To Indigo by Tanith Lee (general ebook reader TXT) 📗

“Yes.”

She faced front. After a minute she opened her bag and took out a packet of cigarettes. She lit one then turned to me. “Sorry, do you smoke?”

“Not – yes.”

“Like one?”

I didn’t often smoke, it had never got a hold on me, try to let it as I had. And I didn’t want one now, I felt saddled enough by booze. But I said, “Thank you.”

She let me choose the cigarette, then let me light it from hers. This was very thrilling, strange, disturbing. I could smell her powder and scent. She said, “Don’t you speak nicely.”

“Er…”

“I suppose everybody bloody saw all that in there.”

I said nothing.

She said, “He’s an absolute bastard. Don’t know why I put up with him so long. And now he’s seen someone he likes more than me. Some twenty-one-year-old bloody tart no doubt, miniskirt up her arse and thinks he’s got some money. Which he hasn’t, I could tell her. Worse than my Graham,” she added. She had turned again and looked on out into the damp smoke of the night. Across the road cars, the odd last bus, sparkled by; vehicles were scarce now because it was well after eleven, and on such roads, in those days, much of the traffic had eased by then.

She had a face that made me look. It wasn’t pretty particularly, not beautiful or even very original. But it was a real face, flesh and blood, and with make-up tastefully applied, and she had such a nice smell. And her mouth was… I kept looking at her mouth.

Finally she said in a brisk sensible tone, “This damned bus isn’t coming, is it? Cancelled it, the buggers.” I had never, then, heard a woman of Maureen’s age, (which was actually about thirty-three) swear such a lot. It had a kind of daring to it, a finesse. She said, “D’you fancy some fish and chips? There’s a place down College Road. Just make it. Come on, you look like you could do with a good meal.”

I scrambled up and went after her, frantically going over in my mind how much money I had left in my brand new wallet. Her high heels clipped along the pavement, and when I got level, she reached across with a weightless gesture and took my arm, as though we had been doing this for months. Only then was I quite sure that I, though so short and she in her heels, was still a good four inches the taller. And that was the moment I felt the rush of desire, the enchantment of relief.

There were a few students from the art college outside the chippy, eating. They were just closing up. But when the man saw Maureen he grinned and said, “Got a bit of rock left, darling. Will that do?”

“What about my friend here?” she said. “He’s starved.”

“I can see he is. What would you like, sir?”

I said, stammering slightly, “Just chips are fine.”

“Oh go on, have a bit of fish, Charlie,” said she, inventing a name for me. She leaned across then and kissed me on the cheek, taking my breath away, and in that second she whispered, “I’ll pay, darling. Go on. Spoil yourself.”

If I had been sober I’d have lighted the shop with my embarrassed blush. But I wasn’t sober, although my head had cleared out on the street. I felt ready for much, of which fish was only a minor challenge.

On my cheekbone, her kiss seemed to have been marked in hot and cold.

She and I both had rock salmon, huss as it’s now identified, and bags of chips, all this in newspaper, as then it was, thickly dusted with salt and sloshed with vinegar.

Outside, as we ambled along eating, she said, “Didn’t mind me calling you Charlie, did you?”

“No. But my name’s Roy.”

“Hello, Roy. I’m Maureen. Pleased to meet you.”

“Thank you for the fish.”

“Don’t mention it. Well, I expect we’d better walk. If we hadn’t missed the blasted bus, we have now. I cut down by the cemetery. Know the one?”

“Yes.”

“Not that that’s my place of residence. I leave that to the vampires. I’ve got a flat over the Co-op.”

Knowing approximately where she meant I knew this overshot my own turn-off by about a mile. It didn’t trouble me.

“I’ll see you home,” I said.

“What a gallant feller you are.”

It was only when we reached the cemetery, running grey, dim, silent and ominous by the road, that doubt began to creep in on me. What would she expect? Despite all the fantasies and those unencouraging books – did I know – understand – enough to be capable?

I needn’t have worried.

We reached the side street and the glass-fronted shops, bleak and dark, and an alley and a stone stair that led up to the flats, an L-shaped block two storeys high.

“It’s been nice meeting you, Roy.”

Was she putting me off?

In terror I leant forward and went to kiss her mouth. And she, adept as a dancer, met me with a peerless grace. We leaned there quite some while, kissing in the shadow of the alley. Then she murmured, “D’you want to come up for a coffee?”

Naturally I did want to. Up we went.

About ten minutes later we were through the bedroom door.

“Where shall we go?” he asked.

It reminded me of a politely eager child, not too interested, but rather interested. There might, on this boring grown-up excursion, be inclusions of toys and other treats.

I stood and – less confronted – then waited before him. I didn’t have any idea what I should do. This in a man of nearly fifty-one is perhaps reprehensible, or contemptible.

Eventually I said, “I think you’ve made a mistake, Mr Traskul.”

“Do you?” He sounded surprised, innocent.

“I don’t have a piano,” I said.

“No,” he replied instantly with his smile, “but you do have a new dustbin.”

Beyond the Crescent, traffic whooshed. It would be better to get to the high street. People were more involved with each other round here, not like the milling herds