The Red Door (6 page)

‘How old do you think I am, Harry? I’m an old woman. I’ve got to take my time. I can’t do everything at once. I’m an old woman, Harry.’

‘Just showing you the photo, Sarah, that was all.’

‘I haven’t got time, Harry.’

‘Oh, all right, I’ll go into the other room, Sarah.’

He rose and, limping, went.

He sat down in a chair beside the piano with the photographs on top, Helen’s photograph and Robin’s. His daughter and his son. No letters from them today either. Music on top of the
piano, ‘The Rowan Tree’.

He sat down in the sun that was shining through the window. Fancy the fire at Clarewood’s. Used to live there when we were young, he thought, that area. When we were just married. In a
room and kitchen, with a window overlooking the back. Used to be washing hung out there at the back: they called it the green. Just after the war it was. In those days they had the trams. They had
to take six wall-papers off the walls when they went in, because the previous tenant had been an old woman who had lived by herself. The two of them used to dance in there, the room still bare,
when they worked on it till midnight and after. Sundays, they’d go for a walk by the river, hand in hand. Lie down on the grass and look across the river, shining it was, and the cranes very
tall above the water. Always liked a bit of country. Had a moustache too in those days, you could see it in the army picture with the boys all in it. Turning a bit brown now.

To be young . . . Then he had his job at the shipyard, clocked in with his lunch in his tin box. Tin Box Harry. Just a labourer, of course, though he could have been a foreman if he’d
wanted. Could’ve. Sundays, her brother and family would come over from Greendale. Great fun, lots of laughter and jollity. Come to think of it, his brother worked in the Co-op too. Something
to do with the bottle department. High up in bottles. Very complicated it was, you wouldn’t think there’d be much to bottles, but the way he spoke it was a very responsible job. Pity
about Clarewood’s.

‘How are you, Harry?’ That was Ronny, her brother.

‘Brought some fish and chips. Thought you’d be hungry, you newly weds.’ Wolfish smile, slap on the back, smell of stew. ‘And a bottle of beer, Harry. Couldn’t
afford the champagne. Said in our family we stick to beer. Beer runs in our family. How’s that, Harry? “Beer runs in our family”.’ Roar. Everybody sweaty, full of food,
happy. Appetite never so good as in those days.

‘And I’ve got a screwtap, Harry. All the home comforts. A screwtap and fish and chips. On top of the world, eh, Harry? Everyone’s got a job. Everyone happy. Eh, Sarah?’
And Sarah beginning to smile mirthlessly, beginning to get a little grim. Well, he did have a job, didn’t he? But Sarah a bit mirthless just the same.

Ronny flicking his hands at the papers. ‘The ruinators after us again, Harry. Mark my words, they’ll get us yet. Less we stand up for ourselves. Ach, to hell, let’s have some
beer.’

Ronny, big, fat, moving out of the door now, to his grave.

‘Harry, have you seen my brooch?’ He jerked his head to attention: Sarah was ready to go out. ‘The one in the shape of an eagle, Harry. Have you seen it?’

No, he hadn’t seen it. What had she said about the electric? Two pounds and sixpence. And they hardly used any in summer either.

After she’d gone out, he sat in the room for a while. His eyes wandered over the photographs, the one of Helen, now in Canada, and the one of Robin, in Africa. Sometimes they’d send
a postcard. The one from Cape Town, where Robin was on holiday with his English wife, said, ‘Wish you were here’ (among tall affluent skyscrapers) and then a lot of Xs from the unseen
children.

He sat down at the piano for a bit, but he couldn’t play. Only Helen and Sarah could play, and Sarah never played now. In the old days she used to play when the house seemed full of
children. There was one called ‘The Anniversary Waltz’ and another called ‘Apple Blossom Time’. Robin wasn’t interested in music, he was more practical.

Harry decided he wouldn’t have any dinner, he’d go out instead. He looked at what was in the oven. Mince pie. He took it out. Perhaps later on tonight he might cook it. No use
wasting electricity till then, if he felt hungry then. He turned out his pockets and found he had exactly fifteen shillings left over from the pension. He would go down and have a look at these
ships through the shore telescope for a start: his own field-glasses were broken. If he could only get out to the ships and see them close to, that would be something he could tell the boys!

