“Did you bring your spear with you today?” She laughed coarsely.
Munday said, “I’ve got a train to catch.”
“You and your Africans,” she said. “Didn’t you get sick of them? I’m sick of them. I’m not a racist, I’m just sick of them—seeing them, hearing about them. They’re always on television, and Battersea’s full of them. Why don’t people ever talk about the Chinese? There are more Chinese than there are Africans, and there’s more to talk about.” Claudia had finished her drink. She licked the lemon peel and said, “The Head Prefect at Alice’s school is an African. That’s why they made him Head Prefect.”
“He’s actually a West Indian,” said Alice, entering the room with a tray. She looked at Munday and said hello with a coolness that seemed so calculated he could not reply immediately. He thought: She knows me.
“Just put it down there,” said Claudia.
“You’re a big girl now,” said Munday at last. “Sixteen,” said Claudia. “Though she thinks she’s a few years older.”
“Mummy, please.”
“She hates me,” said Claudia. “It’s a phase.”
Alice was attractive; she wore denim slacks that fit her high buttocks tightly, and her hair was long, in a single rope of braid, with the blondness that had gone out of her mother’s. She poured the tea and brought Munday his cup and a plate with a slice of fruitcake on it. Munday smiled, but she did not respond. She maintained that sceptical, knowing look, which was an adult frown of accusation, worn deliberately, Munday guessed, for her mother’s former lover. It put Munday on his guard, but disturbed him, because it rubbed at the memory of his lust. All the old forgotten feeling he had had for the mother, who inspired nothing in him but a vague pity and shame for the woe in her eyes, came awake in the presence of the pretty daughter, for whom he felt a twinge of desire. And that awakening was enough of a reminder of his lust for the mother to make him uneasy.
He said, “I have to be at Waterloo—”
The phone rang in another part of the house.
“Excuse me,” said Claudia, and went to answer it. Alice was seated cross-legged on the floor, her hand lightly resting on her crotch. “Where’s your hat?” she asked. “You used to have a funny hat.”
“I still have it somewhere,” said Munday. “You do have a good memory.”
“I remember you,” she said. Her stare was as solemn as any adult’s.
Munday looked away. He had seen the same face at the bedroom door. He said, “How do you like living in London?”
Alice said, “Mummy fucks my friends.”
Munday was shocked by the simple way she said the brutal sentence, but managed to say, “Oh? And do you disapprove of that?”
“It embarrasses me,” said Alice, as simply as before.
“Yes, I suppose it does,” said Munday. “But don’t be too hard on her. I mean, don’t judge her too harshly. Maybe you’ll see when you’re her age that there’s not that much love around. And it can be a frightening thing—” He stopped, at the girl’s stare, her look of total innocence; he felt he could only disappoint her if he went on.
She lifted the plate. “Would you like another piece of fruitcake?”
“I’m fine,” said Munday. But he was shaken, his mouth was dry. He took a sip of tea and said, “I must go—I’ll have to find a taxi.”
“I’m sure mummy would love to take you to the station.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Munday.
“I’ll just have half,” said Alice, reaching for the cake. “I shouldn’t—I’m supposed to be dieting.” She broke a piece and ate it, taking large girlish chews. “Because I’m on the pill.”
“Then you are a big girl,” said Munday, and now he saw her as only insolent, made so by the mother.
“Mummy doesn’t think so.”
“That was Martin,” said Claudia, entering the room. “He’s going to be late.” And as if she had guessed at the conversation that had been going on, intuited it from the silent man and girl, she said accusingly, “What have you been talking about behind my back?”
“Doctor Munday was telling me about his African tribes,” said Alice, gathering the plates.
“That’s right,” said Munday, astonished at the girl’s invention. In that girl was a woman, but a corrupt one.
“You’re not going?” Claudia said, seeing Munday stand.
“I’ll miss my train if I don’t hurry,” said Munday. He kissed Claudia at the door; she held on and made him promise to come again. She pressed against him, and he was nearly aroused, because he was looking past her at the girl with the tray on one arm walking through the room on long dancer’s legs, showing her tight buttocks as she picked up an ashtray, straightened a lampshade.
“You haven’t forgotten,” said Claudia, feeling him harden. He pulled her head to his shoulder and watched Alice slowly leaving the room, tossing the loose rope of her hair. Then he said, “No.”
Waiting with Emma at the platform gate in Waterloo Station, Munday heard “Hello there,” and felt a tug on his sleeve.
He turned and greeted the stranger in a polite way, and then he remembered the face and said nothing more. It was the tall man from the lecture who had contradicted him.
“You’re Munday,” said the man. “I thought I recognized you. Up for the day?”
“Yes.”
“Shambles, isn’t it?” They were in a crowd, pressing toward a gate, where a conductor stood clipping tickets.
Inside the gate the man said, “We’ve got to be up front—Crewkeme’s got a rather short platform.”
“I know,” said Munday. “We’ve been this way before.”
“Will you join me?” The man was smiling at Emma. “That would be nice,” said Emma.
“We haven’t been introduced,” said the man. “My name’s Awdry.”
He shook Munday’s hand and they made their way up the platform and boarded the train. Awdry slid open the door of a first-class compartment. He said, “This one looks as good as any.”
“I’m afraid we’re in second,” said Munday, relieved that he would not have to endure the man’s company for three hours, and embarrassed at having to admit he had a cheaper ticket.
“Oh, what a shame,” said Awdry. “You’re way down there.” He pointed down the passage with his umbrella.
“Perhaps we’ll see you in the village,” said Emma.
“I hope so,” said Awdry. “I’ve got a crow to pluck with your husband.” He turned to Munday and said genially, “Your letter—‘confused observations of a generation of misfit District Commissioners’—all that.” He laughed. “I was livid when I read it, but I think I can discuss it sensibly now.”
“That’s good to hear,” said Munday.
“I’ll be in touch with you—you’re up at the Black House still, I take it? Say, you’d better get a move on or you won’t find a seat!”
They didn’t find a seat. The train was filled with returning commuters, who had taken all the seats while they had been standing talking to Awdry. Munday and Emma stood in a drafty passage outside a second-class compartment as far as Basingstoke. Inside the overbright compartment they drowsily read the evening papers, which were full of news of an impending miners’ strike; and when, at Salisbury, the compartment emptied, and they were alone, Emma spoke of Margaret: she was doing part-time secretarial work, she was seeing a man, she had put on weight.
“Alec is at the end of his tether,” said Munday. He made no mention of Claudia, but heard repeatedly Alice’s cheerless phrase about her mother, and saw the young girl in the room, dancing past him as he embraced Claudia.