Next day I was wandering down into the basement to go to the gents. I was having Graphic with Smithson, but he had left the studio for a few minutes which had given me a chance to slip out to have a few untroubled minutes in the bogs, possibly throwing wet paper towels into the wire basket.
I reached the bottom step and saw Janet putting some stuff into her locker. I stood still and watched her. She was having difficulty in fitting whatever she had into the locker. In the middle of her attempts, she turned slightly and saw me standing there.
“Oh, hello,” she said, and smiled.
I walked toward her. She fingered the V-neck of her sweater. There was no one else round.
“Now then,” I said. “It looks as though this locker wasn't meant for you.”
“Positively the conclusion I had just arrived at myself.”
“Yep. Life's hard. These lockers are specially designed for new students. They believe in bringing you up the hard way. Here, let me have a go.”
I took the armful of stuff from her. Somehow I managed to force it in and close the locker door.
“Now's the part where you tell me that you were trying to get the stuff out instead of putting it in.”
“But even if it were so, it's the thought that counts. Thank you.”
“I'm also available for weddings and funerals.”
“You must be quite versatile then.”
“Oh, yes.”
There was a short silence.
“Well, I suppose I should go back to my class,” said Janet.
“A typical new student on her best behaviour, frightened to death of being out of class too long.”
She smiled.
“It's best to be on your best behaviour. Look what happened to me.”
She didn't say anything.
“Well, I'll let you get back,” I said.
“Good-bye,” she said, and walked up the steps.
I walked into the gents. It was disturbing thinking out all the things I wished I'd said to her instead of the vacuous nothings I'd come out with.
“Hilary's very upset, you know, Vic,” said Gwen during the interval at the Steam Packet. We were downstairs in the snug, cooling off from the first half of the session, just the band and a few girls.
“Oh yes,” I said.
“Yes. She won't go anywhere. Doesn't bother about herself, how she looks.”
I was flattered.
“I'm serious, Vic. She's in a bad way. I don't know what she's going to do with herself.”
“Well, I can't help it. There's nothing I can do.”
“Oh, yes there is Vic,” said Gwen in the quiet dramatic girl's voice which goes with those things. “Come back to her. Even if it's only for a while. You're not going out with anyone right now, it wouldn't hurt. If you only knew how she's been.”
“That wouldn't do any good. It would happen again and she'd be as bad. No, it's best like this. She'll get over it.”
“Aw, you are mean, Vic.”
“I'm not mean. You know as well as I do.”
“Suppose so. Anyway, I tried. She'll be ever so upset when I tell her.”
One dinnertime Harry and I were strolling round the town. We ended up sitting on a bench on the broad pizza-like pavement flanking a block of postwar shops. There were a number of benches and raised flower beds stretching away into the shadowy gloom of Victoria Square but the sun shone on us.
“Hey up,” said Harry.
“What?”
“They approach.”
“Who?”
“Over there.”
I looked. Janet and Jenny were drifting in our direction, aimlessly looking in shop windows. They hadn't seen us. They drew level.
“Whey hey,” called Harry. They turned and saw us. Harry beamed.
“Alloden,” said Harry. “Okay, then?”
“All right, thank you kindly, sir,” said Jenny, coyly grinning. I winced discreetly.
“Saw you were in grave difficulties with Isaacs in Litho yester-day,” said Harry.
“I couldn't get the hang of the processes. I kept getting the order wrong. After all, it was only the first lesson.”
Harry and Jenny carried on talking. Harry was very attentive and buoyant. We remained seated and Jenny sat down next to Harry, between him and myself. You could see she was warm to him. Janet remained standing, not looking at me, looking vaguely into the distance. She was standing in a relaxed manner, her hands in her coat pockets. I said nothing, hiding behind my dark glasses. I couldn't think of anything to say. Harry and Jenny chattered on. Clouds rushed across the sun.
“How are you finding college?” I asked Janet. I had to say some-thing.
