Part Two, Chapter 5 - A Kind of Loving

I

I watch the water go down the plug-hole. Anti-clockwise. Due to the sun's pull, or something, they say. It goes down clockwise in the southern hemisphere. I wonder what it does on the equator. Goes straight down, I suppose. I think it might be a good wheeze to take a holiday walking down Africa, watching water go down the plug-holes every place you stopped at. You'd know when you got to the equator when it changed. Maybe you'd get-a town slap bang on the equator with a street where it went down anticlockwise at one end and clockwise at the other. And straight down in the middle. Doing all that walking you wouldn't have time to get into trouble. Take years to walk all that way...

'Victor, your tea's on the table.'

'Coming.'

It's Monday and the room's all warm and cosy with the ironing. There's finny haddock for my tea and I usually enjoy this, lying there all crispy gold on the plate with great dollops of best butter melting over it till it's nearly afloat. But today it's just like cardboard in my mouth and I can hardly get it down. The Old Lady watches me struggling with something I usually scoff in no time and she says:

'You're not getting your tea, Victor.'

'I don't feel up to it today.'

' You reckon to be fond of a bit o' finny, don't you?'

'I like it all right. I'm just not hungry, that's all.'

Half past six. I'm meeting Ingrid at a quarter past seven and she'll expect me to have something to .tell her. Funny how many times I've sat down to a plateful of finny haddock for my tea and then leaned back pegged and with nothing more on my mind than which picture I fancy seeing best.

The Old Man's cleared a space on the other side of the table and he's got his pools coupons spread out. He likes to fill them in early so's he won't forget.

'Have you been filling yourself with all sorts o' peg-meg this afternoon?' the Old Lady says.

'I haven't had a thing.'

I'm going to Ingrid's house tonight and I've told her I'll tell the Old Lady and the Old Feller first... The ironing board creaks under the weight the Old Lady's putting on the iron. I'll be getting that in the earhole any minute now ...

'I'm talkin' to you, Vic,' the Old Man says.

'Eh? What?'

'I said what do you think of Sheffield United's chances this week.'

'How the heck should I know?' I say, letting some of it out. 'They don't call me Old Moore.'

"Ere, 'ere,' the Old Man says. 'I asked you a civil question, young feller-me-lad.'

'Well I don't know everything about football. Why don't you use your own judgement, 'stead o' keep askin' me?'

The Old Man lifts his eyebrows over the frames of his glasses and looks at the Old Lady.

'What's wrong with you, Victor?' she says. 'Have you been having some trouble at shop, or summat?'

'I'm okay.'

I get up from the table and go and sit down with the evening paper. I intended softening them up a bit before springing it and now I've gone and done just the opposite. What I need is some kjnd of opening so's I can break it gently like. As if you can break a thing like that gently! I read the paper from back to front without taking in hardly a word and then it's ten to seven. I can't put it off much longer. It's got to be any minute now. The Old Man's breathing heavy and muttering to himself as he puts his forecasts in with his ball-point pen. The ironing board goes on creaking as the Old Lady goes steadily on with her work.

Nobody says anything for a minute or two and then all of a sudden I hear this voice speak, just as though somebody's popped his head round the door to share a bit of news.

'I'm thinking of getting married.'

And by the way everything goes quiet I know it's me.

The Old Lady stands there with the iron up in the air and it even brings the Old Man out of his pools. The Old Lady drops the iron with a clatter on to the stand, but she's too flabbergasted to say anything for a minute.

'Who you thinkin' o' marryin'?' she says when she's got her ' wind back.

'A lass called Ingrid Rothwell. She lives up on Park Drive.'

'How is it we haven't heard owt of it afore?'

'I didn't know before. I've only just made me mind up.'

The Old Lady's sharp enough sometimes and she seems to get this situation weighed up in double-quick time. 'It's happen a case of you've had to make your mind up, is it?'

I shift in the chair. I can't look at her. She's watching me, and so's the Old Man, but he hasn't said anything yet.

'Is it a forced do, Victor?' the Old Lady says straight out then.

