Authors: Bill Naughton
What was I doing there? To be frank, I didn’t know. I’m the same as any other man where women are concerned, I’m only interested in the pleasure. When it comes to the pain I just don’t want to know. You can’t blame me – you can only blame human nature. Well, they are mysterious things are women. I mean the closer you come to look at them. I mean if the thing that happens to them every month were to happen to me only once in my lifetime, I’d feel like drowning myself. But they don’t seem to mind, they take it all in their stride. Then take when they’re pregnant, what a horrible idea that is, some little thing inside you, kicking about for months on end, then popping out head first, could be nine or ten pound weight, and he’s no sooner born than he sticks his mouth on a nipple and sucks the life out of you. And yet they seem to actually enjoy it. So you’ve got to admit there’s a gulf between man and woman.
And some of the things a poor woman has to let a
man do to her. Just to keep in his good books, you could say. I mean I could go on endless. But as for a man, he’s simple, all he’s got is pretty much on the surface, or at least ninety per cent of it. In a way I suppose that’s why we’re nothing compared with a woman, I mean for things going on inside us. And I’ll stay nothing, I will for sure. Who’d be a woman? Course, I suppose if you’re born that way you know no better. They’re more to be pitied than blamed. It makes you understand how most of them are just that bit bonkers.
I suddenly heard this cry of pain in the next room. It wasn’t a loud one, but it frightened me. It was a sudden sharp cry. I heard him whisper something to her in his deep voice. I will say this for him, he certainly had the manner. He gave you the impression he knew what he was doing of. Mind you, I hate any instruments touching me. It used to take all my discipline at the start to let old Daphne, trim my corns. I heard another cry, and then I heard him talking to her again. Poor Lily – they can say what they want, but life is definitely loaded against the woman.
It all hadn’t taken three minutes, and she’d spent as many months worrying, and twenty-five pound in the bargain to wipe out the memory. No, not the memory, I mean the consequences. I’d have to do something about that money perhaps. And now she had to undergo this lot on top of it. A bloke like that messing about with syringes and things. I never got used to that game even when I was in the sanatorium. And they always tried to tell you it won’t hurt. I went and filled the kettle and put
it on the stove and at the same time I caught a glimpse of my face in the little mirror by the sink: You’re a right cow-son, Alfie, I said to myself. When you say a thing like that to yourself it means you’ve forgiven yourself for being one.
It went quiet for a bit in the next room, and the door opened and this geezer came in. I was surprised to see he’d been sweating. It was there on his forehead, this little film of sweat. He was in a bit of a hurry this time, wiping his hands with the little towel, and letting down his shirt-sleeves. I heard a very faint moan come from inside. I was going to ask him how it was all getting on when he said: ‘I say, could you make some tea?’
‘Tea,’ I said, ‘yeh, I’ll make some tea.’ I thought to myself – he wants tea on the job now, why, with what he’s earning he could afford champagne. No income tax, see. ‘It won’t be long,’ I said, ‘the kettle’s almost boiling.’
‘Oh I shan’t be staying for it,’ he said. ‘It’s for the young lady. She’ll need it rather strong with plenty of sugar in.’
He wouldn’t be staying – what did he mean? Was he going out for a pint or something.
‘Why aren’t you staying,’ I said. ‘Have you done?’
‘Almost all I can do,’ he said, and he began putting his gear away. In spite of his official manner I could see he was in a dead hurry to get away.
‘That didn’t take you very long,’ I said. ‘Can she go home when she’s had her cup of tea?’ Blimey, they do earn their money easy, I thought.
He looked up at me as he was putting his case carefully
away inside the poacher’s pocket in his big overcoat, which he hadn’t yet put on.
‘Good gracious no!’ he said. ‘On no account must she go off.’ He came up to me and looked at me as though I were a nut: ‘Don’t you understand? – it’s only been induced. It hasn’t happened, all that’s to come.’ He looked at me again and I thought the idea crossed his mind that somebody so dim as that couldn’t be so bad. I thought he softened a bit. A mistake on his part, see, because you only put yourself in the wrong when you do that. He dipped his fingers into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a tiny bottle. ‘By the way, should her temperature rise give her two of these tablets. I’ll leave you six. But two should be enough.’
