The Likes of Us (36 page)

‘No, I, er...'

‘The World Conference of Magicians. It's to be held in Brighton in a few weeks' time. When you get on the stage there you're performing for your peers, not for an audience with one eye on you and the other on the waiter bringing the drinks. I hope with the help of my young lady assistant to come away with a few honours myself this year.'

‘We must wish you luck, then, Mr, er, Leonardo. Excuse me. There's somebody over there I've got to talk to.'

His smile was strained as he left them.

‘You went for him a bit hard, didn't you?' Joyce said.

‘I will not be patronised by little runts like that.'

‘He meant well enough.'

‘So did that chap in the passage. We're all touchy in our different ways.'

‘All right.'

‘Would you like another drink?'

‘I've got enough with this one, thanks. Anyway, I mustn't be late.'

‘Don't worry. I can't see me sticking round this place for long.' He spoke to the barman. ‘Another scotch, please.'

Joyce poured the rest of the tonic water into her glass and said, ‘It's not on, you know, Leonard.'

‘What isn't?'

‘Brighton.'

‘You mean he's put his foot down?'

‘No.'

‘Oh, my God, there's only three weeks to go and here you are, backing out on me.'

‘I never said I'd go.'

‘No, but I did think
–
'

‘I'm a married woman, Leonard. I've got a husband and a child, I can't just slope off to Brighton for three or four days.'

‘Look, I'm depending on you. I can do big things this year. I know I can. But not without you.'

‘Can't you get somebody else?'

‘Find somebody and train her in three weeks? Talk sense, love.'

‘I'm sorry, Leonard. But you knew when I started what the position was.'

‘I thought this was the middle of the twentieth century, not the nineteenth.'

‘He puts up with a lot, you know.'

‘And so he should. Look, would you like to go?'

‘Of course I would. Three or four days at the seaside. And you know I like being in the act.'

‘Ask him, then. Ask him tonight.'

‘Look, it's
–
'

Leonard's fingers gripped her elbow and his eyes looked directly into hers. ‘Ask him.'

 

He was asleep when she got home, sprawled in the chair in his working-clothes, his mouth slightly open. She switched off the television set and shook him by the shoulder.

‘I just shut my eyes for a minute,' he said as he came awake. ‘What time is it?'

‘A quarter past eleven. Did Gloria go off all right? She wasn't fretful, was she?'

‘No. Why?'

‘I'd a feeling she might be sickening for something earlier today. Might have been my imagination. Have you had any supper?'

‘No.'

‘Do you want some now?'

‘I don't know.' He rubbed his eyes and pulled himself up in the chair. ‘Let's have a cup of tea while I think about it.'

She took off her coat and laid it across a chair and went into the kitchen. He followed her and stood in the doorway, stretching, as she filled the kettle.

‘Ugh! It feels more like a quarter past three.'

‘You should have gone to bed.'

‘Ah, it gets till it's all bed and work. I don't see anything of you.'

‘I know you hate it,' she said.

‘What?'

‘Me going out like this. Helping Leonard.'

‘I've never said so, have I?'

‘I know it, without you saying anything.'

‘If it gives you a bit of pleasure, excitement. I mean, I'm away so much... It's no fun for you.'

‘Are you going up north again tomorrow?'

‘No, he's putting me on local runs for a day or two, till he gets the wagon properly seen-to.'

The kettle was on the gas. She put tea into the pot and set out two cups. ‘Do you want something to eat, then? I might as well see to it while I'm here.'

‘Go on, then,' he said. ‘I'll have a bacon sandwich.'

Joyce put the frying pan on another ring and took bacon out of the cupboard. She kept her eyes on her hands trimming off the rind as she said, ‘Leonard's talking about the World Conference now.'

‘What conference?'

‘World Conference of Magicians. Didn't I mention it? I knew it was out of the question, anyway. Brighton, in three weeks' time. He reckons he can sweep the board if I'm there to help him.'

‘Brighton?'

