Timothy Lea's Complete Confessions. Timothy Lea

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СКАЧАТЬ of thing. But it’s not easy to make new friends when you’re a single woman of my age. I’m not a newcomer and I’m not really a resident either. People seem to be at bit suspicious. If you’re not married it’s difficult to fit in, you know.”

      I get my nod working again.

      “Tell you what,” I say. “Why don’t I help you with the washing up and then take you out for a drink? There must be a nice little pub near here.”

      “That’s very kind of you, dear, but what will the neighbours say? Going out with the lodger on his first night. Tongues will be wagging.”

      “They don’t have to know, do they?”

      “There’s not much that goes on around here they don’t know about. All right, just a quick one. I haven’t been out in the evening for weeks and I think I deserve a little tipple. We’ll take my car.”

      “I didn’t know you had a car.”

      “Oh, it’s very old. One of the first A40s ever made. I keep it in a garage round the corner. I hope it will start. There isn’t anywhere very nice to drink around here and I’d like to get away from the neighbours.”

      By the time we get out it is dark as the inside of a nigger’s nostril and the wind is playing havoc with Mrs. B.’s carefully-tarted-up hair. There is a bit of movement behind the neighbouring curtains and I can believe what she says about them not missing much. You can almost hear the tongues tuning up.

      Getting the car out is a bit of a pantomime because there is no light in the lock-up garage and I have to fumble about with controls that might belong to an electric organ for all I can see. Mrs. B. flaps and fusses and when the bloody engine eventually fires into life you would think I’d built it from toothpicks the way she goes on.

      “Ooh, what talent,” she squeals. “You won’t mind if I ask you to fix a few things at home, will you?”

      “Pleasure,” I say. “Now, which way do we go?”

      We tootle inland for about six miles and this gives me time to get acquainted with the perfume she is wearing. It’s the kind that comes at you like the North Korea Army and I think she laces it with chloroform because I am quite drowsy by the time we get to a small country pub with some water glittering in the background. I nip out smartish so I have the satisfaction of opening her door and watching her skirt ride up as she climbs out. Long as I live, I’ll never tire of watching birds get in and out of cars. It’s the little casual things that turn me on more than five hours of strip-tease.

      “It’s lovely here in the summer time,” she says. “All kinds of boats. Have you ever been on the Broads?”

      I’m a bit slow to answer because most of the time she doesn’t expect you to. Besides, I don’t know what she is on about. I always thought that a ‘broad’ was the American word for a woman and I don’t think she means that.

      “The Broads, dear,” she explains. “They’re lakes connected by rivers. You can sail for hundreds of miles, or take a cabin cruiser, or fish. Surely you’ve heard of them?

      Now that she mentions it, I do remember Dad going on about how he came up here once with a party of his mates when he was a lad. I didn’t take any notice because I reckoned anything he did must be pretty square and wasn’t worth touching with a barge pole.

      “Oh, yes,” I say, “my family came up here once. My father was very impressed. Now, which bar do you recommend?”

      Inside there is a big log fire burning and a few old codgers playing dominoes in the corner. They look at us like they’ve never seen another human being before, but after examining every thread of clothing eventually go back to their game as we settle by the fire.

      “You’d better not offer to do this too often, otherwise you’ll have no money left,” says Mrs. B., raising her glass of whisky gratefully. I agree with her but I don’t say so.

      “It’s my pleasure. The very least I could do after that wonderful meal.”

      Smarmy creep, aren’t I? But it’s only common sense to keep on the best side of your landlady. But how far should I go? If it was anyone else I’d be trying to get my hand up her skirt already; but I have to live with her. If she takes it the wrong way or we get too involved, it could be disastrous. I’d better bide my time till I see how the land lies—or the landlady lies.

      “You’re looking very preoccupied,” she says. “A penny for your thoughts.”

      “I wasn’t thinking about anything really—apart from how lucky I am to be staying with you, of course. No, I think I must be a bit tired. I’m feeling quite drowsy.”

      “Not surprising after your journey. It’s probably the air, too. Very bracing, Norfolk air, but it takes it out of you. I’ll buy you one and then we’d best be getting back. There’s not a lot of time before they close, anyway.”

      I protest but she is very persistent and in the end she slips me 50p and we have another one.

      “Have you got any children?” I ask in one of our quiet moments—these occur when she stops talking to get her breath back.

      “Yes. One. She’s at Teacher Training College at the moment. She’ll be home at Christmas. She’s a lovely girl, though I say so myself. You’ve got her bedroom.”

      “I hope that’s not going to inconvenience you when she comes home?”

      “No, she can move in with me. It won’t hurt her for a couple of weeks.”

      “Is that all the holiday she gets?”

      “No, but she has lots of friends and she is always going to stay with them. They come here in the summer, though it’s a crush putting them all up.”

      I look forward to seeing Miss Bendon and the thought preoccupies me on the way back.

      To my surprise Mrs. B. does not get out before we approach the garage but sits there while I open up and edge forward into the tight little nest of darkness. I switch off the engine and the silence is deafening.

      “Well,” she says wistfully, “that was very nice.” I can feel her turning her face towards me and I don’t need a handbook to tell me what I am supposed to do next.

      “Yes. Very snug little place, that,” I gulp. I’m tempted My God, I’m tempted, but I try to remember my resolution of earlier in the evening. Mrs. B. sighs and puts her hand on the door handle.

      “Ah well, I suppose we’d better go home before someone wonders what we’re doing in here.”

      “Yes.” I try a light laugh and hop out gratefully. Sitting beside Mrs. B.’s warm, perfume-doused body and listening to the noise her stockings make as they rub together is more than a young boy should be expected to stand.

      We walk home in silence and Mrs. B. lets me in. and pauses at the foot of the stairs.

      “Would you like Ovaltine or something?”

      “No, thanks. I think I’ll turn in. I’m feeling really sleepy now.”

      Mrs. B. puts her hand on my СКАЧАТЬ