The Last Girl (7 page)

'Oh Mandy,
love.' I said. 'What's wrong? You're not ill are you?'

'No, I mean
yes. I mean I don't know. Perhaps that's why. All I know is, I can't eat this.
I'm sorry. I can see it looks lovely, but you going to so much trouble,
well...I just can't go along with it.'

And as if
that little explanation said it all, she stood up. Just like that. Without so
much as lifting a knife and fork. Any second now, judging by the look on her
face, she would be saying to me that I did understand didn't I, as if it all
made sense.

In which case
my only answer would have to be no - it didn't make sense. To tell the truth, I
couldn't quite believe it was happening, that I could do all this for someone
only to see them turn it down. I looked at her and looked at the plate, then up
at her again. 'You saying you don't want it then?' was all I could come up
with, finally.

Even that
didn't get a straight yes or no out of her. She just started mumbling on again
about me going to too much trouble. As if somehow that made all the difference.

I know what
you're saying. I should have let it go at that. The girl just wasn't worth the
effort. I could have taken the plate away and said nothing more about it. That
way we could have another couple of minutes chat for politeness' sake, then she
would have tripped off downstairs again, telling herself she was in nobody's
debt, and didn't have to worry about a thing. Especially not about how there
was someone upstairs, all on his ownsome, night after night without a soul to
keep him company. I could have done that, let her off the hook.

Except that
she would have regretted
it in the end
. Not now maybe, but in later years, looking back. It would
have been on her  conscience, the way she turned around and acted tonight. It
would be there all right, nagging her in the daytime and not letting her sleep
at night. Because it was only then she would have come to know what ingratitude
does to a person, the damage it can do. By then, it would have happened to her.

All this went
through my mind as I looked at her, and thought about the sort of girl she was,
and half of me was saying,  let her go, as the other half was whispering, give
her another chance.

Here's what I
did: I addressed her, quietly, but with dignity. 'I know it's not much, love.
And probably not what you're used to, not with your background. I expect it's
more a case of smoked salmon and champagne where you come from. But what you've
got to understand is, it was the best I could manage. OAPs aren't millionaires,
you know.'

'Larry ...'

'No, no,
love. Don't say a word. You're right. There's no use in forcing it down. You
leave it. I daresay it won't go to waste. With a bit of luck it'll keep for
dinner tomorrow. I'll put it back in the fridge.'

But I didn't.
I stopped right there where I was. The plate stayed and so did Mandy. A few
seconds later she sat down again, and a few seconds after that she picked up
her knife and fork. One more tiny pause, and then she started to eat. Like a
little bird she was, to see her, picking at this, picking at that, but she got
through it, every scrap - well, nearly. She would keep on taking sips from her
glass between every bite and I reckon it was that that stopped her having room
for the rest. But I didn't say anything. She'd eaten enough - what you could
call an elegant sufficiency.

Afterwards,
when I was sure she was finished, and didn't fancy a scoop of icecream or
anything, I turned up the TV and we settled down to watch a programme on
Wildlife in Africa which I'd starred in the
TV
Times
. When the adverts came on, though, I did what I should have done
before, and told her a few things she didn't know about Ethel Duck. How the
first and most important thing was not to be taken in. And just to illustrate
the point I told her about the time I accidentally let it drop that one of the
girls - this was before the Indians came along -had entertained a man here the
night before. Next thing, the poor girl comes home to find that Ethel has
packed and hauled every one of her suitcases out into the front garden and left
them there. Ethel, who looks as if she couldn't lift a telephone directory
without help. And she could still do it, I reckon.

And Mandy?
The old kid just listened. Never said a word. If you ask me, it must have been
the shock. Learning the truth about Ethel would be enough to shut anybody up.
Still, she needed to hear it, if only to make things easier for her in the long
run. I could have told her a lot more besides, but before I knew it the little
clock on the mantelpiece had pealed out eleven and she was getting up to go. I
was sorry to see it, but I could hardly complain.

'Good night
then, love,' I said to her.

