The Night Watch by Sarah Waters Page B

out, I swear to God. This girl's a stunner. She's got a bloke, but he's in the army. She's used to doing it regular and she's feeling the pinch. I tell you, if the sister wasn't so friendly I'd be after her myself-'
    He went on like that until the factory whistle sounded; then, 'Well, it's your funeral,' he said, getting to his feet. 'You think of me, that's all, at ten o'clock tonight!' He gave Duncan a wink of his brown gipsy eye, then hurried away-lurching a little from side to side, like a stout old lady; for his left leg was short, and fused at the knee.
    The girls and the women went off quickly, too. They called goodbye as they went: 'Ta ta, Duncan!' 'So long, love!' 'See you Monday, Duncan!'
    Duncan nodded. He couldn't bear the mood of the factory at this time of the day-the forced, wild jollity, the dash for the exit. Saturday nights were worst of all. Some people actually ran, to be first out through the gates. The men who had cycles made a sort of race of it: the yard, for ten or fifteen minutes, was like a sink with its plug pulled. He always found a reason to linger or dawdle. Tonight he got a broom, and swept up the parings of wax and the cuttings of wick from the floor beneath his stool. Then he walked very slowly to the locker-room and got his jacket; he visited the lavatory and combed his hair. When he went outside he'd taken so long, the yard was almost deserted: he stood for a moment on the step, getting used to the feel of space and the change of temperature. The Candle Room was kept cool because of the wax, but the evening was warm. The sun was sinking in the sky, and he had a vague, unhappy sense that time had passed-real time, proper time, not factory time-and he had missed out on it.
    He had just put down his head and started to make his way across the yard when he heard his name called: 'Pearce! Hi, Pearce!' He looked up-his heart giving a thump inside his chest, because he'd already recognised the voice, but couldn't believe it. Robert Fraser was there, at the gate. He looked as though he'd just come running up. He was hatless, as Duncan was. His face was pink, and he was smoothing back his hair.
    Duncan quickened his pace and went over to him. His heart was still lurching about. He said, 'What are you doing here? Have you been here all afternoon?'
    'I came back,' said Fraser breathlessly. 'I thought I'd missed you! I heard the whistle go when I was still three streets away… You don't mind? After I'd gone this morning I thought how crazy it was, that you were here and- Well. Do you have an hour? I thought we could go for a drink. I know a pub, right on the river.'
    'A pub?' said Duncan.
    Fraser laughed, seeing his expression. 'Yes. Why not?'
    Duncan hadn't been to a pub in ages, and the thought of going inside one now, with Fraser-of sitting at a table at Fraser's side, drinking beer, like an regular chap-was tremendously exciting, but alarming too. He was thinking, as well, of Mr Mundy, who would be waiting for him at home. He pictured the table set for tea: the knives and forks put neatly out, the salt and pepper, the mustard already mixed in its pot…
    Fraser must have seen the look of indecision in his face. He said, as if disappointed, 'You've got other plans. Well, never mind. It was just a chance. Which way are you going? I could walk with you-'
    'No,' said Duncan quickly. 'It's all right. If it's just for an hour-'
    Fraser clapped him on the arm. 'Good man!'
    He led Duncan south, towards Shepherd's Bush Green: the opposite direction to the one which Duncan would normally have taken. He walked loosely, easily, with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders back, and now and then he jerked his head to keep the hair out of his eyes. His hair seemed very fair with the evening sunlight on it; his face was still pink and lightly sweating. When they'd picked their way through the worst of the traffic he got out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead and the back of his neck, saying, 'I need a