Lover (21 page)

I followed her down the street, and when we got up to the room and I could see her properly, she looked better than the blonde one, not so thin. When she asked my name, I told her it was Gervase. I handed over the money and sat in an armchair while she took her clothes off. She didn't mind me looking, not like the other one, but she had a bored expression on her face as if I didn't interest her much. She knelt down and unbuttoned my flies and started to touch me but it wasn't any good with her looking like that, so I said, ‘Did you hear about the girl who was murdered near here?'

She carried on, not listening properly, and that made me angry because I wanted her to pay attention, so I said, ‘I heard she had a poker stuck up her, inside.'

That brought the head up, all right. ‘What?'

‘That blonde girl. Right round here, it was.'

‘How do you know?' Now she was listening, all right. I could see the eyes widening, beginning to look more how I wanted.

‘She was strangled, that's what I read, but I'd say the poker killed her. That's what did it.'

She stood up, then. ‘How do you know about that?'

‘I told you, it was in the paper. You ought to be more careful. You don't know who you might meet out there. It could be anyone.'

She turned away and went to the other armchair where she'd put her clothes and I saw she was reaching for something—underwear. I said, ‘What are you doing?' I stood up, and she started backing away, saying, ‘I don't like that sort of talk.' She put on her brassiere and a vest, then she got hold of her handbag from the mantelpiece, and held some money out to me, saying, ‘I'm sorry, dear, but you'll have to go. You're making me uncomfortable.'

I said, ‘Come on, don't be silly, I was making conversation, that's all. I'll give you another ten shillings, if you like.'

She sniffed and said, ‘Funny sort of conversation,' but she took the extra money and put it all back in the bag.

She went and sat on the edge of the bed and fumbled around in her handbag, then pulled out a French letter and held it out to me, but I could see the bored look was on her face again, so I took my trousers off and my shirt because I didn't want them messed up, and put them on the chair on top of her clothes. Then I picked up one of her stockings. She said, ‘Here, you be careful with that!'

I told her to lie down, but she wouldn't, just kept telling me to let go of the stocking and saying they cost money and a lot of other stuff like that, and then she jumped up and tried to snatch it from me. That was the last straw—I could see she was going to spoil everything. She was stronger than the other one; she kept pulling at the stocking and shouting, and I had to make her shut up so I hit her, hard, on the face, and she fell back on the bed and twisted onto her side with her hands up, trying to protect herself, but I got on top of her and pulled her head round facing me. The eyes were wide, but not how I wanted. She was angry, and even though I was holding her down she looked at me as if she despised me and did not understand. I couldn't look at her, so I shut my eyes and she said, ‘Get out,' and her voice was low and flat, as if she was talking to some ordinary man and she wasn't scared, and she was ruining it all, and then I thought I'd have to leave and I must have relaxed my grip because I felt her head jerk up and something wet landed on my face—spit—and then I was furious she could do that and speak to me like that, and she was thrashing and screeching and clawing at my arms—and it was Mathy I heard, not her, but Mathy, and I tried to block it out. I shouted ‘You stupid bitch, it wasn't in the paper,' and I punched her to make her quiet, and she was quiet after that, and still.

I knew what I was going to do, so I went into the kitchen for a knife and then I saw an instrument on the chair, like tongs, metal tongs. They looked good so I rubbed myself with them and as I did I remembered how I'd seen a woman—must have been Mother—use them to make waves in her hair, so I took them back to the bed as well. It wasn't a pretty sight. She was lying on her back with her eyes shut and blood coming from the nose. I wanted to give her face a better appearance, and wished I'd brought the compact from the other one, which had powder, but I saw the handbag where she'd dropped it by the bed so I opened it and looked for some cosmetics. There wasn't powder, only lipstick and a funny little blue bag that I put in my trouser pocket for later. Then I took hold of the lipstick and got on top of her and started to smear it on the mouth. I wanted a lot, but it was hard to get it in the right place, and she started moaning and moving her head, and then it got on her chin and round the mouth, and the blood from her nose was mixed up in it, and it looked a mess.