I open my mouth to say something but nothing comes out. Then I shrink back small as the Old Lady comes at me across the hearth-rug. She's got her hand up and I'm sure for a minute she's going to clout me one. Then she drops it and lets me have it with her tongue.

'You girt fool,' she says. 'You girt silly fool. You with all your future afore you lettin' yerself get entangled with some cheap young piece 'at knows nowt but carryin' on an' gettin' down on her-'

'She's not like that. She's not like that at all. You stand there callin' her all t'names under t'sun and you don't even know her.'

'I know this much about her - she's trapped you nicely. When I think of all the decent respectable lasses you could ha' married and you come home an' tell me you're weddin' some little slut 'at's got her claws into you this way ...'

I'm on my feet shouting. I'm surprised at the amount of feeling I can put into sticking up for Ingrid.' She's not like that, I tell you. You don't even know her.'

'Nah just a minute, you two,' the Old Feller says. He gets up and walks between us so's we have to fall back. 'It's allus been my experience 'at there's two folk to reckon wi' in cases like this.'

'Your experience?' the Old Lady says. 'What do you know about it?'

'Well I'm sixty-one-year old,' the Old Man says, 'and I courted thee an' married thee an' helped thee bring three bairns into t'world, so I think I can say I know a bit... Now fair's fair, an' I don't like to hear you carryin' on about this lass afore you've even seen her. I don't know who's most to blame, but it's bound to be a bit o' both. I reckon our Victor's on'y yuman like any young feller an' if this lass is a bit soft-hearted like, an' affectionate, summat like this can happen. It's not first time an' it won't be t'last. An' if our Victor's had his fun he's a right to pay for it just like anybody else.'

'How old is she?' the Old Lady asks, surly like, but quieter now the Old Feller's had a say.

'Nineteen.'

'Nobbut a bairn,' the Old Man says.

"There's many a lass at nineteen these days knows more than I do at my age,' the Old Lady says, letting the rag show a bit again.

'Aye, happen there is, an' happen she's not one of 'em. If they'd both known a bit more they might not ha' got into this. We'll know more about that when we've seen her. When are you bringin' her home with you, Victor?'

'I reckon it can be any time now.'

'I'm not sure I want her in my house,' the Old Lady says.

'You can't turn your own daughter-in-law away, Lucy.'

'She's not me daughter-in-law yet.'

'Seems to me the quicker she is the better for everybody.'

'An' what are all t'neighbours an' everybody goin' to think?' the Old Lady says.' Such a lovely wedding our Christine had...'

'We'll let neighbours attend to their own business and we'll see to ours.'

Well, I've never seen the Old Man like this before, taking charge with a firm hand. But I wish it was something else brought it on.

'Have you seen her parents yet?' the Old Lady says.

'I'm going tonight. I wanted to tell you first.'

'Very thoughtful of you,' the Old Lady says. 'Well just watch your manners. We don't want 'em thinkin' you come from any sort of family. And not a word to our Jim 'at it's not all above board. There's plenty of time for him to get to know about such things.'

I catch the Old Man's eye. He's got an expression on his face that I can't weigh up. I look away and go and get my coat.

II

'Did you tell 'em?' Ingrid asks me.

'Yes, I told 'em.'

'What did they say?'

'Pretty much what you'd expect. Me mother was wild. I thought she was going to clout me with the iron at one bit. The Old Man was reasonable enough, though.'

'I don't know how I'll ever face them.'

'Oh, you'll manage okay. You'll get on straight away with me dad but you might have to dig a bit deeper with me mother. She's all right when you get to know her, though, and she'll see straight off 'at you're a decent lass.'

'Is that what you told them?'

'What?'

' That I'm a decent girl.'

'Well, you are, aren't you? You know I've always thought so.'

She's got her arm through mine in a possessive sort of way she's never shown before and now she gives it a squeeze. When I look at her I catch the sparkle of tears in her eyes.

'What's up now?'

She shakes her head. 'It's nothing. It's just when you're nice to me, that's all.'