'Yes Larry,'
she said, doubtless meaning, 'and good night to you'. But short and sweet,
that's the essence of Mandy. I'm beginning to know her now, and you'll not find
me grumbling because she doesn't fall over herself with talk like most women.
Then off she went, back to those cold rooms of hers downstairs.

But what
matter? The old kid is here to stay.

Believe it or not, she was actually back early this
evening, long before I'd thought about listening out for her. Not that I was
complaining. The sooner she came home, I thought, the sooner we'd be seeing
her. Which shows how much I knew. The minutes rolled by, and where was Madam?
Not up here, that was for sure. After last night you'd have expected the first
thing she'd want to do was bound up those stairs to see her old pal. But did
she? Don't ask.

Round about
seven I started to catch the smell of toast burning, and that was almost like
the final blow. You see, never mind that I'd told her I always eat my tea with
the six o'clock news, I had actually begun to wonder if the reason she hadn't
been up was because she was busy cooking a meal for us both - to return the
favour, so to speak.  Well, unless she planned on serving up charcoal, you
could forget that.

Then I told
myself not to fret I'd see her soon enough. After all, it doesn't take two
minutes to polish off a couple of rounds of toast.

Only then,
another hour went by.

I even
started to worry a bit. Especially as, try as I might, I couldn't hear a sound
from downstairs. If there had been anything I would have heard it. Yet it was
that quiet, I couldn't even tell which room she was in. Then finally, I heard a
door open.

I was in the
kitchen at the time, ideally placed for calling down to her in friendly
fashion. But I didn't. I wanted to see if she would do the decent thing and
come up all by herself. So what I did was cough, only the once, but loudly,
just in case she thought there was no-one else at home.

Worked like
magic, it did. That one cough and you could have heard a pin drop. It was as if
that same little sound had caught hold and kept her from taking another step.
Result - you could almost see us both, like a pair of statues, me up here and
she down there, and everything so still we could practically hear each other
breathing.

Then at last,
it came. Her knock. Like I knew it would.

'Evening
stranger,' I say, just to make a point.

Which she
surely gets because at once that pale face of hers colours ever so slightly and
she says, 'Oh Larry, I'm sorry not to have been up. And I can't even stay now,
I'm so tired.'

Lucky for her
then that Larry's got the answer to everything. Not to mention the cure. 'Oh
yes, love?' I said. 'If it's that bad, you'd better sit down before you fall
down.' A kindly little push towards the lounge, and what can she say? Hardly
that it's not relaxing here, not with deep plush to take the weight off her
legs, and everything she could wish for there for the asking.

Anyway, it
just so happens that I was feeling a bit peaky myself - before I set eyes on
her, that is. But it's as anyone could have told her: there's nothing like a
chat with an old pal to put the life back into you.

The truth is,
I'd been looking forward to this moment all day.

I'd been
thinking, you see. There are things that up to now I haven't told a single
person - one, because it's none of their business, and two, because you were
only bound to be disappointed by their reaction. But Mandy is different. We
might not have known each other more than a few days, but believe me when I
say, you could tell that girl anything. Not only will she listen, but most
important of all, she'll understand. You can see it in her eyes, you can hear
it in her voice. That's the sort of girl she is. If you didn't have a trouble
in the world you'd want to make one up, like Ethel, just to have her listen and
look at you the way she does.

But Larry
doesn't have to make up his troubles. He's seen enough for all of us. And
tonight I was going to pay that girl the ultimate compliment - I was going to
tell her things I hadn't told another living soul.

But you know,
a decision like that, it's a hard one to make. And once you've made it, you
don't much feel like beating around the bush, not when you've finally got her
sitting there. The temptation is simply to turn to the old kid and say, 'All
right Mandy, brace yourself. What do you think of a woman who lives with you as
your lawful wedded wife for thirty-five years, then all of a sudden says she's
off to live with a fancy man half her age in a caravan in Waltham Abbey? And as
if that wasn't bad enough, the one person you'd expect to be on your side,
namely your own daughter, lets you down. Turns out to be visiting them both on
the sly. As if none of it had happened. I mean, I ask you, is that the sort of
thing a man's expected to rise above, eh Mandy?'

