Huts60

I stood outside with my collar up against the smirry rain, breathing in the last of the night. The Horse and Barge hiccupped out the last remnant of humanity, but there was still no Gillian Ambrose. There was a bit of a fracas, the echo of name calling, maybe even the start of a fight, just around the corner of the pub. I didn’t check it out, just kept watching every face that came out, as if it was a police line up, in case I missed her.

Sammy Doak strolled out of the pub, as if he was sober, with Maureen Hargreaves blond head, bobbing, just behind him. Maureen pulled her coat up around her, as if she’d just noticed she was outside and strode determinedly forward in that short sighted way, that I knew so well, with her head down. Sammy Doak noticed me first. But he looked quickly away as if he hadn’t. Maureen's half dimple appeared on her cheek and then its twin half moon appeared. She smiled, like she was holding a secret, and there was a glitter in her eyes. Her hand came up, in a wave of recognition. I couldn’t hear what she said to Sammy Doak, but she turned away from him. Maureen tottered towards me. There seemed to be something in her eyes, asking, imploring. One of her high heels caught in the paving. Before she could steady herself Sammy Doak pulled roughly at her arm.

I made a move towards her, just as Gillian Ambrose came out of the pub. I put my arm around Gillian Ambrose. Gillian searched my face, as if she was seeing me for the first time, and put her arm around me. In linking arms we created our own quiet little corner of the world. As if by some tacit agreement we went the long way round, up onto the wind swept main road and along by the bridge. We seemed to waltz away from the lights and the fights and other people’s troubles.

We kissed at the start of the bridge. It was ok. I rubbed myself against her like a stag, marking a tree with its antlers. But I was shaking with more than the cold. I didn’t want to think about going back to Gillan’s place, but I couldn’t think of anything else. We held hands daintily, like an old married couple, as we passed the Old Folk’s Home, in the hospital grounds. I was glad of the rain and the chance to keep my head down.

‘Shssh,’ said Gillian, slowly and exaggeratedly, putting her finger to her lips, when we got to the block of Hospital accommodation.

We kissed again, at the bottom of the stone stairs that marked the entry post of the double doors. I shut my eyes. And it was better than before, but even as I pressed against her I was waiting for somebody to shout out, 'away with you,' that it had all been a terrible mistake, and it would be better if I went home. And part of me was tensed, ready for that, and maybe even hoping that it would happen.

Gillian fumbled with her keys, and her high pitched laugh somehow made it worse, when we got to the top of the stairs outside her room. I’d meant to ask her about those keys. But I wasn’t sure. I could maybe squeak, like one of those toys when they got squeezed. But I’d papier-mâché lips. I couldn’t speak without stuttering my anxieties. I looked nervously about me, expecting James Munn to suddenly appear, like a ghost. I wished I was still drunk enough not to care, not to know what I was doing. Maybe James Munn had his own key and was already inside. Waiting. I wished I was drunk enough to stumble home.

But Gillian finally turned the handle and walked into her room as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The stark hospital lightening showed only a sink, a wooden three drawer bedside cabinet, a desk and a chair, leaving no room for imagination, which was even worse. There was only her and me.

‘I need to pee,’ said Gillian smiling and stroking my cheek absentmindedly, as if I was a child.

I needed to pee as well, but didn’t want to tell her. I didn’t know where to sit on the bed, or the sit at the desk, which would make me look like some kind of super nerd. I took my wet jacket off and hung it over the chair. Then I put it back on again, in case she got the wrong impression. I stood looking through some of her records, some of them were that old they were 78 rpm and had the face of a dog.

‘Want me to put something on?’ said Gillian, swishing into the room, and crowding me out, so that the room seemed too small, like a phone box.

‘No,’ I said, dropping the cover, as if I’d been caught doing something I shouldn’t have.

‘Maybe,’ I said tentatively, ‘have you got Are You Experienced?’

I didn’t actually expect her to have it. But she opened one of the cupboard doors and she has a stack of records that would have sunk Radio Caroline.

I never thought that I’d turn into my dad and say that a record was on too loud. Gillian started kissing me on the back of the neck.

‘I’ve got to go the toilet,’ I said, standing like a tin man.

‘Ok,’ Gillian said, sitting down on the bed and taking a band out of her hair and shaking it lose.

‘What?’ she said, smiling up, as if she already owned me.

I hadn’t moved. ‘Where’s the toilet?’ I said anxiously.

‘Up, the stairs, to your left, you’ll smell it.’ Gillian held her nose and laughed.

I didn’t think it was funny. I just wanted to get out of that room.

I crept up the stairs, sure that I’d bump into James Munn. I found the toilet without any great difficulty. Gillian must have left the door ajar and a light on, as if she was going to come back at any moment. I heard the drip, drip of a tap. But the toilet itself was all clean white ceramic squares and didn’t smell any worse than my room. I growled at myself in the mirror a few times, showing my teeth to give me courage. But I jumped when somebody banged on the door.