God, what a louse I must have been to her sometimes!

It takes only a few minutes from the end of the road and we're going up the steps to their house. She's got her hand on the door handle when she says, 'Remember to act as though you've never been in the house before.'

' You didn't tell them about that, then?'

'Gosh, no. They don't even know you've been here before.'

'Okay, I'll remember.'

Ingrid's dad's a shortish neatish sort of bloke, about forty-five, I'd say. His hair's black and smooth and parted down the middle.

His eyes are nearly black as well but they don't look too unfriendly to me as we shake hands when Ingrid's introduced us to one another. He's got suede fur-lined slippers on, grey flannels with a good crease, a red long-sleeved cardigan over a grey shirt, and a heather mixture tie.

'Nippy out tonight, is it?' he says, standing with his back to the fire. 'I thought it might be. Turning colder again ... Well, you'd better sit down, er ... er, Victor. Take his coat, Ingrid; make yourself useful.'

She takes my raincoat over her arm and asks where her mother is.

'Upstairs, tidying up, I think. She won't be long.'

Ingrid goes out and doesn't come straight back. Mr Rothwell waves me to a chair and we both sit down. He's in the chair Ingrid was sitting in that night. I look at the couch and remember her there as bare as the day she was born and wonder what her old man would say if he knew. I think now I might as well have made a job of it then while we were warm and private if I only had to go and do it later in the park, when it was cold and neither of us enjoyed it.

Mr Rothwell reaches out for a twenty-packet of Players from on top of the television set. 'Do you smoke?'

'Oh, yes ... thanks.' I take one and we light up.

He's got his eye on me now and I wish Ingrid would hurry up and come back.

'I don't suppose you've been looking forward to this?'

'Can't say I have. I had to face it, though.'

'Right enough. I'm glad to know you're prepared to face your responsibilities all round. Ingrid's told us you've asked her to marry you.'

'Oh, yes ... well, I mean, I did straight away when I... when . she

'It came as a bit of a shock to you, did it?'

'I'll say it did.'

'You must have known, though, that it might happen ... didn't you?'

My face feels as if it's on fire. 'Well, I... I suppose I knew it was possible. But it's not as if we'd ... as if we'd...' 'Made a habit of it?'

'Yes, that's right. There was only the one time, y'see.'

He doesn't say anything to this but just watches me with his dark eyes. I can't tell what he's thinking, whether he believes me or not. I suppose what we did the other times is just as bad in principle like even if it isn't dangerous like going all the way is. I wonder if he knows about all that, if Ingrid's told him.

'Of course, you know, Ingrid's not of age yet. I believe you've reached your majority.'

'Oh, yes; six months ago.'

'And you've told your parents about all this?'

I nod. 'Yes, they know.'

'What was their reaction?'

'Pretty much what you'd expect. They were upset. Me father seemed to take it a lot calmer than me mother.'

'Yes, I expect so. Women are always a lot more emotional about these things. It's their nature, I suppose. You'll find it the same with Ingrid's mother. A man's too busy thinking what's to be done.'

I'm wondering where Ingrid and her ma have got to. Mrs RothwelPs certainly keeping me on edge waiting for her.

'I understand you were a draughtsman at Whittaker's before you went into the shop.'

"That's right.'

'I'm in engineering myself, y'know. As a matter of fact, I worked for Whittaker's for a few years as a young man. I was surprised to hear you'd given up a good trade like draughtsmanship to go into a shop. I shouldn't have thought the opportunities compared at all.'

'Well, of course, I thought about all that before I decided,' I say, and begin to try to tell him how it is with me and Mr Van Huyten. I don't make a very good job of it because it's something I haven't got really cut and dried myself and I think by the time I've finished I've given Mr Rothwell the impression that it's already in the will that I come in for everything when Mr Van Huyten cocks his clog. Maybe this isn't a bad thing, though, because he seems to take better to the idea now^

'And what's your salary now?' he asks me.

