him as she had promised, to be laid out by the early morning shift.
Mr. Kowalski, too frightened now to keep to any observable routine, had given up his evening shift at the factory. He spent much of his day sitting fearfully by the stove, compiling his book of idioms. At night he took a turn round the block, keeping his eyes peeled. He was lonely, he said, and hungry for love. These sad nocturnal promenades were his only diversion. Mornings, he dozed off.
A letter came, pushed under the door. There was a rude message from the postman, saying would they please unseal the letter box, having regard to his bad back, who did they think he was, Olga Korbut? Muriel picked it up. It was addressed to one of her, to Lizzie Blank. Good thing Mr. K. didn’t see it. He’d have thought it was a letter bomb, or something. She sneaked it off upstairs.
After work that night she went off to Crisp’s to get into her Lizzie costume and meet her new beau. If she was a bit late, he wouldn’t have to bother about that; she would explain that she worked evenings and had been kept later than usual. She was fresh and spry for dancing, ten-pin bowling, whatever he had in mind; it wasn’t as if her work tired her. But would they hit it off? That was the question. Under her wig, under her make-up, she could guarantee that no one would know her from a human being.
But as it worked out, she was very disappointed by the young man from the dating agency. At the pub where he had arranged to meet her, he towered above the other customers; his height was all of six foot seven inches, and his long thin face was as morose as Poor Mrs. Wilmot’s. People made remarks as they ordered their round. Muriel thought they should have gone to the Rifle Volunteer, where she was known and known to be dangerous.
“Clyde’s my monicker,” the giant said. “What I always say is, Clyde’s my name, confectionery’s my game.” He laughed gratingly, but when he looked her over his face fell. “You’re not six foot two,” he said. “I’ve been done.”
“So?” Her voice was flat. “You want to make something of it?”
You could tell that Clyde was not used to threats. Distressed, he sat over his pale ale, cracking his knuckles in a thoughtful way. “No, I’ve thought it over, you’ll do,” he said at last. “I’m not that bothered about the height. What I really wanted was a bird with big knockers but they don’t give you a space for that on the form. Here, I’ve brought you something.” He thrust two enormous fingers into his breast pocket, and produced a shrivelled rosebud, its leaves curling and its head almost severed from the stem. “Single red rose,” he said. “It’s romantic. My last girl was always hinting for me to buy her one. They think you’re mean in the shop. They expect you to have a bunch.”
“Who was your last girl?” Lizzie asked. “Somebody from a circus?”
“Now don’t take on,” Clyde said. “Here, they’re calling last orders, and I’ve hardly wet my whistle. Your round.”
In the scramble for last orders, several customers tripped over Clyde’s legs. He cursed them horribly. “I may as well tell you now,” Lizzie said, “you won’t do for me. I like manners.”
“I’ve a good job,” Clyde insisted. “Fancy cakes to customers’ requirements. I’m highly thought of. Every year I do a butter sculpture for the Rotarians’ dinner dance.” Lizzie shook her head. “Well, we’re not packing it in yet. I’ve paid out hard-earned money for this introduction. I can see you’re just my type. I could really take a fancy to you.”
Lizzie was adamant. Clyde’s morosity deepened. “Have a heart,” he said. “You’re the first bird I’ve really had a chance with. It’s not good for me to be rejected, it gives me complexes. I’ll follow you,” he warned. “I’ll track you down. I’m very loyal. You’ll never shake me off.”
“If you follow me, I’ll call a policeman.”
“I bet you would,” Clyde said. “I bet some of them policemen are customers, eh? If you’re not a pro, why do you dress like one, eh? Women like you shouldn’t apply to agencies. You could be liable for it, you put down your wrongful employ. You put you was medical, bet you’ve never been near a hospital in your life. Except down the clap clinic.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Lizzie Blank said with dignity. “I’m leaving. You can drink my drink if you like.”
“Oh, come back,” Clyde said. “Come back. I really like you, you know.”
But Lizzie swung the door back in his face, and stepped out alone into the street.
It was Sunday teatime. Florence brought her shortbread round; and her thoughts.
“Girls manage,” she said. “Girls today are independent. There’s no stigma any more.”
“Nobody said there was stigma,” Sylvia said levelly. “Nobody mentioned it. But we’ve got to think about her future.”
“What about the baby?” Florence cried excitedly. “Isn’t that entitled to a future too? It may not be very convenient for you, Sylvia, it may not fit into your plans, but it’s a question of the sanctity of life.”
“If you say that phrase once more,” Sylvia said, “I’ll pick up this shortbread and force it piece by piece down your throat until you choke.”
“There’s no need for that,” Florence said composedly. “I’m entitled to speak my mind. And it’s no good telling me that I don’t know Life, Sylvia. We at the DHSS know all about hardship. From behind our counter we see human existence in the raw. You can’t tell me anything.”
“I can never understand it,” Colin said. “You people who are against abortion and euthanasia are always against artificial insemination and surrogate mothers as well. I don’t know what your position is. Do you want more people in the world, or don’t you?”
“I think you’re being just a teeny bit frivolous, Colin,” Florence said. “I’ve nothing at all against artificial insemination. For cows. The point I’m trying to make is that even if this young man doesn’t want to marry Suzanne—and she can hardly expect him to up and leave his poor wife—then there’s no reason why she shouldn’t have the baby and bring it up herself. Lots of people do it. They always have.”
“I wish you’d stop discussing me,” Suzanne said. “It’s my choice and I’ve made it. Leave me alone. I want to be on my own.”
“Do you?” Sylvia said. “I’ve got news for you. You will be, love—whether you want it or not.”
