downstairs,’ said Enderby, falling easily into demotic. ‘Not him as you live with.’
‘He’s gone off,’ came the voice down the stair-well. ‘He’s always said he would and now he’s done it. We had a bit of a barney.’
‘That’s right,’ said Enderby.
‘What do you mean that’s right? We had a bit of a barney and now he’s gone off. I bet he’s gone to that bitch down by the Ornamental Gardens.’
‘Never mind,’ said Enderby. ‘He’ll come back. They always do.’
‘He won’t. Not tonight he won’t. And I’m frightened up here on my own.’
‘What are you frightened of?’
‘Of being on my own. Like I said. In the dark, too. It went out while we was having this barney and I couldn’t see to hit him. Have you got a bob you can let me have till first thing tomorrow morning?’
‘Not a sausage,’ said Enderby proudly. ‘I blued it all on booze in town. I think I’d better come up there,’ he added, bold. ‘I could sleep on the couch or something. I forgot my key, you see. It’s a damn nuisance.’
‘If you come up here you’d better not let Jack get hold of you.’
‘Jack’s gone off with this bitch down by the Ornamental Gardens,’ said Enderby.
‘Ah. So you seen him, did you? I thought as much. You can see the black at her roots, bitch as she is.’
‘I’m coming up now,’ said Enderby. ‘Then you won’t be frightened of being on your own. You’ve got a couch up there, have you?’ said Enderby, rising in pain and crawling up the stairs.
‘If you think you’re going to get in bed with me you’ve got another think coming. I’ve finished with all men.’
‘I’ve no intention of getting into bed with you,’ said indignant Enderby. ‘I just want to lie down on the couch. I don’t really feel all that good.’
‘You needn’t be so bloody well on your bloody high horse. I’ve been in bed with better men than what you’ll ever hope to be. Careful,’ she said, as Enderby kicked the metal pot of the palm on the landing. He clambered blind up the second flight, hugging the banister. At the top he collided with a warm bosomy shape. ‘You can cut that out for a start,’ she said. ‘A bit too forward you are for a start.’ She sniffed briskly. ‘That scent’s very expensive,’ she said. ‘Who you been with, eh? Still waters run deep, if you’re really who you say you are, meaning him that lives down there.’
‘Where is it?’ groped Enderby. ‘I just want somewhere to lie down.’ His hands felt the softness and width of a sofa, the continuum broken by bottle-shapes (they clanked) and a half-full chocolate box (rustled). ‘Lay down,’ he corrected himself, to be more matey.
‘Make yourself comfortable,’ she said, bloody sarky. ‘If you want anything don’t hesitate to ring. At what hour of the morning would you like your morning tea?’ she said, in a hot-potato chumble. ‘Men,’ she said, going apparently, to her bedroom. She made a contemptuous noise, worthy of Enderby himself, leaving him to the dark.
4
1
HE AWOKE WITH first light to the xylophone of milk bottles and impotent rasping of self-starters. He smacked his lips and clacked his tongue on his hard palate, feeling his mouth like – the vulgar simile swam up from his vulgar pub-crawl – an all-in wrestler’s jock-strap. The vulgar simile put fingers to its nose in the gesture his stepmother had called ‘fat bacon’, made the old Roman sign, raspberried, and clambered off up the wall like a lizard. Enderby in his overcoat felt cold and grubby, matching the room that now emerged like a picture on a television screen when the set has at last warmed up. With the picture, noise: that woman’s snoring from the next room. Enderby listened, interested. He had never realized that women could snore so loud. His stepmother had, of course, been able to blast a roof off, but she had been unique. Unique? He remembered some lavatorial writing or other about all stepmothers being
‘He’s gone off,’ came the voice down the stair-well. ‘He’s always said he would and now he’s done it. We had a bit of a barney.’
‘That’s right,’ said Enderby.
‘What do you mean that’s right? We had a bit of a barney and now he’s gone off. I bet he’s gone to that bitch down by the Ornamental Gardens.’
‘Never mind,’ said Enderby. ‘He’ll come back. They always do.’
‘He won’t. Not tonight he won’t. And I’m frightened up here on my own.’
‘What are you frightened of?’
‘Of being on my own. Like I said. In the dark, too. It went out while we was having this barney and I couldn’t see to hit him. Have you got a bob you can let me have till first thing tomorrow morning?’
‘Not a sausage,’ said Enderby proudly. ‘I blued it all on booze in town. I think I’d better come up there,’ he added, bold. ‘I could sleep on the couch or something. I forgot my key, you see. It’s a damn nuisance.’
‘If you come up here you’d better not let Jack get hold of you.’
‘Jack’s gone off with this bitch down by the Ornamental Gardens,’ said Enderby.
‘Ah. So you seen him, did you? I thought as much. You can see the black at her roots, bitch as she is.’
‘I’m coming up now,’ said Enderby. ‘Then you won’t be frightened of being on your own. You’ve got a couch up there, have you?’ said Enderby, rising in pain and crawling up the stairs.
‘If you think you’re going to get in bed with me you’ve got another think coming. I’ve finished with all men.’
‘I’ve no intention of getting into bed with you,’ said indignant Enderby. ‘I just want to lie down on the couch. I don’t really feel all that good.’
‘You needn’t be so bloody well on your bloody high horse. I’ve been in bed with better men than what you’ll ever hope to be. Careful,’ she said, as Enderby kicked the metal pot of the palm on the landing. He clambered blind up the second flight, hugging the banister. At the top he collided with a warm bosomy shape. ‘You can cut that out for a start,’ she said. ‘A bit too forward you are for a start.’ She sniffed briskly. ‘That scent’s very expensive,’ she said. ‘Who you been with, eh? Still waters run deep, if you’re really who you say you are, meaning him that lives down there.’
‘Where is it?’ groped Enderby. ‘I just want somewhere to lie down.’ His hands felt the softness and width of a sofa, the continuum broken by bottle-shapes (they clanked) and a half-full chocolate box (rustled). ‘Lay down,’ he corrected himself, to be more matey.
‘Make yourself comfortable,’ she said, bloody sarky. ‘If you want anything don’t hesitate to ring. At what hour of the morning would you like your morning tea?’ she said, in a hot-potato chumble. ‘Men,’ she said, going apparently, to her bedroom. She made a contemptuous noise, worthy of Enderby himself, leaving him to the dark.
4
1
HE AWOKE WITH first light to the xylophone of milk bottles and impotent rasping of self-starters. He smacked his lips and clacked his tongue on his hard palate, feeling his mouth like – the vulgar simile swam up from his vulgar pub-crawl – an all-in wrestler’s jock-strap. The vulgar simile put fingers to its nose in the gesture his stepmother had called ‘fat bacon’, made the old Roman sign, raspberried, and clambered off up the wall like a lizard. Enderby in his overcoat felt cold and grubby, matching the room that now emerged like a picture on a television screen when the set has at last warmed up. With the picture, noise: that woman’s snoring from the next room. Enderby listened, interested. He had never realized that women could snore so loud. His stepmother had, of course, been able to blast a roof off, but she had been unique. Unique? He remembered some lavatorial writing or other about all stepmothers being
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