said Mr Ware shortly. ‘Don’t come. You’re not much use in civvies anyway. I’d rather have someone in uniform. That would make it look
better.’
‘But, look, it’s just getting dangerous. I worry about you.’
‘Worry?’ Mr Ware snorted. ‘Don’t worry.’ As if weighing in on his side, the drinkers sang:
What’s the point of worrying?
It never was worthwhile.
Glumly, Colin pressed a damp forefinger to his greasy plate and transferred fragments of pork pie to his tongue. Mr Ware lit them both cigarettes and passed one to him. They smoked, and Colin
started worrying again about the wine business and how on earth he was going to make a go of that. Would the end of rationing make a difference? Mr Ware was talking to two young women, betting them
that he could arrange five matches so as to make two triangles. Having won that bet, and sportingly declined to take any money, he bet them he could rearrange the order of three coins while
touching them only five times. The wager he now playfully suggested was a kiss. The two women giggled while Colin looked dispirited. Mr Ware stabbed adroitly at the coins with his thumb a number of
times; he appeared to win his bet on a technicality, but again did not insist on his winnings.
Instead, he leant over to the first girl and told her, ‘You know, I have this remarkable gift. I can tell what someone’s star sign is, just by gazing deeply into their
eyes.’
‘Go on!’
‘I can. It’s the truth.’
They both giggled, and the first allowed Mr Ware to lean forwards and look directly at her. ‘You mustn’t blink, or this isn’t going to work.’
With calm candour, Mr Ware placed his face close to hers, and despite his instruction she blinked and flinched and tittered while he kept his gaze commandingly steady.
‘I think ... you’re an Aries.’
‘Oh my Gawd! You’re right!
‘Is he, Jane?’
‘He is. Eileen, he is. He’s dead on.’
Without them noticing, Mr Ware silently placed Jane’s identity card, with her date of birth, back into her bag.
‘I can see the Zodiacal constellations in your irises, Jane, you see. But there’s something else. I can tell straight away that you’re a passionate, loving person but that you
haven’t been treated as you deserve by a certain man. Is that right? Oh, dear. I can’t read your star sign if we’re going to get the waterworks, you know.’
Jane looked down and a single tear fell like a raindrop, splat, onto a beermat. Soon she was quietly sniffling, while he stroked her hand.
‘You attract men who are not worthy of you,’ Mr Ware continued while she nodded miserably. ‘And you have family worries which you are too proud to share with your friends.
‘That means my mum,’ she said to Eileen.
She was clearly awed by this insight, and Mr Ware changed the subject, sensing that it was becoming too tragic. He now said, ‘But there’s an older man who’s a bit besotted with
you.’
Her friend yelped with laughter. ‘Mr Ainsworth!’
They both shrieked. Mr Ware took out a cigarette packet and offered it to Jane and Eileen and they both accepted. This too appeared to be an indulgence they were permitting themselves on this
special night. Eileen was evidently an accomplished smoker; Jane was however soon coughing alarmingly and Mr Ware thumped her on the back as she bent over.
‘Ha! Now you’re getting it. We’ll have you smoking like a chimney in no time. With a bit of practice, you’ll be doing this. Look.’ Mr Ware took her cigarette and
blew three perfect smoke rings. ‘Ooo!’ he spelled them out, insidiously.
‘What lovely hands
you
have,’ he then said, turning to Eileen. ‘I can tell a lot about you from your hands.’
‘Like what, indeed?’
‘Lovely smooth hands. But do you see the way your lifeline is broken here and here?’
‘Yes?’
‘It means family difficulties. That means you’re worried about someone close to you.’
‘Well,’ she said tartly, ‘I can
better.’
‘But, look, it’s just getting dangerous. I worry about you.’
‘Worry?’ Mr Ware snorted. ‘Don’t worry.’ As if weighing in on his side, the drinkers sang:
What’s the point of worrying?
It never was worthwhile.
Glumly, Colin pressed a damp forefinger to his greasy plate and transferred fragments of pork pie to his tongue. Mr Ware lit them both cigarettes and passed one to him. They smoked, and Colin
started worrying again about the wine business and how on earth he was going to make a go of that. Would the end of rationing make a difference? Mr Ware was talking to two young women, betting them
that he could arrange five matches so as to make two triangles. Having won that bet, and sportingly declined to take any money, he bet them he could rearrange the order of three coins while
touching them only five times. The wager he now playfully suggested was a kiss. The two women giggled while Colin looked dispirited. Mr Ware stabbed adroitly at the coins with his thumb a number of
times; he appeared to win his bet on a technicality, but again did not insist on his winnings.
Instead, he leant over to the first girl and told her, ‘You know, I have this remarkable gift. I can tell what someone’s star sign is, just by gazing deeply into their
eyes.’
‘Go on!’
‘I can. It’s the truth.’
They both giggled, and the first allowed Mr Ware to lean forwards and look directly at her. ‘You mustn’t blink, or this isn’t going to work.’
With calm candour, Mr Ware placed his face close to hers, and despite his instruction she blinked and flinched and tittered while he kept his gaze commandingly steady.
‘I think ... you’re an Aries.’
‘Oh my Gawd! You’re right!
‘Is he, Jane?’
‘He is. Eileen, he is. He’s dead on.’
Without them noticing, Mr Ware silently placed Jane’s identity card, with her date of birth, back into her bag.
‘I can see the Zodiacal constellations in your irises, Jane, you see. But there’s something else. I can tell straight away that you’re a passionate, loving person but that you
haven’t been treated as you deserve by a certain man. Is that right? Oh, dear. I can’t read your star sign if we’re going to get the waterworks, you know.’
Jane looked down and a single tear fell like a raindrop, splat, onto a beermat. Soon she was quietly sniffling, while he stroked her hand.
‘You attract men who are not worthy of you,’ Mr Ware continued while she nodded miserably. ‘And you have family worries which you are too proud to share with your friends.
‘That means my mum,’ she said to Eileen.
She was clearly awed by this insight, and Mr Ware changed the subject, sensing that it was becoming too tragic. He now said, ‘But there’s an older man who’s a bit besotted with
you.’
Her friend yelped with laughter. ‘Mr Ainsworth!’
They both shrieked. Mr Ware took out a cigarette packet and offered it to Jane and Eileen and they both accepted. This too appeared to be an indulgence they were permitting themselves on this
special night. Eileen was evidently an accomplished smoker; Jane was however soon coughing alarmingly and Mr Ware thumped her on the back as she bent over.
‘Ha! Now you’re getting it. We’ll have you smoking like a chimney in no time. With a bit of practice, you’ll be doing this. Look.’ Mr Ware took her cigarette and
blew three perfect smoke rings. ‘Ooo!’ he spelled them out, insidiously.
‘What lovely hands
you
have,’ he then said, turning to Eileen. ‘I can tell a lot about you from your hands.’
‘Like what, indeed?’
‘Lovely smooth hands. But do you see the way your lifeline is broken here and here?’
‘Yes?’
‘It means family difficulties. That means you’re worried about someone close to you.’
‘Well,’ she said tartly, ‘I can
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