Too Many Heroes Page 10

  She feels him nod several times. ‘All the bloody time.’

  Grace takes a deep breath then decides to say it anyway. ‘I once saw this film at the pictures; I must have bin about seventeen at the time. It started with this woman shootin’ her husband dead on New Year’s Eve. You don’t really know why. Anyway, when the clock strikes midnight, she really wishes she hadn’t gone an’ done it, and so she gets her wish granted; finds herself right back at the start of that year when he’s still alive.’

  It takes her a moment to continue. ‘But you know, even though she keeps trying to stop it from happenin’ again, things just keep repeatin’ themselves whatever she does. She’s trapped.’

  He squeezes her arm ever so gently. ‘It doesn’t sound like there’s a happier ending second time around.’

  ‘No, there isn’t. It ends up that this man – who’s her friend and the only one who believes her about what’s happened – he goes and shoots the husband this time but with her gun.’

  She can’t speak for a bit, has to take a long steadying breath. ‘So you see, she couldn’t escape her fate no matter what she did or how hard she tried to.’

  ‘You know, Grace I don’t hold with all that nonsense about fate. There is always a way out, even from the worst of traps.’

  ‘Do you honestly believe that – because I don’t?’

  ‘I do. You just have to be brave enough to take it.’ He strokes her hair while she sobs into his chest.

  They stay like that for a long time, neither of them speaking and it feels so nice to be hugged standing there in the quiet of the half-darkness. Finally, Frank looks down at her face and she lifts her head up so he can kiss her again. This time his lips feel different – gentler and less urgent. Their kiss goes on for so long she has to remember to breathe through her nose.

  His mouth breaks away but only to kiss down her neck. When he starts on her ear, she gets that feeling again – like her insides are about to melt away. Inch by inch he kisses along her collarbone.

  Grace feels reckless, yearns to let go and allow his hands to touch her bare skin. Her own fingers fumble to undo the buttons down the front of her dress one at a time until it’s wide open all the way to the waist.

  He takes a step back, looks at her like he’s checking she really did mean to do this. She feels wide open now; meeting his gaze to answer the question in his eyes without saying a word.

  His hands are on her shoulders and then he’s pushing the material right down, baring her upper arms. He reaches around to undo her bra; has it unhooked in a trice – like it’s something he’s done many times before. Should she be worried about that?

  Next minute all she can think about is the pathway his kisses are taking over her naked breasts. She groans aloud with the pleasure of it. Pressed up against the wall, she’s overtaken by desire, shocked and yet thrilled to think that this is a man she barely knows. His wet mouth moves across her skin and it feels so good she moans even louder.

  Frank’s hand comes up over her mouth to stifle her cries. She opens her eyes and comes to her senses, aware of the sound of voices just outside the door. Some people have stopped out there and now they’re laughing and singing. She can see the shape of them through the ornate glass.

  There’s a moment of peace and then the racket starts up again. This time it sounds like they could be jeering. The lights behind the bar are still on – can they see right into the room? One or two of them seem to be bending forward, foreheads touching the windowpane. Can they see her, see exactly what the landlord’s wife is getting up to with the new barman? Her face grows hot with the shame of it.

  ‘Hold still, lass,’ Frank whispers in her ear, like she might be a horse about to bolt. ‘They’ll move off in a bit.’ She does what he says; has very little choice in the matter. His touch continues to excite her even when someone tries the door handle and she watches it spin round and then back again.

  A deep voice says something that causes the others to laugh. She catches his next words: ‘Yeah, well I thought I could hear people in there, but you can see for yourself, the place is empty.’

  Another man says something but all she can pick out is the word shame. She hears the sound of running water and realises that someone is actually piddling against the wall like a ruddy dog.

  Gradually, their voices recede and she can breathe again.

  ‘That was a close one,’ Frank says. ‘Now then, where were we …’

  ‘No don’t. This is far too risky,’ she tells him. ‘I don’t know what I was thinkin’. They might have woken Dennis up with all the noise they were makin’. He could be on his way down here right now.’