I looked at the tablets. ‘How will I know if it rises?’ I said. He now looked at me as if I was real dumb, but after all, how are you to know. I didn’t have one of those thermometer things to stick in the mouth, and anyway I can never read one of them things.
‘If she sweats a great deal, or feels flushed and hot,’ he said very slowly, ‘give her two tablets with some cold water.’
‘I see,’ I said. But I wasn’t letting him off that easy. ‘Suppose something goes wrong?’ I said.
‘Nothing should go wrong,’ he said.
‘But suppose it do,’ I said. ‘Can I get in touch with you?’
‘No, you can’t,’ he said. I thought he was quite emphatic about that. He looked at me and said: ‘In a case of emergency there’s only one thing – get a cab and
get her to the nearest hospital.’ He was already standing at the door, unbolting and unlocking it. ‘You simply say she’s had a haemorrhage. They’re very understanding. But of course, I’m not expecting you’ll have any trouble.’
‘Just a minute, mate,’ I said, ‘don’t you think you should see the job through – considering how much you’ve been paid?’
He looked at me and for the first time I saw a genuine look or something come to his face: ‘I was afraid that manner would come out before I left,’ he said. He looked quite human.
‘What manner?’ I said.
‘They almost go down on their knees when I arrive,’ he said, ‘pleading they’ll commit suicide if I don’t help them. In nine cases out of ten they find they’re short of money. But when I’ve done my job, and I’m ready to leave, they change very suddenly.’
Know what, I almost felt sorry for the poor geezer. Of course I didn’t let him see it. Same as I say, never let anybody see you’re sorry – it puts you even more in the wrong. ‘Do it surprise you?’ I said.
‘No, it doesn’t,’ he said. ‘Nothing surprises me any more. Two if she sweats.’
He opened the door and slipped away dead silently. He’s unhappy, I thought. He’s one of those who love money, but don’t like themselves for loving it. I heard a little sigh, and to my surprise there was Lily, hobbling in through the door, her hands in the dressing-gown pockets.
‘What are you doing of?’ I said.
‘I’ve got to keep on the move,’ she said.
‘How you feeling, gal?’ I said.
She went round the room without saying anything. I went and made the tea. While I was waiting for it to brew I handed her the tablets: ‘He said for you to take two of these if your temperature rises. If you feel very hot or sweating.’
I poured her a cup of tea out and put plenty of sugar and milk in. I gave it to her and she took one big greedy gulp at it, as though she were thirsty. Her face seemed to have come over white and waxy.
‘Blimey, you do look old, gal,’ I said to her. You’ve got to show a bit of sympathy. And she seemed to have put years on. She never said anything to that. ‘He got his money easy,’ I said.
‘I owe you five pounds,’ she said, going to her bag.
‘You owe me nothing,’ I said.
‘I’d rather pay you,’ she said.
‘If you
insist
,’ I said, ‘I’ll take it. But to be quite frank, I’d rather you didn’t.’ I put her bag down.
She must have had other things on her mind, because she didn’t bother one way or another, and I was glad she didn’t. She did look ropey. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ I said. She didn’t answer. She put her cup down and I filled it again. ‘I’d hate for anything to happen here,’ I said. I was thinking about the seven years he’d said was the sentence. I know it sounds a rotten thing to think, but it was uppermost in my mind.
Suddenly she let out a loud moan of pain. It scared me. It was that long and deep it seemed not to come from
her mouth but from right away inside her.
‘
Sh, sh
,’ I said, ‘not so loud, Lily.’
We sat there a bit longer, then she got to her feet and began to hobble about, bending now and again. I thought: I’ve got to get myself out of here. There was nothing I could do. I know it sounds bad, but it’s different when they’re there beside you, in pain, and there’s nothing you can do. She let out another moan, a real loud one.