The fact is,
of course, you can't do it. You've got to choose your moment, hang on till the
time is right. The trick is to bring the conversation round slowly to the
object in mind. Then you let her have it. And that's what I did. I made her
comfortable and carried on talking about this and that, but all the time edging
closer and closer to the big moment. I even started to enjoy myself. It meant
me telling her about the olden days, before the war, when a man could grow old
with a bit of dignity intact. Granted, pensions weren't what they might have
been and doctors wanted to see the colour of your money before they'd give you
so much as an aspirin, but people knew how to look after their own. Compare
that with today, I told her, and weep, because there's nobody left who cares.

A pause, and
a sigh. I reckoned it was Mandy's turn. And sure enough, after a little start
as if she's realized just that, she looks at me, eyes wide, and says: 'But
Larry, don't you have any family?'

That was my
cue. I took a deep breath - I'd need it. Because talk about Family, I could
write a book.

'
Amanda. There's someone on
the phone wants a word.'

Made me jump.
Made both of us jump. It was Ethel Duck's voice reaching up on the wings of a
squawk from the very bottom of the stairs. A second later, Mandy has leapt to
her feet. 'Sorry Larry,' I hear her murmur as she passes, and then she's gone,
running down those stairs two at a time by the sound of it. That didn't even
leave me time enough to warn her that if there's one thing Ethel won't allow,
it's people using her phone. She'll be having a fit this very minute if I know
her. But would she say anything to Mandy? It would be better if she did. Better
than saying nothing, and simply chalking up a black mark against her - till the
next time. I chewed that over for a full five minutes, until finally I managed
to calm down.

'Just this
once won't hurt! That's what I told myself. 'And it won't happen again because
you can tell her all about it when she comes back.' So I plumped up the
cushions where she'd been sitting, got it all nice for her again, and started
thinking of something clever and kind to say when her head popped up in my
doorway again.

Only she
never came. I must have sat there till going on midnight just expecting that
she would. I sat up until heard her bedroom door closing for the final time,
and realized it was no good.

So who do I
blame? Myself for not jumping straight in when I should have? Ethel for
interrupting and ruining everything like she always does?

Or Mandy for
asking a question, then not bothering to come back for the answer?

There's no sense in asking if I slept well. Disappointment
has a way of ruining sleep. It was that lack of consideration more than
anything. She must have known I was waiting. You don't run out in the middle of
a conversation with a person and then just not come back.

Unless it was
that Ethel kept her talking.

But even that
was no excuse. I had her first. She should have thought up something to say and
come away.

If I'd seen
her this morning I would have said something to her. After the sort of night
had, I would have. Maybe that's why she took it into her head to leave the
house even earlier than yesterday. She's the sort of kid who knows when she's
done wrong, after all. It was just possible that she was ashamed to face me.

All the same,
she was still going to have to come home. And explain. Because by then I'd
realized for myself - a girl like Mandy would never knowingly have caused
upset. If she didn't come back to hear the answer to her very own question then
there must have been a reason for it, and knowing my Mandy, it would have been
a good one.

That's why I
must have nearly worn my ears out listening for her. But what do you think - I
didn't hear a sound. Not a dicky bird. When nine o'clock came round I had to
admit it was late, even for her. And just like you'd expect I started worrying
about that too. Because there's other stuff I've never had the chance to
mention to her either. About walking about after dark and Finsbury Park not a
stone's throw away.

I'd been
feeling a good deal better this afternoon; now all of a sudden I was feeling a
good deal worse.

So that was
my state of  mind  when  late in the evening I pottered downstairs to answer
one last quick call of nature before going to bed. Not that anyone would have
heard a squeak out of me. Even if Mandy was out, it's hardly the sort of thing
you want to advertise. So here was I, tiptoeing past her bedroom door when all
of a sudden it opens, and there she was.