  ‘You told me the man’s well out of it for the night.’ His hands have stopped caressing her. ‘Would you rather I just sling my hook? I’ll go right this minute, if that’s what you really want.’

  Though his face is in shadow, she can see from his cocksure expression that he’s confident she’ll say no. ‘It’s your decision, Grace,’ he says. ‘You’re the boss here; if you ask me to go now, I will.’

  ‘Well, as your boss, I’d say that would be the most sensible thing you could do.’

  ‘The most sensible thing – you’re right. I can’t argue with that. But is it what you want?’

  ‘Yes; yes it is,’ she says.

  Grace steps away from his grasp and pulls up the top of her dress, fastening each button with care. Still adjusting her clothing, she walks through the hatch towards the side door. She unhooks Frank’s jacket and then stops to pick up the grey fedora hanging next to it, which can only be his. ‘This is new, isn’t it? Very nice – can I see it on you?’

  He doesn’t meet her eye as he shrugs on his jacket and plonks the hat on his head. His expression is sullen when she hands him his bundle of clean clothes.

  ‘Not like that,’ she tells him stepping back into the saloon bar to view him. ‘The angle’s wrong. Here, let me.’ She reaches up only to adjust the fedora. ‘There, that’s better.’ Grace takes a step back with her hands on her hips as she appraises him. He looks every inch like a film star – a real leading man. ‘I’d say that’s pretty much perfect.’

  ‘Right, well then, I’d best be off.’

  She grabs the sleeve of his jacket. ‘Wait a sec, there’s something else you need to take with you.’

  ‘And what would that be?’

  In his ear she says, ‘I’ll come home with you tonight, if you’d like me to.’

  Smiling now, he tries to slide his free hand onto her bottom. She steps well back from his reach. ‘No, Frank, not here, I couldn’t bear it.’

  ‘It’s quite a walk to my digs and, I have to warn you, it’s not exactly the Ritz.’

  ‘But you do have a bed?’

  He nods. ‘Only a single.’

  ‘Well then, we’ll just have to squeeze up, won’t we? At least we’ll be well away from this place.’

  He gives her a crocked smile. ‘You’ll have to sneak in dead quiet like, so we don’t wake up my landlady or her hawk-eyed son. And I suppose you’ll have to slip out early an’ all.’

  ‘Well now, I’m game for it, if you are.’ Despite the bravado of her words, she thinks about how they’ll have to pass by the houses of people who know her. To be on the safe side, Frank ought to walk a few yards behind. ‘Maybe I should disguise myself – hang on a minute.’

  Grace goes out the back to find a headscarf. Choosing one she’s seldom worn she wraps it around her hair and ties it in a knot at the front like some of the factory girls do. In the mirror she could almost be anyone.

  ‘So, what do you reckon?’ she asks, turning this way and that in front of him. ‘With any luck they’ll think I’m some floosy you’ve picked up for the night.’ Saying such a thing excites her.

  Frank’s all smiles now. She grabs a small bottle of Martell and slips it into his pocket. ‘Thought we might share a nightcap,’ she says – a line from her favourite film. Though it’s hardly champagne, it’ll do.

>   Chapter Fourteen

  Monday 23rd June

  So hot, her flesh is running with sweat. Frank’s naked body is pressed against hers. Outside the birds are already singing. When Grace moves away an inch or two, he nudges up and his heavy arm comes to rest on her shoulder. She can hear someone through in the next room snoring away.

  In trying to disentangle herself, she practically falls out of the narrow bed. God, what madness had possessed her last night? Her wristwatch tells her it’s ten to five. She guesses it’ll be a good forty-minute walk back to the Eight Bells. She can’t go home like this, not with the smell of sex all over her the way it must surely be. Looking around she spots a small Belfast sink in the corner; if she can find a flannel, she can at least clean herself up a bit.

