All the Way Home and All the Night Through (29 page)

I stood in the kitchen at Joan's house filling my tumbler with Martini and anything else that was going.

The party was fairly lively but the house was big and its size made everything seem relaxed and casual. I'd left Janet changing the records. I felt sober but I knew I shouldn't be because I had been drinking regularly for the past two hours. I leant against the wall and looked into my drink.

I should have been enjoying the party. Harry was there and some more of the band. I was with Janet. Janet, as always, demonstrated to me and to others how glad she was to be with me just by the way she looked at me. But I wasn't enjoying it. Thoughts of futility and irrational suspicion were weaving dully round my mind.

Joan came into the kitchen.

“Hell-o,” she said, “what are you doing here?” As though my leaning against the wall was tantalizingly scandalous.

“Having a drink.”

“Resting from the holocaust without?”

“Something like that.”

“I feel like that at parties myself sometimes. But tonight I'm the hostess and my guests call the tune.” She smiled bravely bright.

“Yes, it's tough having to be on your guard making sure nobody stops drinking.”

“Yes.” She laughed but her eyes were uncertain behind her gay expression.

She stood for a minute waiting for me to say something else but I looked down into my glass which I was jiggling round near my belt.

“However…” she said, smiled, and made to move away. I carried on looking into my glass.

“Did you go anywhere nice for your holidays?” I asked her.

“Holidays? Well, yes, I went to Majorca. It was quite nice. Why?”

“I'm not going away this year, you know.”

“Oh? How is that?”

“I can't water ski.”

“How do you mean?”

“Forget it.” I put my glass down on the kitchen table. “Forget it and come and have a jive.”

We went into the big room. Harry was sitting in an armchair kissing a girl who I took to be a friend of Joan's. I saw Harry's eyes swivel to the door as we entered the room. He stopped kissing the girl and slid out of the chair, letting the girl slip down into the seat. He walked toward us just as we were about to start dancing.

“I say, old man,” he said, “would you find it frightfully boring if I asked the young lady to dance instead of embarrassing herself with a raggy-arsed jockstrap like you?”

“Not at all. Go ahead, lover. Shall I look after your crutches?”

They began dancing and I went and sat on the arm of the chair containing Harry's erstwhile kissing partner.

“Hello,” she said, pulling her skirt down over her knees and smiling for me to slide into the chair with her. She had had a drop to drink.

“Now then,” I said. “What's your name, ducks?”

“Ducks?” she said.

“That's right. Aren't you going to tell me?”

“Are you one of the jazz musicians that Joan invited?” she asked.

“That's right. My name's Charlie Parker.”

“How interesting. My name is Marcia Miller and I went to school with Janet Walker. I saw you kissing her. Are you her boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Sod.”

“How's that?” I asked.

She giggled.

“You're too nice for her. I bet she's tight as a drum. Silly bitch. Always was.”

“Really.”

“Tight as a drum.” She giggled again.

“No, you are,” I said.

She lay back in the chair with her eyes closed, chortling. Her glass was balanced on the other arm of the chair. It was a big glass. I leant across and caused it to fall in her lap. I got up and walked away just as she started squealing to herself.

I saw Janet across the other side of the room. She was talking to a boy who I recognized as Randolph, her ex-boyfriend. I picked up somebody's whisky on the way over.

“Now then,” I said.

“I was wondering where you'd got to,” she said, smiling. She took my hand and pressed it secretly against her leg. I kissed her on the neck for Randolph's benefit.

“Have you met Randolph, sweet?” She looked me straight in the eyes to tell me not to say anything. I turned to Randolph.

“Hello,” I said.

He smiled uncomfortably.

“How do you do,” he said. We shook hands.

“Janet was telling me you've left the art college.”

“Yes, that's right. Sighs of relief can still be heard issuing eerily from the staff room on dark moonless nights.”

“Are you pleased it's behind you?”

“Oh yes,” I said. “Now I'm successful I can look back on it all and smile.”

