Part One, Chapter 7 - A Kind of Loving

I

'was that right?' she says into my ear. 'Did I do it properly?'

'Yes,'I say,'that was right.'

I'm down flat on my back on my raincoat by her side and looking at the branches of the trees between us and the sky. It's a high sky tonight, big and pale, with dark shadows of clouds chasing across it, and you can't see the moon. For a few seconds there's nothing; I'm empty, not thinking, kind of not living nearly. Then there's a twinge of shame; that's the first thing that comes. I find out after it's always the first thing that comes, but I'm a bit more hardened to it then than I am now. And now I'm thinking straight: I've nothing else on my mind. I'm thinking straighter and clearer than I ever have since I first looked twice at her and wondered what my chances were. I'm thinking straight and clear and it's terrible, because I don't love her, and that's the awful truth. I don't even like her much now. Not because of what we've done, though that's the way I know that after the first few dates, when I wanted nothing from her except to be with her and have her like me, that was what was stopping me from seeing I didn't love her after all. And I never did have a chance to get to know if I liked her - like you like some people just for what they are and nothing else to it - because the first time I really noticed her I loved her and I hadn't spoken two words to her in my life. Now I wonder how I've stood it as long as I have: her gossip and silly scandal and her small talk about television and quiz shows and every little detail about how some lucky housewife from Wolverhampton or Tooting won a, refrigerator or three thousands pairs of nylons and a holiday in America by answering questions you'd have got your arse tanned if you didn't know the answers to in Standard Four. But now I do know how I've stood it and that just isn't here any more and there's nothing else -just nothing. And when I think that only a matter of weeks ago I'd have gone to the ends of the earth for her nearly I just don't understand it. I don't understand it at all.

'You're quiet,' she says.

'Am I?'

'Haven't you got anything to say?'

She turns her face and I feel her breath warm on my cheek. 'Vic.'

'Hmm?'

'I thought at first, you know, just then, that you wanted to — you know, do everything.'

I did want to, I remember; and there's nothing I want to do less right now. . 'I might have,' I say,'but I wasn't daft enough to try it.'

'D'you think it's anything like that?' she says in a minute, and I think, Oh, Christ! does she have to talk about it? It's over, why can't she leave it alone?

'I suppose it must be,' I say. 'I don't know.'

'I wondered,' she says, and I think that maybe that's her way of trying to find out if I've ever gone the whole hog with anybody.

All of a sudden I feel like hurting her and I say,' You talk as if I'm the first chap you've ever been out with.'

'You don't think I've ever gone as far as that with anybody else, do you?' she says.' Is that the kind of girl you think I am?'

'How should I know?' I say. I don't really want to hurt her, but I've kind of got to work something off on her. I'm sorry when I see her look away and say, 'I didn't mean that. I know you haven't. I know you're not that kind of girl.'

'I sometimes think I must be,' she says.

' Come off it.' Now she's wondering if she's been too easy and I'll like her less for it. Well I do like her less but not for that. And I can't be bothered with her feelings - I'm too busy with my own. All of a sudden I feel about five years older, and to tell the truth, a bit muckier about the edges. And I think. So that's what it's like after with somebody you don't love; because as far as the feeling's concerned there's no difference between what we've done and going all the way.

'Anyway,' she says all at once, 'I don't think it's wrong or anything to be ashamed of. Not when you're fond of the person.'

But what about when you're not? What then? And you don't always know till after because it kind of blinds you. I know now, and the thing is, what am I going to do about it? How can I break it off now when it's only a few weeks since I told her I was mad about her, and meant it? How can I tell her I've been taken in because sex and a dream have got all mixed up inside me? How can I tell her I've been all wrong and we'd best call it off? How can I tell her all that after tonight, when she's shown me she's fond of me, that she loves me, because I'm pretty sure she does. She'll never understand. She'll think I've been working up to this all the time and now I've had what I wanted I'm not interested any more. And it isn't like that at all. But then again, maybe it doesn't mean all that much to her - as much as it might to another bint, I mean. Oh, I'm not thinking she's nothing but a young bag. I reckon she wouldn't carry on like that with just any Tom, Dick, or Harry; she'd have to be fond of whoever it was before she did. But maybe she gets fond pretty easily, and there's no getting away from it, she's a pretty hot bit of stuff. She gave me the green light okay the way she kissed me that night on the seat down there, or I'd never have gone as far as I did then. And you can look at it another way - I'm not the last word in ladykillers. There's plenty better-looking bods than me about and I'd be a bit big-headed to think I was the only bloke who ever got her worked up...

It starts to rain. Not much, but it must have been spitting for a few minutes before I notice it. It's as good an excuse as any for breaking it up.