“I don't know yet. It's still a little strange. After school, I mean.”
“Yes, I found that when I first came.” The only other thing I could think of asking was: “What do you think of the people?”
“They seem very nice.”
“They might seem odd at first.”
“No, not particularly. One or two do, I suppose.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
The breeze occasionally blew loudly into my ears.
“Did you come to college out of the sixth-form?” said I.
“Yes, but I only spent a year in the sixth. I took advanced Art a year early and passed, so my parents decided I should come straight to college.
“I left school at the end of the fifth form. I came to college when I was sixteen. I'm glad really because I shall be finished when I'm twenty.”
“When will that be?”
“This year. What I mean is the end of this college year. This time next year.”
Our voices were deliberately grey, unaccentuated. Our eyes said nothing either.
“Do you live in town?” she asked.
“Well, my home's over the river, but I live over here during the term. You live in town?”
“Oh yes.”
“I used to travel across everyday before I passed Inter., but then I got a grant.”
“It must have been quite a long day.”
“It was, I suppose. I used to get up at half-past six and if I had a night class, I didn't get home again till eleven o'clock.”
Harry and Jenny were laughing and animated. Awkward silence came to Janet and me. I adjusted my sunglasses and she looked at her feet.
“Eh up, Harry,” I said.
“Yes, Sweetness.”
Jenny turned her head toward me.
“Are you going to join the Film Society again this year?” I asked her.
“But, of course, Victor, mine.”
“Because the first one's in a fortnight. It's
La Strada
. It's tre-mendous. You've got to see it.”
“We'll have several.”
“Right.”
It had the desired effect. Janet said:
“You're interested in films?”
“Oh yes. More than that. It's my ambition.”
“How do you mean?”
“To make films. To direct them. You know.”
“How do you expect to do that? It must be awfully difficult.”
“Oh yes, but Iâ”
“Hiya,” screamed at us from somewhere in the middle-distance. Gwen and Hilary were gaggling toward us.
“Bloody hell,” I said.
Harry laughed.
“Oh, Christ.”
“What's the matter?” said Janet.
“Hiya, Harry, Hiya, Vic.”
“Now then. If it isn't the girls most likely.”
“Rude bugger,” screeched Gwen at Harry.
“
Hello, Vic
,” said Hilary.
“Now then.”
“Hello, Vic,” said Gwen, looking from Hilary to me.
Gwen and Hilary had some repartee with Harry. Janet just stood on the outside, passively taking it in. Then Hilary came and sat down next to me.
“Vic,” she said, as urgently as she could without being too obvious, “I've got to talk to you. I'm going mad. I don't know what to do. I'm so miserable, I can't bear it.”
“It's no good, Hilary,” I said, affecting irritation. “It's all over. Finished.”
I looked at Janet. She might have been a million miles away, the interest she was taking.
“Please, Vic. Please see me again, even if it's only once. I can't stand it.”
“No.”
“Oh, Vic.”
I stood up.
“It's time we were getting back to college. It's five to.”
Harry and Jenny got up. They had been talking to Gwen. Hilary remained sitting on the bench, looking at the ground.
“See you at the Steam Packet Friday,” said Gwen.
“Tara, Gwen,” said Harry. “Tara, Hilary.”
“Bye, Vic,” said Gwen.
“See you.”
Harry and Jenny walked on in front of Janet and me. Janet didn't say anything. I lit a cigarette. Cool shadows fell on us from the City Hall.
“Ex-girlfriend,” I said. “I can't get rid of her.”
“Really.”
All right then, be unimpressed.
“Won't take no for an answer,” I said. “It's embarrassing.”
“You don't seem it.”
“Well, you know.”
“She seemed quite nice.”
“She was all right.”
I felt awkward talking to her. Words fell over themselves in my throat. Subjects of conversation fled when I tried to think of things to say. The scene with Hilary should have been a godsend, should have created the old interest. But then, why should I be interested in her being interested? And why should I say to her:
“Tell me, are you interested in films?”
