Twenty Thousand Streets Under the Sky (37 page)

* * *

Jenny and Violet confronted two figures. One seemed little more than a perky boy of about nineteen; the other was a fully grown man of stunted stature. The boy’s gawky and countrified figure was garbed in a blue suit of navy serge surmounted by a double-breasted blue overcoat: he wore a trilby hat (which was at the moment still held humorously in the air in Gallic manner after his ‘Pardonnay-mwa’); his complexion was red and fresh, his eyes were blue, and though he was neat and clean he obviously had no pretensions as regards style.

His companion presented a completely different picture. Over thirty, and resembling, in his wan face, gait, and figure, a dismissed stable-boy, he was yet dressed in obedience to the highest and latest caprices of Hammersmith mode. A light brown overcoat of velvety material (taken well in at the waist and prodigiously buttoned and banded) matched a brown hat, a brown suit, and brown shoes, and was set off by a brilliant white knitted scarf, which poured like a waterfall down from his chin, and which he kept on touching and adjusting in a self-conscious manner. In this waterfall his chin like a rock was permanently embedded; since he did not shift it even when he turned to speak, but reared his shoulders round in a choked way, and gave a sidelong glance. But then he spoke very little; indeed he quite evidently took pride in
taciturnity and pithiness. Also his companion did all the talking that was necessary and more.

The latter now followed up his opening with ‘Was you going anywhere by any chance?’ and an awkward grin. His gusto and diffidence were at present at strife inwardly with each other.

‘No – we ain’t goin’ nowhere,’ said Violet. ‘Are you?’

‘No. I ain’t. Ain’t I met you before somewhere?’

‘Can’t say I remember it,’ said Violet, fully mistress of the situation. ‘Glad to meet you, though. Meet my friend.’

‘Good-evening.’

‘Good-evening,’ said Jenny, smiling as pleasantly as her feelings allowed.

‘And meet
my
chum. Andy’s ’is name.’

‘Good-evening, Andy,’ said Violet, smiling brightly upon him. His age and weedy appearance were nothing to Violet, who had, in this respect, a heart like that of a Madonna, in whose broad and undistinguishing robe all of his sex, whatever their age or uncouthness, might find welcome and shelter simply as ‘boys.’

Andy, however, merely gave a brief smile and nod, and then looked away at the traffic and twitched the waterfall. This made things rather awkward for everybody concerned, for it looked as though he took no interest in the proceedings at all, and was inclined to be rude. There was a pause.

‘And mine’s Reginald,’ said his junior. ‘Commonly known as Rex.’

‘Good-evening Rex,’ said Violet, and there was another pause.

‘Well, what do you two girls say to a little liquid refreshment?’ suggested Rex, rubbing his hands together.

‘All for it,’ said Violet. ‘Where do you suggest?’

‘Well, what’s wrong with the King’s Head down here, where we can sit down?’

‘Well, I don’t mind,’ said Violet. ‘Don’t know about my friend, though.’

‘Go on? She doesn’t mind a pub, does she?’

‘I think she’s a teetotaller – ain’t you, Jen?’

‘Go on?’ said Rex.

‘Don’t be so silly, Vi,’ said Jenny. ‘Of course I ain’t.’ And she blushed.

‘Well, that’s a blessing,’ said Rex. ‘You nearly gave me heart failure.’

There was general laughter at this and the four began to walk in the direction he had indicated. But inwardly Jenny was resolving that this was the last time she came out with Violet. She would never forgive her for letting her into this scandalous escapade. Going into a Hammersmith ‘pub’ with a painted thing like Violet and two casual ‘pick-ups’! She was too flabbergasted at the moment to think of an excuse to get away, but that she was going to get away, and that in time to meet Tom in three-quarters of an hour’s time at Camden Town, as she had arranged, was clear in her mind.

It was impossible to walk four abreast on the crowded pavement, and Jenny found herself alongside Andy in the throng, with Violet and the other talking busily ahead. She had no intention of being the first to speak, and neither had he, apparently. Fortunately, however, they reached the King’s Head in less than a minute.

This was a large and respectable house in the most crowded section of King Street. They went through a door marked ‘Saloon Lounge’ into a spacious room with chocolate-coloured wood panelling, and copper-covered tables all round. There was a bar at one end, and one or two shining specimens of old-time armour in the corners. It was fully and brilliantly lit, though it was not yet completely dark outside and few of the tables were engaged.