‘Yes. Isn't it silly? Three or four days away. I told him, what did he expect? Me, a married woman, with a husband and a little girl to think about.'

‘You're not going, are you?'

‘Well, of course, I told him.'

‘You want to go, though, don't you? You'd like to go with him?'

‘What do you mean “with him”? Have I asked you?'

‘You're asking me now.'

‘Look. I
–
'

‘You're not going.'

‘Look, Brian, don't come the heavy husband with me. There's no need for you to lay the law down.'

‘I want him to know,' Brian said. ‘I want you to tell him.'

‘Tell him what he knows already? Or that you've put your foot down?'

‘I don't care. Just tell him.'

‘Look, Brian, just who the hell do you think you are?'

‘I'm your husband.'

‘And how long do I have to go on being grateful for that?'

‘I don't know what you mean.'

‘You should. I was grateful when you married me. Not every man would have done what you did, would they? You took me and made me respectable. You got me out of trouble. Why shouldn't I have been grateful?'

‘I married you because I loved you.'

‘Because you wanted to go to bed with me and I was carrying somebody else's kid.'

‘There's no need for talk like that.'

‘Would you like to forget it? Don't you think about it every time you look at her? She's upstairs now, asleep. She doesn't know, but we do. When shall we tell her, Brian?'

‘It was a long time ago. She's eight years old now and she's ours – yours and mine. Why do you want to start on all this?'

‘Because I'm sick of it. Sick of everything.'

‘You wouldn't tell her, would you?'

She faced him. ‘Why not? Hasn't she got a right to know the truth?'

 

‘There we are, sir. And your receipt. Your suit will be packed up and waiting for you when you call back. I hope you'll find it satisfactory in every respect.'

Leonard's customer smiled. ‘I'm sure I shall. I must say it's a pleasure to shop where there's still some service.'

‘It's very kind of you to say so, sir. Quality and courtesy are the cornerstones of any good business.'

‘There's a lot of people forgotten that, though.'

‘There are indeed, sir. There are indeed.' He opened the door for the man. ‘Good day, sir.'

He picked up the suit from the counter and went into the back room where Joyce, with cups and teapot ready, was waiting for the electric kettle to boil.

‘Nicely timed. I'm just brewing up.'

‘I'll just pack this and we'll have a nice cuppa.'

‘He seemed very pleased, the man who's just gone out.'

‘We're both pleased. That makes for a satisfactory transaction.'

‘You're a good tailor, aren't you, Leonard?'

Leonard brushed the suit down with the flat of his hand, holding it up for a last scrutiny before folding it into a large square box which he then tied round with string. ‘The best in this town.'

‘Haven't you ever thought of expanding? You know, opening another shop?'

‘I did consider it at one time. But I couldn't be in two places at once and I didn't fancy the idea of putting my reputation into the hands of somebody who might not care for it as I do. So I settled for one shop and that run well. It works. I'm well known to a good clientele and I make a comfortable living. Personal service from the man who actually cuts the cloth – that's what they expect and what they're prepared to pay for.'

Joyce poured boiling water into the teapot. ‘Leonard, about the conference.'

‘Yes?'

‘It's still no go.'

‘You asked him, then?'

‘No, I didn't actually ask him. I told him it was coming off. He jumped on it straight away. We had a row.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘It was my fault, I suppose. I lost my temper and said some awful things.'

‘He never...' Leonard hesitated. ‘He doesn't strike you, does he?'

‘Brian?'

‘He's a big strong ox of a man. They do lose themselves sometimes.'

‘The trouble with Brian is he won't argue or row. That's what makes me so mad sometimes. The way he stands there so bloody good and patient.'

‘And stupid,' Leonard said.

‘What?'

‘Yes, I'm sorry, Joyce – stupid. Doesn't he realise what sort of woman you are? That you deserve something better than being tied to the house, cooking and cleaning for him?'

‘Don't all women think like that sometimes?'