“Fairly, I suppose. I like going to the cinema.”
“Have you ever been to the film society at the Dorchester?”
“No.”
“They get some really good films there.”
“Really?”
“You should go, actually. I mean, if you're at all interested.”
“I might sometime.”
“You could go along when we do, if you like, that is.”
“Mm, probably.”
“Anyway, it's worth going to.”
We walked into college and we didn't say anything else.
I saw the Karen bird at break time, sitting on one of the stools in the canteen part. She was on her own. I got a cup of tea and a packet of biscuits and took them over to where she was sitting.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Oh, no, not at all,” she fluttered.
Her accent was Yorkshire smeared with Kensington via the B.B.C. and a mother who took
Ladies Home Journal
. During the conversation, I discovered that she was a bit soft. Her attitudes were those of whoever she was talking to at the time. She was anxious to please and afraid of being overlooked in her new surroundings. Eventually, when she got over this, she would exchange her pleasantly feminine clothes for black stockings and (supposedly) sexy, plain, tight dresses and her make-up would become sophisticatedly missing. She would appear bored and brittle and life would become boringly tragic, and she'd stop wearing curlers and she'd stop saying no to boys who were less nice than the boys she had said no to previously. She was a pushover waiting to shiver and simper into the jelly mold, aided by people like me.
From where I was sitting, I had an uninterrupted, unnoticed view of Janet. The day outside was beautiful and the common room was almost empty. It was a quiet time. I watched Janet. She was sitting by herself, reading a book, a paperback. She was quite still, her face expressionless. Why are you, I thought, so still? Why do you look so bloody untouchable, so unresponsive? Why should you make me think of Audrey Hepburn the more I see you. What is wrong with you looking like somebody else? How is it that in all conversations with other lads your name has an increasing tendency to come top of the list? How is it that right now I want to smile while I'm looking at you?
Janet looked up and saw I was staring at her. She didn't smile but looked at me a little unsurely. I pretended I wasn't staring at her but rather she was occupying the space at which I was staring. I doubled the intensity of my gaze and shifted it to another part of the room. Janet carried on reading her book.
“Heard a thing on the Ladies' bog grapevine that may or may not interest you, Thinstuff,” said Harry.
“What is it Harry, as played by Wallace Berry?”
“It's this, Victor, it's this: A certain young cock in Inter One is interested in the fair Janet.”
“Who says?”
“Jen told me. Karen told her. The guy told Karen because he comes from Horncastle and has known her for years and he talks to her on the train.”
“An Evelyn Home column on wheels, is it?”
“In his case, it would appear so, Victor.”
“Who is he?”
“It's that tall, fair-haired, well-built, good-looking, clean-limbed, clear-eyed, fresh-faced, square jawed fellow called Tony Jensen.”
“Until you mentioned the name, I thought you were talking of me.”
“But I didn't mention anything about having a mucky neck.”
“Oh, no.”
“So anyway. Just letting you know.”
“Good luck to him.”
“He won't need any judging by his looks. He's certainly not behind in his physical attributes.”
“Too conventional. That is, if it's the bloke I'm thinking of.”
“I think he'll do.”
“Well, he's welcome,” I lied. “Honestly there's nothing there. I've talked to her. I tried to see something but there's nothing there to see. I don't know, she's so passive and she doesn't seem to have any idea about anything.”
“What you mean is that she hasn't fallen on your neck showering kisses all over the place and it doesn't suit you to be so treated.”
“You must be mad. All right, so I think she's more attractive than I did before but it doesn't mean I want to marry her.”
“Anyway, I should hurry up and get your finger out of your bottom and get stuck in or else you'll be too late.”
“That'll be the day.”
“What?”
“When I get my finger out.”
“You're slow, Vic,” said Angela.
Break time in the common room, on my own, on a high stool until she came up.