connecting door to the bathroom for inspection. Americans were supposed to be fastidious about hotel bathrooms.
' I'll go and see about the rest of your luggage,' she said, but there was no response. Mrs Simons had already passed through into the bathroom. Amy left, and closed the door.
Downstairs in the bar Amy informed Nick of Mrs Simons' arrival straight away, but by this time he had drunk more than he should which was the same thing as his usual amount, which was always more than enough and he simply shrugged.
' Would you help her bring her luggage in from the car?' Amy said.
'Yeah, in a minute,' Nick said, indicating his hand of cards. 'Who is this, anyway? 1 don't remember you saying anything about someone arriving tonight.'
'I thought it'd be a surprise.'
Nick played a card.
Suppressing her irritation with him, Amy went out to the car and picked up the remaining pieces of luggage herself She struggled up to room 12 with them.
'You can leave them there,' Teresa Simons said, indicating the corner of the floor. 'Did you carry them up on your own?'
'It's no problem,' Amy said. 'I was coming to see you anyway. Would you like something to eat, a supper? We don't really keep hotel hours for meals so it wouldn't be any trouble to me.'
'I guess not, but, thanks. I stopped somewhere along the way. One of those roadside restaurants back there. You have a bar here?'
' Yes.'
'I'm going to rest up for a while, then maybe I'll have a drink downstairs.'
When Amy returned to the bar, Nick had left the table and was behind the counter drawing another pint of best for himself
'Why didn't you tell me about her?' he said, raising the glass to his lips, and sucking at the foam.
'I thought you'd look in the file.'
'I leave all that to you, love. How long is she likely to stay? One night? A week?'
'She's booked in for an indefinite stay.'
She had expected a surprised reaction, but he simply said, 'We'd better give her a bin every weekend, then. You can't be too careful.'
Amy frowned, and followed him out from behind the counter.
She went round the tables and collected the few used glasses she could find. She changed the ashtray on Nick's table. Back behind the bar she leant forward, her hair falling at the sides of her face. She washed the glasses under the pressuretap then stacked them on the rubber tray that went into the drier.
She was thinking about Nick and his drinking, the aimless life he had drifted into, and the way in which for him one day seemed to lead into the next with neither change nor improvement. Yet what was the alternative for him? Come to that, what was the alternative for her? Both her parents were dead, jase was dead, many of her friends were away in Brighton or Dover or London, starting up again, anywhere that was not in Bulverton. A lot of people had forsaken the town since the summer. The same urge was strong in her.
Two weeks ago Amy had received an unexpected letter from a cousin called Gwyneth, who had flown to Australia on a working holiday ten years ago, had fallen in love with a young builder and stayed on after her visa expired. Now she was an Australian citizen, married, and had two small
children. Amy and Gwyneth hadn't written to each other
1
since last winter. Her letter was full of concern about the life she supposed Amy must be having to lead in Bulverton these days. She didn't mention the disaster in the town, like so many people who were outsiders, or who had become one. Gwyneth was urging her, not for the first time, to come to Australia for a holiday and give Sydney a try. She had a spare room and a spare bed, she said, and they were only half an hour from downtown Sydney, with the harbour and the surfing beaches just a tramride away ...
'Hi.'
The American woman had returned. Amy looked up in surprise.
'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I was miles away. May 1 get you a drink?'
'Yeah. Do you have any bourbon?'
'Yes, we do. You want ice with it?'
'Please. Make it a double.'
Amy reached for a glass on the shelf behind her, and drew off a double.
When she turned back Mrs Simons had taken a seat on one of the bar stools and was leaning forward across the counter, resting her elbows on the curved edge of the bar. She cradled her drink in both hands, looking tired, but as if she was settling in.
'I thought I was ready to fall asleep,' she said, after a first sip. 'But you know, you find you're sitting there in a room a couple thousand miles from home and you realize sleep is the last thing that's going to happen. I'm still on that plane, 1 guess.'
'Is this your first visit to England?'
'I don't know whether that's a compliment or not!'
She made a wry grimace, then picked up the glass as if to drink more of the whiskey, but apparently thought better of
it and put the glass down on the counter.
'My mother was English and 1 was born here. In that sense I'm English. My dad was a serviceman. I don't know what people here call it, but in the US they call people like me an Air Force brat. My ma married Dad while he was stationed here ... there were a lot of our troops over here then. He was from Virginia. You ever hear of Richmond?'
'Yes, 1 have. Are your parents still alive?'
'No.' She added, with a shrewd look at Amy, 'It's been that way a long time. 1 still miss them, but you know .
'Do you remember much about England?'
'I was only small when we left, and before that 1 always seemed to be on the base. You know how some Americans can be. They don't like being too cut off from familiar things. That was my dad. We lived on the base, we went shopping on the base, we ate burgers and ice cream on the base, we saw movies on the base, all my dad's friends were on the base. My ma sometimes took me to see my grandparents in Birkenhead, but I don't remember much about all that. 1 was too young. I grew up in the US. That's what I tell people, because that's where 1 feel like I'm really from.'
She had a mannerism when she spoke, perhaps exaggerated by fatigue: she often reached up and stroked her head behind her left ear, running the fingers down to her neck, gently touching something. She was wearing a silken scarf, so it was impossible to see what was there. Amy assumed the woman's neck was stiff after the journey, or that she had some kind of sore place.
She said, 'So are you on holiday?'
'No.' The whiskey glass was empty already, and she was turning it in her fingers. 'I'm here to work. May 1 buy you a drink?'
'No, thanks.'
'You sure? OK, then let me have another double, and after that I'm quitting. 1 was drinking on the plane, but you know it sort of flows through you and you don't feel anything. Not until you get up to go to the john, and then it seems as if the plane is moving all over the place. But that was hours ago.'
She took the newly filled glass of iced bourbon that Amy placed in front of her.
'Thanks a lot. 1 guess I'm talking too much. just for tonight ... 1 want to go to bed and sleep, and 1 can't do that after a journey unless I've had a couple of drinks.' She glanced around the almost deserted bar. Amy instantly looked at the back of the woman's neck, which was briefly exposed when she turned. 'So what's the main action in Bulverton?'
Amy said, 'Not much action, really. Some people come here to retire. If you go towards Bexhill you'll see a lot of big old houses, most of them converted into nursing homes. There aren't many jobs in the town.'
'Are there any places to see? You know, sights for tourists?'
'There's the Old Town. That used to be the big attraction. It's just round the corner from here.