He went over to the phone and looked up a number. It was that of a lawyer’s office. He dialled and heard a girl’s cool voice like waterdrops saying,

‘Who’s speaking?’

‘Mr Outerson in?’

‘Who’s speaking, please?’

‘Just a matter of business I had with him. I just came in on the plane today. Is he in?’

‘No, he’s out at the moment. I’m sorry. He’s gone to the bank. Who’s speaking, please?’

‘Tell him Mr Clifton-Baddeley called. From Zurich.’

There was a long respectful silence. He said,

‘Which bank is he in?’

‘The Bank of Scotland, sir. I’ll make a note of the name. Shall I tell him you’re calling back?’

‘It doesn’t matter. I’ve only a quarter of an hour or so. Sorry I missed him.’

‘We could always go and get him for you.’

‘No, no, don’t bother. It can’t be helped,’ said Harry charitably. ‘I can wait.’

He replaced the receiver, thanking her. So Mr Outerson was in the Bank of Scotland. He clocked the time. Interesting the bits of information you could pick up by using the telephone.

He went out, making sure that he had his Yale key tied round his neck as usual. The house seemed too empty to stay in on such a sunny day. He had a look in the woodshed on the way out, noting
that the stool he was making was coming along nicely. He made his way out on to the dazzling street. It was really going to be a fine day, a good day for Sonny to feed on his wee mandarin oranges.
His son-in-law might even run to a cigar for him. That would be a blow to the rest of them if he brought a cigar along.

He might drop in for a pint soon, but you couldn’t get a good pint for less than two and sixpence. And that would be the price of two loaves. Or a pound of rhubarb, more than a pound of
rhubarb, depending where you bought it.

As he came out on to the street he saw that there was a large shining blue car there, like a piece of sky that had dropped to earth. He thought at first it might be Robin come home as a surprise
till he saw the naval officer emerge from it. And ‘emerge’ was the right word, like a god in his blue and yellow, a commodore at least, a golden man.

Probably off that ship, one of the ships anyway, must be off the aircraft carrier at least.

‘Could I help you, sir?’ he said, almost standing at attention.

‘I’m looking for the Commodore Hotel. Could you direct me?’

‘Certainly, sir. You go back down on to the main street and then you turn left. It’s along the front. You can’t miss it. It’s got a lot of glass windows. I used to be in
the Navy myself,’ he said, almost in an undertone.

‘What did you say?’

‘I said my son was in the Navy during the war. He was a first lieutenant, and he would have been a lieutenant commander, only the war stopped too soon.’

‘Oh? Thank you very much indeed,’ said the commodore who seemed confused for such an important man. He hastily got back into the car, which accelerated from a standing start and
drove away so beautifully its motion almost brought tears to Harry’s eyes. He gazed after it, was part of it, then, sighing, made his way to the shore, which was now crowded with people of
all shapes and sizes, lying, sprawling, sitting, letting the sun unravel them again.

He headed straight for the telescope but saw that it was being used by a small boy hoisted in the arms of his mother.

He waited, looking out towards the sea which sparkled and sparkled. The haze had cleared now and he could see the ships very clearly.

‘I can’t see anything,’ the small boy screamed.

‘Of course you can’t, dear. You’ve used up your three minutes,’ said the mother. ‘Come on and let the gentleman look.’ The little boy regarded Harry with
naked hatred, but allowed himself to be led away.

Harry put a sixpence in the slot and manoeuvred the telescope so that he could focus on the ships, swinging it past the lighthouse and the tower on the opposite side of the firth. Eventually he
could see men in white walking about the decks. He could even make out the ships’ names. The aircraft carrier was the Redoubtable; there were also a few destroyers and some frigates. The
Royal Yacht would be coming that night to call on them, and the bay would be all lit up. No use trying to climb the sides of these ships, they were so sheer. And walking about the decks were the
men in white, whom he was so secretly watching, unaware of his scrutiny. As he gazed, he saw a launch foaming through the water, the prow rising high, one rating standing at the stern and another
at the bow.

He swivelled the telescope round to the far end of the line where there was a frigate. Just behind her he could see an oil tanker with strange funnels. God, how powerful they looked! The British
Navy! And he felt a sob in his throat to think of it. Though there weren’t really all these many ships after all, not all that many when you considered them. Still, they should be able to put
paid to Indonesia or France or any of the small countries who were always pushing us around. There was a click and the images disappeared. He let the telescope drop and walked off. Standing on the
green by herself was a tall thin woman in black with a lorgnette, staring out at the ships. A leash hung over her left arm and a little dog was looking up at her.

