a mother's hand ...'

'I hardly
have to tell you, at our age, some things will always need another pair of
hands.'

'Of course you're right.
You need help. And she's been naughty, I'll not deny it...'

'Just look at
it. You can blame the frame of course. Adds to the weight no end.'

'I'll speak to her though.
Strong words, mind. A week from now we can forget this ever happened.'

'There's no
way we could manage, not with Mr Duck in his condition. But you can see, we
have to get it down. It's been up there so long. And what with all the dirt
that blows in...'