Day (36 page)

‘Me too.'

‘Yes, I deserve that.'

But none of this so very important any more, because you are here and she is here and ‘Are you happy?' because you want to know, very much, ‘Because you don't look . . . if you looked as if you were happy I would, I would . . . But you don't.'

She pushes her hair away from her forehead. ‘How does a happy person look?' Her voice quiet, dulled in a way that it shouldn't ever be.

‘I'm . . . there's . . .' And because love requires the impossible and you love, ‘I'm not entirely sane any more, but if . . .'

‘I have no feelings for him.' Joyce talking past you, gazing over to the other side of the street. ‘Donald. He came home in a state . . . so that I couldn't leave him. It's not so bad now and also it's worse. He doesn't leave the flat, doesn't do anything . . . not anything useful.' A dark in the way she says this that sickens you. ‘I work to help out with the money – we don't have a lot. He hates it. Would never have let me before, but if I didn't get out of the house, I'd . . .'

Scrambling to understand her, what she might like, would allow, could support. ‘If I could, we could . . .'

A smile from her you haven't seen before, sharp and small. ‘He imagines that I have affairs.' Before she looks at you, clear into you, and this hurts in the finest way and is a kind of question.

So you give a kind of answer. ‘It will be complicated.'

‘What isn't.'

‘Yes, what isn't.'

This bringing the old smile back to her, the one that lifts your hair, the one that rattles out your widest, widest grin and there you are together in the street, the pair of you just like happy people. You intend to kiss her with your new moustache. You intend not to bother if people see.

And a little later, you will go back over to Ivor's shop and find it still closed, although – when you check – it's past twelve. You will rap on the glass until he shambles round between the shelves and lets you in.

‘You fell asleep?'

‘A light doze. Disturbed by . . .' Ivor will trail off at this and make a great play of stepping back, examining you. He will wag his head and seem pleased in a slightly melancholy way. ‘You went and saw her, didn't you? You finally went and saw her.'

You will tell him, ‘Fuck off, Ivor.'

‘You did.'

As you walk in past him, he will punch your side, politely, and then follow you, chuckling. ‘You did.'

You will go into the back room and empty the old leaves from the teapot, rinse it out.

‘You bloody did.'

You will go to your bag, take out the Luger and unwrap it, hand it to him.

‘And what the fuck would I do with that?'

‘I don't care.'

‘I don't want it.'

‘Neither do I. I don't need it any more.'

And he will put it slowly into his pocket, the weight of it pulling his jacket and he will want to examine your face, but you will go and stand at the window and see the yard and an angle of the afternoon sky, that late-August blue.

Then Ivor will ask you, ‘So you'll see her again.'

And you will tell him, ‘Yes. I'll see her again.'

And you will feel like laughing.

Acknowledgements

With thanks to The Imperial War Museum Reading Room, and Armoury, the Lincolnshire Aviation Heritage Centre and best regards to John Tile.

‘I'll See You In My Dreams' Words by Gus Kahn and Music by Isham Jones © 1924, EMI Feist Catalog Inc, USA
Reproduced by permission of EMI Music Publishing Ltd, London WC2H 0QY

‘Wishing (Will Make It So)' Words and Music by Buddy DeSylva © 1939 by DeSylva, Brown and Henderson, Inc.
Reproduced by kind permission of Redwood Music Ltd (Carlin), London NW1 8BD

By the Same Author

FICTION
Night Geometry and the Garscadden Trains
Looking for the Possible Dance
Now That You're Back
So I am Glad
Original Bliss
Everything You Need
Indelible Acts
Paradise

NON-FICTION
The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp
On Bullfighting

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