'C'mon, we'd better make for the shelter.'

She starts to fuss about with her clothes, tidying herself before she gets up. When she's on her feet she brushes herself down with her hand, then picks her handbag up. Igive my raincoat a shake and put it on as we cut across the grass to the shelter. When we get there she starts to mend her make-up as best she can in the dark and I watch her, thinking how irritated it makes me and how much I'd have liked to see her doing it not long ago. I don't get it; it's beyond me. How can you think you've found so much and then suddenly wake up and see you've found nothing at all? And if I can't understand it what hope have I of making her see it?

She finishes what she's doing and clicks her compact shut and drops it into her bag. We sit a bit apart on the seat and watch the rain. In a minute she starts to tell me a bit of scandal about one of the bosses at Whittaker's. I don't much like this bloke she's talking about and I'm interested in what she's saying; only somehow it rubs me up the wrong way. I want to contradict her. I feel if she said black was black I'd say it was white just to be awkward.

I say something and she says, 'I always thought you didn't like him. You've said so to me."

'I don't; but I don't see 'at that's any reason to believe everything anybody says about him.'

She knows I've snubbed her. I've never used that tone of voice to her before and I know she feels it. She doesn't say anything, though, but dips into her handbag and fishes out a packet of fags and offers me one. She always has cigs when we're out on a date and she usually won't smoke mine. 'You spend enough on me,' she'll say, 'without me smoking at your expense as well.' I've always thought this was nice of her, and I still do for that matter. Oh, she's a decent kid, the sort any bloke would be glad to take out. It's no good me trying to make out she's common and easy, because she's not. She's just easy with me. And I don't want her any more.... It's the awful truth. I smoke my cig and look out at the rain, waiting for it to stop so's we can beat it.

'Blasted weather,' I say once, and she looks at me.

'You're not in a very good mood tonight, are you?'

'I hadn't noticed.'

'I had,' she says. 'Is it something I've said or done?'

'No, course not.'

I suppose this is the time I ought to tell her how I feel; but I just can't start to do it. How can I after half an hour ago? She'll never understand. She's bound to think I planned it all from the start.

"There is something wrong, though, isn't there?' she says.

'Oh, I'm a bit fed-up all round. I'm not very happy at work just now. I don't know what it is. I allus used to be content enough.'

' P'haps you ought to look for another job,' she says.

'Mebbe that's it. Mebbe I should move right away, to Birmingham or Manchester ... have a real change.'

'Would you like to do that? Move right away from Cressley?'

I give a shrug. 'I dunno. Mebbe I'd be just as bad off. I sometimes think it's the job itself I'm fed-up with. Althorpe had us on the mat the other week, y'know. Me an' Conroy...' And I tell her about the fight, leaving out what really started it and that I bit Conroy.

'Don't you get on with Conroy, then?'

'Oh, he's a clever devil, allus throwin' his weight about. I couldn't help making that crack when he gave me the opening. Still, I like him better now than I did. He didn't flinch when old Althorpe opened up, an' it was a fair treat to see the way he stqod up to Hassop afterwards. I wonder he didn't sack him on the spot. You could nearly see Conroy daring him to.'

'I always think he's a funny sort of man,' Ingrid says. 'I shouldn't want to be on my own with him.'

'Who, Conroy?'

'No, Mr Hassop.'

'Why, what's up with him?' This is a new slant on Hassop for
me. .

'It's the way he looks at you. Old X-ray eyes, the typists call
him.' _:

'Who, old Hassop? Does he ever try it on, then?'

'Oh, no, he's always very correct and distant. Never says a wrong word, in fact. But he's got a way of looking right through your clothes that gives me the creeps.'

'Well, I never knew he was that way inclined. I never told you about the time I went to his house with a message when he had flu, did I?' I know that telling Ingrid is as good as telling all the female staff but somehow I don't care whether it gets round and Miller knows I've talked or not. It's something to talk about now till the rain stops and we can go.

'... and then she come down the stairs in this kind of dressing-gown thing with this great envelope in her hand an' I'm standing there spouting all sorts of rubbish about hoping Hassop 'ull be up an' about again soon, an' all she says is, "It's in the envelope."'

'She said what?'

'It's in the envelope. When I asked her how Hassop was that's all she said, and shoved it into me hands.'

'Good heavens!'

' But the funniest thing was when I was going out... I opened the door and the minute she saw the sunshine she gives a yell an' conies for me shouting "Shut the door! Shut the door!" Anybody 'ud've thought she was scared o' shrivellin' up and turning to dust or something like vampires are supposed to do.'

'Ugh!' Ingrid shivers. 'You're giving me the creeps. What did you do then?'

