The Last Girl (5 page)

And you
should have seen the way she smiled. Lovely teeth she has.

'So where is
it you hail from?' I asked, expecting her to tell me Hong Kong. It would have
been nice to have a few words on the subject before Old Gilbert got his oar in.
Only the answer She gives falls a bit short of that.

'Scotland,'
she says. 'Edinburgh, to be exact'

'Yes, but is
that where you call home?' I said, giving her another crack at the answer. Only
still she doesn't come up with what you'd expect.

'It's where
my friends are. I don't know a soul down here. I hope it changes.' Then she
gives me this wonderful smile, wide, but a bit shaky round the edges. 'I'm
really not very good at making friends.'

'Never you
mind,' I said quick as a flash. 'You know me now. Anything you need, Larry will
be here.'

Now then, if
there was any friendlier way of putting it than that, I'd like to know. Because
what happens next is just about beyond belief. I was all set to come straight
out and ask where Hong Kong came in, when she puts down her glass and stands
up. 'I'm sorry, Mr Mann, I'm going to have to go. I've hardly done any
unpacking, you know. Oh, and by the way, thank you so much for all the fruit.
You really shouldn't have. Good night.'

And that, as
they say, was that. She had hardly touched her sherry. Yet there wasn't even
time to point this out to her. She was already gone. Leaving me with half a
glass of the stuff in my hand which presumably I now had to drink by myself,
and that's not to mention a packet of cigarettes sitting there, unopened.

What was that
she said about being no good at friends? All of a sudden you can begin to see
why.

Not to put
too fine a point on it then, I was disappointed. To put it mildly. What sort of
person is it who gets the sort of welcome I'd given her, then hardly stops long
enough to say thank you? I mean, that was bad enough, mentioning the fruit as
if it had been the last thing on her mind, but what about what she called me? I
thought I had made it quite clear: call me Larry, I'd said. So what does she
do? Goes straight ahead and calls me Mr Mann again. That's what hurts. You do
your best to be friendly, and then someone goes and treats you no better than a
stranger.

***

After that, there was only one way to think. Namely, it was
business as usual on the middle landing. Half the world has forgotten how to
behave. I poured the sherry back into the bottle and tried to get on with the
evening, turned up the fire and switched on the TV. In short, I decided not to
dwell. But you know, I couldn't help it. If it had been one of the other girls,
I wouldn't have minded, but what you couldn't get away from was - she's one of
us. You'd expect her to behave a bit different.

Gradually
though, I started to see sense. You mustn't be too quick to judge a person -
even when it is a woman. Of course you would have expected her to stay and
chat, but you've got to look at it from her point of view. We are talking about
a girl who's been nicely brought up. Maybe she thought she had no business to
be sitting at night in a man's room, talking and drinking. What if I'd been someone
quite different, and something had happened? You would have said then that
she'd had it coming.

You know
what? The old kid just needs to get to know me better. She'd soon see there's
nothing funny about Larry. She could be Sophia Loren, and he still wouldn't be
interested. Doreen saw to that.

If it carries
on though, I'm going to have to tell her. We can't have her getting the wrong
idea of Larry, and what's worse, letting it come between us. It's the sort of
thing that can ruin a friendship before it's even started. A short history of
Larry, then, and his experiences with the female species might be entirely in
order. What's more, she might be just the sort of person you'd want to tell.
Remember that noise on the landing? What we might be talking about here is a
thing that goes against the grain of all creation. A woman with a sympathetic
ear.

Am I jumping
the gun? Am I expecting too much? I don't think so. When you've seen as much as
Larry, you get so that you can judge. That girl is different.

So there you
have it. I say there's every reason for giving Amanda the benefit of the doubt.
Forget this afternoon. As someone wisely said: tomorrow is another day.

Do you know those days when you can tell from the moment
you wake up that everything's going to turn out right? Today was one of those
days. I lay down and slept like a baby - and woke up like a lion, ready for
anything. Not that you could ever call me the gloomy sort. But the way I felt
first thing today made me hum while got dressed, whistle when I picked up the
milk, and actually sing as I got everything going for breakfast. What's more I
found myself throwing in an extra rasher on top of the rest and never even gave
it a second thought.