‘Quiet, gal,’ I whispered. I didn’t want anybody to hear.
She turned on me: ‘I can’t help it – you fool,’ she cried out at me. ‘Don’t you understand – I’m in pain – I’m in pain – and I can’t help it.’
I thought I’ve got to do it now or it’ll be too late. So I felt myself draw my hand back and give her a good hard slap across the cheek. Not too hard, but it was harder than I’d intended. It made a loud slapping sound, and she went dead quiet.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ I said in a loud whisper. ‘I didn’t want to do it, but I had to. You were getting hysterical. You sounded like a wild animal. The bloke from down below might have dropped in, or one of the neighbours. And what do you think would have happened? – you’d have had the police here, and the ambulance, and they would have carted you off. Then all this that you’ve gone through would have been for nothing. You’d have been found out.’ The shock of the slap was wearing off and she was feeling the pain. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ I said.
I’d gone very calm, but I could feel she’d have me
hysterical if I was to stay around any longer. I went and got my jacket and put it on.
She looked at me. ‘You’re not going,’ she said. ‘You’re not going to leave me, Alfie.’ She even got hold of my sleeve.
‘You’ll be better on your own,’ I said. ‘It’s one of them things where nobody can help you – and you’ve got to suffer it out on your own. Let go, Lily, and don’t look at me like that, as if I wasn’t human. I could flannel you, but where would it get us? If the pain comes on hard – stick a pillow in your mouth. That’ll drown the sound.’
She wasn’t for letting me go, and though I didn’t fancy playing my last card I had to: ‘Listen,’ I said, ‘think of old Harry – of Harry and the kids.’ When I said that she let go of me. I crept quietly out of the room.
I went out into the Sunday street. Two kids were going about with red plastic buckets and sponges. ‘Wash your car, mister?’ said one.
‘Some other time,’ I said.
‘There might be no other time,’ said one of them. The things they come out with. I got into the car and drove off.
That’s one good thing you can say about a car – you can go out on the roads amongst people but nobody can get at you in any way. You’re shielded off. The most they can do is honk their horn, which you can ignore, or they might give you a look but you don’t have to see that look if you don’t want to. In fact, the secret of driving in London is never to catch any other driver’s eye. Whatever you do, never look at him when one of you has to give way – especially if he’s a cab-driver. Pretend you’re dead ignorant. Then they have to give way. You take a dead stupid nit of a woman driver, crossing one way with her
blinker going the other – they all get out of her way.
But to get back to what I was saying – your contact is all over and done with in a couple of seconds when you’re in your own car, and you’ve got these windscreens and things in between you. But you go out walking and everybody you pass can have a good gander at you. For that one reason, if for no other, the car manufacturers can’t go wrong in the future. Who wants to meet people if they can possibly avoid it? If you know a car-owner, ask him how long it is since he went on a bus or had a good walk round a town.
I could have gone and had a beer up at a duff sort of Sunday lunchtime strip club I know, but I’m not that sort of bloke. I can’t bear to be in the company of blokes who go for strippers and all that schoolboy stuff. And the last thing I want when I’m feeling real sad is to go and get drunk. I like to think my way through things or feel them or something of the sort, until I come to the cheery part. I mean the only experience that doesn’t do you any good is the one you learn nothing from.
Now I didn’t know where I was going, and you’re a nuisance on the roads when you’re like that. So where do I find myself but over in Battersea Park along by the little miniature railway there. You get a few deer hanging about there behind the railings. It’s all around where I used to take Malcolm on Sunday mornings. So I parked the car and I get out to have a walk round.
Somehow I didn’t fancy going over the same ground again, I mean the old ground, so I went along by the embankment towpath towards Albert Bridge, just beside
the Pleasure Gardens. The wind was blowing from the west so that you didn’t get the smoke from Battersea Power Station –
washed
smoke they call it, but have you ever tasted it? – so I did a few of my deep breathing exercises along the way. Oh, but what a horrible idea of those who ever thought of them as pleasure gardens. It’s all a take-on. You wouldn’t get me going in there. I must say you get a real bunch of nits going there. I mean if I ever hear of anybody going there or to Madame Tussaud’s it makes me feel dead uncomfortable.