Janet squeezed my hand.

“Oh? Why, what are you doing?” he asked.

“I'm testing armchairs—”

“Vic. Come and dance with me,” said Janet.

We found an empty space and began dancing close together, slowly. I picked up somebody else's glass from a small table. I heard Janet's voice in my ear.

“Vic. Don't hurt yourself. It's senseless.”

“Things can't get worse. A bit of self-flagellation won't hurt.”

“It hurts me. You mustn't look at things the way you do.”

“Everything's going to be all right.”

“Yeah.”

We stopped dancing. I filled my glass with some whisky.

“Let's not dance anymore,” I said.

I sat down in an armchair and Janet sat on my knee. I pulled her to me and lay back, closing my eyes. Her fingers felt gentle on my neck. The chair began spinning.

“I love you, Vic.” Her voice was close. She kissed my mouth.

Then her lips ranged across my cheeks, paused on my closed eyelids and then moved onto my forehead.

“Let's go upstairs,” I said.

“It might not be wise, Vic.”

“Why not? You're meant to be staying the night with Joan. There's no one here.”

“I know. But you know what my mother's like. She'd know. I don't know how, but she would.”

“If she's so omnipresent, how is it she doesn't know about the other times?”

“That's different. You know it. Being here, I'm certain she'd find out.”

“She won't. God, it's not as though we have any chance to be alone now.”

She kissed me again.

“I know,” she said.

“Well then,” I opened my eyes. She looked at me.

“I don't know.”

“You sound as if you don't want to,” I said. “Now that you've so many other admirers.”

“Don't be silly.”

“I'm not. Now that I'm away from college, I bet they're all round like shots from a gun.”

I took a drink.

“It's you I want. I always will,” she said.

“Yeah.”

She got up from my lap and took my hand. I swayed up from the chair. We walked across the room toward the door.

We walked up the stairs. When we reached the top, Janet said:

“Wait here, sweet. I'll be back in a minute.”

She went into the bathroom. I leant on the banister and looked down into the hall not really looking at anything in particular. Behind me, coming across the landing from behind a half-open bedroom door, I could hear two voices arguing.

“Anyway,” said the male voice, “all I know is, you've changed, and you've changed since you came back from on holiday.”

“Don't be so stupid,” said the voice of Karen. “I'm no different at all. I'm the same as when I went away. If you keep on saying I've changed, I'm going down.”

“I'm sorry. It's just, well—you know how I feel about you. I know I'm asking a lot for you to feel the same way about me, but I hope you will someday, and then—well, maybe you'll understand why I go on like this.”

“I understand,” she said impatiently. “But why do you have to be so irritating about it? Sometimes you get on my nerves. You never used to be like this when we first went out together. It was much better then.”

“I'm sorry I haven't improved for knowing,” he said, almost sounding angry.

“Stop saying you're sorry.
I'm
sorry. I'm sorry I had to come back from holiday. None of the boys I met out there were as depressing as you.”

“You don't have to tell me. It's obvious you'd much rather be back there than here with me.”

“We enjoyed ourselves out there, Janet and I. Everybody was so gay. Nobody cared.”

“Of course not. Everybody was on holiday. Nobody cares when they're on holiday.”

“Exactly. And I wish I was
still
on holiday.”

Janet came out of the bathroom.

As we walked along the landing, Karen and her boyfriend came out of the bedroom. Karen smirked at Janet as she went by then gave me a faint smile. My blood went hot. Karen's face released the last stage of my well-nursed jealousy. The drink soared painfully up and down in my chest.

We went into Joan's bedroom. Janet switched on a rosy bedside lamp. I had difficulty in concentrating on the scene as a whole, but unimportant details jumped at my eyes in sharp focus. I was conscious of the pattern of the wallpaper, the colour of the curtains, the high-heeled shoes lying on the floor. I stared at a popular print of a Paris café vista on the wall which madly drew my concentration, and yet, the vicious jealousy which caroused buoyantly round the rest of my mind was as clearly defined and exhilarating as the icy drops from a rushing Alpine stream.