Well, I don't
know who looked the more shocked her or me!

'Oh, Larry,'
says she, with a faint sort of smile.

'Mandy!' I
reply. 'You're back, then.' Actually, I'm shouting at the top of my voice.
Because the truth of the matter is, I'm that pleased to see her, everything
else has vanished from my mind. 'You just got in?'

'Mmmm,' she
replies - if a half mumble directed at her toes can be called a reply.

I could have
left it at that, but there was something in the way she was standing clutching
the door and looking at her feet, not me, that made me say, 'Get away. I bet
you've been home all this time, and never let on.' I was joking of course, all
I wanted her to know was that her absence had been noted.

But there you
are with Mandy. Everything has to be complicated. I was only trying to be
pleasant, and before my eyes she goes bright red, and doesn't say a word.

That's not
the effect I'd been after, not when all I’d hoped for was to hear her chuckle
as she said, 'Of course not, Larry. What a thing to suggest. I just got in five
minutes ago.' Instead she was there, saying nothing that made any sense,
practically turning circles on the spot.

Suddenly I
wanted to end it, conversation and all, sign off with a few words that would
help her to explain everything. 'Don't mind me,' I said. 'I bet I know why you
were late. It's the buses. You're desperate to get home, and there they are,
all heading off in the opposite direction to Finsbury Park. It's enough to
drive you mad.'

All she had
to do was nod. Then we could both have gone to bed happy. But not Mandy.

'Actually, I
don't use the buses,' she says. 'Not unless I really have to. Most of the time
I walk.'

And that
stops me in my tracks. Makes me stare at her, wondering if I'd heard her right.
That college of hers is a good three miles away. I know because being
interested I looked it up in the telephone directory. It's right off down the
end of City Road. People used to walk
that
sort
of
distance
once,
and
not
think
twice about it, but not now, not in the
days of the bus pass and all.

She's still
talking, explaining. 'It doesn't take me that long, and it saves me pounds in
fares.'

I daresay it
does. But then, most people would be glad to spend all that just to save their
legs. I mean - six miles.

'That's all very
well, Mandy love,' I said, 'you walking like that, just to save yourself eighty
pee, but have you thought about this? The longer you take to get home, the
later it will be. I mean, half the time you don't leave that college of yours
until it's way after dark anyway.'

She shrugs.
As if to say, 'So what?' Starts fiddling with the handle on her door. As for
me, I just watch her for a moment, then say quietly, 'Oh Mandy love, you've got
to believe me. You're playing with fire. This is no place to be swanning around
after dark.'

There must
have been something in the way I spoke that caught her attention then. She left
off fiddling and looked at me properly for the first  time.  'I don't
understand, Larry. What do you mean by that?'

I mean, 'Mandy
love,' I was still keeping my voice quiet, not wanting to panic her with what I
had to say next, 'I mean there are facts about this area that you just don't
know. See, things happen around here that, not to put too fine a point on it,
hardly bear thinking about.'

'What sort of
things, Larry?' At last she's beginning to sound serious.

'Well there
was this woman for starters,' I said.

'Yes?'

'Killed,' I
said. 'They found her less than three hundred yards from where we are now. Not
a breath of life left in her.'

Her eyes
shoot open at that. 'Larry, no. Really? When?'

'Let me
think, eleven, twelve years ago ...?' I was still trying to get it right,
answer the question properly, when what does she do but interrupt. And believe
it or not, she's laughing.

'Twelve years
ago. Oh God, Larry. You had me worried for a minute. Now if it had been last
week ...'

'No, no, wait,'
I said. 'That's only one. I haven't told you about the other yet. Someone else
was found almost in the same spot, exactly the same thing happened to her as to
the first one.'

'Oh yes, and
when was that, Larry? Nine, ten years ago?'

I don't mind
saying I almost lost my temper with her then. This wasn't what you'd expect
from a girl like her. Just for a minute I might have been talking to June. Then
suddenly she wipes the smile off her face and it's back to the old Mandy.