Yes? Well. I do. People see you and me together. Then they see you selling clothes, to those old shops. Yes, I know youll go off one of these days, but Im living here. So to please me you can just take a bus ride and sell them somewhere else.
When I had sold them, she enquired: And how much did you get? Enough for cigarettes for a couple of weeks? Oh, I know, dont tell me. And so youve gone and lowered yourself in those dirty old shops, just for that. Its all right for film stars and models, it stands to reason, everyone knows they can wear a thing once, but not for people like us. Youd do better to keep them and look at them sometimes and remember the good times you had than sell them for cigarette money.
You can talk about cigarettes, going without food to smoke.
And whos talking, Id like to know?
Both of us suffered over cigarettes. I came from a country where they were cheap. I had always smoked a lot. Now I was cut down to half my usual allowance. Rose and I made complicated rules for ourselves, to keep within limits. We tried to smoke as few as possible in the day, to leave plenty for our long gossip sessions at nights. But our plans were always being upset by Flo. There was more rancour created in that house over cigarettes than over anything else. Rose might grumble a little if Flo had forgotten to ask her to supper on an evening when she felt like eating. She would say: All very well for her, licking and tasting away all day over her stove, but shrug it off. For food was something one could do without. But if Flo borrowed a cigarette and forgot to pay it back, Rose would sulk. And, of course, with Flo it was never a question of one cigarette. She would cadge from me, from Rose, from Miss Powell, beg from the milkman or the gas-man. Ill give it to you next time you come, she would say, anxiously grabbing at the offered cigarette.
She could afford to buy as many as she liked. But she never bought enough. Five minutes after she returned from a shopping trip she would come up to Roses room, and say: Give your Flo a fag, dear.
But youve just gone out shopping.
But I forgot.
Ive got four left for the evening.
Ill pay you back tomorrow.
What you mean is. Ive got to do without this evening.
Im dying for a smoke.
You owe me nine cigarettes as it is.
At which Flo hastily thrust into Roses hands her sweet coupons for the week.
I dont like sweets, you know that, said Rose, handing them back. Why dont you ask Dan hell be in in five minutes.
Oh, but he gets so cross with me, he gets so he wont talk to me, if I ask. I owe him so many already.
Flo. What you mean is, Ive got to go without, then?
Look, darling! Look, sweetheart, heres one and six. Thats nine cigarettes. I had it in my pocket all ready. You thought Id forgotten. Well, I dont forget like that. Here, take the money.
I dont want the money. Im not going to get dressed and go out again just because you get more fun out of cadging than out of buying them, straight and sensible.
Oh, my God, youre cross with me, darling, youre cross with your Flo. A few seconds later, a knock on my door.
Darling, sweetheart, give your Flo a cigarette.
I used to give her cigarettes. That is, I used to at the beginning. But I could not withstand Roses fury. She would get beside herself with rage when Flo had helped herself, and crept out, victorious, flushed with guilt, trying to get past Roses door without being heard.
Rose came into me. You mean, you gave her some?
Its only some cigarettes.
What do you mean, only? She can afford to smoke eighty a day if she wants.
Dont be so angry. Rose.
I am angry. You make me sick. I hate to see somebody getting something for nothing. And you let her get away with it. Did you know, she even borrows from that dirty Miss Powell upstairs?
The cigarettes are clean enough.
If you think thats a joke dont you let me catch you handing out free smokes to Flo again. Whats right is right. She began to smile, her anger all gone. Do you know what?
What?
I paid Dickie out again today. I bought my cigarettes from the kiosk and not form him.
All through this long period of estrangement. Rose had been going into the shop, as always, to get her ten from Dickie. He would see her come in; lift his eyebrows, hum a tune, to show indifference, and lay her favourite brand on the counter. She would lay the money beside the packet, wait for the change, and go out, like a stranger.
Do you know what? Dickie made me laugh today I paid for my cigarettes with a pound note today. Of course I had change, but I pretended not to. And I knew he wouldnt because it was first thing Monday, And were not speaking, see? So he couldnt say, he didnt have change in the till. And I was standing there, waiting. So he took the change out of his pocket, and gave it to me. But I just took it all for granted, and sailed away, not even saying thanks.
Do you know what? Dickie made me laugh today I paid for my cigarettes with a pound note today. Of course I had change, but I pretended not to. And I knew he wouldnt because it was first thing Monday, And were not speaking, see? So he couldnt say, he didnt have change in the till. And I was standing there, waiting. So he took the change out of his pocket, and gave it to me. But I just took it all for granted, and sailed away, not even saying thanks.
On days when she felt black-hearted, she waited until Dickies counter was clear of people, and he was looking out, to make an entrance into the kiosk next door. It was run by a good-looking youth who wanted to take Rose out. She would make a point of staying in there talking and flirting for as long as possible. At evening she would say: I paid Dickie out today. But I think it hurts me more than it hurts him. Because I look forward to getting my fags from him. And Im so soft, I dont like to think hes hurt, if he thinks I like Jim. Jims the one at the kiosk, see? Well. I dont like to hurt him. And so when he sent his shirts and socks into my shop for me to do for him. I just slipped in a new pair of socks I knew hed like.
