Chapter 6

On Saturday it was raining, but nonetheless I wanted to try Terry and Dave again, via the possibility of bumping into Chris; and failing either of these possibilities, I thought it wasn’t too soon to try the library again. Maybe just spend some time there, and not try to borrow books on my card until I’d seen someone else’s. Then try the Britannia again in the evening.

The route along the cutting and over the tunnel mouth didn’t appeal in the wet, so I went the long way, through the middle of town. Coming down Market Street I realized it was still only about ten o’clock; rather early to go visiting. I thought of going into the Britannia, and decided it was becoming too much of a habit, a bit obvious; and decided to go into Andy’s instead. Cup of tea. Changed my mind: what’s wrong with being a bit obvious? You’ll never get anywhere, Pete, if you aren’t obvious.

So on down to the Britannia. Cheerful smile and friendly words from Cathie, but she was very busy, and there was no real contact. I didn’t have a book, and anyway the place was too busy for me to sit and read; so I didn’t stay long. I thought about my plan for the day, and reversed the library and the visiting: that seemed to make a lot more sense.

Passing Smith’s I decided to drop in there for half an hour to amuse myself detective baiting. Having scanned every title in the place the previous day, and taken a brief look at all the interesting looking ones, I was a bit at a loss what to look at; until I hit on the idea of reading one properly. After a while the store detective disappeared, and a moment later a middle-aged woman appeared and informed me that they were a bookshop, not a library. I just put the book back and left.

Of the nine titles I’d written down in Smith’s, only one was on the shelves at the library, but since I’d no intention of borrowing any yet anyway, I just sat down to read it. Maybe another day I’d ask a librarian about the others.

I read about half the book, and then put it back to look at again another day. Then I went to look for the more up-to-date, single volume atlas I’d been told about. On the first floor, in the reference section. The reference section turned out to be much more interesting than the ground floor. I browsed for ages before I came to the atlases. They were not nearly as nice as the five-volume one in Raikeley, but it was quite interesting following the changes in the national boundaries in the Middle East by comparing the atlases of different ages. Then I found a Historical Atlas which did all the work for me, and the welter of detail suddenly made the whole subject boring. I could follow the changes of boundaries in Europe through the Napoleonic Wars and two world wars, neatly presented side by side, page by page; and it just wasn’t interesting.

Then out, and into Scully’s for a bit of cheese and some raisins and a packet of four digestives, which I ate standing under their awning. It was raining harder now, and I didn’t really fancy the walk out to Terry and Dave’s; but I’d had enough of the library, and I couldn’t think what else to do for a few hours.

I was soaked by the time I got there. Terry answered the door, and I could tell by her face that she was genuinely glad to see me. She took my coat and hung it up, and told me to make myself comfortable in the living room while she made a cup of tea. There was no sign of Dave. There was a wood fire burning in a homemade hearth where I remembered a gas fire, and the place had developed a new air of homely scruffiness.

‘Sugar?’ A horizontal head and two rows of finger ends round the edge of the door.

‘No ta.’

Two cups of tea, and some homemade biscuits. Terry herself was less groomed than usual. She was wearing jeans that weren’t even crisp, and a sloppy joe that I’d last seen on Dave; and not a trace of make-up. Only her long, sleek hair was the same.

‘I’ve not seen you for ages, Pete. What are you doing with yourself these days?’

‘Nothing much really. Reading, trying to keep body and soul together, knocking about the same old haunts. What’s happened to the gas fire?’

‘They cut the gas off. I couldn’t afford the last bill. Dave used to have it on all the time. Good job it’s an electric cooker, or I’d be really stymied. Chris helped me make the hearth though, and she’s a great help with the wood: it’s a lot of work fetching it, but she always helps, every week, never fail. At least I don’t worry about the bill now, and I keep it warm all the time.’

‘I didn’t know you knew Chris. Where’s Dave, though?’ It had gradually been dawning on me that he’d left, but by the way she was talking, she wasn’t going to mind my asking.