I tell him and he nods. 'That seems reasonable. You seem to have found yourself a very good opening. This Mr Van Huyten must have a considerable personal liking for you.'

'We get on well,' I say, and I'm glad to say it because maybe this is the best testimonial I could have.

The door opens and Ingrid comes in with her mother. I remember it's polite to stand when a woman comes into the room and I get up. One look at Mrs Rothwell's enough. I don't like her.

She's a little woman, maybe a bit younger than Mr Rothwell, with blonde hair cut short and pressed tight to her head in little waves. She's got a turquoise jersey frock on that shows her figure off - or at least, what's left of her figure, because it might have been good at one time but now,, it's mostly bust and behind. You can see she's well corseted in, though, and there's a couple of rolls of fat she can't get rid of up under her arms. I don't know straight away what it is makes me take a dislike to her on sight, and then I realize it's her eyes, pale blue with a sort of crafty stupid glint in them that tells me I'm going to have some trouble there sometime if nowhere else. It's awful to think I'm going to have to see a lot more of her and Mr Rothwell in future, whether I like it or not. I can feel it all closing in round me like a big net. Oh, what a chump I've been! And if only I could get out of it. Even now, at the back of my mind, I can hardly believe it's true, and there's no way out.

' Mother, this is Vic.'

I say good evening and kind of half-lift my hand. She nods, real short like, and says good evening back. I feel as if I ought to say something. ^'Er ... I'm sorry we have to meet in circumstances like these.' The truth is I'm talking because I'm as nervous as hell and I know straight away it's come out in the wrong tone of voice, just as if I think it's really all a bit of a lark.

'It's a bit late to think about that, isn't it?' she says straight out.

Ingrid looks at the floor and I feel this smile, that's absolutely out of place anyway, fade off my face.

They come round the sofa and sit down. Mrs Rothwell's frock's a bit on the short side and she shows a lot of leg while she's settling herself. I'm looking at it an' all. I couldn't care tuppence about Mrs Rothwell's legs actually but you know how it is when a woman's showing a lot. You can't keep your eyes off it. Nearly any woman - she doesn't have to be attractive. Anyway, just for a minute I'm looking at her legs, which aren't anything to write home about at all, and she's looking at me looking and I feel myself coming up in a huge blush. I can imagine her talking to Mr Rothwell when I've gone and saying something like, 'Did you see the way he couldn't keep his eyes off my legs? He's nothing but a young sex-maniac. He'll be trying to get into bed with me if we have him about the house!'

I hear a voice talking to me and see Ingrid's dad holding the packet of Players out again. 'Cigarette?'

'No, here, have one of mine.' I get my case out and offer it to him. Then I remember Mrs Rothwell. 'Sorry, do you smoke?'

She hesitates for a second before she takes a cig out of the case.

'That's a very nice-looking case you have there,' Mr Rothwell says. 'D'you mind if I have a look?'

I pass the case over and he takes a good butcher's at it, opening and shutting it and turning it over and back, feeling the weight of it.

'V.A.B.,' he says. 'What does the "A" stand for?'

'Arthur - after me father.'

'I see ... Yes, it's a very nice case indeed. It must have been quite expensive.'

'I've no idea how much it cost. It was a present, y'see.'

'I bought it,' Ingrid says, 'for his twenty-first birthday.'

'You bought it?' her mother says, and holds her hand out and takes the case from Mr Rothwell. 'Rather an expensive present for you to buy, wasn't it?'

'Oh, it wasn't all that expensive,' Ingrid says, and she colours up a bit as though she expects her mother to ask how much.

But her ma passes the case back to me without pressing the point.

'How long have you known my daughter?' she says now, like a duchess asking a gardener for his references. I nearly expect her to say 'Brown', but she doesn't call me by any name all evening.

'Well we've known one another by sight for a long time, but we've been friendly about eighteen months.'

'Friendly!' she says, screwing her little mouth up. 'I suppose you realize that this business has upset Ingrid's father and I very much.'

'I suppose it must have. It's only natural.' I try to look shamefaced and it's not so hard because I'm feeling that miserable.