In a
nutshell, I'd woken up in a good mood, and that's not like me. Being a stable
sort of chap I'd always have said I wasn't one for moods of any kind, good or
bad. I'm just the same, all the year round. Only not today.

Mind you, I
wasn't quite such a happy boy when it's nine o'clock already and there's me, in
urgent need of my constitutional, yet no sign of movement down below. You'd
have thought anyone with a normal job would have been up and out long before
now, but not, it seemed, with our Mandy. It was only now that she was getting
up. The long and the short of it, it was causing me no end of distress having
to wait for her to do what she had to do and go. In all the years I've lived
here, I've never once gone to the loo for
that
reason while there's been anyone at home downstairs. Not in the week anyway. My
insides seem to know when it's a weekend and hang fire till the Monday. But in
the week, when there's not supposed to be anyone down there, that's asking too
much. They have a mind of their own, and that mind is as regular as clockwork.
But what could I do?
The
bedroom is right next door to the lav
.

In the end,
just when I thought maybe she was taking the day off, I heard her feet on the
stairs to the hall, and the slam of the front door. And just as well. If she'd
left it any longer, I reckon I would have needed hospitalizing.

Blessed
relief then you would have thought would be the order of the day. And indeed,
no-one could have got down those stairs faster than me, thundering along the
passageway deaf to everything else. I'd almost made it too, when what should
happen but Mandy's kitchen door opens. Not Mandy though, but Ethel. And the
girl not gone more than two minutes.

There was
nothing for it then. Since wild horses would not have persuaded me to carry on
into the smallest room and get on with matters while she was outside, all I
could do was stop and say, as casually as was possible in the circumstances,
'Good morning, Mrs D.'

And that's
when I saw the look on her face.

Catching
Ethel in one of her moods is like getting too close to the bonfire on Guy
Fawkes night, with a wind blowing in from all directions. Stand anywhere for
long and you end up showered in sparks. In a little while you come to
understand what the guy must feel. And it's no good telling yourself you
haven't done a thing wrong. When Ethel's got you in your sights you just have
to get used to the fact that you're guilty.

The only way
of dealing with it is to stay as cheery as can be. Resolute under fire.

'Mr Mann. I
understand you've had words with Miss Tyson.'

'Indeed I
have, Mrs Duck. And a lovely quiet girl she seems to be. Ever so friendly.'

'She can be
as friendly as she likes, Mr Mann. But that doesn't excuse a thing.'

So. it wasn't
me, but Mandy. You would scarcely have thought there could have been enough
time. But done something she has. Already Ethel is marching back towards the
kitchen, and naturally I'm right behind her. She throws open the kitchen door,
then stands aside for me to have a look. But even that is not enough. As I poke
my head inside, a vicious little jab between the shoulder blades pushes me
halfway across the floor.

'Now you tell
me,' hisses Ethel. 'Just what do you think of that?'

It's a mess,
that's what I think, though I don't actually say so. There are a couple of
plates in the sink, unwashed, as well as cutlery, a table covered with
breadcrumbs, and in the middle a lone tea cup, with a spill of coffee where the
saucer should be. The table is Formica, so it's hardly going to come to any
harm. But that's not the point of course, that's not the point at all.

Ethel pipes
up behind me, 'I need hardly tell you that this is not what I expected of her,
Mr Mann. Oh no. What sort of place does she think this is? If I'd have thought
for one second she'd be the kind who ...'

'Mrs D,' I
said. Seeing where this was heading I'd butted in before I'd thought what I was
going to say. But I carried on anyway. 'I'll have a word with her tonight, save
you the trouble. How's that? If you ask me, all she wants is to find her feet a
bit. This time next week you'll have forgotten it ever happened.'

'Mr Mann, she
hasn't made her bed either.'

