A Kind of Loving (37 page)

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 anticlock
wise 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.'