  Light is stealing into the room and she’s appalled by the state of her surroundings; the brown and peeling walls and that threadbare oilcloth on the floor. Last night she’d draped her headscarf over the standard lamp, hadn’t stopped to notice the drabness of his bedsit. Now her eyes range over the ill-fitting curtains he’d yanked across the window; not a single mat to put your feet on and nowhere else to sit but the bed. It’s clear Frank does his best with what he’s got, keeps it tidy in here, like an ex-military man might, but everything’s so utterly depressing whichever direction she looks in. The whole place makes her shudder.

  She daren’t run the hot water – those Baby Burcos make a lot of noise. It’ll have to be the cold tap then. At least there’s some Palmolive balanced on the edge of the sink to take the smell of him away.

  The mismatched cups they’d drunk their brandy from are still there on the small table. ‘Cheers,’ they’d said as they’d clinked them together – laughed too much over nothing. Frank seemed as nervous as she was until the alcohol warmed her stomach and blunted her conscience. She can see now he’d hardly touched his. The bottle is still there – more than half full.

  Her mouth is parched and there’s a growing ache behind her eyes. Last night she’d used the lavvy on the half-landing but she can’t use it again until she’s fully dressed.

  She hears the bedsprings go. Next thing, he’s standing behind her pressing himself into her bare flesh. ‘I must say, Grace, that were quite a night,’ he whispers into her ear. His hands come round to cup her breasts like he has every right to keep touching them. ‘How’re you feeling?’

  ‘It’s hard to say,’ she tells him, keeping her own voice low. Recalling their lovemaking, she’s almost tempted to respond. ‘I need to get goin’,’ she says stepping well away, busying herself with filling the washing up bowl with water. ‘Do you have a flannel I can use?’

  He finds one in a drawer along with a small, raggedy looking towel. ‘Don’t worry, they’re clean enough,’ he tells her.

  Grace would like some privacy to wash but she knows that would be impossible and a bit ridiculous given all the things they did together last night. It’s a shock to feel the cold flannel on her skin. She puts more soap on before she runs it over her face then her neck and shoulders, swilling it in the bowl and rubbing more soap on it before she does her underarms. With care, she washes between her legs, the tenderness she finds there shocks her with the memory of what they’d got up to.

  ‘Here, let me help,’ Frank says, taking the cloth away from her before she can protest. He swills it in the water and then runs it over her shoulders and on down her back and it feels so good. After he’s rinsed it again, he runs it across her backside in a circular movement. When the wet cloth delves in between her arse cheeks she finds herself becoming aroused all over again.

  ‘That’s enough now,’ she tells him. ‘I need to get dressed; get out of here before it’s too late.’

  Her clothes are scattered around the room and they both set about retrieving them. ‘I’ll come with you part of the way,’ he says, handing over her brassier. He delves under the bed. ‘I suppose you’ll be needing these again, Mrs Stevenson.’ Her knickers are right there in the palm of his hand.

  As she dresses, Frank begins to wash himself. He shows no self-consciousness even when he’s rinsing around his private parts. Here and there on his torso she can see paler lines that look like the threads of old scars. Now she can see him more clearly, she notices how his chest is peppered with a variety of marks. Aside from these imperfections, she has to admit, his body is a thing of beauty – if you can say that about a man. With not a spare ounce of fat on him; he’s like one of those statues her and Dot used to giggle over. In Frank’s case, you’d have to find a good-sized fig leaf to cover him at the front.

  Despite the risk, now she’s half decent, she relieves herself in the lavatory on the landing; it’s not like she could have held it in all the way back.

  Frank’s standing guard when she emerges. ‘The coast’s clear,’ he tells her, leading the way. ‘Go carefully down the last few steps, they creak like anything. I reckon the old dear must have loosened them on purpose.’ This time she ties her headscarf tight at the neck in the regular way.

  Once they’re clear of his boarding house, she begins to relax a bit. A milkie gives them a knowing grin and tips his cap with a ‘morning’ as they walk by. Just gone five o’clock and the streets are coming to life all over again. A large group of men dressed like stevedores walk on past them without a second look.

  Though the sun’s still low in the sky, the air’s already warm; looks like it’s going to be another hot one. They must be near to the river; she can smell the rotting debris left high and dry by the outgoing tide. Frank tries to hold her hand, but she won’t let him.

