but I couldn’t be too sure about that, not that I really care because I’m much too preoccupied with taking hold of Wally by his scrawny neck prior to putting one on him, but I don’t get round to doing that because somehow the tone in Wally’s strangulated voice makes me hold off until I listen to what he has to say.
“Jack, for fuck’s sake,” he croaks, “Listen. There’s some fucker outside. What I mean is, some fucker’s trying to get in.”
In the darkness I squeeze my eyes tight shut as an aid to concentration. And when I’ve concentrated I say to him: “Listen, you fucking chancer. All you fucking well heard was the sound of your bottle disintegrating.”
“I didn’t. I didn’t. Somebody’s outside.”
I begin to reach up for the light but Wally’s eyes, like those of a shithouse rat, have sussed out my projected action and before I know what’s happening he’s lying on top of me, gripping my wrist.
“Jack, no,” he says. “Don’t do it. They’ll see.”
I shake my wrist free and try and push Wally off the bed but he grips me like a demented leech and we both go off the bed, sheets and all, and as we cockle over the coffee tray is caught by Wally or the sheet and crashes down onto the floor. The noise is so startling that it temporarily stills our movement. We listen to the darkness. The only sound is that of D’Antoni’s breathing drifting off the camp bed.
“Listen, you cunt,” I begin, but Wally cuts me off.
“No, wait,” he says. “It’s right. I heard somebody. I mean, I couldn’t sleep out there, could I? Felt like Morden after the last train’d gone, didn’t I? So I’m just lying there on my back looking up at the darkness when I hear somebody walk up the front steps and try the sliding doors. The whole glass shuddered. So I got off my pit and went to the edge of the gallery and Christ if it doesn’t happen again. Straight up. So I come in here and tell you, don’t I?”
I lie there in the darkness and give Wally’s theory a little listen and I’m just about to tell him my views on everything when what Wally’s just said happens again. The shuddering sound drifts up into the gallery and along the landing. Wally’s in too much of a state of macaroni to tell me I told you so. I manage to unfurl the sheet off me and I scramble about and on the floor find my dressing gown and then I stand up and follow the sound of D’Antoni’s breathing. When I get to the camp-bed I carefully take the big shooter from his holster and reflect on how D’Antoni’s managedto live so long. Then I make for the lighter darkness of the door that leads onto the landing and walk along the parquet work to the gallery rail. Down in the lower reaches the fish is still dribbling away but apart from that there are no other noises. Somewhere there must be some kind of light source because a couple of pallid reflections dance slowly in the plate glass as a result of the recent shudderings; but there’s certainly not enough light to reveal any movement I might make to any observer outside so I start to puss-cat down the steps. When I get down to the hall level I wait for a moment and have another listen. Nothing. So I take another step forward and just as I do that there’s more hissing from up in the gallery. I turn and look upwards and I can just make out Wally’s vague shape craning over the rail.
“Jack,” he croaks. “They’re up here. They’re outside the bedrooms up here.”
I go back up the steps.
“You what?” I whisper.
“Up here. They’re trying the bedroom wossnames.”
“Windows?”
“Yeah, them.”
“Which one last?”
“The one next to yours, wasn’t it?”
I go back down the hall and into the bedroom next to mine. Like everywhere else, the curtains are drawn right across the expanse of plate glass. The bedroom is roughly the same size and plan as my own so I walk across to the windows and stand there an inch or so away from the curtain and listen.
“Jack, for fuck’s sake,” he croaks, “Listen. There’s some fucker outside. What I mean is, some fucker’s trying to get in.”
In the darkness I squeeze my eyes tight shut as an aid to concentration. And when I’ve concentrated I say to him: “Listen, you fucking chancer. All you fucking well heard was the sound of your bottle disintegrating.”
“I didn’t. I didn’t. Somebody’s outside.”
I begin to reach up for the light but Wally’s eyes, like those of a shithouse rat, have sussed out my projected action and before I know what’s happening he’s lying on top of me, gripping my wrist.
“Jack, no,” he says. “Don’t do it. They’ll see.”
I shake my wrist free and try and push Wally off the bed but he grips me like a demented leech and we both go off the bed, sheets and all, and as we cockle over the coffee tray is caught by Wally or the sheet and crashes down onto the floor. The noise is so startling that it temporarily stills our movement. We listen to the darkness. The only sound is that of D’Antoni’s breathing drifting off the camp bed.
“Listen, you cunt,” I begin, but Wally cuts me off.
“No, wait,” he says. “It’s right. I heard somebody. I mean, I couldn’t sleep out there, could I? Felt like Morden after the last train’d gone, didn’t I? So I’m just lying there on my back looking up at the darkness when I hear somebody walk up the front steps and try the sliding doors. The whole glass shuddered. So I got off my pit and went to the edge of the gallery and Christ if it doesn’t happen again. Straight up. So I come in here and tell you, don’t I?”
I lie there in the darkness and give Wally’s theory a little listen and I’m just about to tell him my views on everything when what Wally’s just said happens again. The shuddering sound drifts up into the gallery and along the landing. Wally’s in too much of a state of macaroni to tell me I told you so. I manage to unfurl the sheet off me and I scramble about and on the floor find my dressing gown and then I stand up and follow the sound of D’Antoni’s breathing. When I get to the camp-bed I carefully take the big shooter from his holster and reflect on how D’Antoni’s managedto live so long. Then I make for the lighter darkness of the door that leads onto the landing and walk along the parquet work to the gallery rail. Down in the lower reaches the fish is still dribbling away but apart from that there are no other noises. Somewhere there must be some kind of light source because a couple of pallid reflections dance slowly in the plate glass as a result of the recent shudderings; but there’s certainly not enough light to reveal any movement I might make to any observer outside so I start to puss-cat down the steps. When I get down to the hall level I wait for a moment and have another listen. Nothing. So I take another step forward and just as I do that there’s more hissing from up in the gallery. I turn and look upwards and I can just make out Wally’s vague shape craning over the rail.
“Jack,” he croaks. “They’re up here. They’re outside the bedrooms up here.”
I go back up the steps.
“You what?” I whisper.
“Up here. They’re trying the bedroom wossnames.”
“Windows?”
“Yeah, them.”
“Which one last?”
“The one next to yours, wasn’t it?”
I go back down the hall and into the bedroom next to mine. Like everywhere else, the curtains are drawn right across the expanse of plate glass. The bedroom is roughly the same size and plan as my own so I walk across to the windows and stand there an inch or so away from the curtain and listen.
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