“They might not.”
“Be quiet. I know my parents.”
She smiled. Then her expression changed.
“Have you brought many girls home with you?”
“One or two.”
“Did Hilary come?”
“Yes.”
“Did you like her then?”
“You mean when I brought her home? No, not really.”
“What made you invite her?”
“I don't know. My parents didn't think much of her. Anyway, you know why I went out with her.”
“Yes.”
“Look, let's forget about that. We're going to have a good time.”
We walked up Greenfield Road. Flimsy clouds drifted in the cold sky. We drew level with my house.
“Here we are,” I said.
“It looks nice.”
“Not nervous, are you?”
“Why should I be?”
I was.
I rang the bell. I heard my mother's short footsteps marching up the hall.
The door opened.
“Hello, Victor.”
She had on a smart costume and her hair had been done and set.
“This is Janet. This is my mother.”
“Hello, Janet. How nice to meet you. I've looked forward to your coming.”
My mother beamed radiantly.
“It's very nice to be able to have come,” said Janet.
We hung our coats on the hallstand.
“How are you, beautiful,” I said to my mother. I put my arm round her waist and gave her an exaggerated kiss.
“Oh, stop it, Victor. He's a big soft thing, Janet. You probably know that.”
“Yes.”
“I've got a cup of tea ready for you; then you can have your meal. I expect you're ready for a drink.”
“That's right, Mother.”
We went into the kitchen. My mother had laid out the tea things on the table. Janet and I sat down on the kitchen chairs at either side of the table. My mother poured hot water into the tea pot.
“Well now, how are you Victor? It's nice to see you.”
“It's nice to see you, Mother. Where's Dad?”
“He hasn't come home from work yet. I expect he's popped in the Sheaf to see Mr Wilson. Mr Wilson and Mr Graves are in the same line Janet. They often meet on Saturdays to discuss business.”
“More beer than business,” I said.
My mother finished pouring the tea.
“How many sugars, Janet?” she asked.
“One please.”
“There we are then.”
She passed the tea round and took her cup and sat on a chair by the kitchen range.
“Well, there we are.” She took a sip of her tea. “Vic tells me that this is your first visit to this side.”
“Yes, it is. It looks very nice.”
“Well, we like it, don't we Vic, and Mr Graves always did prefer the country. It's quiet, but it suits us.”
She beamed from one to the other of us, her slight body perched expectantly on the edge of her chair, her decoratively styled glasses shinily reflecting the bright light from the windows.
“It's very nice that you could come, Janet. I like to meet Victor's friends. You've just started at college, haven't you?”
“Yes, in September. I'm doing the Intermediate course.”
“Ah, the same as Victor. How are you finding it?”
“I don't think I'm very good.”
“You don't know that until you've been there at least a year,” I said.
“But everyone else in the year seems so much better.”
“You think so, but it isn't true. I used to think that, but I was a late developer. You find that a lot of people who seem good first off just peter out.”
“Do you like drawing and painting, Janet?” said my mother.
“Oh, yes, but I'm beginning to wonder if I will ever be any good.”
“Oh, Victor used to think that, didn't you Victor, but he got his Inter, all right. You've plenty of time yet.”
“I hope so.”
I had never seen my mother take to anyone as quickly as she took to Janet. Every time Janet was looking away from my mother, in some other direction, my mother would steal discreetly admiring glances over the top of her tea cup.
“Well now,” said my mother, getting up from her chair, “I hope you're both feeling hungry. I've got you a meal laid out in the dining room. You can have it together on your own. I'll wait for Mr Graves.”
We went into the dining room. My mother kept popping in and out to see if everything was all right. After we had finished the meal, we took our tea over to the easy chairs by the fire. Janet stood up after a while and walked over to the French windows. Through it she could see the narrow garden sloping away in the shadow of the tall ivy-covered wall until it reached the barn and the gate through into the orchard. The trees were visible behind the barn, wearing the threadbare evidence of the late autumn.
“What a lovely garden. And the house, it's so... so alive. Lived in.”
“Do you like it?”
“Oh, yes.”
“I'm glad. I was afraid you wouldn't.”