Im damned if Id wash and iron for a man whos stood me up.
The point is. I dont care about nobody else, even if I try, like when I go to the Palais, But the way I think is, hell feel different when were married and he settles down.
But, meanwhile, hes taking out someone else?
At this her face hardened: she had the look of a deaf person, listening to his own thoughts, Hell be different when were married, she repeated, with anxiety.
Meanwhile, she was getting more and more depressed. Night after night, when she had had her bath, and was ready for bed, she would knock on my door and say: Ive got the ump. Ive got to be with someone. And she sat, without waiting for me to speak.
I was depressed, too, because I was not writing. We werent good for each other, Flo might come in at midnight, to find out what the citizens of her kingdom were up to, and find us sitting on either side of the fire, smoking and silent. God preseve us, she would say. The Lord help me. Look at you both. Sorry for yourselves, thats what. Rose would raise her eyes, and sigh, without words.
Yes, Flo said, examining her, good-natured and disapproving, you think I dont know. But I do know. What you want. Rose, is a man in your bed.
Maybe, maybe not, commented Rose, blowing out fancy smoke patterns and watching them dissolve.
Maybe not, she says, said Flo to me. Well, Im right, arent I, darling? If you was a friend of Roses youd tell her right. You cant keep a man by playing hiding-pussy the way she does.
Rose continued to puff out smoke. We have different ideas, she said. It takes all sorts.
Your ideasd be ever so much more better if you treated Dickie right.
Huh Dickie! said Rose, so that the message might be communicated to Dickie.
Flo said shrewdly: You think youre going to starve him into kissing your hand. Kiss your arse more likely.
Rose sighed again, and shut her eyes.
Well, arent I right, dear? to me. And that goes for you too if you dont mind me saying it. A womans got no heart for sobbing and sighing when shes got a man in her bed.
Were not in the mood for men, said Rose. Theyre more trouble than theyre worth, and thats the truth.
Trouble! said Flo. Ah, my Lord, and I know it. But I know if you two was tucked up nice and close with a man you fancied youd not be sitting here all hours, looking like deaths funeral.
Were talking, said Rose. Were talking serious.
Dont you fancy a little bit of supper. Rose?
Im not in the mood for doing your washing-up, said Rose, ungraciously, breaking all the rules of the house.
My God, who said anything about washing-up?
I am.
Youre not cross with your Flo?
I dont feel like talking dirty, thats all.
Dirty, she says?
You know what I mean.
Oh, my God! Well, I hope you will come to your senses and then youll be more pleasure to your friends. Give me a cigarette, darling.
No.
Give your Flo a cigarette?
I gave her one.
Thats right, she said, satisfied. And you come down on Sunday for dinner, you two, itll do you good.
She went, genuinely concerned for us both.
She means well, Rose would say. The thing is, now shes got her man all safe, shes not serious. Manys the good times she and I had together, just like you and me now, before Dan came along. They just took one look and began to quarrel. Well, you can always tell by that, cant you? Look at my mother and my stepfather. Fight, fight, fight. And in between they were warming up the bed.
Well, you must be depressed if youre on to your stepfather again.
You can say that. I think of him often. Now I tell you what. You make us both a nice cup of tea, I could do with one, and then I wont have to go down and listen to all that sex, it just gets me mad for nothing.
When I had made the tea, she would watch me pouring, and say: And now the sugar.
But I keep telling you, I hate sugar in my tea.
Yes? Its no good trying to tell you anything, sugar is food, see? And it costs nothing to speak of it. I dont like it either, but its food. I learned that from my mother. Shed pile the sugar into my tea and say: Thatll keep you warm, even though the moneys short this week. Because that old so-and-so he was always out of work. And my mother, shed go out charring, seven days in the week, to earn the money, but it was never enough, not for my lord, her husband.
Rose at night, was so different from how she was in the day that I never tired of watching her. As she sat, dark hair loose around her face, eyes dark and brooding, her face soft, fluid and shapeless in her loose white dressing-gown, she was a dozen women. With each turn of her head, each movement of her hands, she changed, and races and peoples flowed through her. When she spoke of her mother, who had spent her life cleaning other peoples houses, she unconsciously smoothed down an imaginary apron; or she would fold her hands in a gesture of willing service, and she looked twenty years older she was a working woman, with a tired body and ironic eyes. Then she would talk of Flo; and her whole pose changed, and became sceptical and knowing: Flo represented something she must fight, and so she was combative and watchful. Or she would speak of her mothers parents, who had lived in the country, and whom she had visited as a child, before they died. At such times she assumed a sturdy and vigorous pose, placing work-thickened hands on her hips, and it seemed as if she might tie on a bonnet and step out into the country past which lay such a short time behind her, My Gran, she would say. she lived to be ninety, and I can remember her to this day, standing on a whacking great ladder as tall as a tree to pick cherries, and she was eighty then if she was a day. Well, none of us are going to live to be ninety. I can tell you that. The sorrow of the cityll kill us off before her time.