Choice of Straws

  ‘ … always find them, no matter how long it takes … ’ The noise of the train pulling up cut off what he was saying. I walked away from him, down to the compartment near the engine, and got in, shutting the door behind me. Two other empty seats, but he didn’t follow me, and when I got off at Upminster I didn’t see him.

  On the way home I couldn’t help looking back every now and then, but there was no sign of him. I heard Mum and Dad talking in the living-room, but went straight upstairs, not even wanting to say anything to Mum. The word murder kept ringing in my head, making me really frightened for the first time since it had happened.

  I undressed, fetched out Dave’s book, and got into bed, but lay there thinking about Michelle, wondering if she really hated me. Maybe in a few days time I could write to her or perhaps drop around there and apologize for rushing off. If Old Baldy thought he could catch me like that, coming it with ‘If you two boys had stayed home that night … ’ What did he expect? So that’s why they’d kept Dave’s knife …

  I’m standing by the side of this road, wide and straight like a motorway, with cars rushing by at high speed, but I can’t hear a thing, not even the sound of the tyres. It’s daylight, but all the headlights are bright, rushing up the road, then the tail lights red, winking silently into the distance. I’m sick and my whole body in pain, standing there, far from everywhere and not knowing what to do. Then this car stops right beside me, the driver waving and I get in. It’s Dave driving and he says Mum is wondering where the hell I’ve got to, and off we go racing down the road. I tell him, ‘Take it easy, Dave,’ but his face has changed. It isn’t Dave driving but the coloured fellow Thomas, and in the road, right in front of the headlights is Dave, and I shout to Thomas, ‘Look out, look out,’ but the car only goes faster, and when I look at him again he’s changed to Michelle and she’s laughing, steering the car straight for Dave, and right behind him, coming at us, is this other car, the headlights bright in my face, Dave there in the middle, not running, trying to tell me something I can’t hear and those headlights right on top of us now …

  I woke up sweating, the lamp full on my face, thankful that it was only a dream. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning. I switched off and lay there thinking about Dave, wondering what had happened that night, but my thoughts kept switching around to Michelle and Baldy, and the face of Thomas looking at me from the television screen. It was a long time before I dozed off.

  At breakfast I told Dad what Baldy had said. I didn’t mention where I’d met him, just that I’d seen him on the way home and what he’d said about the knife. Dad asked me what I’d said and I told him I’d said nothing, nothing at all, so he said that was all I had to remember, keep my mouth shut. If the police had anything to go on they wouldn’t waste time talking, and I wasn’t to let them fool me with any fancy talk. As far as the law was concerned if I was there with Dave at the time I was as guilty as he was, no matter who struck the blows. So all I had to do was say nothing. Dave had already paid for what he’d done, and that was that. An eye for an eye, not two for one.

  Mum said the police ought to have other things to do than worry about some nigger and why couldn’t they let her son rest in peace. I could only look at her, thinking of what she’d said to Michelle. But I said nothing. You could see that she was so full of hate that saying anything to her would be a waste of time.

  Chapter

  Twenty-one

  ON THE WEDNESDAY NIGHT Ruth rang up to remind me that we were meeting the next day to buy the dressing-gown for Mum. It had really slipped my mind, and anyway, I didn’t want to bother, not any more. But there was no point in talking about it to Ruth, so I said okay, and we arranged to meet at Knightsbridge station. I went there direct from work, didn’t even phone home to say I wouldn’t be in for dinner. Let her stew in her own hate juice.

  Ruth and I had coffee before going to the shop. Now and then in the coffee bar she’d ask if anything was the matter, and couldn’t I tell her about it? I told her nothing was wrong, but the way she kept watching me you could see she didn’t believe me. We went into this big store. Just as well Ruth was with me, I’d never have had the nerve to call one of those shop women, the way they walked past, ignoring you. I told Ruth let’s go somewhere else, but she said no, not to worry, let’s wait. Then this woman came, saying yes, madam, to Ruth, and what did madam want, at the same time making it sound as if she was doing her a favour. I felt like laughing. Ruth told her she wanted to see some dressing-gowns, please, and the woman said would madam come this way, taking us to where lots of them were hanging from racks. Ruth didn’t say anything to me, but began searching among those racks, the woman standing there, her face as if she’d rather be somewhere else.