It took me by surprise when her eyes suddenly opened again and her mouth must have opened, too, because it jogged my hand so the lipstick clicked against her teeth. I could see a red ridge where the tip was squashed against them. Then a scream came up out of her mouth and then another, and I couldn't bear the sound of it, or the look, the open mouth and teeth; I had to stop it so I jammed the whole lipstick into her mouth and put my hands over it, and I was pressing down hard and she was bucking and retching. I got my knee on one arm, pinning it down, but the other was loose and flailing, trying to reach my face, and I had to keep jerking my head out of the way. I could feel her face bulge underneath my hands and her body wracking and heaving underneath me, the chin slick with vomit where it was coming out between my fingers, making my hands slip. I pressed down as hard as I could, but she kept on jolting and thrashing underneath me and all the chords in her neck were taut, the veins almost bursting at the temples and blood was pounding into her face and the eyes turned pink and wet and the whites burst into bloody threads. Her loose arm flapped weakly and fell back on the bed, her legs stopped jerking and I let go.

I was trembling from the effort but there wasn't much time and I wanted to push up the brassiere and vest, but I couldn't with her lying down like that. So I put my hands under her armpits and hitched her into a sitting position, but I didn't like the look of that, the face was spoiling it, so I pushed her down again. The vomit was sticky between my fingers so I wiped my hands on the vest where it was bunched at the top. Her face was too ugly, so I put a pillow over it and then I was ready to do what I wanted.

I don't remember much about getting out of the place afterwards. I know I washed myself at the sink and wiped myself with something I picked up from a chair, then got dressed and came away as fast as I could. As soon as I'd finished, I was desperate to get back to the base, same as the other time. Odd, that: before, I can't wait to get away to do it, and afterwards I can't wait to be back again. Gervase was waiting for me where we'd arranged. Had to do a fair bit of walking—more than last time—but we got a couple of lifts that took us most of the way. Gervase had stopped talking, thank God. Probably been with a whore and felt ashamed of it—his sort always do. He fell asleep in the lorry, but I was too excited. I'd got the stocking in my pocket, and the little blue case, and I wanted to take them out and look at them, but I couldn't in case he woke up and started asking questions.

I got back to the room about ten minutes ago and found Ginger sitting up like that. I still wanted the chance to go over it all properly, but I couldn't enjoy myself with those eyes gleaming at me, so I came back outside. No one was about, and it was very dark and quiet.

I wound the stocking round my hand so it was stretched across my knuckles, and after that it was like re-running a film in my head, faster and faster, especially the end part, the knife and the curling irons I used to finish, and afterwards, when I'd pulled the bedclothes over it and gone across to the big mirror on the wall and stood looking into it so I could see just the reflection of the torso—breasts—the curve with the pillow above, over the face—then I shut my eyes as I had before and there were flashes of the girl in the alley, her blank face behind the stocking, the mouth an O like—that—more—yes—more—yesyesyes—
yes
…

Funny, remembering it just then, it seemed more real than it did while I was doing it. The excitement's more afterwards; at the time, it's just reflex actions, and the concentration on getting it done. Like debriefing, with everyone jabbering away nineteen to the dozen, shouting and laughing—and then they say we don't remember it right, because if we did the Luftwaffe wouldn't have a single kite left by now.

It was good looking into the big mirror, too. Better than that small compact thing. I didn't like having to hit her. Oh, well. I suppose I'd better go back inside and get to bed. Damn tired.

S
weet of Hitler to let me have a decent sleep last night. I decided to risk my own bed for once, and slept right through till nearly eleven, so I must have needed it. The sunshine was lovely when I took down the blackout. There are great cracks across the panes, mind you, after last week… Ought to be grateful they're still there, really.

I went down for cigarettes about midday. Asked Mr Mitten if he'd seen Lily because I wanted to tell her about the man last night saying ‘Poor old Henry', but he said no. Bridget was in the café, but she hadn't seen Lily, either. I did the shopping and found a nice piece of fish, so I went home and cooked that for tea and tidied up a bit…artificial silk flowers I've got, lovely, but they take a lot of dusting, especially when you get all this grit blowing in through the window after the bombing. Nothing feels clean any more.