Oh, this was
bad. Ethel wasn't going to stand for that. Down here the walls may be peeling
and the ceiling coming down in flakes, but Ethel doesn't see it like that. All
she can see is the mess that people cause.

'It's no
good, Mr Mann. I should have stuck to my usual sort of girl. They may not be
like you or me, but they never gave me one ounce of trouble. They knew how to
keep a place tidy. But this one, well I ask you. What would her mother say?'

Up to that
point I'd been thinking all was lost, but mention of Mandy's mum gives me an
inspiration. 'Her mother wouldn't like it, I'm sure, Mrs Duck. But she wouldn't
make too much fuss about it, not the first time. See, I reckon she'd understand.
Out there where Mandy comes from, they must have got servants for all this kind
of thing. Poor girl's probably never known anything else.' I don't mention
Edinburgh. 'Leaves her with a terrible disadvantage really. I bet she's not
used to looking after herself. But she's a lovely girl. She'll learn. You mark
my words.'

I said I was
inspired, and was right. The effect on Ethel is a little miracle in itself. The
thought of having a tenant whose mother keeps servants brings about a
transformation. You could feel the tone of the whole house rising even as we
talked.

So why did I
nearly have to spoil it all by adding, 'All the same, these young girls. All
they want is a guiding hand. Remember our June as a youngster ...?'

Luckily for
me, I saw the look on Ethel's face almost before it appeared. She never could
stand having a kid knocking around the house. Doreen used to go on about her
being jealous because it never happened for her and Gilbert. As if. The truth
is, the thought of Ethel with maternal feelings is hardly what you could call a
likely proposition. Anyway, what was wrong with me? Comparing Mandy with June
is like comparing chalk with cheese. June might have been all right when she
was very little, only she grew up, didn't she, and with every year that passed
she grew more to be her mother's daughter. The saddest thing was just having to
watch it.

The main
thing is, I managed to stop in  time, finishing by mumbling something like,
'hark at me wittering on,' and hurrying back upstairs. Funnily enough, whereas
five minutes before I'd been in a state of mortal distress, coming face to face
with Ethel had somehow put paid to that. Good thing too, at the time, only just
let's hope that between the two of them they haven't thrown me right out of
kilter for the duration. There's a lot to be said for being regular.

Anyway, it
hardly mattered. I had enough to keep me occupied for all today, namely, to
think of a way of putting it nicely to Mandy that she would have to tidy up a
bit if she wanted to stay on here. I was hard pushed to find the time to go
out, and even that was only to check on what Harry had on his stall. As usual
it was a struggle to get away, but I'm glad I went. He had some lovely peaches
today. Luscious is the word, and suffice to say, two of them ended up on a
certain young lady's table. I noticed Ethel had cleared up the mess.

In the end I
had it all worked out - knew exactly what I was going to say and everything.
Come half-past five, all Larry had to do was sit down and wait for her.

I should have
guessed she would be late, though, after the start she had. That way, I could
have saved myself the bother of popping out to the top of the stairs every five
minutes just to check she hadn't arrived, and I hadn't gone and missed that
little knock of hers. Yet as it happened, that was the last thing I needed to
worry about. Not only did I hear her on the landing loud and clear, two minutes
later there came a banging on the wall down below. Definitely not what I'd
expected after that timid little tap of yesterday.

Then
everything seemed to happen at once. There was no time to tell her to come up
because half a second later, there she was in the kitchen door. She must have
bounded up those steps three at a time. That's youth for you. Well, youth and
something else. It couldn't just have been the exercise that had got her all
flushed. Two bright spots of red on either side of her face.
Peaches
, I thought.
She must really love
peaches
.

'Mandy,
love,' is what I said aloud. 'Come in.'

But do you
know, she was already in.

'Mr Mann,'
she said, 'Mr Mann.' And stopped. She seemed to be having difficulty getting
the words out. But I didn’t hurry her. I just looked forward to what she had to
say.

Only once
again it’s not what you’d expect.