‘There are plenty of women who are happy with that. They're ten a penny. But you're special; something different. You're like a lovely tropical bird that loses its colours and dies when it can't spread its wings and fly.'

She suppressed her desire to laugh at this sudden fanciful flight of talk.

‘A bird in a gilded cage. Except the cage isn't gold. It's all very well, but
–
'

‘No, Joyce.' He came round the table and took her hands. There was something in his eyes that she'd never seen before. ‘It just won't do.'

She was so surprised then, when he kissed her, that she rested passively and without resistance in his arms. Until the pressure of his embrace increased, when she pulled free with a light laugh.

‘Why, Leonard, I never knew you were one for kissing and cuddling in the back room.'

He held her hands. ‘Joyce, I've never said anything before. I thought I'd no right. But I can't stand around and watch it any longer. You, grubbing for extra money, living a life with no beauty or refinement in it. I'm not a wealthy man but I could give you at least something of what you ought to have. A better life than you'll ever have with him.'

She withdrew her hands and tried to hide her surprise and confusion by pouring the tea. ‘You've given me a shock,' she said eventually.

‘I've always hidden it before,' he said. ‘As I say, I didn't think I'd the right. You should know as well that I... I shouldn't make any demands that you weren't prepared to accept.'

It had gone far enough. She said with a little dismissive laugh. ‘Don't talk silly.'

He stiffened, not answering.

‘I'm sorry, Leonard. You just don't understand.'

‘I can understand misplaced loyalty. I know what sort of woman you are; I wouldn't want you if you were any other way.'

‘It's loyalty, Leonard, but it's not misplaced. And it's something more than that.'

‘You can't tell me you still love him.'

‘I said some things to him last night, and afterwards, when I saw the look on his face, I could have killed myself.'

‘You don't like to hurt people. What you don't realise is that it's not you but the truth that does the damage.'

‘I did a terrible thing. I threw it in his face that Gloria isn't his child. After all these years.'

‘What? What do you mean?'

‘She isn't his. You didn't know that, did you? I had an affair with a married man. I was young and silly, I suppose. Anyway, I'd finished it just before I met Brian and not long after I'd started going out with him I realised I was pregnant. It would have been easy enough to let Brian have me and pretend it was his. But I couldn't. I told him the truth. And do you know what he said? He said he wanted to marry me and this way he could have me all the quicker. I never even told him who the other man was.'

‘The child doesn't know?'

‘Nobody knows. You're the first person I've ever told. Brian worships Gloria as though she were his own. And last night I threw it all in his face. I even practically threatened to tell Gloria the truth.'

‘It makes no difference. You can't live on gratitude for ever.'

She picked up a cup and held it out, looking steadily at him.

‘Oh, but you can, Leonard. That, and what it leads to.'

 

Brian sat in the cab of his lorry, parked opposite the doors of the school. It was an old building, inadequate for today's needs, with a patched tarmac playground between it and the iron railings along the road. In a couple of years Gloria would leave here for the new secondary modern school set in green fields on the edge of the town. From thinking of this it took no great stretch of the mind to imagine her finished with school and in her first job. The years passed with increasing speed and with every one now she would become less dependent upon him and Joyce and more capable of making her own decisions.

Her birth had been a difficult one and the complications were finally resolved by an operation which made it impossible for Joyce to conceive again. No matter though, that Brian could not have a child of his own; Gloria was as good as his and he loved her fiercely, seeing no necessity for her ever to know the truth about her parentage. It was only Joyce who kept that issue alive, resurrecting it in spasms of fierce and, to him, inexplicable resentment during her attacks of discontent. There was no reason for her to feel gratitude towards him. He had made no sacrifice in marrying her. He'd wanted her and was himself grateful for the circumstances which made her accept him. He doubted that he would have got her otherwise and he had never quite been able to believe his luck. Now he was beginning to wonder if he could hold her. He brooded incessantly on their most recent quarrel and his apparent inability to make her happy.