A Year of Marvellous Ways

  Got any left? asked Freddy.

  Dunno, said Missy. Be nice to think there was a couple left, and she grinned, and he looked at her and he was that twelve-year-old kid again – confused and eager with jump leads stretching from his balls to his heart.

  I was there, you know, that night, said Missy, softly.

  What night? What you talking about?

  At the Café de Paris. The night it happened.

  Jesus, Missy.

  I was dancing. Well away from the band, strangely enough for me, and the band was playing Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny! How you can love! Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny! Heavens above! And then it went silent. Everything slowed down, d’you know what I mean? Just smiling faces and this sort of blurred movment and the sweetest silence. And then a blue flash. That’s what I remember. Beautiful blue. And then I woke on the floor with a body on top of me and saw sheet music fluttering down like snow, and fragments of glass like stars. And then the screaming began. Parts of bodies and limbs everywhere. A woman wandering about, dazed and still singing “Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny!” All I got was a cut to my head. I did my best to help. My dress was already ripped so I ripped it some more and made tourniquets. And I cleaned people’s wounds with champagne. I often wondered what they must of thought, lying there dying, listening to the sound of champagne corks popping. It wasn’t right really, was it? Not that. I never cried, Freddy. Still haven’t. Jeanie reckoned I was a hard cow, but the way I see it you can’t cry for everyone and I’d done my crying before the war. Punctured me ear drum, that’s all. So I’m a bit deaf. Won’t be such a surprise when I’m old, eh?

  Come here, said Freddy and he went to put his arms around her.

  No. I don’t need that, I’m all right, and she pulled away from him. You’ll have to get used to this. This is what you’ve come back to. Everyone here has a story and that’s just one of mine.

  A rocket screeched into the cold air.

  Oh, look! Let’s hope this one’s blue. I still love the blue ones! The rocket exploded and flared. Cascades of red and green.

  I wanted it to be blue.

  Maybe next one, he said. But there wasn’t a next one. Stragglers below wandered off and calm fell across the London sky.

  It did us all in, really, didn’t it? said Missy. We’re all a bit different now, aren’t we?

  And he wanted to tell her just how different he was, and he wanted her to hold that difference and for her to tell him he wasn’t so bad, and that’s just what war did to people. But he lit a cigarette instead and handed it to her. She took a puff as the first of her tears fell on his hand.

  Don’t look at me, she said, and turned away. Please don’t look at me.

  Freddy did as he was asked, looked away towards Truman’s chimney stack, and the roof tops, and curtained windows of bedrooms and bodies and warmth, and the stars, and the ever-obvious gaps more and more intrusive along the cityscape. This was his city once. He couldn’t even remember what was there or what should have been there any more. A bit like his life, he thought.

  They crept down to the strange quiet of her room with the sound of rockets still ringing in their ears. Missy bent down and switched on the fire. They sat opposite each other in the orange glow from the electric bars. The warmth made their cold faces flush. They were alone. Their bodies were alone. Freddy led her over to the bed and began to kiss her. She leant across and felt for the safety of the light switch. He took his trousers off in the dark. She began to touch him as if she were blind.

  12

  Sunday bells pealed across the clear dawn sky. Missy awoke abruptly. Her head throbbed and her breath stank and a man’s body was pressed much too close. She moved his arm away from her waist, his leg off her leg, mornings-after she just wanted space in her own bed, was it really too much to ask? She looked up at the ceiling and gently blew at the fine grey webs clustered in the corner.

  She got up and crept towards the sink. She ran the tap and cupped her hand, ran the excess across her face. She bent down to the mirror and thought she looked a horror, the early light being so cruel. She pinned her hair hastily and roughly and tied a scarf about her head. She reached for her pack of Players and drew a cigarette towards her mouth. She struck a match and took two pulls on the cigarette: one for sorrow two for joy. Better, she felt. The tightness in her head was easing. She drew back the curtains and squinted against the clear metallic light.