'I expect your parents have had something to say about it as well?'

'Oh, yes, well, I mean...'

'And I suppose they're trying to pin all the blame on Ingrid, saying she enticed you into it.'

'Oh, no, I wouldn't say that.'

'Well I'll have you know that we think there's very little blame on Ingrid's side at all. I know the way I've brought my daughter up and I know what sort of a girl she is. She'd only do a thing like that under extreme persuasion.'

(Oh, not too much persuasion, Mrs Rothwell. Not too much when it came to the point.)

'I've brought her up to be a decent, honourable girl who could be at ease hi the very best company,..'

(So she thinks she's got class, does she? Why, she hasn't a quarter of the class our Chris has!)

'We have very good connections and we've always had high hopes of the match she might make. We don't like having the pistol levelled at our heads in this way.'

She's talking as though I've deliberately put Ingrid in the family way so's I can marry her, when all the time it's me the pistol's pointing at. It'd be funny if it wasn't so bloody tragic. I look at Old Man Rothwell but he's watching his missis and letting her have her say.

'You realize that Ingrid is well under age and needs our permission before she can marry?'

'Now just a minute, Esther,' Mr Rothwell chips in. 'I don't know much about the law but I don't think you could get away with that in court. I think they'd give permission straight away if only for the sake of the child.'

As if I'd ever take them to court to make them let me marry Ingrid! Why, the best thing that could happen would be for them to stand up straight and say, 'We don't give our permission.

'Ingrid won't marry you.' They wouldn't see me for dust! The kid, though... I've never really stopped to think about it before. I wonder if it will be a boy or a girl. Whatever it is it'll be mine, mine and Ingrid's. And I'm not ready to be a father yet. I'm just not ready.

Just for a minute Ma Rothwell glares at Mr Rothwell as if to say, 'Whose side are you on?' and then she climbs down off her high horse a bit.

'I just want to make it clear that this sort of thing involves other people besides the two of them.'

'Yes, I think Victor appreciates that,' Mr Rothwell says. 'I think he's as sorry about it now as any young man could be.'

(Sorrier than that, old lad, if you did but know.)

'He's had his parents to face as well and I expect that wasn't too easy. I don't like the idea of young people starting married life this way any more than anybody else does, but the damage is done now and we shall just have to make the best of it. Victor's come straight out like a man and said he'll marry Ingrid, and I respect him for it. As for Ingrid, from what she's told me I think she'd like nothing better than to be Victor's wife, baby or no baby.'

This makes Ingrid blush a bit but she doesn't look up.

Well, considering all the circumstances and the fact that I wish I'd never had to meet him, I'm beginning to like Ingrid's old man, and I reckon he doesn't think I'm all that bad either. Her mother's got her little mouth all pursed up and I reckon she's disappointed at not being let shout the odds a bit longer and a bit put out because her hubby's put all his cards on the table so soon. She says nothing, though, and I wonder what she's going to turn out like when Mr Rothwell isn't around to keep her in check. I'm not very hopeful.

'I think we ought to get down to practical matters,' Mr Rothwell says, like a bloke who wants to get his business wound up because he hasn't a lot of time to spare. 'Such as how soon the wedding can be and where they're going to live. I think the wedding should take place as quickly and as quietly as possible, with no fuss, I should say in three or four weeks' time. What d'you think, Victor?'

'I think that'll be all right.'

May as well be tomorrow if it's going to be at all. I can't say anything else but okay because it's got beyond me now. I'm not in charge any longer. I'm horrified, though, at how fast things are beginning to move. A month ago I was free to come and go as I liked, and a month from now, at this rate, I'll be a married man with a wife I don't particularly like, let alone love, and a chico on the way! Oh, what a mug, what a mug!

'Of course,' Ingrid's dad says, 'there's still a chance that it's a false alarm. A small chance. But in that event you'll be married anyway, so it doesn't really matter.'

