The Angel in the Corner - Monica Dickens [77]
The idea of Derek making a serious pass at anyone made Virginia grin. ‘I shan’t tell you then,’ she said, ‘if he does.’
‘You won’t have to. I’ll know it. I know everything about you, whether you like it or not.’
‘I do like it.’ She smiled at her reflection in the mirror on the wall.
‘Come here, then.’
‘Not now. I daren’t be late again after what Miss Small said.’
‘— Miss Small. Come here, I said. Who comes first, the job or me?’
Virginia did not go to him that time. She finished combing her hair quickly, and left the room without kissing him good-bye.
He was still cross when she came home that night. He was typing, and he would not do more than grunt at her and go on working for another hour, while she made the bed and cleaned the room and began to cook something for their supper.
When she told him that the food was ready, he went on writing, although she knew from the way he stared for long intervals into space and pecked half-heartedly at the typewriter that he was only fiddling with the book, and had long ago lost interest in it for the day. When he finally gathered up his papers and locked them in the table drawer and put the key in his pocket, the lamb chops were dried up, and the cabbage was a sodden waste.
‘Throw it away,’ he said. ‘Let’s go out and get something to eat.’
‘How can you be so extravagant? Anyone would think you’d been brought up on millions.’
‘I’ve been brought up to know what I want to eat and what I don’t,’ he said. ‘I’m not hungry, anyway. Forget supper. Let’s go out and get a drink.’
‘You go if you want to. I’m tired. I’d rather stay here and eat the chops.’ As a novice cook, she had an uncritical regard for anything she had achieved on the small, rusty stove.
‘You’re tired! What do you think I am?’ he asked petulantly. ‘You never tried to write a book. You can’t imagine the torture.
You’re always shoving it down my throat that you’re the one with the job, but it’s not so wonderful. I’m working far harder than you.’
‘I know, darling. I know. I’ll come out with you, if you like.’
‘No.’ He often gave in to her, if she gave in to him first. ‘Give me some cash, and I’ll nip out and get a bottle.’
When he came back, Virginia was reading a sheet of his typescript that she had found on the floor under the table.
‘Give that to me.’ He snatched it away. ‘I told you you couldn’t read it until it’s finished. The whole thing stinks. I’m going to rewrite it.’
‘Don’t. It’s very good. This bit, anyway. It’s alive. I wish you’d let me read some more.’
‘Shut up about it.’ He turned to get the corkscrew.
‘How do you know about that – the warders listening to the prisoner talking to his girl through the glass screen?’
‘How do you think I know?’ He pulled the cork and banged the bottle on to the table. ‘I spent nine months in jail. That’s what the book’s about.’
They stood and looked at each other. His fists were clenched. She wondered whether, when she opened her mouth, any sound would come.
‘What for?’ she whispered.
‘Attempted armed robbery.’ He laughed without smiling. ‘I came out of the army with a gun and no job. No one wanted me. All right – what did they expect me to do? I used the gun.’
‘You shot someone?’
‘I’d still be in jail if I had. No, the gun wasn’t loaded. I wasn’t fool enough for that. That can get you life. I just used it to scare the old man, but he was too quick for me. He got out the back door of the shop, and ran slap into a rozzer.’
Virginia did not say anything. Joe fetched a glass and poured himself a drink. ‘All right,’ he said, raising the glass with a small swagger. ‘So now you know. What are you going to do about it?’
‘What should I do? It doesn’t make any difference.’ He drank the neat whisky and shuddered. ‘Funny girl,’ he said, not coming closer to her. ‘Aren’t you afraid of me?’ She shook her head.
‘Most women would scream and run – women of your kind, I mean. What was all that stuff you told me once? About having an angel looking out for you. Is that what makes you so damn cocksure?’
‘I don’t know.’ It was a shock