‘Got any rock and cha-cha on your list, Tony?’
‘Rev up to it, son. Groove in.’
Tony turned, replaced his beer on the top of the piano, and rippled his hands over ‘Ramona’.
‘Go, man, go.’
‘Any more of that,’ said the barmaid, ‘and you go man go outside.’
‘Yes, that’s what I say. Tony’s the pops.’
‘Here’s a pint, Tony. Cheer up, son, it may never happen.’
At ten past nine Trevor Lomas entered the pub followed by Collie Gould. Trevor edged in to the bar and stood with his back to it, leaning on an elbow and surveying as it were the passing scene.
‘Hallo, Trevor,’ Dixie said.
‘Hi, Dixie,’ Trevor replied severely.
‘Hi,’ Collie Gould said.
Beauty, who was on her fourth Martini, bowed graciously, and had some difficulty in regaining her upright posture.
The barmaid said, ‘Are you ordering, sir?’
Trevor said over his shoulder, ‘Two pints bitter.’ He lit a cigarette and blew out the smoke very very slowly.
‘Trev,’ Collie said in a low voice, ‘Trev, don’t muck it up.
‘I’m being patient,’ Trevor said through half-dosed lips. ‘I’m being very very patient. But if -‘
‘Trev,’ Collie said, ‘Trev, think of the lolly. Them notebooks.’
Trevor threw half a crown backwards on to the counter.
‘Manners,’ the barmaid said as she rang the till. She banged his change on the counter, where Trevor let it lie.
Dougal and Humphrey approached the bar with four empty glasses. ‘Ginger ale only,’ Dixie called after them, since it was Humphrey’s turn.
‘One Martini. Two half milds. One gin and ginger ale,’ Humphrey said to the barman. And he invited Trevor to join them by pointing to their table with his ear.
Trevor did not move. Collie was watching Trevor.
Dougal got out some money.
‘My turn,’ Humphrey said, fishing out his money.
Dougal picked half a crown from his money and, leaning his back against the bar, tossed it over his shoulder to the counter. He then lit a cigarette and blew out the smoke very slowly, pulling his face to a grave length and batting his eyelashes.
Beauty shouted, ‘Doug, you’re a boy! Dig Doug! He’s got you. Trev. He does Trevor to a T.’ Tony was playing the ‘St Louis Blues’.
‘Trev,’ Collie said, ‘don’t, Trev, don’t.’
Trevor raised his sparkling pint glass and smashed the top on the edge of the counter. In his hand remained the bottom half with six spikes of glass sticking up from it. He lunged it forward at Dougal’s face. At the same swift moment Dougal leaned back, back, until the crown of his head touched the bar. The spikes of glass went full into one side of Humphrey’s face which had been turned in profile. Dougal bent and caught Trevor’s legs while another man pulled Trevor’s collar until presently he lay pinned by a number of hands to the floor. Humphrey was being attended by another number of hands, and was taken to the back premises, the barmaid holding to his face a large thick towel which was becoming redder and redder.
The barman shouted above the din, ‘Outside, all.’
Most of the people were leaving in any case lest they should be questioned. To those who lingered the barman shouted, ‘Outside, all, or I’ll call the police.’
Trevor found himself free to get to his feet and he left, followed by Collie and Beauty, who was seen to spit at Trevor before she clicked her way up Rye Lane.
Dixie remained behind with Dougal. She was saying to him, ‘It was meant for you. Dirty swine you were to duck.’
‘Outside or I call the police,’ the barman said, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.
‘We were with the chap that’s hurt,’ Dougal said, ‘and if we can’t collect him I’ll call the police.’
‘Follow me,’ said the barman.
Humphrey was holding his head over a bowl while cold water was being poured over his wounds by Tony, who seemed to take this as one of his boring evening duties.
‘Goodness, you look terrible,’ Dougal said. ‘It must be my fatal flaw, but I doubt if I can bear to look.’
‘Dirty swine, he is.’ Dixie said, ‘letting another fellow have it instead of himself.’
‘Shut up, will you?’ Humphrey seemed to say.
They got into Humphrey’s car, speedily assisted by the barman. Dougal drove, first taking Dixie home. She said to him, ‘I could spit at you,’ and slammed the car door.
‘Oh, shut up,’ Humphrey said, as well as he could.
Dougal next drove Humphrey to the outpatient department of St George’s Hospital. ‘Though it pains me to cross the river,’ Dougal said, ‘I think we’d better avoid the southern region for tonight.’
He told a story about Humphrey having tripped over a milk-bottle as he got out of his car, the milk-bottle having splintered and Humphrey fallen on his face among the splinters. Humphrey nodded agreement as the nurse dressed and plastered his wounds. Dougal gave Humphrey’s name as Mr Dougal-Douglas, care of Miss Cheeseman, 14 Chelsea Rise, SW3. Humphrey was told to return within a week. They then went home to Miss Frierne’s.
‘And I won’t even see her again till next Saturday night on account of her doing week-nights as an usherette at the Regal,’ Humphrey said to Dougal at a quarter to twelve that night. He sat up in bed in striped pyjamas, talking as much as possible; but the strips of plaster on his cheek caused him to speak rather out of the opposite side of his mouth. ‘And she won’t think of taking one day off of her holidays this year on account of the honeymoon in September. It’s nothing but save, save, save. You’d think I wasn’t earning good money the way she goes on. And result, she’s losing her sex.’
Dougal crouched over the gas-ring with a fork, pushing the bacon about in the frying-pan. He removed the bacon on to a plate, then broke two eggs into the pan.
‘I wouldn’t marry her,’ Dougal said, ‘if you paid me.’
‘My sister Elsie doesn’t like her,’ Humphrey said out of the side of his mouth.
Dougal stood up and took the plate of bacon in his hand. He held this at some way from his body and looked at it, moving it slightly back and forth towards him, as if it were a book he was reading, and he short-sighted.
Dougal read from the book: ‘Wilt thou take this woman,’ he said with a deep ecclesiastical throb, ‘to be thai wedded waif?’
Then he put the plate aside and knelt; he was a sinister goggling bridegroom. ‘No,’ he declared to the ceiling, ‘I won’t, quite frankly.’
‘Christ, don’t make me laugh, it pulls the plaster.’
Dougal dished out the eggs and bacon. He cut up the bacon small for Humphrey.
‘You shouldn’t have any scars if you’re careful and get your face regularly dressed, they said.’
Humphrey stroked his wounded cheek.
‘Scars wouldn’t worry me. Might worry Dixie.’
‘As a qualified refrigerator engineer and a union man you could have your pick of the girls.’
‘I know, but I want Dixie.’ He put the eggs and bacon slowly away into the side of his mouth.
The rain of a cold summer morning fell on Nelly Mahone as she sat on a heap of disused lorry tyres in the yard of Paley’s, scrap merchants of Meeting-house Lane. She had been waiting since ten past nine although she did not expect Dougal to arrive until ten o’clock. He came at five past ten, bobbing up and down under an umbrella.