  She ran water into the sink, lifted her foot on to the narrow porcelain edge and soaped between her legs, down her thighs. She rinsed with a flannel, dried off with her housedress.

  Mornin’, sweetie, she whispered, as she lifted the tea towel away from Buddy’s cage. She poked a stale piece of honey bun into the cage. The bird stared at her. What is it? she said. What am I missing, eh?

  She ground out her cigarette on to the stubs of a dozen others and looked out over the eastern sky. She filled the window with her nakedness and it was an unconscious act, one that spoke softly, said, This is who I am, not This is what you’re missing. She watched the tide of life below. People doing their very best, trying so hard to make it better. And she took to wondering, like so many often did, what it had all been for. The triumph of two years ago hadn’t gained access to wallets or purses or homes. People were poor and the city was crumbling. She lifted the window and a blast of chill air blew in. The birdcage swayed. She shuddered. She wedged her thighs under the sill and leant out as far as she could, arms out wide. A couple of lads laughed and shouted and pointed at her but she didn’t hear. She felt the breeze stir her hair, felt it in the musk of her pits. She closed her eyes and felt as if she was moving above it all, away from it all.

  She pulled herself back inside and rubbed vigorously over her arms and legs until warmth flowed through her blue and green veins. She unclasped the birdcage door and opened it wide. Go on, Buddy, she whispered. Off you go now. Go on, be happy.

  The bird was unsure, cautious. It didn’t budge.

  Go on. Missy blew lightly on the linnet’s feathers. Fly.

  She almost missed it. A sudden flash of ruddy feathers fluttered against the cloudless azure sky and then he was gone. She closed the cage and replaced the linen coverlet. She crept back to the warmth of the bed and gently lifted the covers. She noticed Freddy’s erection and moved away from him but he followed her. She felt him hard against her thigh but she kept her legs together. He whispered her name but she pretended to be asleep. Not that last night had been a mistake, but she wouldn’t let it happen again. It had felt awkward, truth be told, and now all she wanted was to be alone. Freddy came quickly with a muffled groan, but she didn’t move. She stared straight ahead at the coffee percolator and couldn’t believe that she hadn’t put it on because she could do with a coffee right now, that more than anything. Just a little something to help her on her way. That was what she was thinking whilst he was thinking of love.

  Freddy sat up in bed and smoked. He watched Missy unpin and brush out her hair. Her fingers were deft and sure and she didn’t even need a mirror twisting ends into a curl. He’d be all thumbs, but he’d like to try it, he thought. Do something for her that no other man had done. He lifted the ashtray and tapped the cigarette free of ash. He couldn’t believe she was dressed already. As if she’d had the morning without him and he felt jealous of that space and time. Navy slacks and a Fair Isle jumper. They suited her and brought out the red of her lips but it was quite a homely look for her, he thought, maybe that was what she wore on Sundays. God, there was so much to learn. She looked into the mirror and caught his eye. He smiled, and she did too after a beat. Why didn’t she smile straight away? Why wasn’t she next to him when he woke up? All he wanted to know was whether he’d been all right last night. You know, as good as the others?

  What do you want to do today? said Missy.

  Whatever you want, he said.

  And Missy went quiet th
inking about what she wanted because what she wanted was to be alone. She wanted to go downstairs to Miss Cudgeon’s and have a bath, and come back up and lie in her bed and read a magazine. But she didn’t know how to ask for that, so she said, We could go for a walk.

  Is that what you normally do?

  I don’t have a normal, Freddy. Walk’s as good as anything right now.

  What was he missing? Long time since he’d been in this situation. We could stay here, he said, and he patted the bed.

  No, she said. We’re going out. Come on, she said, we’re missing the day. And her words were set in a fog of hairspray.