That's the maddening thing about it all, the way everybody's looking at it upside down. They all think we've been courting in the ordinary way and got a bit impatient and jumped the gun. They've got no idea the way things have really been and I can't tell them. All I can say is it'd be real rich if I wind up married to Ingrid and it does turn out to be a false alarm after all!

'Registry office, of course,' Mr Rothwell says, and Mrs Rothwell's bottom lip starts to tremble and she feels for her hanky.

'When I think', she says, nearly repeating what the Old Lady said, 'of the nice wedding I've always imagined Ingrid having. All in white, at church, with the choir and all our relatives and friends there. When I think what a proud day it would have been ... And now this ... this hole-in-the-corner affair ...'

Ingrid puts her hand into her ma's. 'It doesn't matter, Mother. I don't mind.'

'But I do,' Mrs Rothwell says. 'It's a mother's proudest day.'

'Well I'm afraid there's nothing we can do about that now,' Mr Rothwell says, 'so we'll just have to put it out of our minds. The next important matter is where they're going to live. Have you any ideas on that, Victor?'

'Well, I don't really know ...' It's all happening so quick, without giving me a chance to think. All I could think about was would I get out of it, would it be all right. I've always imagined that when I met that girl we'd have a house al! lined up, or at least a flat to begin with. Somewhere private and cosy, just for the two of us. 'I haven't had time to think about it,' I say. 'I suppose we could live at our house for a while. We don't stand a chance of finding a house of our own straight away.'

'To rent, you mean?'

'Yes. I can't afford to buy one.'

I fancy Ingrid's mother curls her lip at this but it might be just imagination. I'm in the mood for fancying that sort of thing.

'What do your parents think to that idea?'

'Well I haven't actually mentioned it yet. I don't think they'd mind, though. We've plenty of room.'

'Well I have a suggestion,' he says. 'We talked it over before you came. I'm away most of the time and if Ingrid leaves too it'll mean that her mother will be on her own. Of course Ingrid can't stay to keep her mother company for ever, but for the present there's no reason why you shouldn't live here. The next few months will no doubt be a bit trying for Ingrid and it'll help her if she's near her mother. That will give you a breathing space to look for a house to rent, or save up enough to put a deposit on your own. What do you say?'

Here again, what can I say? They've got it all worked out. I look at Ma Rothwell, who's saying nothing. I fancy they've talked this over and left it open till they saw what sort of a bloke I was and whether they could bear me about the place. Well, it seems I've passed muster on that one, anyway. Still, I'd've preferred to be in a place I know, especially now I'm not sure about how Ingrid's ma will turn out. But I'm not calling the tune.

'All right... Thank you.'

Well, the conversation carries on in a general sort of way now and they begin to fish for information about the family. I tell them about the Old Man and the Old Lady, and about Chris and Jim, and David. I think Mrs Rothwell would be happier if the Old Man was a doctor or a solicitor, or a business man even, rather than a miner. But I've never been ashamed of the Old Man's job before and I don't intend to start now. I think Chris and David help to make up for it a bit as far as Ma Rothwell's concerned, because she's a snob, no doubt about it.

A bit after nine, when I've had a cup of tea and a biscuit and promised to fix up for Mr Rothwell and the Old Man to meet each other and have a natter, I beat it. Ingrid comes with me to the corner.

' Well?' she says as we walk along.

'It wasn't so bad. And anyway, it's done with now.'

'Think about me,' she says. 'I've got it to face yet.'

'Oh, you'll be okay. They won't eat you. Just be yourself and don't put any airs and graces on and they'll take to you okay.'

Why shouldn't they take to her? I think. She's a nice enough kid and they haven't to live with her for the rest of their lives. Forty years, maybe longer. It's a real life sentence, and no time off for good behaviour ...

'When will it be?'

'I suppose the sooner the better now. What about tomorrow night?'

'Oh, dear... Well, all right.'

A bit farther on I say, 'I like your dad.' I'm thinking it's a pity he'll be away most of the time because having him around would probably increase my chances of rubbing along with liogrid's mother. Anyway, I shan't be the first bloke who didn't care for his mother-in-law; or his wife, for that matter. Not that that's any consolation at all. Not a bit.

