Circumstances
They stopped outside the hospital gates. He could see the night porter peering through the window trying to identify the girl. The rain pattered relentlessly, although gently, down on the umbrella.
‘I better go in,’ the girl said with a half smile, staring in at the little office.
‘Thought you were allowed till twelve before they closed the gates?’ he asked.
She shrugged without replying and shuffling her feet began humming to herself.
‘Anyway let’s walk up the road a bit where there are no spies.’
‘Oh Danny doesn’t bother.’ She stepped backwards into the shadows, expecting him to follow.
He saw the night porter turn the page of a newspaper with his left hand; he held a tea cup against his cheek with the other. Perhaps she was right. He didn’t appear the least bit interested.
‘Jilly, fancy a coffee?’
‘In your flat I suppose?’ she smiled, but not forlornly.
‘Well it’s only a room. But it’s warm and I’ve got a chair.’
‘That’s not what I mean!’
He turned his coat collar up before replying.
‘Listen, if you know any cafes still open we’ll go there.’
He could not be bothered. What he did want to say was listen why don’t you go in or why don’t you come I’m getting tired and really what’s the diff anyway? But she always had to play these little games all the time.
‘I’m only kidding, Stuart,’ she answered quickly, recognising that tone.
‘Yeah!’ He smiled. ‘Sorry, Jilly. Come on, let’s go and drink coffee. I’m too tired to rape you anyway.’
‘Very funny!’ she laughed.
Stuart had met her at the hospital dance four weeks ago and this was the sixth time they had gone out together. Cinema twice. Pub thrice. This evening Jilly had not finished until after eight, so they had dined in an Indian restaurant, had a few drinks and strolled about. When the rain started they made their way back to the hospital where she lived in. He did not find her tremendously attractive but she appeared to quite like him. They had never had sex together although at the beginning he had tried to persuade her at every opportunity. But now, she noticed his attempts becoming less frequent as were his jokes and funny remarks on the subject. She was half a head shorter than him, dressed quite well if six months behind in style, had short black hair and wore this brown corduroy coat he liked the first time he had seen it; but not the fifth. She had a sharp wee upturned nose. Nineteen years old, kissed with sealed lips and came from Bristol.
‘No females allowed in here you know!’ said Stuart, quietly turning the key in the lock. ‘Under any circumstances!’
Jilly giggled looking up and down the street.
‘I can only stay ten minutes,’ she whispered, peering into the dark, musty-smelling hallway.
He beckoned her to follow and she crept upstairs without glancing back. This was a respectable bachelor-only house wholly maintained by an eighty-eight year old Italian landlady who preferred elderly, retired if possible, gentlemen. She had allowed Stuart in through her husband, who drank in his local, putting a word in. ‘Steady boy,’ he had told her. It was a clean, quiet house and during the six months he had stayed there he had only twice set eyes on another tenant. There was one other occasion when, shortly after closing time, a person had bumped against his door then fallen upstairs. When he investigated whoever it was had disappeared. He had concluded that the person lived directly above but could not be sure. He paid £3.50 per week for one medium-sized room containing a mighty bed which somewhat resembled his idea of the way an orthopaedic bed would look. It was shaped like a small but steep hill; four feet high at the top and half that high at the bottom. Occasionally he would awaken with his feet sticking out over the end and his head eighteen inches below the flat pillow. An unusual continental quilt covered the bed. The mattress interior seemed to be stuffed with empty potato crisp packets and startling crinkling sounds escaped whenever he turned over. It was extremely comfortable! He had no running water but there was an old marble-topped washing table and an enormous jug and basin. Underneath the table stood an enamel bucket and all three vessels plus the electric kettle were filled daily with fresh water by the landlady. There were neither gas nor electric cooking appliances. Under no circumstances was he allowed to cook even if he did supply his own stove; but he seldom ate out, preferring to buy in cold meat or cheese. Recently he had discovered tinned frankfurters which he emptied into the kettle with one or two eggs. When the water boiled for three minutes, both the sausages and the eggs would be ready to be eaten. Only snag was, apart from the spout being very narrow, that the hole in the kettle was barely 3″ in diameter and this meant having to spear each frankfurter out individually, by fork, which required skill; and occasionally an egg would crack when lowered by spoon and dropped onto the kettle bottom, causing the water to become cobwebby from the escaping egg white. Fortunately the coffee flavour always seemed unimpaired. He was secretly proud of his ingenuity but could not display it to Jilly as he had neither egg nor frankfurter. Still she did accept the chair, and the coffee. He switched on the gas fire.
‘Very quiet house,’ she said presently.
‘Haunted.’
Jilly smiled her disbelief.
‘You don’t believe me? There’s things go bump in the night here!’
‘I don’t believe you. No.’
‘Okay.’ Sitting facing her on the carpet he began twiddling the knobs of his transistor radio. ‘What’s Luxembourg again?’ he asked.
‘208 meters. If I believed everything you told me I’d go mad or something.’
‘Doesn’t bother me if you don’t want to hear about it.’ He paused. ‘I’m going to tell you anyway.’ He switched off the radio and continued in a low growling kind of stage voice. ‘One dark black winter’s evening just after closing time, around the turn of the century, an aged retired navvy was returning from the boozer. .’
‘Retired what?’
‘Navvy, and he was still wearing his Wellingtons — was returning from the boozer quietly singing this shanty to himself when he opened the front door and climbed the stairs,’ Stuart paused, pointing to his door, ‘just as he passed this very door to go up to his room he stopped and there at the top of the stairs he saw this death’s head staring at him. Well he staggered back letting out this bloodcurdling scream and toppled downstairs banging into this door on the way to his doom.’
‘Did he?’ asked the girl politely.
‘Yeah really! They say to this day if you climb the stairs occasionally just after closing time you can sometimes see a death’s head wearing a pair of Wellington boots. I know it’s hard to believe but there it is.’
Jilly stared far above his head.
‘Too much bloody interference at this time of night,’ said Stuart back with the transistor. ‘You want Radio One?’
‘I don’t mind,’ she sang during a chorus.
Why the hell didn’t she go? Sitting there like Raquel Welch! Anyway if she did fancy him surely she’d want to kip up with him — at least for the night, Good God! Still he didn’t have to get up for work so who cared? But if she stayed out too late they’d lock her out and not open up without a steward’s inquiry. Get chucked out the house if Arrivederci Roma found her — or traces.
‘Want another cup of coffee?’
‘I don’t mind.’
‘Well yes or no?’
‘If you’re having one.’
‘I’m not having one but if you want one well just go ahead and say so eh?’
‘I’m not fussy.’
Jesus why didn’t she get up and go?
‘Plenty of books there if you want a read. .?’ he gestured vaguely towards the side of the bed where a pile of paperbacks lay.