  Ruth took her sweet time examining all those racks, then she asked the woman if she didn’t have anything nicer, because she was looking for something special as a present for someone. The woman said what price did madam have in mind and Ruth told her the price wasn’t important, not looking at me. The woman took us to a counter, with shelves full of stuff behind it, and began reaching down these flat boxes and opening them for Ruth to look at, dressing-gowns in lovely silk, and cashmere, and nylon. Soon the counter was piled up with them, Ruth handling each one as if her father’s a ruddy millionaire and money’s no object. Then suddenly she says no, I don’t think any of them will do, come on, Jack, taking my arm and leading me off, the shop-woman not caring, already preparing the smile on her face for the oldish woman in the wide hat walking towards her.

  Outside Ruth said that was the way to deal with them when they tried to treat you like dirt. We crossed the road and caught a bus to a shop in Oxford Street. It was different there, the shop assistant friendly and smiling at Ruth and me, and Ruth talking all over the place, so that I was glad we were buying it after all. We got a nice one, dark blue wool, with white piping around the collar and cuffs and pockets. Warm and not expensive either.

  Afterwards we went to a little place Ruth knew in Frith Street and had dinner. Down some stairs into a cellar, not poshed up but cosy, and the food was good. Italian or something. I found myself thinking about Michelle, remembering the time we’d had dinner together near Leicester Square. If only Mum would mind her own ruddy business.

  ‘Jack, what’s the matter? Can’t you tell me?’ Ruth asked me. I told her I was okay, nothing was the matter, but she said I looked as if I wanted to murder someone and she hoped it wasn’t her. She began telling me about some of the girls in the place where she worked and all the goings on, me listening but not really taking it in. Then she wanted to know had I seen Michelle lately and how was she? I said I guessed she was okay but I hadn’t seen her, she was busy working for her exams.

  ‘Ron seems to have a thing about her,’ she said. I let that pass. The waiter collected our dishes and brought coffee in thick cups.

  ‘You very keen on her, Jack?’

  ‘Look, what are you on about?’

  ‘Just asking you a simple question. Are you keen on her?’

  ‘What do you mean keen on her? I’ve only seen her a few times.’

  ‘That shouldn’t make any difference.’

  ‘Look, pack it up. Why can’t we talk about something else?’

  ‘You know what?’ Stirring her cup slowly, watching it.

  ‘What?’

  She looked up at me. ‘I think you are. Since that night you brought her to the party I’ve hardly seen you, unless I come over to your house. You don’t ever phone me. And you got all hot and bothered when Ron asked about her phone number. Christ, Jack, if you’re keen on her why can’t you come right out and say so? It’s not a crime. Wouldn’t even surprise me if … ’ She left the rest hanging in the air.

  I could only look at her. What the hell was happening to everybody!

  ‘Well, have you?’ she kept on.

  ‘Have I what?’

  ‘Been to bed with her???
?

  ‘Look, why the hell don’t you pack it up. What do you think she is?’

  She glared at me then lowered her head over her cup, her hair falling over one shoulder to the table.

  ‘No damned better than me.’ Hardly more than a whisper. I wondered if she’d start crying and have everybody watching us.

  ‘Look, Ruth, I didn’t mean anything, not about you. I only met Michelle a few weeks ago and saw her a couple of times. Heck, do we have to keep on about her? What’s she done to you?’

  No sign of tears when she raised her head.

  ‘She’s not done anything to me and I’m not giving her the chance. You think I didn’t notice her at the party, carrying on as if she was better than anyone else. Who cares whether she goes to Italy and Spain and the States or, or Timbuktu? I’ve been to Spain too. So’s Ron and lots of other people I know, and they don’t make such a song and dance about it. Damned black snob.’

