The Watchers on the Shore (18 page)

'Let Conroy demonstrate. He's got nothing better to do.'

'He doesn't seem all that interested.'

'But you are?'

'Oh, all the time.'

'Vic

'What?'

'I know you're kidding, but...'

'What?'

'Oh... nothing..,'

'Then don't be daft.'

10

There's already been enough of winter to cure me of any idea that
the move south might bring me into warmer, sunnier climes, and the next few days convince me that as far as weather's concerned
I'd have been better off staying at home.

First it turns colder; not bitter cold - grievous cold, and work
has to stop on a few of the outside projects. Then it begins to snow,
seriously, as if it means it, hour after hour, in heavy swirls of fat
dry flakes that settle in a deepening layer on the frozen ground.
Then a few more outside jobs stop. With reports of similar
conditions all over the country, but especially grim in the west, we
realize we're in the middle of one of the worst winters in living
memory.

There's a bit of post-Christmas gloom hanging about the office
in the couple of days after we get back. It seems to affect everybody.
Franklyn, bothered about the effect of the weather on his contracts
and preoccupied with finding alternative work for the men concerned, shows a testy side of his personality I've only glimpsed
before; which might be one reason why Cynthia's in a deep sulk.
Martin's his usual polite but unforthcoming self - no apostle of
cheer at the best of times - and I know Jimmy's fed up because I
listened to his tale of woe on the train coming down. A conscien
tious lad, Jimmy, who can't get on with his folks any more and can't bring himself to turn his back on them altogether.

On the Friday afternoon the phone rings. Jimmy answers it then
says it's an outside call for me. I wonder as I go over to pick up the receiver who can be ringing me from outside, and I don't recognize
the woman's voice on the line straight away.

'Is that Vic Brown?'

'Yes, it is.'

'This is Donna Pennyman.'

'Oh, hello!'

'I
hope it's all right for me to ring the office.'

'Oh yes, that's okay.'

'I asked for Albert actually, but I understand he isn't in.'

'No, he's out Chelmsford way. He should have been back yesterday but he rang in to say he'd got snowed-up.'

'Yes, hasn't the weather been awful these last few days?'

'It'll get worse before it gets better, as well.'

'Cheerful! Look, I'm ringing to ask if you and Albert are doing anything on New Year's Eve.'

'Well I'm not and I don't think he is.'

'We're having a party at my place after the show. You might like to come if you're not doing anything else.'

'That's very nice of you.'

'It'll be just the people from the theatre, mainly. Bring a bottle,
and all that.'

'I'll be glad to come. Can I ask Albert to ring you back and
confirm about him?'

'No, there's no need to do that. Just be in the Mitre after the show on Monday and we'll go on from there.'

'We might come to see the show.'

'I shouldn't bother. It's only the Christmas play and it's mainly
for children.'

'Haven't you heard that all men are really little boys at heart?'

She chuckles over the line.

'Well, just as you like. Only you've been warned.'

'See you Monday, anyway.'

'Good.'

'And thanks again.'

'That's all right. I just thought you might be at a loose end.'

'Tell the truth, I was feeling a bit dreary. Something to look
forward to now.'

'
It'll only be drinks and a bit of shuffling round to the gramophone, you know.'

'Shuffling's the right word as far as I'm concerned.'

'Don't you dance very well?'

"Not so's you'd notice.'

'Me neither.'

'Perhaps we can have a shuffle together, then.'

I'm aware that I'm grinning as I go back to my board. Jimmy
glances at me for a second but says nothing till a minute or two later when I start to whistle.

'Do I detect the intrusion of a note of good cheer?'

'Here's another one,'I tell him, looking at Conroy, who's just coming through the door and glowering round at everything and everybody in sight. 'The original abominable snowman.'

'What a performance!'he announces to the office in general; then walks over to us and tells us the tale of how he was caught in a snowstorm last night, had to abandon the car and walk two miles, then go back and dig it out this morning.

'Talk about Scott of the Antarctic! From now on a shovel's
standard equipment in that car. Better still, mebbe I'll get Franklyn
to buy a team of huskies and a sledge.'

'It's bad out in the country, then?'Jimmy asks him.

'You're not kidding, mate. There's six-foot drifts across the road in places.'

Cynthia speaks to him across the office without lifting her head:

'Mr Franklyn said he wanted to see you as soon as you got back.'

Conroy turns to her.

'Is he in?'

'No.'

'Where is he, then?'

'I don't know exactly.'

'Well tell me roughly.'

'Somewhere in the works, I expect.'

'What a rare pleasure it is,'Conroy says, 'to return from the brink of death and bask in the radiance of your personality.'

'I'm only telling you what he told me to tell you.'

"Thank you very much.'

'You've come back in a right mood, haven't you?'