“I couldn't possibly not have liked it.”
“Wait till I show you the rest of the house. We've got attics and cellars and all.”
We finished the tour of the house in the attic. Quiet dust lay undisturbed on iron bedsteads and old framed etchings. The naked floorboards creaked lazily under our feet.
“Come and look at this,” I said.
I took her over to the gabled window.
“How about that for a view?” I said.
The house, being situated on the beginning of the rise of the wold, commanded a panoramic view of the town, its surrounding countryside, and the river. The window was set into the sloping roof, allowing the viewer a three-sided prospect of the landscape.
“It's wonderful.”
I was close to her in the confined space of the gable.
“You're not bad yourself.”
She carried on looking through the window but I could hear her breathing in acknowledgement of my words. I put my hand on her shoulder.
“I like you more than you know,” I said.
She turned and looked at me. My hand stayed on her shoulder.
“Do you?”
“Yes, I do.”
She looked into my eyes.
She spoke, hesitantly, uncertainly.
“I think... I think I like you, too. I shouldn't, perhaps, but I do.”
“Don't say anything else,” I said. “You might regret it.”
“I might.”
“But thank you for saying what you did. It's nice to know I'm not completely wasting your time.”
She didn't say anything but carried on looking at me in the same way.
We went downstairs and left the attic to its memories.
My father drove us to the pier so that Janet wouldn't have to leave early to catch the train.
Janet and I stood on the pontoon, a few minutes before the ferry was due to leave.
“Well, I'll see you on Monday,” I said.
“Yes. Tell your parents that I thought they were really charming. They made me feel so at home.”
“They liked you. I could tell.”
“Well, I'd better go on board.”
“Yes, all right.”
She looked down at her feet and then at me.
“I can't remember spending such an enjoyable day.” She looked at her feet again.
“Can't you?”
“No.”
“Neither can I.”
She looked up at me again.
“Thank you very much,” she said.
“No,” I said. “Thank you.”
“Good-bye,” she said.
“Good-bye,” I said.
“I'll see you on Monday,” I called as she walked onto the ferry.
We drove home along dark country roads.
“What did you think of Janet,” I asked, lighting my cigarette and passing the match to my father.
“Oh yes, very nice girl. Your mother and I were quite taken with her. What do you think of her?”
“I think she's very nice.”
“She's worth respect. You don't need me to tell you that.”
“No.”
We drove along in silence for a while.
“She's certainly the nicest girl you've ever known.”
More silence.
“You want to treat her as she deserves. With respect. She's one of the clean kind. They're few and far between.”
“I know.”
“You'd have to go a long way to meet someone as nice as that. I mean, I'm only going on first impressions, but I don't think there's any mistaking in this case.”
We were almost home.
“I'm glad you liked her,” I said.
We drew up outside the house.
“You must have liked her,” I said.
“Why do you say that?”
“I've never heard you wax that enthusiastic before.”
“No, well. There's a time and a place.”
He pulled on the handbrake. He smiled his Victorian villain smile.
“A few years younger and I'd have fancied her myself. You'd have had to look out.”
“Get on. That would be the day.”
We collected my mother and went to the Wheatsheaf. We sat at a table on our own and discussed my future, my plans, my chances.
Once, when my father went out to the toilet, my mother said:
“Your father and I want to tell you how much we liked Janet.”
“She liked you too, Mother.”
“Oh, Victor, she was delightful. Delightful. What a lovely girl she was.”
She inhaled smoke from her cigarette, her face showing the concern and seriousness of one right in their convictions.
“I want you to promise me something, Victor. Whatever happens, even if you don't know her for very long, you must promise me to treat her with respect. She's that kind of girl.”
“That's what Dad said.”
“Your father's a very intelligent man. He liked Janet. But you must promise me, Victor. Always treat her in the proper manner.”
A Saturday afternoon and raining.
“Hey up then Jerry, that's the last of the beer in,” shouted Harry from the Hall. George Shearing sounds delicately spun from the turn-table.