  It was clear that the mood of the night before had evaporated at sunrise. He slid from the bed in embarrassed silence, turned away to pull on his underpants. When he was dressed he began to straighten the bed but Missy stopped him, said she wanted to change the sheets; that’s how he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping with her that night. He repacked his suitcase and closed the lid. He watched her pick up the empty brandy bottle and place it in the bin. He saw her shake her head as if it was the booze that had lowered her standards. He tied his tie badly and pulled on his raincoat. He picked up his suitcase and said, I’ll take this with me. Head over to Paddington later on for an early start tomorrow, and he half-hoped she would have said, Leave it, Freddy. I’m sorry, don’t know what’s up with me right now, ’course you can stay tonight. But she didn’t. She said nothing, in fact, just waited for him by the door, immaculate and perfumed. Let’s not go out, he whispered. She kissed him on the cheek and placed his hat on his head. Out, she said. He felt like a schoolboy.

  He wanted to dawdle but she marched ahead through the competing shouts and crowds gathered to buy birds and animals along Club Row. Cages were piled one on top of the other window-high against the shops. Linnets and canaries, parrots and finches, dogs, kittens, all life it seemed, for sale. Look at this! Freddy would shout. But Missy wasn’t near, and he had to run after her and relay what he had seen.

  She held on to Freddy’s arm as people pressed close. She felt dizzy and trapped. She tried to lead him away from the throng, looking for clear water and a chance to breathe. Blisters had begun to bubble at her heels and she felt calmer when they finally burst and bled.

  From Shoreditch High Street they took a number 6 bus and they climbed the stairs and rode on top. He thought they were going to Trafalgar Square, but when the clippie shouted, St Paul’s! Next stop St Paul’s Cathedral! Missy said, Come on! and they jumped off into the thunderous peal of cathedral bells. The air was smoky and a faint chill tugged at the edge of the City. Freddy frowned as brittle sunlight reflected off a motor car and fell across his sight.

  This way, Missy said, and she took off in the direction of salt and mud. Across roads they marched, across bomb sites towards the familiar wharfs and warehouses, towards the river. Silent they were, and shy, their come-and-go shadows stretching dark behind them, elongated fingertips trying desperately to touch.

  And that old dog of a river saw them come and he closed his watery eyes and tried to turn back time but tide said no. And Old Thames, he must’ve known something but he didn’t say something. He just kept rolling, oh he just kept rolling along.

  Freddy climbed down the stairs on to the muddied foreshore. He felt uneasy. Clouds from the south began to encroach on the afternoon sun. Missy held up the hem of her coat and carefully left the slippery stairs for the damp riverbed. Her small heels disappeared immediately into the mud. The bells stopped and the air rippled with silence. It was eerily deserted. Only the sporadic rumble as a train rode the Blackfriars tracks.

  They stayed in the cool shadow of the warehouse wall. Nubs from barge-beds rose from the shore like rotten teeth and a close-by barge stayed sunk in the ooze. They watched funnels and chimneys spew dark filth into the sky. A chain swayed overhead. Freddy put down his suitcase and lit two cigarettes. He drew heavily on the first and offered her the second. She took it without looking at him. He asked her if she could smell the salt from the river and she said she could, and she said, Let’s close our eyes and pretend we’re by the sea, and the sun came out from behind a cloud and they closed their eyes and felt the warmth spread across their faces, and they pretended they were by the sea.

  Freddy loosened his tie. Come away with me, Missy. Come with me tomorrow.

  I’m working.

  Where?

  Missy didn’t answer. Freddy began to laugh.

  For Picasso? Hardly wor—

  Fuck you, Freddy! and she moved away from the wall down to the water’s edge where a shimmering line of muck and rubbish had collected. The wavelets were weak and lapped against a small lugger, moored close to shore.

  Years ago, said Missy, my old nan told me a story about a mermaid. Said her mum saw a mermaid in there. Well, that’s what they called her then. Maybe she wasn’t, not a real one, but who knows? My nan said she was real—

  Missy—

  No listen to me, Freddy, I’m talking.

  There aren’t any mermaids.

  You gonna tell me there’s no Father Christmas either?