  I grabbed her arm where it rested on the table, wanting to smash her across the face. I squeezed as hard as I could before letting go, her eyes going big and frightened.

  I got up and went to pay at the little desk, not looking back at her. I took my change and headed upstairs. She came running behind me near Shaftesbury Avenue.

  ‘Jack, please. I’m sorry.’

  I saw him standing on the corner, both hands stuck in his mac pocket, sideways to the lighted window, but looking towards me.

  ‘Hello, young Bennett,’ he said, coming in front of me. I stopped. Ruth caught up with me. I took her arm, leading her around him. He didn’t say anything else, didn’t try to stop us. Ruth looked back at him.

  ‘Who’s that?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know. To hell with him.’

  ‘But he knew your name.’

  ‘So what? Lots of people know my name.’

  We said no more, taking the side streets to Leicester Square station. I wanted to look back but Ruth would only ask something, so I waited until we reached the station and I was getting the tickets, before taking a quick peep at the stairs, but I didn’t see him. The train was nearly empty.

  ‘Jack, I’m sorry.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘What I said.’

  ‘Forget it.’ I didn’t want to hear anything more about that.

  ‘Look.’ She put the parcel and her handbag on the seat next to her and pulled up her sleeve, showing me the ugly bluish red finger marks on her arm. I said I was sorry. I really was.

  ‘Well, I suppose I asked for it. Next time I’ll know to keep my opinions to myself.’ Gently touching the bruises. ‘That’s one disadvantage of having a white skin.’ I could feel the anger coming back inside me, but she pushed her arm through mine, the same bruised arm, holding me tight.

  ‘I wish you didn’t live so far away, Jack.’ Hearing her say that, I began thinking how it would be to find a place of my own, away from Mum and her ruddy interfering. After all, I was earning enough, and besides, I had nearly three hundred pounds in my Post Office book. Dave and me, we’d started with savings stamps at Junior school, and when we’d gone up to Grammar School Dad had made us change over to the Savings Bank and we’d kept it up each week since we began working. I was sure I was earning more than Ruth, and if she could afford to live in a flat, hell, so could I.

  I asked her what it was like, living in a flat, and she began telling me. Funny, living at home, I never thought about things like rent and what stuff cost in the shops or anything. Mum wouldn’t take any money from me or Dave. But the way Ruth talked it wasn’t too bad, though I knew I’d rather have somewhere to myself than sharing with anyone. I told her I’d been thinking of moving for some time but couldn’t find anywhere suitable. Making it up. She said would I want to live up Kensington way, seeing it was so far from my job? But I said I wouldn’t mind. So she promised to look around, right away getting excited about it, saying it was better to search for yourself than through the agents.

  At Earls Court she came with me to the District Line platform for my train which was in just as we got there. I said I was sorry about her arm but she told me not to worry about it and gave me a quick kiss before I got on. The doors were closed and the train moving when I noticed that she was still holding the parcel with the dressing-gown, there on the platform.

  You should have seen their faces when I walked in, especially Mum, going for me right away about where had I been and why couldn’t I have phoned if I wasn’t coming in for dinner? Dad said he was worried, wondering if those detectives had picked me up or something, you never knew. I said I’d been up to town and forgot to phone. Mum wanted to know who I’d gone up to town with, but Dad told her it was none of her business. She didn’t like that, you could see.

  I left them and went up to my room. A few minutes later Dad came up and said I must remember that if any time it should happen that they wanted to talk to me, wanted me to go with them to the station, I was to say nothing, but insist that they call him. I was still under age and if they wanted to do something they’d have to arrest me. Anyway I was to remember to say nothing except that they must send for him. I was about to tell him about seeing Baldy up town, but decided not to bother. After all, he hadn’t said anything to me except hello.