I'd got an appointment with one of my regular men-friends at half past five, so I got myself ready, then after that I went out and I thought, well, I'm bound to see Lily now, but when I got to my patch I looked round the corner for her and she still wasn't there, so I thought, maybe she's with a regular, too, or she's gone to the cinema, because we do that sometimes, in the afternoon. We always choose romantic films, and if we like something, we'll see it three or four times. We like a good cry. She's crazy about Robert Taylor, got his picture on a cigarette card in her handbag. She even made this little case for it, like an envelope, out of a piece of blue felt, so it won't get damaged. Calls it her lucky charm. No one knows about it except me, not even Ted.

I was standing there thinking about that when I hear someone shouting ‘Rene! Rene!' and Kathleen comes haring round the corner with Susie behind her, both of them in a rare old state.

Kathleen said, ‘Oh, it's terrible—it's Lily, he's killed her, last night—'

‘What?'

‘Lily, she's—'

‘She's
dead
?'

‘Yes, last night, she—'

‘Are you sure?'

‘She was killed, Rene. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Murdered.'

‘
Murdered
? She can't… I only saw her…' I was too shocked to think straight, and Kathleen and Susie were both talking nineteen to the dozen.

‘Wait… You mean, like Edie?'

Kathleen said, ‘It was her ponce.'

‘
Ted
?'

‘Yes, if that's his name. He's been arrested.'

‘How do you know?'

‘Mollie heard it from French Marie. She's got a friend goes in the Black Horse, and she said Lily's ponce came in and told everyone he'd done for her. Covered in blood, he was.'

‘Ted was?'

‘Yes, I told you. Marie's friend said he had Lily's purse with him, full of money, and he just threw it down on the bar and said he was going to buy everyone a drink, and then he said he'd killed her. Everyone heard it. Imagine!'

I was that stunned, I couldn't really take in what they were saying, not straight away. Then they said they were going to find Bridget, and went tearing off again, and I just stood there in a daze. I could hear what they'd said in my head, over and over, about Ted killing Lily, but it had all happened so quick I couldn't really believe it. I kept thinking, I'll snap out of it in a minute, and everything will be like before.

It's one of those things where one minute you're going about your business, and the next: boom! And you don't know where you are. I wandered off up the road but I barely noticed where I was going until I found myself in Covent Garden at the end of Dora's street. I knew Tommy'd be having his tea, and I wanted to see him, but I could feel myself welling up inside and I thought it might upset him if he saw me like that. I must have stood there five minutes, and I don't know why, but I had the urge, stronger than I've ever known it, to go and put my arms round him and say, ‘She's not your mother, I'm your mother.' The longing was so fierce it was nearly pulling me down the street, but I stayed where I was. It would only confuse him, and as for Dora… Well, it wouldn't be fair. Tommy's hers now, and that's how it should be.

I knew all that, but it didn't stop me wanting to do it, or stop the pain I was feeling in my heart. I just stood there and looked up at the flats for a while, and then I saw there were people coming out, so I came away.

I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to talk to anybody, apart from Tommy, but I didn't want to go home and be on my own, either. I suddenly found myself thinking, I know, I'll go and see Lily. Quite matter of fact, I'll go and see Lily, and I actually got about ten yards down the road before I realised what I was doing, and I thought: I'll never see Lily again. The jolt of it was like running up against a lamppost in the blackout, but more, because it's your emotions, not your face. One minute Lily and I were sitting there having a drink and a chat, and the next minute, she's gone and that's it. The end.

I thought maybe she and Ted might have had a fight, because Lily could be quite sharp on occasion, and if he'd come home drunk…well, he must have been if he did it and went straight off to the pub and told them, mustn't he? Or perhaps Lily wanted to take up with another man and he was jealous. She never said, but then you don't, always, not with something like that.