‘I don’t know where Dave is. He just didn’t come home one night, and then a few days later, when I’d worried myself sick, there was this postcard from him from France, wishing me luck and saying he was sorry he’d not been able to talk about it first. Never apologized about the gas bill, though. I didn’t know you knew Chris, either. We are talking about the same Chris, are we? She keeps herself to herself pretty much.’

‘Sounds like her. Lives somewhere up behind the station. Only came to Burnfield a few months ago.’

We chatted for hours, and drank innumerable cups of tea, and played a couple of games of chess. I’d never played chess there before; there were always three of us. We were well matched. She didn’t know the book as well as I did, but she was a natural player, and less liable to stupid errors than me. She thrashed me once, and nearly held me to a draw on the second game which I opened more cautiously.

She was quite forthcoming about herself, and her relationship with Dave, and her reaction to his departure; but I was very reticent about my relationship with June, and my friendships. But she slowly opened me up, right down to a guilt feeling about deserting old friends for new ones; and then seeking them out again when I needed them later.

She laughed at that.

‘Who deserted who? Did we ever come to see you? I’ve been around a couple of times, just after Dave left, but you were out.’

‘I suppose you’re right. And I suppose I’m not often at home. Tell you what, the only way you’ll ever catch me in is by prior arrangement. I’ll cook a meal for both of us for Monday night. Okay?’

‘That’d be great. Is it okay if I bring Chris too? We often eat together; it doesn’t save any money, ’cause we splash out more on food when it’s not just for ourselves, but we eat better and it’s more sociable.’

About sixish she told me that she and Chris had arranged to go and see ‘After the Storm’ that night, and that she was going round to pick Chris up about half past six; and did I want a bite to eat with her before she went?

‘No ta, I’ll be on my way in a minute.’ It was a convenient exit; I’d been wondering what I was going to say when I wanted to go. It sounded too daft for words to say I wanted to go and spend the evening in a café.

My coat had more or less dried out in the warm room, and it wasn’t raining so hard as I walked into town. The Britannia wasn’t very busy, but there were still two waitresses serving, and neither of them was Cathie. Perhaps I should have stayed at Terry’s for a bite. I’ll eat at home.

‘Cup of tea and a scone, love, please.’

I was just wondering how I was going to fill Sunday, and realizing that I hadn’t a great deal of reading material, when Mike came in. He got himself a cup of tea and then came and sat with me.

‘You eaten yet, mate?’

‘No.’

‘Then how about coming round to my place in a couple of minutes? I’ve got enough for two of us. Jill and June have gone to the flicks. Where the hell have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.’

For some reaon I didn’t feel like telling him about visiting Terry. ‘Just knocking about. Been in the library today, and Smith’s. I’ve got a new game: baiting store detectives. I was up on Rose Hill most of yesterday.’

‘You’re a curmudgeonly old recluse, that’s for sure. Don’t you ever get lonely?’

‘God, yes! But I’m too shy to make the first move. Especially when I’m depressed. I don’t want to inflict my depression on anyone else.’

‘So you stay depressed, ’cause you’re lonely. What’s this store detective game? Sounds risky to me.’

‘You don’t actually do anything. You just hang around the shop, looking furtive. After a bit you find this bloke hanging about near you, browsing, taking his time too much for someone so businesslike.’

‘You amaze me, Pete, sometimes, with your innocence. That’s not the store detective. That’s the manager, trying to make you feel uncomfortable and leave. He knows you’re not going to buy anything, or not much anyway, and you’re making his shop untidy.’

‘Go on! You’re having me on.’

‘No, straight up. The real store detective is a woman with a shopping bag, a push chair and two kids, works several shops on a timetable with others like her, and only works two days a week. Gets next to nuppence for it. And don’t think innocence is any protection for you; it’s their word against yours in court.’

Teas finished, we set off for Quarryside. We walked in silence for a while. As we climbed the top end of Fieldhouse Road, Mike asked me if I’d seen ‘After the Storm’ yet.

‘Nope. Don’t go to the flicks much. Can’t afford it.’

