Injury Time - Beryl Bainbridge [53]
When the news was over Edward said they were obviously being very cagey. Rightly so.
‘Who are?’ demanded Simpson.
‘The authorities,’ said Edward. ‘Didn’t you listen?’
‘I don’t wear this for show,’ cried Simpson, touching the bandage wound about his head.
Ashamed of his stupidity, Edward repeated the news announcer’s report. Armed men had entered a house in North London and were holding an unspecified number of women and children as hostages. No names were available as yet.
‘I don’t call that cagey,’ Simpson said crossly. ‘It’s damned inaccurate.’
‘Fancy going in and out of a bank all day,’ said Binny, ‘cashing cheques. I do think it’s clever. Every time anyone queried the amounts I expect the poor manager just nodded his head.’
‘There’s no sodding food,’ Harry said. He swung the fridge door violently on its hinges.
Apart from the half-pound of sausages there wasn’t anything to eat. No bread, butter or eggs. There weren’t any tins of baked beans in the cupboard.
‘I don’t hold with bulk buying,’ Binny said defensively. ‘Take fruit. If I buy several pounds of fruit, the children give it to their friends. So I buy three oranges and three apples fresh every day and dole them out. It’s more economical.’
‘There’s no need to apologise,’ said Edward. ‘You’re not running a cafeteria. If necessary we can ask for supplies. I believe it’s quite usual.’ He began to write a list in the margin of his newspaper.
‘My ear hurts,’ Simpson said peevishly. He waited for his wife to respond. She was mute. He couldn’t imagine what was going on in her head. Not once had she mentioned the children.
He rose from the table and went to stand beside her. ‘Muriel,’ he said loudly. He prodded her leg with his bare toes. ‘Muriel—’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘The girls?’ he asked. ‘They’ll be worried, won’t they?’
She wouldn’t answer.
‘Did you tell them where we were going?’
‘I may have,’ she said. ‘But they wouldn’t have listened.’
‘Did you turn the kitchen light off?’
‘Go away,’ she said.
He seized hold of her arm and shook her. He couldn’t prove it, but he knew she was being deliberately provocative – it had nothing to do with their present situation. ‘It may be of little interest to you,’ he told her, ‘but I pay the electricity bills.’
‘You should see what they’ve done to your car,’ she said. ‘You’ll need a new wing and a door.’
He opened the shutters wider and stared into the little garden. The sun was shining on the privet hedge. He fetched a chair from the table and climbing upon it tried to see over the hedge into the street. ‘There’s no cars out there,’ he said.
‘Get away from that window,’ shouted Harry. He raised his fist threateningly.
Simpson closed the shutters and remained standing on the chair. ‘My car,’ he complained. ‘What’s happened to my car?’
‘They moved them all,’ said Ginger. ‘In the night. They’ve roped off the block.’
‘They rammed yours, George,’ Muriel said. ‘With a taxi. I saw them.’
Simpson stepped down from the chair and leaned sluggishly against the fireplace; he yawned repeatedly. His wife sat a million miles from him, playing with a thread of cotton at the torn hem of her frock. He had always imagined that this sort of experience drew people closer together, made them nobler and more sensitive. He’d seen photographs of survivors of such dramas, and it had seemed to him that their eyes were tranquil with communal suffering. He glanced in the mirror and was unmoved by the frayed bandage tied in a small bow at the top of his balding head. He watched Ginger go to the kitchen door and turn to beckon Muriel.
‘You,’ Ginger said. ‘I want a word with you.’
Muriel tugged the thread from her dress and, rising, followed him into the hall.
‘Oh God,’ said Binny.
Edward was struggling to compose a shopping list. He had pencilled the word ‘tobacco’ several times along the edge of the newspaper. He couldn’t think of anything else; he found it difficult to concentrate. He had always left the shopping to Helen. He hadn’t thought of her for over two hours – he hadn’t thought of anything