Injury Time - Beryl Bainbridge [43]
‘You ask our Billy anything about Mahler and Stravinsky and he’ll tell you. Anything at all. He knows them backwards.’
She was resentful. She recalled the times she’d tried to listen to Vera Lynn on the gramophone and Sybil Evans’s curtailing her with a knock on the bedroom wall.
‘It’s another world,’ she said. ‘I can’t pretend to understand.’ She couldn’t think what else to say. She didn’t like to ask him what he was doing in her house if he hadn’t escaped from prison. It wouldn’t do to irritate him, not when they were getting on so well. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘Why don’t I go downstairs and make us all something to eat? There’s brown bread and some nice cheese. That would do you good. It’s wholemeal bread. Then you could tell us what’s happening . . . you know . . . put us in the picture. Edward’s awfully upset.’ She hesitated, wondering how much to tell him.
‘Your hubby?’ Ginger said. ‘The fat bloke?’
‘He’s not that fat,’ she protested. ‘It’s only his stomach. He eats a lot and sits down all day.’ Ginger was watching the street, the roof opposite, the furniture van on the corner. ‘You see he’s not really supposed to be here. He’s a kind man, a good man. He is, really. I know he sounds pompous and he’s a bit crippled by being educated at that posh school, but he’d never let anybody down. He’s got values. I haven’t got values.’ She could feel her lip beginning to quiver. ‘That’s why the children take no notice of me. I don’t give them a lead. Alison takes notice of me – she gives me cuddles, but then she’s only a baby. Edward’s different from me. He’s got a wonderful sense of responsibility. It weighs him down. And he’s awfully brave. Why, when he went for the gun—’
‘What gun?’ asked Ginger.
‘When he was little,’ she improvised. ‘He had this nanny who kept pushing her babies in the mud. Though he was only a boy he got his gun out and stopped her. It was very brave.’
‘What mud?’ Ginger asked.
‘In the country. It rained all the time. Of course, it was his background. He has this thing about playing the game and keeping a stiff upper lip.’
‘He didn’t have a stiff upper anything a couple of hours ago,’ Ginger said cruelly.
‘Don’t,’ she pleaded. ‘You shouldn’t make fun of him. I can’t see why you don’t let him go. He’s like a fish out of water. You could just shove him through the front door. He won’t give away any information, not if he gives you his word. He’s like that.’
‘No,’ Ginger said.
‘What difference would it make?’
‘I’ll say this for you,’ remarked Ginger. ‘You’re loyal. You stand by your bloke.’
‘He’s married,’ she confessed. ‘He’s got a wife.’
‘It’s bloody disgusting,’ said Ginger. He didn’t alter the reasonable tone of his voice, nor did he look at her. He’d placed his hands on the edge of the table as if to steady himself.
She stood up and moved regretfully to the door. ‘I egged him on,’ she insisted. ‘It wasn’t his fault. He was the innocent party.’ She didn’t wait for Ginger to reply. She realised she’d made a mistake telling him about Edward and herself – he was far too narrow in his outlook to make allowances.
The woman in the hall was awake and massaging her ribs. By her side lay a large celluloid doll without clothes. ‘You,’ she called. ‘If Ginger’s finished with you, make us a drink. I’m parched.’ She was grinning.
‘I’m just about to put the kettle on,’ said Binny. She went through into the kitchen. She didn’t feel at all sorry for the woman and was puzzled by this lack of compassion. She stepped over the still slumbering Harry and put the kettle on the stove. She took cups and a bottle of milk to the table. Alma sat hunched in a corner of the sofa, knees drawn up to her chin. Muriel lay face downwards, large legs thrust beyond Alma’s shoulders, feet braced against the wall. ‘You’re awake,’ said Binny.
‘No,’ snapped Alma. ‘I always sleep with my eyes open.’ She was now perfectly sober and feeling belligerent.
‘I’ve been upstairs talking to Ginger,’ Binny told her. ‘He’s not at all menacing once you get through to him. I was terrified they’d done something to Edward. I learnt