— 3-
When I had finished tidying the room, I put a kettle on to boil and went out to buy milk and the Sunday morning papers. I left Johnnie huddled over the fire, staring at it.
When we had gone in together, Johnnie had taken one look at Hazel who was still lying beside my father with her naked breasts exposed. Then, without a word, he had turned his back and sat down by the fire.
I went out and downstairs.
There were no men in the street. The men of the district usually had a long lie-in on Sunday mornings. But the women were already moving about, in and out of the dairy and the newsagent's.
Old Mrs. MacBride caught me as I came out with the milk from the dairy. She wanted to know if it was true my father had taken Hazel Cooper. She said she had heard talk. Someone had told her that Henry Cooper, Hazel's father, who worked as a night watchman in a warehouse, had been looking for a gun. He said he was going to blow out John Gault's bloody brains.
'Aye, there's them before that tried!' I replied, and once again for it wasn't the first time, I felt proud at having Gault for a father.
But I was worried abut Johnnie so I evaded the others who tried to talk to me and hurried back to the single end.
Johnnie hadn't moved.
I lifted the boiling kettle off the flame.
At that moment Razor King woke up. He shook his head with a grunt and ran his fingers through his close- cropped hair. Hazel, nervous, and as if to appease him, leaned across him and kissed him softly on the lips.
He blinked at her angrily.
'Lay aff of it, ye sexy little sewer!' he snarled. 'Fur Christ's sake has that bliddy erse o'yours no had enough of it!'
She cowered away from him into the dark corner of the alcove. He didn't pay any further attention to her. He sat at the edge of the bed, naked from the waist downwards. His feet were filthy and the skin of his legs under the thick growth of blue-black hairs was gray. At that moment he caught sight of the two bottles of beer Johnnie had brought home with him. He lurched off the bed, screwed off the top of one of the bottles, and drank a deep draught. The liquid spilled around his mouth and ran down over the beating vein of his neck onto his dirty undershirt, which he seldom took off. Before he drank again, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and rubbed away the trickle at his chest. He drank again, this time emptying the bottle. The alcohol had an immediate effect upon him. His humor changed. He screwed the top off the second bottle, took one or two small gulps from it and turned to Hazel, offering it to her. She watched him like a rabbit watches a snake. She shook her head. He shrugged his shoulders and walked on his hard-soled feet to the sink where, drinking again, he began to urinate. He allowed the tap to run for a moment afterwards. Still at the sink and gazing out of the grimy window, he drank the rest of the beer. He put down the bottle, turned on the tap again, blew his nose into the sink, and sluiced his face with cold water. He came away rubbing his face with a towel.
As he stepped into his trousers, he asked me if breakfast was ready.
I said it would be in a minute and dropped two slices of bacon into the frying pan. They began to sizzle immediately.
At that moment Razor King caught sight of Johnnie.
He looked at him suspiciously. Johnnie still stared into the fire.
'Whit's wrang wi you?'
'The King's up. No peace noo,' Johnnie said laconically.
'You mind yer bliddy lip or ah'll show ye who's King!'
'Aw fer Christ's sake, can ye no leave a man alane!'
Johnnie stood up.
'There's only one man in thise hoose,' Razor King said with a laugh, and then, pleased with himself, he added: 'How d'ye like the tert, Johnnie?' He nodded towards Hazel who was now sitting up with the blankets pulled up to her chin.
Johnnie turned and looked at Hazel for the first time. His expression became disdainful.
'Is she no a bit skinny?' he said.
'Skinny?' the King said. 'Show him ye're no skinny, hen!'
Hazel didn't move.
Razor King strode across to her, whipped off the bedclothes, and scooped Hazel out of bed. She tumbled on the floor.
'Get up,' he said.
Slowly, one stocking still trailing round her ankle, Hazel got up. She was stark naked. Her pubic hairs looked damp. They curled in little black wisps.
'Ah thought her hair wis red?' Johnnie said. But he was looking at her in a different way. He was fighting to control himself.
'Aye, she's a wee smasher!' my father said, pride of possession in his voice.
Hazel turned away angrily. She was beginning to notice that she had been bitten by bugs during the night. She climbed on to the bed and began to examine her spots one by one.
Johnnie was fascinated by her. He couldn't keep his eyes off her now. Her movements were soft. Her flesh had quivered enticingly as she had climbed on to the bed. The skin of her buttocks was smooth, like the surface of mercury.
'Ye got yer eye filt?' Razor King said to Johnnie with a sneer.
'Aw, shut yer fuckin mouth!' Johnnie said, turning on him.
For a moment it looked as though my father was about to strike him, but Razor King's anger left him almost at once. He decided to take it as a compliment. He laughed again and said he could understand Johnnie's jealousy. Then he walked over to the bed and with two fingers began to play with Hazel's cunt. She stiffened and shot a glance over Razor King's shoulder at Johnnie. Razor King was making the sound one makes to a cat, teasing her pubic hairs.
A moment later, with obvious effort, Johnnie turned on his heel and went out. As the door closed, my father bellowed with laughter, slapped Hazel playfully on the belly, and turned to me and asked for his breakfast.
'This is Gertie,' he said.
— 4-
'Gertie'll stay.'
Breakfast was over.
My father was sharpening one of his razors on a leather strop. Hazel, with my coat across her shoulders, was smoking a cigarette and trying to appear calm. But I knew she wasn't. I knew she couldn't be.
I asked her if she wanted another cup of tea to give her time, but she said she didn't.
'Clear the table,' my father said.
I did so. At the same time I brought the iodine and the bandage. It was a ritual. I had officiated before. Seven women I had seen spread-eagled naked on this table, the operating table. And always the same smell. The female sweat. For they all sweated as they first sat and then lay back across the hard wood. Some more than others. It stood out like little needle points on their muddy white skin. Almost an execution. And the faint smell of