' I hopped it out, pronto. I'd just got me foot off the step when the door banged shut behind me. Five seconds slower and I'd ha' been catapulted out through the porch windows.'

Ingrid says, 'Well, I say ...' and giggles. She folds her arms across her bust as though she's hugging the story to her ready to tell her mates. It'll be all over the firm by dinner-time tomorrow, but I don't care. I look out across the park.

'It's not doing much now. We'd better be off.'

We have to have another titivating session before she's ready to go and I walk about on the concrete getting more and more irritated. I want to be away from her, on my own, this minute, so's I can think about what's happened and what I'm going to do about it. But I know I'll have to take her home; and I'm glad it's dark because, funny thing, I don't want anybody to see me with her now. It'd be just too bad if somebody we both know saw us now and jumped to conclusions - all the wrong ones.

She finishes at last and we set off towards the gates.

'Have you got your dinner suit pressed?' she says.

I'm still feeling a bit contrary so I say, 'Dinner suit?' though I know very well what she means.

'For the Staff Party.'

' Oh, that! I'm wearing me tails; didn't I tell you?'

And this is another thing. I was looking forward to the Staff Party because this year I'd have a girl of my own to take. I was so happy. Why can't you stop in love with a bird once you've fallen for her. Why has everything to be so complicated? Better now if I'd never picked her out from the crowd that first time. That first date, though. I didn't know where to put myself, I was that chuff with everything, And now ... I'll never be able to explain it to her. I know I won't.

'What's the matter?' she says.

'Why?'

'You're sighing. You sound as if you've got the whole world on your shoulders.'

I feel as if I-have; and what a blooming queer world it is!

'You're not sorry now, are you?' she says. 'About tonight, I mean.'

'Course not.'

Why should I be? If I'm feeling a bit disgusted at myself it's not because of that altogether. It's because it's shown me there's nothing between us. It's not only bints who have something to lose; I've lost something tonight, and to a lass I don't much like, let alone love. I suppose I've gained something as well: a bit of experience, if you look at it that way. I suppose you could put it down to experience.

I'm brooding about it all the way across the park and through the streets to her house. I'll just have to let it die a natural death, I'm thinking, let it cool off gradually. I reckon she's a right to something better than this, but I know I'll never be able to tell her and explain to her face.

' When shall I see you again?' she says at their gate.

'Tomorrow.'

'I mean outside work, silly.'

' Well, not this week-end, I'm afraid. An old pal of mine's coming over this week-end. I haven't seen him for years. Anyway, I'll always see you at work. We can fix something up any time.'

I reckon she can't help but notice I'm not interested, even if she does know I'm lying about this mate. I bet she doesn't know how interested I really am, though. How can she?

'All right,' she says, and I'm glad she doesn't make anything of it.

She waits. We don't say anything. She doesn't lift her face and she doesn't even look at me but I know she's waiting to be kissed. And why not, after tonight? I only hesitate a second, then I put my hand under her chin and lift her face up. I kiss her on the mouth, but not for all the gold in the Bank of England can I put any feeling in it. She must know now, I think on the way home, even if she didn't before.

II

I manage to steer clear of it for a few days by keeping away from Ingrid herself, but then she Sends me a note by young Laisterdyke. I read it in the river caves and wonder what I'm going to reply. The easiest way is to just ignore it, act as if I've never got it. But that's not fair, I think. I can't just brush her off like that... I think about it for a bit, then I conie up with a reply that doesn't say anything straight out but has a lot between the lines. 'Dear Ingrid, I can't see you tonight because I've somewhere else to go. I've started Tech again now and I'm sitting for the National this time and I'll have to work on other nights beside class nights if I want to get through. So I shan't be able to get out much and I don't think it's fair to tie you down when I don't know when I'll have a free night, Vic.'

When I read it through I'm a bit ashamed of it but I can't bring myself to be more blunt So I give the note to young Colin and slip him a tanner at the same time. 'Here, give her this - and keep your mouth shut.'

'A pleasure,' he says, pocketing the tanner. 'Special deliveries a_;bob.'

'A bob on your earhole if you don't watch out.'

There's a reply next morning. 'Dear Vic, I was surprised to read your letter. I don't see how you going to night school makes any difference to us. I know you won't have much free time but that doesn't matter if you really want to see me. I thought something was wrong the other night, and now I'm sure. If it's something I've done I wish you'd tell me what it is. Ingrid.'

I'm feeling pretty low when I read this. She's wondering what's up and feeling miserable herself and I'm sorry about it. It's disappointing all round. But you can't help the way you feel, can you? Anyway, that just about winds it up. She'll be too proud to write another note if I don't answer this one; and I don't intend to do that.