Mike was putting a stiff pace on; I was fairly fit but I was out of breath.

‘Course you can. You eat in cafés often enough; it’s only half as much again.’

‘Got to eat, though.’

‘You can always eat at home or round my place. Costs less than half as much.’

‘True enough. ‘After the Storm’ might be worth seeing, at that.’

‘Tomorrow’s the last night. Shall we go?’

‘Why haven’t you gone tonight, with the girls?’

‘Tell the truth, wanted a chat with you.’

Silence again as far as Mike’s flat.

‘Wasn’t half damp when I got back here on Thursday. Had to have the fire on all night to get it habitable again. Keeping this place dry costs me a fortune in gas.’

I was about to tell him about Terry’s wood fire, but didn’t want to have to go into any explanations. It left me without anything to say, and I felt slightly awkward.

Mike cooked a simple but filling meal, and we sat together staring into the gas fire for a time in silence while we ate. I reflected that Terry’s wood fire would be better for staring into, but didn’t say anything. The silence dragged on; I felt I couldn’t say anything and I wished Mike would start talking. Maybe he felt the same; but I couldn’t see why.

It wasn’t until he’d finished eating that he asked me again if I wanted to go to see ‘After the Storm’ on Sunday night.

‘I’m not sure. I’m not sure I can afford it.’

‘Of course you can. You haven’t got some other plan half cooked up, that you don’t want to talk to me about, have you?’

I hadn’t, but I didn’t know what to say: the innocent and the guilty both plead not guilty. I protested, and mumbled about the money.

‘If that’s really the hassle, I’ll lend it to you; you can pay me back very quickly: just don’t eat in the Britannia for a few days.’

Now he was coming close to a subject I really didn’t want to talk about; and I could feel myself reddening.

‘You wouldn’t be much of a liar, Pete. I’m not good enough to know what it is, but I’ve hit a nerve there somewhere, haven’t I? You should see your face!’

‘I’d rather not. It’d make it worse. It feels bad enough inside.’

No point pretending it hadn’t happened.

‘Well, just quit worrying, will you. If you can’t talk about it to your best friend, who can you talk to?’

After the gentle, non-intrusive way Terry had opened me up without asking any questions at all, perhaps even without intending to do it, Mike had all the subtlety of a police inquiry; he discovered Terry and Chris, but not Cathie. He concluded that I was depressed and lonely, and that what I needed was a holiday, to get out of the vicious circle of loneliness making me depressed, depression making me unattractive, and unattractiveness making me lonely.

As he talked, it all made so much sense that I was completely convinced. The nagging feeling at the back of my mind that I didn’t want to neglect the delicate growth of the fragile flower of a possible relationship with Cathie didn’t stand a chance against the persuasive power of unanswerable logic.

But affording a holiday was another matter entirely.

‘You can borrow my tent and hitch-hike round Wales or something. You won’t spend much more than you would here. Take plenty of cash in case of emergencies, though; and if you do spend it, I’ll lend you some to tide you over.’

I said I’d think about it, and I let him persuade me to go to see ‘After the Storm’ with him.

Then Mike said he’d just got his month’s money that day, and why didn’t we go down to the Black Swan for a couple of pints? And I observed that it was a bit extravagant, but that maybe we didn’t do it very often.

We put our names down for a game of pool, and Mike bought our pints. It was winner stays on, and we were beaten one after the other by a cocky little bastard who, it must be grudgingly admitted, was very good at the game.

The Black Swan was more crowded than I’d ever seen it, and the clientèle classier than it used to be. We realized that our local had been discovered, its atmosphere appreciated; and that very atmosphere was now being destroyed. Soon the very fabric would change, with the money that must be coming in. We wondered where we’d go for our spree next month, and laughed at the idea that we constituted the beginning of the rush to spoil the next pub.

But either the jukebox was too loud, or the local taste in music had deteriorated, and we got fed up of getting hoarse trying to talk to each other long before closing time. We finished the evening off with a couple of cups of tea at my flat.

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