  The docks up ahead are a hive of activity. Everywhere men are shouting instructions or warnings as they load or unload cargo of all sorts of shapes and sizes. Their route takes them into a narrow alleyway. Once they’re inside its high walls, Frank grabs her shoulders and pulls her to him. ‘Give us a kiss, Grace,’ he says.

  ‘Not likely.’ She pushes him away. ‘Someone might see us.’

  ‘Right.’ He peers down at her. ‘I see.’ After that he walks some way ahead, hardly looking back over his shoulder. The streets are becoming more familiar; she knows where she is now. ‘I can manage on my own from here,’ she tells him. ‘Thanks for seeing me this far.’

  He pulls her into the locked and barred entrance to a tannery, ‘I can only speak for meself, but I just want to tell you something.’ He clears his throat. ‘I can’t think how to put it exactly without it sounding crude.’

  She can’t help but smile. ‘Then I’ll try not to be too shocked.’

  ‘For me, last night weren’t just about the sex – though I’m not saying there were owt wrong with that – far from it, I mean…’

  ‘You certainly know how to sweet talk a girl, Mr Danby.’

  ‘Just hear me out, will ya?’ He looks into her eyes. ‘It meant something to me. And I think, though I can’t be certain, that it meant something special to you an’ all.’ He looks down at his hands. ‘Any road, I thought that you might think I was just taking advantage of you when you were vulnerable but the truth is you made me feel – you make me feel – like I haven’t felt in a long while.’

  ‘I see,’ she says.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that film you told me about – how the woman kept trying to get things right the second time around. It seems to me, if there’s owt to be learnt from the past, it’s that you should tell people how you feel about ’em while you have the chance. So, I thought, if I didn’t say anything to you this morning, I might come to regret it later.’

  She looks into the depths of his morning-blue eyes. ‘I think you’d better kiss me goodbye,’ she says.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Eight Bells is in sight. Alone now, Grace takes a deep breath and steadies herself as she approaches her home. She passes only a handful of people and no one she especially recognises. Nevertheless, as she knows well enough, when you’re the landlady of a busy pub, lots of people know who you are even if you don’t know them.

  H
er wristwatch tells her it’s just gone a quarter to six. Of course she’s aware of how suspicious it must look her coming home at this hour; but then again, she could have woken up early and gone for a bit of a stroll around in the cool of the morning. People sometimes do such things.

  Trying to look for all the world like she hasn’t got a thing to hide, Grace lets herself in through the side door. It’s such a relief when she shuts it behind her. So far, so good.

  In the narrow passageway, she turns on the lights, takes her headscarf off and then adjusts her hair in the mirror. Checking her reflection, she can see nothing about her face that’s especially different from any other day – that’s if she doesn’t look herself in the eyes.

  Thankfully, there’s no sign of Dennis downstairs. As she puts on the kettle, she rehearses her story again. She’ll keep it simple – slept badly due to the heat, went outside for a stroll round. Now she’s stretched her legs, she feels better for it. If he should come down the stairs right this minute, she’ll say exactly that, and then mention that she’s planning to take a bath before trying to catch up on a few more hours’ sleep.

  To her relief, all is quiet up there. She makes Dennis a cup of tea – strong the way he likes it – and takes it upstairs.

  He’s still lying there in the dark snoring away. When she puts the cup down on the bedside table, it feels like she’s establishing an alibi. Dennis turns over in the bed, like he senses her presence. She holds her breath and waits.

  After a bit of snuffling, he settles down, breathing with his mouth open in the same untroubled rhythm as before. With as little noise as possible, she pulls out a drawer to get out some clean undies and stockings. Her skirt and blouse are still on the back of the chair.

  Downstairs in the kitchen, she sips at her tea while the bath water’s running. The warmth of the cup seems to steady her nerves.

  She locks the bathroom door before undressing. The water feels so good on her skin. Soaping herself all over, she’s relieved to be cleaner on the outside at least. She shuts her eyes and tries to pretend she’s floating on her back in a sun-warmed sea.