Highlanders were stationed at Peckham during the first war; how it was a question among the young ladies whether the soldiers wore anything underneath their kilts; how Miss Frierne at the ripe age of twenty-seven went walking with one of the Highlanders up to One Tree Hill; how he turned to her and said, ‘My girl, I know you’re all bloody curious as to what we have beneath the kilt, and I forthwith propose to satisfy your mind on the subject’; how he then took her hand and thrust it under his kilt; and how she then screamed so hard, she had a quinsy for a week.
But in the meantime when Dougal, at the end of his second week at Miss Frierne’s, said, ‘You must have had some courting days,’ she turned her narrow pale face away from him and indicated by various slight movements of her bony body that he had gone too far.
Eventually she said, ‘Did Humphrey come in with you?’
‘No, I left him round at Dixie’s.’
‘I wanted to ask his private advice about something.’
‘Anything I can do? I give rare advice.’
She was still offended. ‘No, thank you. I wish to ask Humphrey privately. Do I hear rain?’
Dougal went to bed and the rain danced on the roof above his head. A key clicked in the front door and Humphrey’s footsteps, climbing carefully, rose to the first landing. Humphrey paused on the landing, a long pause, as if he were resting from some effort. Then Humphrey’s step fumbled up on the second flight. Either he was drunk or carrying a heavy weight, for he staggered at the top, just outside Dougal’s door.
The long cupboard in Dougal’s bedroom gave out a loud tom-tom as the rain beat on the low roof within, and together with this sound was discernible that of Humphrey staggering along the short passage to his own room.
Dougal woke again at the very moment, it seemed, that the rain stopped. And at this very moment a whisper and a giggle came from the direction of his cupboard. He switched on his light and got up. The cupboard was empty. Just as he was going to shut the small door again, there was a slight scuffle. He opened the door, put his head in, and found nothing. He returned to bed and slept.
On Monday morning Dougal got his letter. Jinny had finished with him. He went into the offices of Meadows, Meade & Grindley and typed out some of his notes. Then, at the morning tea-break, he walked over to the long, long factory canteen and asked especially for Odette Hill and Lucille Potter. He was told they were not at work that morning. ‘Taking the day off. Foreman’s mad. Absenteeism makes him mad.’ He had a bun and a cup of tea, then another bun. A bell rang to mark the end of the tea-break. The men disappeared rapidly. A few girls loitered, as on principle, talking with three of the women who served the canteen. Dougal put his head on his arms in full view of these few girls, and wept.
‘What’s the matter with him?’
‘What’s the matter, son?’ said a girl of about sixteen whom Dougal, on looking up, found to be Dawn Waghorn, one of the cone-winders whose movements when winding the cone, as laid down by the Cambridge expert, had seemed to Dougal, when he had been taken round the floors, very appealing. Dougal put down his head and resumed his weeping.
Dawn patted his poor shoulder. He slightly raised his head and shook it sadly from side to side. A woman came round from the canteen bar with a clean-folded oven cloth which she held out to him. ‘Here, dry your eyes before anyone sees you,’ she said.
‘What’s the matter, mate?’ said another girl. She said, ‘Here’s a hanky.’ She was Annette Wren who was in training for seaming. She was giggling most heartlessly.
‘I’ve lost my girl,’ Dougal said, as he blew his nose on the oven cloth.
Elaine Kent, who was well on in her twenties, an experienced controller of process, turned on Annette Wren and told her to shut her mouth, what was there to laugh at?
The two other canteen women came round to Dougal, and he was now surrounded by women. Elaine Kent opened her bag and took out a comb. With it she combed Dougal’s hair as it moved with his head slowly from side to side.
‘You’ll get another girl,’ said one of the canteen women, Milly Lloyd by name.
Annette giggled again. Dawn slapped her face and said, ‘You’re ignorant. Can’t you see he’s handicapped?’
Whereupon Annette burst into tears.
‘Keep your head still,’ said Elaine. ‘How can I comb you if you keep moving your head?’
‘It calms you down, a good comb,’ remarked one of the canteen.
Milly Lloyd was looking for a fresh handkerchief for Annette whose sobs were tending towards the hysterical.
‘How did you lose your girl?’ said Dawn.
‘I’ve got a fatal flaw,’ Dougal said.
Dawn assumed this to be his deformed shoulder, which she now stroked. ‘It’s a shame,’ she said. ‘little no- good bitch I bet she is.’
Suddenly Merle Coverdale appeared at the door in the long distance and started walking towards the group.
‘Office,’ whispered Milly, ‘typing pool,’ and returned behind the canteen bar.
Merle shouted along the length of the canteen as she approached. ‘Tea for Mr Druce, please. He was out. Now he’s come in. He wants some tea.’ Then she saw the group round Dougal. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ she said.
‘Migraine,’ Dougal said sadly. ‘A headache.’
‘You should all be back on the floor,’ Merle said to the girls. ‘There’s going to be trouble.’
‘Who you to talk to us like that?’
‘Who’s she, coming it over us?’
And so Merle could do nothing with them. She said meaningfully to Dougal,
‘I had a headache myself this morning. Came into work late. I went for a brisk walk on the Rye. All by myself.’
‘I dimly recall arranging to meet you there,’ Dougal said. ‘But I was prevented.’
Merle gave him a hostile look and said to the canteen women, ‘What about that tea?’
Milly Lloyd put a cup of tea into Dougal’s hand. Merle walked off, bearing Mr Druce’s tea, moving her neck slightly back and forth as she walked all the long length of the canteen. Annette took a cup of tea and, as she gulped it, tried also to express her rage against the girl who had slapped her. As Dougal sipped his tea, young Dawn stroked his high shoulder and said, never mind, it was a shame, while Elaine combed his hair. It was curly hair but cut quite short. Nevertheless she combed it as if it had been as long as the Laughing Cavalier’s.
Dixie sat with Humphrey, Dougal, and Elaine Kent in Costa’s Cafe. Dixie yawned. Her eyes were sleepy. The only reason she had denied herself an early night was that Dougal was paying for the supper.
‘I’ve felt tired all day,’ she said. She addressed the men, ignoring Elaine as she had done all evening, because Elaine was factory, even though Elaine was high up in process-control. After a trial period Elaine likewise confined her remarks to the men.
‘Look what’s just come in,’ Elaine said. Tall Trevor Lomas had just come in. He sat at the nearest table, with his head and shoulders turned away from Dougal’s party, and stared out of the window. Trevor Lomas was at this time employed as an electrician by the Borough.
Trevor turned his head sleepily and permitted an eye to rest on Humphrey for a small second. Humphrey said ‘Hallo.’ Trevor did not reply.
Trevor’s girl arrived presently, tall and copper-tinted, with a tight short black skirt and much green eye-shadow. ‘Hi, snake,’ said Trevor. ‘Hi,’ said the girl, and sat down beside him.
Dixie and Elaine stared at the girl as she slid out of her coat and let it fall on the back of her chair. They stared as if by duty, and watched every detail. The girl was aware of this, and seemed to expect it.
Then Trevor pushed back his chair, still seated, so that he half-faced Humphrey’s party. He said to his girl in a loud voice: ‘Got your lace hanky on you, Beauty?’
Beauty did not reply. She was holding up a small mirror, putting on lipstick with care.
‘Because,’ said Trevor, ‘I’m going to cry.’ He took his large white handkerchief out of his top pocket and flourished it before each eye in turn. ‘Going to cry my eyes out, I am,’ said Trevor, ‘because I’ve lost me girl. Hoo, I’ve lost me girl.’
