A Terrible Kindness(60)

He drops two spoons of tea into the dark earthy pot. He flicks on the radio and pulls the toast out; perfectly brown and crisp each side. His bare feet are warm and comfortable. Tony Bennett is singing ‘I Left My Heart in San Francisco’ and the margarine is melting nicely on his toast. He sips the tea and wipes the crumbs from the counter before taking a bite of the bread. Leaning against the worktop, he hums, then sings softly, blending his voice with Tony’s, so used to not singing it feels transgressive. He sings louder, and it’s good to feel the vibration in his chest and throat.

He turns the radio up and takes his plate to go into the dining room.

Gloria stands in the hall in her coat, cheeks red from outside, delight all over her lovely face. ‘My God, William!’

‘Sorry!’ he says. ‘I didn’t hear you come in! I wouldn’t have made such a racket if I’d known I wasn’t on my own.’

‘Racket?’ she says quietly. ‘It was bloody beautiful!’

He smiles at the floor. She comes closer and touches his hand, seeking eye contact by dipping her face below his.

‘Talk about hiding your light under a bleeding bushel.’ She puts her bag on the floor, unbuttons her coat and swirls it off her shoulders, talking all the way down the hall to the coat hooks. ‘Why on earth aren’t you in a choir or something?’

He holds his half-eaten piece of toast which is now limp, over-soaked with marmalade. ‘I was once,’ he says. Gloria reappears and sits herself on the counter. ‘I was a chorister for four years, in Cambridge.’ He quickly drops his toast in the bin and rinses his plate under the running tap. ‘Tea?’ he says, pointing at the teapot.

Gloria swings her legs, her hands on the edge of the worktop. ‘Thought you’d never ask.’ She’s grinning, looks as if she wants this, to be talking to him, like old times. ‘Why haven’t you ever told me?’

He reaches over her head to the cupboard and takes out a delicate cup. He pours the tea, holding the strainer above its rim, feeling the steam over his face. Eventually he shrugs his shoulders.

‘It’s never come up. Like it never came up that you cut hair.’ He sees her surprise, as if he’s slapped her with no warning.

‘I’ll cut your hair anytime you want, William.’ She’s defensive. ‘I just thought you’d got that covered.’

The silence is too deep, too charged for either of them to pretend that they haven’t entered strange and difficult territory, that everything is normal. The click and push of the front door is followed by a cool swill at William’s ankles. There’s a movement in the hallway, a darkening of the light.

‘I’ll respect that you don’t want to talk about it,’ Gloria says, ‘but whatever it is, you can always talk to me.’

‘What about?’ Ray leans casually against the doorframe.

‘Not for your ears, mister.’ Gloria’s voice is suddenly, dramatically bright and light, and though William knows she’s doing this to protect him, he’s annoyed that Ray has put an end to their conversation.

‘I’ll mind my own business then,’ Ray says, unperturbed by the brush-off. ‘So’ – he grins and rubs his hands together – ‘still on for the dance tonight?’

William remembers a dance being mentioned, but he can’t dance, or compete with Ray’s constant charm offensive, so he said no.

‘You bet,’ Gloria says, picking up the bag she left on the floor. ‘You coming, William?’

‘No, not tonight.’ He turns his back on them to rinse his cup under the tap.

‘Pity,’ she says, ‘got myself a new pair of shoes specially.’





40




It’s nearly two weeks since that unfinished conversation, two weeks since Gloria and Ray went dancing. It’s been raining all day, and there’s a bare tree branch that taps on the dark bedroom window with each gust of wind. Ray’s at the cinema with a cousin who’s in London for two days and Gloria’s downstairs watching telly with her parents. William is at peace. If Gloria and Ray are out together, he can’t settle. He tries to lose himself in his studies and sometimes it works, but when the front door finally opens and they’re home, he realises that the gentle click and grind of the key in the lock is what he’s been waiting for. Then he has to contend with Ray coming to bed, but at least when he’s in their room, he’s not with Gloria.

The branch scratches the window again at the same time as a gentle knock at his door. For a moment, he’s confused.

‘Hello?’

The door opens slowly, shushing across the carpet. ‘All right if I come in?’

‘Of course.’ He tries to look casual, though Gloria has never come into his room before.

She leans on the door she’s quietly closed behind her. The red cable-knit jumper is bulky, leading him to imagine the hidden contours of her upper body.

‘Everything all right?’ Gloria, normally so at ease with herself, is subdued, awkward.

‘Yes, thanks.’

‘I miss our chats.’

‘Me too.’ He makes a long job of putting his pens and ruler in the jam jar on the desk, concentrating on his hands. ‘They’re really piling the work on.’

‘You could take half an hour’s break, couldn’t you?’ She gathers her glossy hair in one hand and coils it round her fingers. ‘Just a quick chat over cocoa, William, I’m not asking for the whole evening.’