Arnold, an ex-student turned professional dole-drawer, lolled idly on the settee, watching the preparations. The rain sheeted down outside and somewhere a clock struck three thirty. I arranged the records in a pile where I thought they might not get trampled. Harry bundled into the room.
“I say, you fellows, has anyone got a cigarette for a chap?”
He jumped up and down, squealing like a pig.
“Pee off,” said Arnold, the world's worst cadger.
“Hare you are, Falstaff. Get hold of one of these,” I said.
“Ta love.”
“Got one for me then?” said Arnold.
“Pee off,” I said. Harry and I laughed and pointed at Arnold.
A car drew up outside. I looked out of the window into the terraced street and saw Paul Markham and his girl emerge from the car.
“Here he is. He looks like a poor man's Stanley Baker in that sheepskin jacket,” I said. Harry and I laughed, banged on the window and pointed at Paul. He came over to the window and presented two fingers against the pane. A minute later he entered the room.
“Now then bastards,” he said. His girl sat down amid vistas of knees and stocking tops.
“Whey-hey,” said Arnold, in between picking his nose.
“I see Arnold's here,” said Paul. “Anyway, I'll have a drink instead.”
I went out into the kitchen and asked Jerry where the brown ales were. He got them and we went back into the front room. We opened the beer and passed it round.
“Rightlads,” said Paul. “Now do youreckon we've gotenoughale?”
“Ample,” said Harry. “Mam and Dad worked it out that if twenty people came over and above the usual gatecrashers, you should still have some left.”
“Right. Now listen fellers. This is my last party before I go to Aldershot in three weeks' time. I shan' be home much in the next two years for throwing parties, so I want it to be a real rave. But I'm paying Jerry for anything we break so don't break nothing. And no kissing Stella while I'm gone because that's no gaming.”
“What if she kisses me?” said Arnold.
“She'd kiss seven hundred and thirty-five other fellers before she got down to you, I expect,” said Paul.
“You want to get a girl like Vic”s, Paul,” said Arnold. “She doesn't kiss anybody. Not even him. Does she Vicky?”
“That's right, Arnold,” I said.
“When do you reckon you'll get to touching her up then, Victor? Nineteen Eighty Four?”
“Sooner than that, Arnold, but not before I've kicked you in the crutch, which should be very shortly.”
“Eh up, everybody. Vicky's got Lovers' Nuts.”
“Shut up, Arnold,” said Stella.
“Are you bringing Janet tonight, Vic?” asked Paul.
“Yes, surprisingly. I mean, her mother's let her out after nine for a change.”
Stella flashed one of her glances at me.
The rain continued pouring down. Paul and Jerry and Harry talked for a while about Paul's imminent National Service and then we all fell silent, doing nothing but sitting and drinking our beer and contemplating the evening.
I looked out of the window. The rain had turned everything blue in the late afternoon. The row of houses across the narrow street seemed vague and distant in the haze.
The first party I had ever taken Janet to, I thought. The idea that we would be properly alone for the first time filled me with eagerness and apprehension. Perhaps she might go off with someone else. Perhaps she might treat me as she had done in the cinema that time. Perhaps she wouldn't even come. I stopped thinking like that. I lay back in the armchair and looked at the rain and listened to George Shearing.
The drink was in my head, all round me, and Janet was there next to me and the violent party pushed her closer to me, and she held my hand hard but there was no one in the world like her because she was being there close, and others could jump in the river that didn't separate us from me and her though she didn't love me but, my God, someday. Put my arm round her waist to underline someday. Not too drunk to know she liked being at the party with me and she would kiss me now before I bust wide open with heated, indiscreet embarrassment for her. Now we danced and even closer came her feeling which was like Ravel's
Bolero
: if it goes on any longer, the pleasure will drive you mad but not hers because it was the only feeling in which I could live without others. Every muscle ached because it wasn't part of her, and she didn't love it as much as I loved her. A great grinning face of Harold J. Burton became an object of love over her shoulder. Now then Fatstuff Harold J. Burton my voice said, giggling lovingly. Fatstuff HJB's face receded into his glass of beer because I swayed slightly. Shapes and soft lights were visible through the noise but I didn't hear anything.