He crossed the green and sat down in a shelter.

The only other person there was a woman in rather old brown furs, who was wearing gloves though the sun was blazing down. She leaned forward delicately as he sat down and said,

‘Have you a match, please?’ She took out a cigarette, holding it carefully between finger and thumb. He thought it was a Woodbine; she didn’t offer him one. He held out the
match for her and she inhaled deeply.

‘Exciting, isn’t it?’ she said.

‘The ships?’

‘Yes, of course. To see our own Navy there. It gives one a lift. I suppose you were in the Navy yourself?’

He stared at her and saw the water turn a pale gold. Guns were firing, and a U-boat was surfaced beside the ship. The sun struck rays across the water towards them. Men were getting off the ship
quite calmly. In a short while the U-boat would fire its last torpedo. Meanwhile, it would let them get into the boats.

Later there was the raft. Once he woke up turning a page of music as he sat on the piano stool. Strange that, out in the middle of the Pacific and the water swaying round a blue piano.

‘Yes, I was in the Navy, madam.’ He said ‘madam’ because she looked as if she had been a lady, though she hadn’t offered him a cigarette.

‘I suppose they come here every Saturday,’ she said, pointing to the women lying on the grass, the boys in their bathing suits, and the little dogs running about.

‘Ay, they do, every Saturday. And do you come here often yourself?’

‘For the air,’ she said, ‘for the air. I come from Edinburgh actually.’

She smoked fastidiously, looking at him over the ruff at her neck.

‘But it’s changing now,’ she added. ‘Skyscrapers. And the music isn’t the same as it was. Not the same quality. We used to go to the Usher Hall when we were girls.
Have you ever been to the Usher Hall?’

‘No, can’t say I’ve been to the Usher Hall.’

‘I must say that the tickets are getting very expensive,’ she said. ‘Why, I was over in America with my daughter some years ago, and tickets are no more expensive than here.
And that was in New York.’

If you were in New York, he thought, what are you doing here in this shelter wearing a fur coat in the middle of July? He noticed beside her an umbrella with a gold knob; it looked like a
king’s sceptre.

‘My own daughter’s in Canada,’ he said. ‘She was good at the piano. She got lessons, you know. You should have heard her playing “The Anniversary
Waltz”.’

‘You mean they didn’t teach her Bach? But, of course, Stravinsky is all the rage now, though I don’t understand him. Don’t you think these Socialist people are ruining
the country?’ she said, flicking her ash on to the stone below. ‘Why, it’s disgraceful the prices of things. Ten cigarettes more than two shillings. Scandalous. And that
Wilson’s such an uncultured man.’

‘Couldn’t agree with you more,’ said Harry, narrowing his eyes against the sun.

‘And what do you do yourself, if I may ask?’ she pursued.

‘Oh, I’m retired now, madam. I used to be in business.’

‘Oh, how interesting. Doing what, may I ask?’

‘Selling jewellery. Upper class stuff, of course. I had a shop here till some years ago. Presley’s.’

‘I know Presley’s. Did you run Presley’s? Fancy that. The jewellery business must have been very interesting.’

‘Yes, madam. Watches we did. And rings. One day a couple came in for a ring. A sailor he was, and his girlfriend. I remember they were very shy, especially the girl. Slip of a thing, she
looked lovely. They asked for one of the rings in the window. It cost a hundred pounds but we didn’t have a price tag on it. So I said thirty pounds, seeing they were so young and the girl
was so pretty. Mind you, I wouldn’t have done that for everybody. Only there was something about them, and they looked so young. The sailor didn’t have much money, I could
tell.’

‘Go on,’ she breathed, pointing her cigarette at him.

‘I’d be as likely to overcharge if I saw someone I didn’t like,’ said Harry, adding wistfully. ‘It was the emeralds I liked best of all. There’s something
about them.’

‘Remind you of the sea, perhaps.’

‘Perhaps. But my son didn’t follow me into the jewellery business. That’s why I gave up. He’s in Africa, a surveyor. He’s got a big business over there. In
Bulawayo. He comes home quite a lot. Do you know Bulawayo?’