At last she broke the silence. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Bruce,” she said. “Those other rooms. Is anybody ever going to live in them? Those two – those people who went to Greece – are they ever going to come back?”
Bruce laughed. “They paid until the beginning of August,”
he said. “It was their choice. They wanted to keep the rooms while they went travelling. I was expecting to have heard from them by now, but I haven’t. I suppose I’ll give them a month’s grace and then clear the rooms and get somebody else.” He paused. “Why do you ask? Do you know somebody who’s looking for somewhere to live?”
“No,” said Pat. “I just thought . . . Well, I suppose I thought that it might be easier for us to have somebody else staying here.”
Bruce smiled. “A bit crowded with just the two of us? Is that what you mean?”
Pat drew in her breath. It was exactly what she had meant –
and why should she not feel this? It was perfectly reasonable to suggest that the presence of a couple of other people should make life in a communal flat a little easier.
Everybody who had ever shared a flat knew that two was more difficult than three, and three was more difficult than five.
Bruce must know this too, and was being deliberately perverse in pretending not to.
“All right,” said Bruce. “I know what you mean. I’ll give them two weeks to get in touch and then I’ll move their stuff into the cupboard and we can get somebody else. What do you want?
Boy or girl?”
Pat thought for a moment. The presence of another girl would be useful, as they could support one another in the face of Bruce.
But what if this girl behaved as she had done and fell for Bruce?
That would be very difficult. A boy would be simpler.
“Let’s get a boy,” she said. “Maybe you’ll meet somebody at work . . .” She stopped, realising the tactlessness of her remark.
45
She had quickly guessed that Bruce had lost his job, rather than resigned, as he claimed.
“I wouldn’t have anybody from that place,” said Bruce quickly.
“Of course not,” said Pat. “What about Sally? Would she know anybody? Maybe an American student at the university.
She must meet people like that who are looking for somewhere to live.”
Bruce was silent for a moment. He looked at Pat resentfully.
“Sally’s history,” he muttered. “Since last night.”
Pat caught her breath. That was two tactless remarks in the space of one minute. Could she manage a third? So Sally was history? Well, that meant that she had got rid of Bruce, and that he was the one who was history! She wanted to say to him: So you’re history – again! But did not, of course. One never told people who were history that they were history. They knew it all right; there was no need to rub it in.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “What happened?”
Bruce slipped down off the surface and moved over to the toaster. He put two slices of bread into the slot and depressed the lever. Toast would make him feel better; it always did.
“Oh, she became a bit too clingy,” he said casually. “You know how it is. You’re getting on fine with somebody and then all of a sudden they want more and more of you. It just gets too much.
So I gave her her freedom.”
Pat listened to this with interest. It was as if he was Gavin Maxwell talking about an otter, or Joy Adamson talking about a lioness.
“You let her go?” she asked, trying to conceal her amusement.
“You could say that,” said Bruce.
“I see,” said Pat. “And where did she want to go? Back to America?”
“She would have stayed here to be with me,” said Bruce. “But I didn’t want to be selfish. I didn’t want to put her in a position where she had to choose between me and . . .”
“And the United States?” prompted Pat.
“Something like that,” said Bruce.
“Poor girl,” said Pat. “It must have been so hard for her.”
46
Bruce nodded. “I think it was.” His toast popped up and he reached for the butter. “But water under the bridge, as they say.
Let’s not talk about it any more. Let’s look to the future. Plenty of other girls – know what I mean?”