I kept thinking of little Lily. It’s funny what women have to go through in this life. There were lots of people strolling along, but none of my sort. I was the odd man out. You get a different kind of person troops about in each different part of London. You get people in Green Park have never set foot in Battersea Park and vice versa. It’s a funny thing, but on Sundays in St James’s Park you seem to get lots of people from the East End. I suppose the Tubes have a lot to do with it. You get Londoners going to Kensington Gardens would never dream of crossing the Serpentine bridge and going into Hyde Park. Now in Hyde Park you get a very cosmopolitan lot – Irish, Italians, Bubbles – a real mixed bunch. As for Regent’s Park, they’re mostly all one lot who go there from Golders Green way, but that’s around the tea-house and the Queen Mary rose garden. If you go up towards the playing fields south of the Zoo you’ll get people from Camden Town and other parts. It’s all very well ordered by the people themselves. They do keep themselves apart, I will say that for them.
Now I’m the sort of bloke who gets a terribly lonely
feeling, in which I can’t bear to see anybody, and I’ve got to be alone, when suddenly it wears itself out, and I find I’m longing for a bit of company. I mean an hour of myself when I’m like that and I’ve had enough of my own company. Now the first thing I did think of is of slipping into the car and nipping across to see Ruby. Only five minutes away across Chelsea Bridge and down there along by the Embankment. Or across Albert Bridge for that matter. But I had told her I was going out to see Harry at the sanatorium, and I didn’t want to drop in on her too early. Not only that, but it’s a funny time to call on a bird – about two o’clock on a Sunday afternoon – I mean if you’ve had no dinner. After all, what do you do? And I didn’t feel hungry.
It suddenly struck me I could do worse than ring Daphne, this chiropodist woman from Dr Brown’s. She was a very settling sort of woman in many ways. And she made a handsome cup of tea. I always say, Spinsters for tea – it means more to them, see. On top of which I had a little corn needed attention, and my toenails needed a good trim. I’d only visited her once since I came out of the sanatorium but she was always glad to see me. And she’d bring out her tin of Ormskirk gingerbreads, and a stale bit of a Lyons’s Swiss Roll. But same as I say, people like that can make them things taste good – or nearly. It’ll kill two birds with one stone, I thought. I mean if there was none of the other coming old Daphne would settle for a cuddle and a few old jokes. To be quite frank, I didn’t feel like knocking myself out with old Rube just at that exact moment.
So I go to a telephone kiosk and I ring her up and
right enough she answered. So I chat her up with one or two jokes before she has the sense to tell me she has her sister with her who’ll be staying for tea. But it would be fine if I called round about six o’clock. Those clots of spinsters can waste a bloke’s time. In fact, whether she had her sister there or not I wouldn’t know, but I can’t see why she would want to tell me a lie. You know what you can do with your sister, I thought. And yourself, too, come to that. So I cut the chat dead short.
Now just as I’ve put the receiver down, and I’m giving my hair a comb before going out into the world, I look through the window of the kiosk, and for a second or two I think I’m seeing a mirage or something. There’s this kid going by who’s the dead spit of little Malcolm. He’s older, of course, and bigger, but he runs just like him and he looks just like him.
Christ, it is Malcolm
! I go all flurried inside when I see him. Now when he’s gone past I get this impulse to push the door open and hurry out and look after him, but lucky I don’t. Because the next thing a bloke and a woman go tripping by. She’s carrying this little baby, see, all wrapped up in christening shawls and that. I saw the face as it went by – I mean the woman’s face. It wasn’t looking in my direction, in fact it wasn’t looking in any direction. It was mostly looking down on this child in its arms. It took a full second to strike home who it was – it was little Gilda.
