friend with an automobile in this neighbourhood. Hers was a beautiful little white Triumph convertible, too. You froze in it in winter (she never let you put the hood up) but you felt a real he-man in summer. We only had one summer together, me, Judith and the car.
‘She still on the stage?’
‘Resting. Trying out for a part tomorrow.’
I got up to go upstairs to my room. ‘Dad out?’
‘No. Out the back watching his birds.’
At the door, I said: ‘Can I have the front room this day week?’ Jean nodded.
The Club occasionally met here. When it did Jean served coffee and cake and popped in and out observing us. I think she rather enjoyed it. I’ve noticed that this family’s pleasure tends to be vicarious. Jean watches me, I watch the Club and Dad watches his birds. I must check this tendency.
I enjoyed the Club meetings myself. When we were really functioning well, comparing notes, checking photographs, suggesting future projects, all of them looking to me for directions, I had the feeling of the chain of power stretching directly from John Plowman to me and going no further. That was how I wanted it in that group and that was what I meant by practice. We might be stretching out to other galaxies, but as far as I was concerned it was strictly an exercise in politics.
On my way upstairs I looked out of the window on the stairs and saw a police car go past. Three children in eighteen months and all living within one square mile of each other. Three children just gone. Sixpence in the pocket, ta ta, Mum. And then never seen again. She was the first, Shirley Boyle, aged eight.
I went on into my room and sat down on my bed. Jean didn’t come into this room much; I dusted it and looked after my bed. Jean knew I liked my secrets.
I drew the curtains on the night. The police car came back down the road. This time I could see a man in the back. He had a solid official look. We have a high-ranking policeman living round the corner from us. He’s called Coffin. He has a wife who is observed sharply by the old cats of the neighbourhood because she is an actress and this naturally alerts their moral sense. Judith was going to introduce us before we broke up.
Down below I heard the telephone ring. When I’m established in my chosen way of life I shall have a telephone in every room. I hate people shouting up the stairs for me.
‘Coming,’ I called.
‘David,’ she said, when I got to the bottom of the stairs.
‘Hello, Slave.’ I called him this. David Edmondstone was someone I’d known at school and then lost sight of for a bit. The last year we’d seen each other regularly. If we’d had lags at the sort of school we went to, Dave would have been my fag. When we were “streamed” (that was their jargon for a sorting out process according to ability) I was A and he was C; that was the measure of our relationship. But when he came back I was glad to see him. He sort of fitted into my life. There had been a hole vacant and he came into it.
‘Hello, Tony. Long time no see.’
‘Only yesterday. And talk English.’ I’d never cure him of using second-rate slang.
He laughed. ‘Tony, I want to talk, I’m excited.’
He sounded it. ‘Well, what’s excited you?’
‘I’ve got a new girl. You ought to see her.’
‘Good.’ Perhaps this one will last. They didn’t usually. I mean no one wants fidelity but his turn-over was too rapid. I don’t know what he did to them. I didn’t take literally his remark about seeing her. I knew he wouldn’t let me see her; he never did.
‘Where did you meet her?’ Jean was waving at me not to make a long call of it, but Dave might go on for hours. ‘Where are you speaking from?’
‘Call-box outside Lowther’s.’ Lowther’s was a big all-night chemists which was a great place for night birds (which Dave and I intermittently were) in the New Cut Road. Fine old slum it have been at one time but now it was a newly built disaster area. ‘Oh, I met her around,’ he said vaguely. ‘You know.’
‘If you’re going to talk all night, let me know,’ whispered Jean.
I scowled at her, nodding my head like a mandarin. She didn’t know what to make of that and it kept her quiet for a bit. Always keep your signals contradictory, that’s a good rule with an opponent. It puzzles them and they don’t know what to do. Quite scientific really. All animals have aggression or submission signals which other animals of their kind recognize. The dog snarls or cringes. We smile and nod or else frown and clench our muscles. Then the other animal knows what to do. But mix the signals and this throws them.
‘You two,’ she muttered. ‘I don’t like to watch. I mean, it’s such a funny way to live.’
This time I smiled but shook my head slowly from side to side. Jean went and sat down, still keeping an eye on me. Dave was getting quite frantic on the end of the phone.
‘You there? You still there? Well, are you listening then? Well, it was a lovely night, lovely night …’ He was working himself up.
‘Calm it down, boy. So what did you do?’
‘Talked,’ he said dreamily. ‘We’re going on talking, too.’
‘Lovely,’ I said. ‘Is that all?’
‘No, then I came home and baby-sat for my sister. Those kids were a drag. Then I came out to phone you.’
‘It was a big evening then?’
‘Yes. What about you?’
‘Oh, Club, home, Jean, you know.’ I darted a look at Jean who was still watching. It crossed my mind she was expecting a call herself. ‘Cy get home?’
‘Yes, he certainly did.’ Stronger feeling than even that aroused by his girl friend coloured his voice. ‘And wasn’t he sour! Came in, sat down in his chair and started writing his notes. Didn’t say good evening or thank you for staying here or anything. He makes me sick. So I came out.’
David Edmondstone was Cy’s brother-in-law and he lodged with his sister and Cy. Dave had gone away for a time to work in Birmingham but now he was back. In a way it was through knowing Dave that I found my way into the Club. Of course, it wasn’t really a club till it got me. More of a loose association of people with a common interest. It was me and John Plowman that shaped it.
‘How have you soured him up?’ asked Dave.
How had we?
‘I didn’t know he kept notes,’ I said.
‘Well, he does. After every meeting. And sometimes he puts things on a tape. Not always. Just every so often. Not that I’ve seen. But I’ve heard him talking away to himself.’
‘How do you know he has a tape recorder?’
‘I’ve had a look round.’ Dave laughed. ‘Maggie doesn’t know. And every so often he talks into it.’
‘How often?’
‘Well, I’m not watching him all the time. Not only that wouldn’t be right, it wouldn’t be easy.’ In a way Dave ran away from home when he went to Birmingham. He said it was because his sister beat him. I didn’t exactly believe him but I dare say she might have done. Or there’s Cy. Since you ask me about him, I’ve always thought he was a bit of a sadist. I saw a strap hanging on the wall of their kitchen. And they don’t have a dog as far as I know. Dave was a bit slow in those days. But when he got back he’d grown up a lot.
‘Since I’ve been here he’s only done it a few times. But I tell you what: sometimes I think he plays back things he’s done earlier. Yes, I think so.’
‘I wonder what he puts on it?’ I thought he was probably keeping his own record of sightings and investigations and no doubt adding a few sharp words about