Standing there, Wendy watched the people hanging around in groups. Tramps and dossers and the homeless, drug users and pushers, boys and girl she supposed were selling sex. She tried to tell who was who and felt absurdly like a bird watcher, clutching her Observer Book.
I know nothing really, she thought. I’ve never spent a night on the streets. Not even outdoors in a tent. She thought about sunbathing in Gayfield Square with Colin, and how they realised they were being stared at by the pissheads over the low wall.
I could be mugged, thought Wendy, who had two hundred pounds in her pockets. Anything could happen to me. And this is London. No one would care. No one would stop to see what was happening. She was in an old T shirt and jeans again, her trainers were ripped and flapping apart. Or I could disappear here and turn up anywhere. Just another teenaged girl in London.
She counted out the money in her pockets and took a deep breath. Then, walking back to the bus stop by the cinema, pushed ten pound notes into the hands of everyone she passed. Some blessed her, some told her to fuck off. By the time her bus came, she still couldn’t decide whether it was deeply unsatisfying or not.
In the new house Aunty Anne was standing red-faced with arms akimbo. She was among her freshly-delivered cases and boxes. How few old things she had. She’d jettisoned her old things as easily as she had Pat’s. Some of these boxes bore the names of smart shops. Nothing was unpacked yet, apart from what looked like a banana tree in the living room.
“What’s the matter?” Wendy asked, seeing her face.
“We have a visitor,” said her Aunty Anne and, as if on cue, the downstairs toilet flushed thunderously and out came Captain Simon, rubbing his wet hands on his yellow coat.
“Wendy!” he cried. She hugged him and was sure that his white moustache had flourished since they’d been apart. He looked older.
“He isn’t staying,” said Aunty Anne flatly.
“Ohh,’ Wendy waved her away and brought the old man through to the kitchen, which was the only habitable room. The surfaces were strewn with unspotted and fragrant herbs and crumbs of black earth. “Are you going to stay with us?”
“I’m in a hotel,” he smiled. “She needn’t worry.”
“It’s lovely to see you,” said Wendy, and meant it.
“I’ve left the flat empty,” he said, twinkling at her. “Belinda will have a fit. I’m meant to be looking after plants and making sure burglars don’t get in. But, to tell you the truth, I couldn’t stick the Royal Circus with everyone gone. I had nowhere to go! No pals to visit!”
“I know,” said Wendy.
“So I made some plans of my own.”
Anne appeared in the doorway. “Don’t let him go begging after any of your money.”
“Don’t be so foul,” said Wendy.
“The old devil.”
Captain Simon shook his head at her, whistling. “You’re a terrible woman, Anne.”
“I know.”
“I heard about your good fortune, of course. Pat told me something about his plans.”
“Don’t go expecting…”
“I certainly don’t,” he said, with some dignity. “I don’t need anything. He left me a little gift, but I was never after money from him. He was the best pal a fella could want.”
Anne came down the few steps into the kitchen. “He was, wasn’t he?”
“Here,” said Simon. “Let me see you.”
They hugged hard under the new strip lighting.
When they stepped apart, Wendy had slipped away upstairs.
I thought maybe romance was in the air for the two of them. I’ve always had that sentimental streak. Next morning, though, Captain Simon had gone. I never saw him until years after that. He flew to Africa on safari, and went to look at things in their natural habitats.
“I was quite harsh on him before,” Aunty Anne said.
“You were,” I said as I saw to our breakfast.
“He’s a simple, loyal man.”
“That’s right.”
“But I don’t need a man hanging round me. I’ve had enough of all that.”
“Serena says you have to involve yourself in the world of men, only if you have no other choice.”
“That sounds like her. And it’s true. Now I’m gladly beyond the pale.” She eyed me. “But you’re not.”
“If it does anything, the money means I never have to be dependent.”
Aunty Anne shrugged. She looked at her still unpotted herbs. “There are all sorts of thing to be dependent on somebody for.”
This was the morning Timon and Belinda were due to arrive and I was queasy with excitement. Timon had become a distant figure again. All I got were his irregular few lines in the post. Nowadays Belinda had a hand in them, and his letters and cards read differently. It must be love, I thought, if she’s effecting his prose style.
Aunty Anne and I listened to the February rain plop down and rattle on her backyard. Her courtyard, she called it, and had installed a statuette of a cupid, tottering on one chubby foot. It was festooned in fairy lights which had already fused.
THIRTY-TWO
During their time together in the Western Isles they had discovered the gently erotic art of bickering. Now on the Central Line and heading for the BBC, Timon and Belinda were nervous and they indulged themselves in an edgy ribbing that was starting to get on Wendy’s nerves. She was going along with them for moral support, while they did their live interview.
“I hope