'I've got good reason for my mood. What's yours? Isn't he being
nice enough to you?'

Cynthia flashes a murderous look and the colour rises in her face.
Then she's on her feet and slamming out.

Conroy looks at Jimmy and me in turn.

'Oh Christ, I suppose I shouldn't have said that... Still, it went straight to the target, didn't it?'He starts to take his coat off. 'I can't bloody stand moody women.'

He walks across to his board, dumps his coat over his stool, then
goes down the corridor towards the washroom.

I look at Jimmy. His gaze switches from the door to me. There's
a gleam in his eyes.

'What was all that about, then?'I ask him.

'Don't you know?'

'I know she's supposed to be sweet on Franklyn.'

'Did you know Albert used to take Cynthia out a bit at one
time?'

'No... He did, did he? Well, well. You interest me, James lad.
Carry on.'

Jimmy shakes his head.

'That much is fact. Anything else comes under the heading of
speculation.'

'Well speculate a bit.'

'You mean is Franklyn knocking her off on the quiet? I don't know. Maybe Albert does, but he doesn't talk about it.'

'Was it serious, then? Between him and Cynthia, I mean.'

'I shouldn't think so. But enough to cause an occasional flash of spite.'

'He's a close devil, isn't he?'

'When he wants to be.'

'Do you know anything about that marriage of Ms?'

Now it's Jimmy's turn to look gone out.

'You what?'

'You mean you didn't know?'

'I'd no idea. Is he wed now, then?'

'I don't think so. They split up. He told me once when we were
at Whittaker's. At the staff party, it was. He'd had a few pints... I
thought you'd know or I wouldn't have mentioned it.'

'You're right, mate, he is close.'

'I don't think there's anything mysterious about it. He just
doesn't talk about it.'

'He certainly doesn't. I never knew.'

'Well for Pete's sake don't let on I told you. He asked me to keep
my mouth shut.'

We stop talking as Conroy comes back in. He gives us that same
glowering look and growls at us:

'There's still some work to do, isn't there? Don't stand nattering all day.'

Which reminds me that although I live close to Conroy and
drink with him, he's still my boss. I remember about the phone call
from Donna, think I'll tell him, then decide it'll keep till he's in a
better mood. The thought of the party lights a little glow of pleasure
in me and sets me whistling softly to myself again, though I hardly
realize I'm doing it till Conroy's voice growls up again from
behind me:

'Look, Vic, let's keep the musical renditions for later, shall we?'

I stop whistling and don't look round. My mind flashes up a
couple of snappy answers but I know that to use them will only rile him more. So I let it go. He'll come round.

The tall bloke in the corner by the gas-cooker gives me a shock for a second. Standing there in sweater and slacks, his back to the
room, head bowed and hands somewhere in front of him, he looks
for all the world as if he's having a leak; and it's only when I reach down for the half-full bottle of light ale that I've hidden out of the
reach Of grasping hands that I realize he's got a bird in there with
him: a shapely little bit whose head comes up only to his chest. Neither of them takes a blind bit of notice of me and I turn away from the intimate little scene and pour beer into my glass.

The kitchen's quieter now than at any time since we arrived, nearly an hour ago, the draining-board littered with opened bottles of cheap wine and orange squash, and empty light ales. The standard drill for parties like this seems to be that you bring a bottle of wine and drink somebody else's Scotch if you can find where the crafty devils have hidden it. Conroy and I compromised and brought half a dozen pint beers apiece which we've stowed
from the gaze of rapacious eyes, of which theatrical companies
seem to have plenty. In terms of free .booze, I mean. As far as the
other thing's concerned I wouldn't presume to judge at this point
because apart from the bloke and the bird snogging in the kitchen -
and it wouldn't be any kind of party without a bloke and a bird
snogging in the kitchen - the whole affair is carrying-on on a level a
lady lay-preacher could hardly take exception to.

A bird without shoes prissies in, shoots me an automatic smile from big baby-blue eyes, steps on a bottle top and says 'Ooh!' reaches the draining board, tops her glass up from a bottle of Spanish sauterne, sees the couple in the corner (or maybe only the bloke, like I did), says 'Ooh!' again, but with a different inflexion this time, and prissies out. All wrapped up in a tipsy haze.

I wander over and stand in the doorway. There's perhaps a couple of dozen people in the living-room, some standing in corners, others sitting on the sofa, and others with their arms
round each
other, their eyes looking soulfully into their partner's
as they slur their feet quietly over the carpet to the music from the
record-player. It's not a bed-sitter but a proper flat with a bedroom
and bathroom besides the two rooms I've mentioned, and it's part of a few built into a newish block which has shops on the ground
floor. Not cheap for a girl to rent on her own, and it strikes me that
if the money in rep. is as bad as Donna makes out she must have
some loot coming in from elsewhere.