III

'Well he seems a nice enough chap,' the Old Feller says when we get back home. It's Wednesday night now and we've been to meet Mr Rothwell in the lounge bar of the Craven Arms. 'Talks reasonable an' quiet an' doesn't go flyin' off the handle about summat 'at can't be altered.'

'You want goin' an' talking over your children's futures in a pub,' the Old Lady says.

'It isn't a pub,' the Old Man says, 'it's t'best hotel in Cressley. It wa' good enough for our Christine's weddin' reception, wadn'tit?'

'That wa' different,' the Old Lady says. 'We had a private room: we didn't go into the bar.'

'When a couple o' fellers get together to talk things over they have a drink,' the Old Man says. 'I'll bet there's more important matters settled there than anywhere else in Cressley. 'Xcept maybe t'Con Club. An' anyway, I told you before, we had to meet on neutral ground like. If he'd come here he'd ha' felt at a disadvantage, an' I know I should if I'd gone to their house. Besides,' he says, giving me a sly wink, 'we didn't want any women about throwin' spanners in t'works.'

'Oh, aye,' the Old Lady says. 'Oh, aye, leave it to t'men an' it'll be all right. I know.' She nods her head a time or two. 'Well them 'at lives t'longest 'ull see t'most.'

She goes into the kitchen and comes back in a minute with a couple of mugs. 'Here's your cocoa, if you can stomach any more liquid tonight.'

The Old Man lifts his eyebrows at me but says nothing.

'Well I must say,' the Old Lady says, sitting down, "at Ingrid seems a decent enough lass. I'll admit I was quite prepared to dislike her, but I changed me mind when I'd seen her. Time'll tell whether I'm right or wrong, but I don't think our Victor's getting a bad lass for a wife. He could ha' done worse.'

This is high praise from the Old Lady, and something to tell Ingrid when I see her again.

'What's her mother like, Vic?' the Old Feller asks me. 'D'you think you'll get on with her?'

I pull a little face and shake my head.' She's a bit of a rum 'un, Dad. I don't rightly know.'

The Old Feller looks at me and there's a kind of frosty smile in his eyes. "Tha're goin' to have plenty o' time to find out, lad,' he says.

'Married?' Mr Van Huyten says. 'Well, bless my soul! Congratulations, Victor. This is rather sudden, isn't it? Or have I been out of touch?'

'We kind of decided all at once.'

'Ah, well, you impetuous young people,' he says with a twinkle. 'Of course you can take your first week's holiday when you like. You must have a honeymoon.' He makes a note in his diary. "The second week in May. No, I don't see any objection to that.'

'I'm afraid we shan't be able to ask you to the wedding, Mr Van Huyten. It's going to be a very small affair, y'see. Just close family like,'

'Oh, that's all right, Victor. I understand perfectly.' I wonder if he does. And if he does he says not a dicky bird about it either now or later. He's like that, of course, is Mr Van Huyten.

Henry's a great believer in marriage.

'Best thing you could do,' he says when I tell him. 'Marry early, get some kids and responsibility. It's the making of a man, responsibility. And remember, marriage is what you make it. Look at me, for instance.'

I'm looking at him and think if he's a for instance I don't want any.

'So a wife and six kids on my wage isn't everybody's cup of
tea,' Henry says. 'But I'm happy with it, Vic, and that's the main
thing.' ,

And so he is. A wife with as much glamour as an old doormat; house like a pigsty from morning till night with kids bawling and wiping jam and bread on the wallpaper and crapping all over the place. And old Henry's happy on it. And many a bloke with five thousand a year's getting ulcers and worrying himself into the cemetery. It just goes to show. But what it goes to show I don't rightly know, except maybe that people are different. And that's the big snag; you can account for nearly all the trouble in the world when you say that.

All my mates, Jimmy Slade and Willy Lomas and the rest, I'm avoiding like the plague. And all the time I'm waiting for a miracle to happen to make it all come right and put things back where they were again.