  There’s no Father Christmas, said Freddy, and he reached for her but she pulled away.

  My nan said her mother saw it when she was a kid, when she was out on the river with her dad. All the lightermen knew about her. She was a beauty. A real beauty in that river of shit and the smell didn’t seem to bother her because she was beyond all that and that gave people hope, that did. And sometimes people went down to the river just to see her, and make a wish. Because if you saw her your life would change. That’s what people said. Imagine that, eh? So they threw in whatever they had and mostly it wasn’t money because they was poor. But she wasn’t right, my nan said, not in here, and Missy tapped a finger to her temple. My nan said she was sad and her mum could see it in her eyes and she sang sad songs. Why do you think she was sad, eh, Freddy?

  Freddy pulled her towards him, felt her arm against his arm, her body against his.

  She’d seen too much, said Missy. Too much to be happy. That’s what my nan said.

  But he didn’t care what her nan said, he cared what he said, and he said, We could go away. Anywhere you want, he whispered.

  You’re not listening.

  It’s a stupid story, Missy. And I’m trying to tell you something about us.

  So am I.

  Don’t you get it?

  Get what? said Missy.

  Us. We fit. You felt it. I know you did.

  You really don’t understand, do you? said Missy, and she picked up a stone and threw it into the tide. I always wonder what happened to her, she said. She died probably. Bloody dirty in there, she said.

  And what if she got away with a handsome sailor? Or soldier, eh? Someone like me.

  No one gets away. Not really.

  Maybe she did.

  Not from this.

  Let me take you away, he said, and he pressed his mouth against her mouth. I love you, he said.

  Don’t. That’s not us.

  Not what you said last night.

  Last night was last night.

  Wasn’t it any good?

  Grow up, Freddy.

  Fuck you, he whispered quietly, and he walked back up the shore and crouched next to the moored barge. I could make you happy, he said.

  She had to stop herself from laughing. She had heard those words time and time again. Never made sense, not now not then. Trapped, that was what she was. Trapped by her past and he was her past. Everything was suffocating. And she looked beyond the Blackfriars bridges and imagined running the riverbank all the way down to Hammersmith, and she imagined doing something different – really different – like running the Thames to its source in the Cotswolds, where the river water is fresh and clean and all salt washed out. To its beginning. Run, she urged herself. Run and don’
t look back.

  Missy! Him shouting at her: Bang! The needle in her balloon.

  She turned towards him and shaded her eyes.

  This is supposed to be a good day, he said.

  Then let’s make it a good day, she said. Turn round.

  You what?

  I wanna play a game.

  Freddy grinned. What kind of game?

  Like hide-and-seek.

  Kiss me first.

  Turn round.

  Kiss me.

  She kissed him. She took his arm and led him back to the mossy wharf wall.

  Don’t turn round, she said.

  What am I supposed to do? Count?

  No, sing.

  Not doing that, he said, picking at a wooden fender.

  Yeah you will. That hymn you used to sing at the aunts’. Come on, I know you know it.

  I don’t sing, not since the war.

  War’s over didn’t they tell you? Come on, I liked it when you sang that. It made me happy.

  The sound of her shoes on the pebbles was loud.

  And it’s Sunday, she said. Never a better day for a hymn.

  Jesus, Missy. Why can’t we be normal? One day of bloody normal.

  Because we aren’t normal, Freddy. Come on, she said laughing, and she began to sing the hymn.

  Forgive our foolish ways.

  He heard her move away.

  Where are you going?

  Nowhere. I’m still here. Don’t turn round. Come on, sing, Freddy.

  Freddy faltered. Then Freddy sang.

  Reclothe us in our rightful mind, In purer lives Thy service find.

  Keep singing!

  In deeper reverence, praise.

  It takes me back, Freddy. Takes me back to that day when I first saw you. You were always so kind to me even then. You made them be good to me. They weren’t always but you made them be.

  What are you doing? he shouted.

  It’s a surprise. Just keep singing.