Injury Time - Beryl Bainbridge [56]
‘They mentioned Simpson’s name,’ Alma told him. ‘They’d appealed for any information, and a woman came forward and said he’d telephoned her earlier in the evening.’ She beamed at Simpson proudly; she felt he was something of a celebrity.
‘It’s all nonsense,’ Simpson said wearily. ‘They get everything wrong.’ He didn’t know why he was bothering to deny it – they could have said he was a notorious mass-murderer and Muriel wouldn’t have noticed.
Ginger informed them that they were moving out before midnight. He’d taken a suitcase from the upstairs room and now sat with it firmly gripped between his knees. ‘Everybody hold on,’ he said. ‘And do as you’re told.’
‘Moving out?’ asked Edward, bewildered. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Not you, Fatso,’ said Ginger. ‘Us and one of the women. Maybe two of them.’
Edward didn’t believe him; they were obviously bluffing. ‘I haven’t written my letter,’ he told Simpson.
‘When we go,’ Ginger said. ‘You and Curly Tops here will help Geoff into the cab. We’ll follow with the women.’
‘Geoff?’ said Edward. He noticed there was a packet of American cigarettes in the top pocket of Ginger’s leather jacket. He was too proud to ask for one.
‘That suitcase,’ whispered Simpson. ‘They must have stolen things from various parts of the house.’
‘There’s nothing worth stealing,’ Edward said.
He roamed the kitchen, searching feverishly in the cupboard and the fridge for something to eat. The sausages had disappeared. He could make little sense of Binny’s ramblings about the man upstairs being a woman. There were three potatoes in the vegetable rack, but he knew that if he cooked them they’d have to be shared out.
‘She isn’t a woman,’ said Binny. ‘She’s a man. She’s got hairs on her chest. Why don’t you listen?’
‘I’m so damned hungry,’ he complained miserably. ‘Can’t you think where you put that pudding you lost?’
‘It’s in a carrier bag,’ said Binny. ‘That’s all I know.’ She stared at him accusingly. ‘You’re not worried about them taking me with them, are you? You couldn’t care less.’
‘They’re not going anywhere,’ said Edward distractedly. ‘Why don’t you have a store cupboard?’
‘She was in the bank this afternoon. Yesterday. She smiled at me and I just knew there was something odd. She was looking me up and down like a man.’
‘Out of my way,’ said Edward. Binny was holding on to his arm and hampering his search. ‘Please stop getting under my feet.’
She let go of him and stepped backwards to the sink.
‘Don’t,’ he pleaded, irritated by her pathetic expression. ‘Please forgive me. I’m so hungry.’ He put his arms round her and patted her back. Over her bowed head his eyes restlessly sought the carrier bag.
Binny said: ‘You promised we’d be together. Did you mean it?’
‘Well,’ he said awkwardly. ‘I may have spoken out of turn. One does, you know.’
‘Does one?’ she said contemptuously. Still, she remained in his embrace. ‘I thought you didn’t care about the roses . . . you just wanted me.’
‘I do, I do,’ he murmured inadequately. ‘But not at this moment. I really can’t think of anything, feeling the way I do.’ He propped her against the sink and peered in the corner beside the fridge. ‘It’s all right for you,’ he grumbled. ‘You’re not used to four-course lunches every day.’ He was disgusted to see small insects crawling in the cracks between the floorboards and the wall. ‘You really should clean this up. It’s dreadfully unhygienic.’ He was shifting the fridge on its base, eager to uncover some verminous nest. He saw a plastic bag wedged against the skirting board. ‘I’ve found it,’ he cried delightedly. He was astonished at the weight of the pudding. Parting the handles, he lifted out the silver balls. He set them on the window ledge. ‘I thought you meant a pie,’ he said. He could have wept with disappointment.
‘All you think about,’ said Binny, ‘is your stomach or your roses. Or your precious wife. Nothing else matters. You don’t know how the other half lives.’
He frowned.