Chapter 25
26th July
A sudden downpour made him run with his coat pulled up over his head. At the entrance to the mews, they almost collided. She jumped back, peering from under her umbrella.
"Oh! Hello, Miss Greencoat. Are you off to see your friend?"
She smiled. "No, actually, I was coming to see you." She held up a plastic shopping bag. "I thought I'd see if you wanted me to cook you a meal, to pay you back for your kind recommendation and gift."
"Well, best not hang around then," he smiled.
At the door, he shook her brolly and dropped it in the plastic bucket at the foot of the stairs. In the kitchen, he took her coat and hung it with his in the hall.
"There's some wine in that cupboard over there," he said, pointing. "I've a cheeky Blue Nun, a Mateus Rosé and a bottle of Sangria my mate brought back from Spain. He's been to Portugal as well, a right little globe trotter he is." He went to take his jacket off and thought better of it. "Listen, open whichever one you fancy. I have to hang my jacket up properly. The corkscrew is in the second drawer down."
In the bedroom, he slipped the pancake holster off and put it with the revolver and speedloaders in the top of his cupboard. Taking the condoms from another jacket, he threw them in his bedside drawer.
She was still in the kitchen so he briefly thumbed through his albums and selected Matt Munro's 'All My Loving'. Appearing in the doorway, he told her, "I insist on paying for everything if you're doing the cooking."
She looked at the receipt in the bag. "Ok, that's one pound, ten and fourpence then. It might seem a lot but you'll love it, I'm sure." She handed him a glass of Mateus. "We're having Spaghetti Bolognese so I thought the rosé would be appropriate."
He took out his wallet, "Three ten bob notes do you? I'll have to owe you the fourpence."
She nodded. "Try not to leave town. Do you like the Beatles then?"
He glanced at the record player. "Oh, 'All My Loving'. Yes, I like some of their stuff but I think Matt's version of this one is better."
"Have you got any of their records?"
"I've got the 'Hard Day's Night' LP. There's some good songs on it. I thought the film was quite good, to be honest. "
"I wouldn't have thought they'd be your 'thing'."
"I'm not as old as you think I am. I'm just a mere slip of a boy so you'll need to be gentle with me." He sipped his drink and saw her questioning look. "The truth? This barmaid I quite fancied wanted to see it. I was surprised. I enjoyed it."
"And did she surprise you?"
"Not half. After the film, I bought her fish and chips but she still went home." He affected a sad look then smiled.
She chuckled. "We'll have this then I've got to start the meal."
***
"You're doing well. Not a mark on your shirt." She toyed with him.
"I have eaten in an Italian restaurant before and I'm fairly well house trained. The tea towel does help, of course"
"So you've been to Italy?"
"No. Just to a restaurant up West. Anyway, where did you get the skills to cook this? It tastes pretty authentic to me."
I had an Italian boyfriend."
"Oh, So, you've been to Italy?"
"No. He worked in a restaurant in the West End."
They looked at each other and said in unison,
"Probably the same one," then laughed.
"He wasn't called Luigi was he?"
"I'm not saying who it was. Anyway, he doesn't work there anymore. He had to go back to Italy."
"Death in the family?"
"No. His wife told him he had to come home, the kids were missing him."
He liked her sense of humour and tilted the bottle towards her glass. "More wine?" He filled it before she could react. "So, where do you work?"
She took a sip. "I work for the Ministry of Agriculture as a secretary, not very interesting but the money's alright, I suppose. What about you?"
"I'm an insurance salesman."
"Is that a euphemism for gangster?"
He feigned a shocked look. "Now, why would you think that?"
She let a little smile whisper across her lips. "It's either that or a Policeman."
He didn't waiver. "You'll be swelling my head. No, honestly, I just sell insurance."
She changed the subject. "What about family? We all have a family."
"I hate to disappoint you, but both my parents are dead. I was an only child, brought up by my Gran. Wonderful woman, she was. I don't remember my Mum because she died when I was very young. That disease people are scared to mention, cancer. My Dad on the other hand I can remember, vaguely. He felt he should join up and do his bit for the war effort. He was a conscientious man and always sent most of his pay home." He paused to negotiate his way around the last forkful.
"I'm so sorry. What happened to him?"
"Well, he joined up to fight the Nazis so they sent him to India to fight the Japs. He died out there."
"Was he killed by the Japanese?"
"No, a ton of assorted stores fell off the back of a lorry he was stood next to. Killed him outright."
She broke into laughter then struggled to make an appropriate face. "I'm sorry, it's the way you tell it."
He smiled then placed his spoon and fork side by side on the empty plate and wiped his mouth on the tea towel he'd pulled from his shirt. "I look on the bright side. My Gran told me, he'd always fancied a bit of a travel and had mentioned India often. I keep meaning to go out there sometime, find his grave and have a little chat. Bring him up to date, as it were."
There was a moment of silence then she quietly asked, "Do you ever go back to see things from your past, to see what they look like now?"
He shook his head. "Not any more. I did once. It almost crushed the memory. I had the stupid idea to go back and see the street I lived in with my Gran. She was a proud woman. They all were. Front step cleaned every day, front door seldom closed, kids playing in the street. It was a long time before I realised the neighbours weren't real aunts and uncles. I knew it was a mistake as soon as I got there. It was all derelict, waiting to be pulled down so they could build some tower block. It had a soul once but not anymore, it'd been sucked clean out of it. I'm not ashamed to say it made my eyes quite misty."
She played with her glass, thoughtfully, and then changed the subject. "Well, at least he got to see India," she said, raising it towards him.
"Who? Oh, my Dad? Yes, he did get that, as well as prickly heat and malaria." He stood up and took her plate along with his. "Now, we don't appear to have dessert so can I offer you a biscuit; custard cream or a jammie dodger perhaps? I assume your teeth are all yours?"
She almost spat her wine out. He gave her his best blank expression.
"You'll have to stop it. I nearly choked."
"What about you? Your family?"
She glanced at the clock. "Another time. I'm afraid I have to go now, Gally, but I like a man who makes me laugh. Thank you for a lovely evening."
"You do know it's cold outside? I'll get Dean Martin to tell you if you give me time to change the record? Maybe, if I showed you my muscles it would make you laugh even more? You've a beautiful smile."
She'd already retrieved her coat and was putting it on. "No, honestly, I can get the last bus and I've got my umbrella so you just start to tidy up and I'll be off." She kissed him on the cheek. He'd hoped for more.
"I can walk you to the bus stop if you like?"
She turned and blew him a kiss from the doorway. "It's not needed. You're a lovely man, Gally. I hope we'll meet again, soon. "
"So do I, Clare. I'd like that. We could make a date now but what with work ..."
She interrupted, "...and the insurance business being so unpredictable, I know. I'll find you," she smiled.
He pulled the curtain aside to see her walk up the street and when she turned and briefly waved, he waved back, watching her disappear onto the main road. She was a sweet girl.
Shaking himself from his thoughts, he took the pinafore apron from the back of the door, the one with the naked breasts and suspenders, pulled on yellow rubber gloves with the skill of a pathologist about to commence a dissection and began washing the dishes and pans.
A check of the clock, a beer from the fridge and he turned the telly on for the highlights of England's semi- final match against Portugal. This was where it all ended for England, he thought, as he settled down with his feet on the coffee table. It would be a West German and Portuguese final.