  Chapter

  Twenty-two

  I’D HARDLY GOT IN from work next day when the doorbell went. I heard Dad talking, then that voice. I’d got to know that voice. I went down to find out what was going on. Dad took him into the sitting-room, Mum and me following. Said he thought he’d drop around just in case I’d forgotten to give Dad the message, and he wanted to keep us in the picture. The Leman Street C.I.D. were still checking. They were trying to find out if the blood on the bus was the same as some of that found at the scene of the murder. Then he said that in spite of its being in the fire, they’d know if bloodstains on the knife matched Thomas’s. Standing there playing with his hat in his hands, talking, talking.

  Suddenly Mum asked him was he trying to say that her dead son had murdered somebody, and Baldy answered that he really couldn’t say one way or another, not at that stage. Then, in that same soft voice he asked Dad, ‘I hear you had a little trouble at the time of the Notting Hill riots. Some coloured men attacked you?’

  Dad turned red and told Baldy that it had happened a long time ago, and he failed to see the connection. Baldy said he’d heard about the incident and was interested to know why Dad hadn’t assisted the police to prosecute. Still friendly, he suddenly asked me how Dave and me felt about what the coloureds had done to our Dad. Before I could say anything, Dad asked him what the hell he was driving at, and if there was something on his mind why not come right out with it? You could see our Dad was getting really worked up. Mum was watching Baldy as if she hated him, her face white and mouth pressed so tight as if she had no lips at all. The strange thing is that, listening to Baldy, I wasn’t scared any more. What Dad said was true. Why would he bother to do all this talking if he really knew something? Nobody’d seen me with Dave that night or we’d have heard something about it ages ago. Right then I got the idea that Baldy was fishing, hoping Dad or Mum or me would say something that he could fasten on to. I could have laughed.

  The doorbell rang again and I went to see who it was this time, and there’s Ruth, with the parcel. Just as she came in Baldy walked out of the sitting-room with Dad, saying something about how he regretted causing any inconvenience, but in a case of murder the police couldn’t afford to overlook anything. He stared at Ruth and me as he went out. From the surprise on Ruth’s face, I was sure she recognized him. She looked at me but said nothing. For a while after he’d gone we were like a bunch of dummies, just looking at one another, the word murder still hanging about around us where he’d dropped it. Then Ruth said she’d had to come all the way over because I’d walked off and forgotten the parcel. Handing it to me. Dad and Mum went towards the kitchen.

 
‘What was all that about?’ Ruth whispered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Him?’ Nodding her head towards the front door.

  ‘Oh, nothing. Go on, you give it to her.’ I pushed the parcel back into her hands.

  She walked past me to the kitchen and gave the parcel to Mum, saying here’s a little present for you, Mum, calling her Mum, and Mum smiling, loosening the knots carefully to save the piece of string, then spreading the paper out and saying thanks, and it’s lovely, and she shouldn’t have done it. Ruth said it wasn’t her it was me, and I deserved a special kiss. Mum standing there looking confused. I left them and went up to finish washing. That would just about kill her, kissing me. Couldn’t remember her doing it ever since I was a kid.

  Ruth tried her best during dinner to liven things up, talking a blue streak, but nobody felt much like fun, Dad hardly eating anything, and Mum watching him. I was hungry and so was Ruth. After dinner I went up to my room, leaving Ruth to help Mum with the washing-up. I played an MJQ and later on Ruth came up and sat listening, but every now and then I felt her eyes on me and I knew she was bursting to ask questions. Then she couldn’t bear it and turned the volume down.

  ‘That was the same man who spoke to you last night, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I thought I’d recognized him but I wasn’t sure. He’s the same detective who came here with the photograph of you and your brother, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Jack, what’s it all about? Are you in some kind of trouble? Can’t you tell me?’

  I said I was in no trouble.

  ‘Then who, your Dad?’ The look on her face so funny I couldn’t help laughing. ‘You think it’s some sort of joke?’