Janet's face was in front of me. She was smiling.

“Vic,” she said, and stretched her arms toward me.

I smiled back. Smiled back with all the contempt I could possibly express. A part of my mind said: now you've reached the point of no return. If the words to accompany the smile are said, you won't be able to un-say them. You know why you're doing it. You're frustrated, you're unhappy, you're too selfish to accept and trust someone else's unselfish love. Whatever you do, however much pain you cause Janet, however much pain you cause yourself, you know why you're doing it: to release your miserable feelings in a positive act and cause pain to compensate for your own, to give you further cause for long days of self-pity. This is going to be dreadful and you are too drunk to realize how vicious and painful it is going to be. Janet has loved you for a year and it hasn't diminished, and your idle mind has been active only in trying to find a flaw in Janet's love to parallel the flaw in yourself. You're the cheater, Victor. You know it and that's another reason why you will hurt yourself in payment for your cheating. And you don't want to do it but you're too proud to go back and admit your fault and your reasons and too impatient to wait for the age when your pride no longer interferes with your natural motives. You're not going to stop now because you haven't got the guts not to be confused. Janet waits for the sentence you are going to give yourself.

I took Janet's outstretched hands. She moved closer toward me and as she did, my fingers slid down her hands until they encircled her wrists. She hadn't recognized the smile for what it was yet.

She moved toward the bed and we sank down to sit on its edge. I still held her wrists. She closed her eyes and made to move her face against mine. Her being relaxed. Her face was longing, yet peaceful. A knee touched mine. I smelled her perfume close to my face. My body moved as though independent of my mind, and I released one of her wrists and pushed her back on the bed. The whisky crackled through my veins.

“Janet,” I said. “You can tell me now.”

“What, sweetest?” She lay still, half-smiling, not opening her eyes.

“I mean, it's all right. It won't make any difference to the way I feel. Honestly.”

She opened her eyes. My face was tightly smiling in the red light.

“What do you mean?”

“You know. About Guernsey,” I said pleasantly.

“Oh, Vic. I thought that was over, darling.”

“Oh, it will be. Once you've told me the truth.”

She frowned and looked away from me.

“Don't. I want you to trust me.”

“In that case, tell me the truth.”

“For God's sake, I've told you,” she said, flaring up at me.

I grasped her wrists tightly. I felt her body go quiet under me.

“Come on,” I said in a soft controlled voice. “Tell me all about it.”

“You're hurting,” she said flatly.

“Tell me how you met this boy, how he was terrifically handsome, how you saw him everyday.”

“Vic, let me get up.”

“Oh, no. You're staying here till I know. How you saw him every night and the air was warm while you lay together on the beach under stars—”

“Let me get up. I want to go down, please.”

My face twisted the smile into a more grotesque invitation. My voice carried on with a vicious urgency.

“How you let him kiss you and touch you here—” I ran a hand across her breasts and down her body. “—and here and then you opened—”

“Let me go, let me go,” she squirmed under me. “You can't—”

“—and you let him do it. Didn't you? Just like I do. And you liked it. Didn't you?”

I shouted the last words through my clenched teeth. Her face went out of focus as her head went from side to side in her efforts to free herself. I moved quickly and sat astride her.

“And what about since you've been back at college. What about it, eh. How many bastards have been out with you up to now, then? How many?” I pressed her deeper into the bed. “Karen didn't give me the exact detail.”

“What's happening? God, what's happening?”

“It's true isn't it? Isn't it? It's all bloody well true.”

“Oh please. Please let me go.”

“Swear it's true. I'll bloody well kill you if you don't tell me the truth.”

“Let me go!”

“Yes. Yes, I'll let you go.”

I swung off her and stood by the bed, reeling and breathing heavily. She made to get up. I leant over her.