'Mr Mann.'
No mention of Larry
.
'Someone's been in my rooms. Been all through my belongings. I can hardly
believe it. Nothing is where I left it. Everything has been tampered with,
moved around. My books, my clothes, you name it. I'd say I'd been robbed, yet
nothing is gone. I don't understand it. So I'm asking you - do you know
anything about it?'

Stunned.
That's the only word to describe it. There I was expecting something on the
lines of: 'Good evening Larry. Thank you so Much for the Peaches however did
you Know they were my Favourite.' And instead, I get this. It's only a wonder I
remembered to wipe the smile off my face.

'Well, do
you?' She was glaring at me, and if it hadn't been clear before, it was now.
She was barking mad about something.

'I don't know
what you're talking about, Mandy love. Didn't you lock the doors to those rooms
before you went out?'

'No of course
not. I don't even have keys. Mrs Duck offered me them, and I told her I didn't
need them. Not when there must be fifty locks on the front door anyway. How
could anyone have got in?'

Well, you
should have seen my face then. Never mind that the old kid was shouting at the
top of her voice - and only the good Lord knows what had happened to those
lovely manners - what she had done was taken my breath away. Ethel had offered
her keys, like she does to all the girls. And unlike them, she'd turned them
down. It didn't matter that Ethel has her own set - she wasn't to know that.
The fact remains, it's like having her come straight up to you and say she
trusts you. Makes your heart miss a beat just thinking about it.

'Anyway, I
told you, nothing's missing. All that's happened is that someone has been
through my rooms, getting into everything. It's as if all they wanted to do was
meddle.'

Well, it's at
this point that light begins to dawn. But what could I say? I didn't want to be
the one to break the bad news.

Still, say
something I had to. In another second she'd be taking all this silence for
guilt, and thinking it was me. And it wasn't. It was Ethel, who else. And what was
more, it was only to be expected. It's just that usually she doesn't go this
far. Getting her own back for the mess, I suppose.

Remember this
morning? Mandy hadn't been gone two minutes when I met up with Ethel. Yet
already she'd managed to visit every room on the floor. But you might also have
noticed that I wasn't in the least bit surprised to see her. That was quite
simply because she was only doing what she's done every morning from the first
day she started letting out the rooms. It's like this: the moment she hears
that front door go, she'll be up those stairs faster than you can say Jack
Robinson. After that, you can sit up here and listen to the patter of Ethel on
the move, flitting from room to room, taking her time, touching things,
shifting them - probably no more than an inch to the right or the left -
swapping round the cushions or the ornaments, just what you might do yourself
if you were the occupier here, the sort of thing you do to leave your mark.
It's called treating the place as your own. Except that in this case, it's
Ethel who's doing just that.

Only-Mandy
doesn't know that yet. How could she? She's never come-up against a woman like
Ethel. When she runs up here, talking about 'her' lounge, 'her' kitchen, 'her'
bedroom, she should think again. All she's doing is paying for the use of them.
Meanwhile, Ethel will keep visiting regardless, because in Ethel's mind these
rooms have never belonged to anyone but her. She's the true Lady of the House.

If Mandy can
live with that; she'll be all right.

But if she
can't? You can see the problem. Right at this minute, it was my guess that
Mandy wasn't prepared to live with any such thing. The old kid's blood was up.
If I gave the answer she was looking for, there and then, all unprepared. I
reckoned it was a fifty-fifty chance that she'd turn straight around and pack
her bags. And it would be no good telling her that she'd regret it, the moment
she started looking for somewhere else to live. She wasn't in a mood to listen.
No, one word out of place now, and it would be a case of goodbye Mandy.

Something
else was needed. Something to take the heat out of the situation. What though?

' Hold on a
bit,' I said.

I turned,
reached up into the cupboard above the sink. 'Here,' I said 'Have one of
these.' And so saying, I flipped open the packet of Silk Cut and offered them,
all in one movement, smooth as anything you ever saw in the films. You'd have
sworn I'd been practising all my life.