‘This is ever such a nice place,’ said Violet, as they sat down, and Jenny herself was agreeably surprised. In point of fact, and although in her present company this would have been the last thing she would have openly granted, she was impressed. The truth was that she had never been in a public house in her life before, and she had a preconceived horror of them derived from glimpses of habitué lurching from low-class bars into the street. She was aware, however, that ‘times were changed,’ and that many of her more ‘common’ and
‘fast’ acquaintances frequented them regularly with their boy friends: and now that she saw this spacious, clean, and well-ordered lounge she felt that she might very soon have to readjust her views herself. All the same, she would have much preferred a Lyons.

‘Well,’ said Rex. ‘What are you takin’?’

Here, for Jenny, was a quandary. She knew as little about alcoholic drinks as she did about public houses. At Christmas times she had had sherry and white wine, and once or twice she had partaken of a glass of Guinness in sedate company. She thought she had better ask for a Guinness now. Guinness she knew to be ‘the ladies’ drink,’ a fair compromise with the devil, a legitimate ‘pick-me-up.’ Even Doctors advised a Guinness ‘now and again.’ Its prime and avowed object was to ‘nourish,’ its accidental operation to intoxicate. But outside the realms of Guinness and festive occasions, Jenny had inherited from her mother what her mother called ‘a horror of drink.’ She knew that so soon as a ‘taste’ was acquired, ruin followed in clearly discernible stages. The danger lay in once starting: a single drink had been known to lead to ruin. On the other hand she had no desire to be fanatical, and for one in full control of herself a ‘nice glass’ of something, before or after a meal, could do no harm. She now decided to follow Violet’s lead.

‘I don’t know I’m sure,’ said Violet. ‘What are
you
havin’ Jenny?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Jenny. ‘What are you?’

‘Come along now,’ said Rex. ‘Make up your minds.’

‘Well then,’ said Jenny. ‘I think I’ll have a Guinness.’

‘What?’ exclaimed Rex, looking at her curiously. ‘Did I hear you say Guinness?’

‘My word!’ said Violet. ‘You
are
going the pace, aren’t you?’

‘Why – what’s wrong with Guinness?’ returned Jenny. But, without knowing exactly where her mistake lay, she knew that she had made a
faux-pas
. Here was a fine state of affairs! The tables were turned, and these ‘common’ people whom she
despised, were making herself look cheap! Her resentment against Violet glowed stronger than ever.

‘Well, I’m going to have something shorter,’ said Violet. ‘I’m going to have a port.’

‘Same here,’ said Rex. ‘You going to have a port, Andy?’

Andy nodded curtly in the waterfall.

‘Sure you won’t change your mind,’ said Rex to Jenny.

‘Well, I might have something shorter, then,’ she said, having quickly perceived that this was the line to take. ‘Perhaps I will.’

The waiter had already appeared.

‘Four Ports, Please,’ said Rex.

‘Tens or one and twos?’ asked the waiter, a brief and rather disapproving man.

‘One and twos,’ said Rex. ‘And you might bring some biscuits.’ And having thus dominated and dismissed the surly son of toil, he was pleased with himself, and hitched his trousers. He then turned to the ladies with an airy ‘What was you sayin’?’

‘Wasn’t saying anything,’ said Violet. ‘This is ever such a nice place, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it ain’t bad, is it?’ said Jenny. ‘Not for Hammersmith.’

This was a thrust.

‘No. Not for Hammersmith,’ said Rex, carefully simulating her reserve.

‘All got up Historical, ain’t it?’ said Violet, looking around with the air of a period-critic.

‘Yes,’ said Jenny. ‘That’s right.’

All at once Andy entered the conversation, sudden humour prompting his reserved and enigmatic character.

‘When Knights were Bold!’ he exclaimed, and embedding his chin even further into the waterfall he shook with a sudden wheezing laughter, which drew hideous and hypnotic attention to the gaps and calamities of his teeth. All the same, they all contrived to surmount his teeth and laugh with him.

‘More likely they were bowled over!’ said Rex, and amid further laughter the drinks arrived and there was an air of release.

*

‘Well – here’s wishing you,’ said Rex, holding up his glass, and they all took a sip.

‘We’re goin’ on to dance after this,’ he added. ‘So you’d better not get blotto.’

‘Oh – are we?’ said Violet. ‘That’s what you says.’

‘Why – any objections?’

‘No. I ain’t any objections.’