She hadn’t half suffered a sea change. She looked real respectable. To be quite frank, she looked as though in a year or two she might turn out dumpified. She had the look of a woman who’s getting
everything
regular – I
don’t mean just the one thing. Meals, money, new gas stoves – and some of the other. Though she could be going short-weight if anything on that. But that’s not to say it’s troubling her at this moment. Her mind is full of this new baby and the christening. In tow with her she has this geezer Humphrey. He won’t mind her going dumpy. In fact some men prefer that kind of woman. That’s what keeps the world going – each man fancies a different bird. There’s hope for every woman unless she loses heart. And they only do that when they’re full of themselves. Don’t let ‘em kid you.
Humphrey’s all decked out in his best charcoal-grey suit (they’ve gone completely out of fashion, but he’s not to know that), and he’s walking along like a man who’s found a dream come true. Behind them is this couple, who might have been his brother and wife or something of the sort. They all look dead close to each other. ‘You won’t never leave us, Alfie,’ she had said. ‘I’ll make it up to you.’ She made it up all right. Still, you can’t blame ’em – they’ve got to think of themselves first. But they shouldn’t make out to be any different.
They went by. I stood there for a minute to get over it. They must have been married about three months when he popped her one in the oven, I thought, well, you know how you work these dates out. Then I went out of the kiosk and watched after them. I could see there was no chance of them spotting me. They wouldn’t have noticed me if I’d been standing there in my pelt. They had eyes only for themselves, for the new baby and for what they were doing. I wanted to get another glimpse of Malcolm.
I saw Humphrey hold his hand out and Malcolm took hold of it. Funny, I wasn’t jealous. I was glad. If you actually love someone you don’t want harm or suffering come to them. I suppose on that score you could say that child was the only person I’d love for himself. I saw them go into the churchyard and into the church.
I walked off in the opposite direction. I thought I’d better be getting back to Lily, see how she’s getting on. What was it he said to me – never is a long time. He was right. Then when I got near the bridge on my way back I kept thinking how I’d like to have another look at little Malcolm. There was no reason why I couldn’t go and have a look at him. So I went back. After all he was my child. My child – what does that mean? One bloke told me – I think it was Sharpey – that either he saw it on television or he read it in a newspaper, that there’s about five million seeds spurt out of a man at one good go, and any one of that lot could be his child. So what does it boil down to? I don’t know what it boils down to. Facts are facts and feelings are feelings, I suppose.
Now the hardest part was to screw up enough courage to go into the church. But I needn’t have worried, there was nobody about. They don’t seem to flock into those places no more. I don’t believe they even go to bed no more on Sunday afternoons. They all watch television. It was quite a lovely little church. I mean it had an air of peace about it. I should say it was a bit High Church from the looks of things. It’s got lighted candles and that. So I creep in and I stand there at the back, out of the way behind a pillar, and
I see they’re all gathered in a little group round what you call a font or something. There’s this priest or minister or somebody, he’s putting water and stuff on the kid’s head and saying prayers over it – something about how he’s got to renounce the devil and all that sort of thing. And these other two behind, what they call the Godparents, have to speak up for him on the side of God. I quite liked that little bit about the devil and God. I think the sooner you get all that into a kid’s head the sooner he’ll know where he stands. After all, each one of us, we need somebody to turn to in this life. I mean it’s not so much whether you do right or wrong, in my opinion, but that you know the difference between them. I do detest it when there’s somebody around who don’t know one thing from the other. It seems to cut them off from you.
Anyway, I’ve got my eye on little Malcolm as he is watching on. I couldn’t believe how he had grown. And yet I expected him to be taller. Then he decides to have a nosey round the place. Same as I say, I was standing behind this pillar, and I thought I’d better get out of his way. Then I can see he’s spotted there’s somebody there – so I stick to my ground. He comes along and he looks up at me. This parson bloke is still going on about the devil. I kind of smile at him, not like I used to do, I put more of a grin on my face and give him a wink. I was afraid he might shout out ‘
Daddy
’ or something. That would have made a stir. But his face didn’t change. I mean the expression. He looked at me the way a rich kid will mostly look at you – never a smile, not even a blink, just a dead cool stare.
Know what, that child didn’t know me from Adam!