I waited for an intro and the first few bars before leaning over, and dabbing the end of her nose lightly with my forefinger. I said, ‘Maybe someone should tell you that it’s sometimes OK to be selfish. It’s allowed; and what’s more it’s probably good for you.’
I had leaned towards her. Now I straightened, and began to turn away. She had smiled and blushed. Momentarily the Elaine I had known had shown herself. I also knew that if I had reached towards her she wouldn’t have pulled back. But I didn’t. I did the right thing for once. I’ve told you before: the women in my life are like buses. I wait weeks for one, and then a small convoy arrives all at the same time.
She said, ‘I don’t want you to go away, Charlie.’
‘That makes two of us; neither do I. But I don’t think I can get out of it.’ I made a joke of it. ‘I’ll send you something from Egypt. What can you get out there?’
‘One of my uncles brought me a beautiful photograph album from Alex once: it had a black leather cover with Egyptian hieroglyphs painted on it. It’s almost full now. You could bring me another: I’d like that.’ She rummaged in her handbag for a handkerchief, and dabbed at her eyes – her make-up was running. What had I said now to upset her? Nothing apparently, because she asked, ‘What would you like me to do for you?’
That was asking for it, wasn’t it? But I made a reply that surprised even me.
‘Why don’t you write to me? No one else will: letters from home to keep my morale up.’
She waited for ages before she replied; as if I had asked her for something far more important. Then she made up her mind and said, ‘OK.’ Then, ‘Panic over; now you can give me a hug.’
‘Before you go home,’ I promised, and fled.
I sipped my coffee slowly in my own office, took the conversation apart, and put it back together again. Then I understood something about myself. I understood that I had a difficulty with people liking me or loving me, and wondered if that was why my girlfriends never stuck around for long.
It was time to go home and ask Maggs about it: she always knew what to do.
I’ve probably told you about Maggs before. She’s the person who was bringing my two boys up when I was away. Which was all too often. I had a nerve regarding them as my boys, if I come to think about it. I’d found Dieter on a battlefield in Germany in ’45, and Carlo dropped into my life in Bremen about a week later – the son of an ex-girlfriend who was heading east. It’s a long story, but I’ll tell you sometime if I haven’t already.
When I was away they lived with Mrs Maggs and my old major above a pub in Bosham – that’s a small port near Chichester – and they lived with me in the prefab next door when I was home. I’d signed DP papers for them a couple of years ago, but now the local authority was getting iffy, and we were making a proper adoption of it. What that meant was that I had to behave myself until everyone said yes, and gave me the forms to prove it. I’d had two interviews with an old biddy in the Council Offices already. I thought she was against me until she came up with a woman from the local WRI to sponsor my claim . . . the only problem was that both made it plain they’d prefer me to be married, or at least engaged. Now that Frieda was out of the picture I had a problem, didn’t I? I thought I’d better go down for a couple of days and see how the land lay.
Before I walked away from Elaine she hit me with a limpet of a kiss out of the blue; I hadn’t seen one like that from her for a couple of years – not even at Christmas. I pushed her gently off with a laugh, and said something like, ‘Go away and stay married.’
‘I will, but sometimes it’s not quite enough.’ Another girl had told me that another time, and I’d got into trouble with her too. As she turned away I put my hand on her bum. Round as a football. I have been known to weaken.
The year hadn’t yet made its mind up about seasons, so I drove down in bright sunshine, with the roof of my old Singer roadster open, and bloody near froze to death. One day I’ll thank God for the man who designed the flying jacket I wore over my clothes. I dropped over the Downs and into Chichester in time to pick up Carly from his primary school at three, and we played hopscotch outside Dieter’s school gate until the elder showed himself, weighed down by a tattered RAF small pack full of homework and gym kit. Ice cream, Tizer and then home. We played with their Dinky army lorries on the floor in front of the fire, and then Ludo until it was time for them to go to bed. Boys can be easy to please sometimes.
Later I helped James and Maggs to repel the Friday rush, from behind the bar. On Fridays all the yachties came down to pretend to be sailors. I’m showing my prejudice, of course; some of them were quite keen, and two of the old wooden ladies in the basin had been to Dunkirk and back a few times in 1940. When I walked back to the prefab, frosted gravel crackling beneath my shoes, the boys were no