‘Well, I have,’ said Jenny. ‘I’ve got to go.’

‘You ain’t,’ said Rex. ‘Don’t be so silly.’

‘Yes, I have. I promised to be in Camden Town by half-past eight.’

‘You ’
ave
?’ put in Andy, taking an unforeseen interest in life and her concerns which should have flattered her.

‘You ain’t, Jenny,’ said Violet, ‘’Ave you?’

‘Yes, I have,’ said Jenny, firmly. ‘I’ll have to get off direckly I’ve finished this.’ She was relieved to have got this out, and had not the slightest intention of changing her mind.

‘Don’t be so silly, Jenny,’ said Violet, speaking more earnestly, and sincerely believing that her friend was dissembling in order to get away. ‘
You
ain’t got to be anywhere.’

‘Yes, I have. I got to be somewhere at half-past eight.’

‘Who is it, then?’ persisted Violet, by now a little angered, for her own evening was endangered by this backsliding.

But, after what had passed, how could Jenny own up to the pale boy?

‘Never you mind,’ she said.

This convinced Violet for good and all that Jenny was lying.

‘Coo,’ she said. ‘Some people are funny.’

‘Yes, they are,’ returned Jenny, at a loss for a better reply, and there was a very nasty, daggered silence.

Rex, aware of the situation, tried to smooth matters.

‘Well, you drink that up and see what you feel like,’ he said. ‘We don’t like to lose you, you know.’ He then took out his handkerchief, and loudly blew his nose. ‘’Scuse my nasal organ,’ he said. ‘It’s like Charley’s Aunt. Know why?’

To this there was no reply.

‘I said it’s like Charley’s Aunt,’ he said.

‘Is it?’ said Violet. ‘Why?’

‘Still Runnin’,’ said Rex, and causing his cheek to protrude with his tongue, he put his handkerchief jauntily away again.

At this vulgarism Violet went off into shrill laughter, and Jenny forced a pale smile: Andy’s countenance remained unmoved. Jenny decided that of the two she preferred Andy.

All this time the lounge had been slowly filling with people, and a hum of conversation had come into being all round. Outside in the tram-shaken street Hammersmith roared and swirled on its own furious and meaningless course. As meaningless and obscurely motivated as that crowd and chaos surrounding them were the relationships of these four respectively to each other: yet to the onlooker, who heard them laugh, they gave a perfect impression of unity and exclusiveness, of close friendship even, at any rate of having raised the banner of their common personality against a critical and watchful world. Many glances and stares were excited by Jenny’s prettiness and freshness, and the males were envied as if they were her possessors. So erring are the fleeting judgments made in public places.

* * *

As might have been foreseen, Rex, though fancying Jenny, naturally paired in conversation with Violet, and soon, while those two bantered each other, Jenny and Andy, who were seated next to each other a little apart from them, were left out in silence. Jenny was quite content that this should be so. She was going to get up and go directly she had finished her port, half of which she had now swallowed. She had her eye on the clock in the distance over the bar. It pointed now to five to eight. If she left at eight o’clock she would have good time to catch a ’bus and reach Camden Town in time for Tom at half-past eight. She would then make him take her to Lyons, and she would leave him and go to bed directly after. It would be too late to go to the pictures, and she was not going to walk about the streets with Tom all night. She was in
a bad temper, and distantly aware that she was going to take it out of Tom.

These ruminations were cut into by Andy, who in perfect silence thrust a beautiful silver cigarette case in front of her. She extracted a cigarette therefrom, and thanked him. She did not in the ordinary way approve of young women smoking in public, which she thought was a way of ‘making an exhibition,’ but she was anxious not again to appear unfamiliar with the manners and ways of her present company. ‘I’ll just have time for one,’ she said, and again looked at the clock.

Andy did not answer this, but again in perfect silence produced a beautiful cigarette lighter, and flicking it neatly open into a flame, held it in front of her cigarette.

‘’Scuse my dirty hands,’ he said.

‘They’re not dirty,’ she said politely.

‘You get ’em covered all over with dirt – doing what I’ve been doing,’ he added.

She saw plainly enough that this was an invitation to ask him what he had been doing, but was not good-humoured enough to accept it.

‘Muckin’ about with one’s car all the afternoon,’ he explained, lighting a cigarette of his own.

Jenny started. Had she heard correctly? Had he not said Car – ‘one’s car?’ Car? The funny little man didn’t have a car. Get away with him.