Read Online A Kind of Loving by Stan Barstow - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stan Barstow
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sudden how much he loves the sweet young bint and singing her a song to tell her so. Every so often you get one that's a cut above all this, but this one we're watching now isn't one of them. Not that I care, mind. I could watch Rin-tin-tin tonight because what I'm interested in isn't up on the screen, it's right here beside me. She's so near I'm dizzy with it, and I'm sneaking little looks at her all the time and wondering if she's really all eyes and ears for the picture like she seems, and how soon I can put my arm round her.
Now there's a few schools of thought about how you should carry on on a first date. Some say you shouldn't put a finger out of. place, and patience pays. At the other end of the line there's the caveman school. I reckon their methods only apply when you're out with a certain kind of bint who knows why you've asked her and comes expecting it. Then there's the middle-of-the- road boys who reckon you should at least show you know the difference between boys and girls and that you're interested in it. It depends what you're after, I always think. There's no doubt what the bloke on the row's after, for instance; and from the way the bint's holding him down it looks like he'll get it. But that's not the way I feel about Ingrid. I only want her to like me and let me be good to her. I want to be kind and gentle to her so bad it gushes up in me like a fountain whenever I think about her. And now, with her here, so close, in the dark ...
Well the way it happens is that the lights go up in the interval and the ice-cream comes round. I ask her if she wants some and she says no, so I don't bother myself either. I put my elbow up on the back of the seat while I'm talking to her and when the lights go down again all I have to do is drop my hand and it's where I want it to be. She's very cooperative, because as soon as she feels it on her shoulder she comes over and tucks herself away under my armpit and her hair's in my face and I've got this lovely smell of a high-class chemist's shop all round me. The next thing we know we're kissing for the very first time and it's marvellous.
There's quite a cold wind blowing when we come out of the pictures. We walk along the main road for a bit then turn off up the hill to where Ingrid lives. Neither of us says much. I want to say something that will fix what's happened in the pictures; only out here in the cold it's as though we've left it behind in the warmth and the dark and we might never find it again.
'I'm glad we came out together,' I say.
'You're not disappointed, then?' she says, and I feel like gaping at her. Disappointed!
'P'haps you'd like to try it again?' I say. 'What about the week-end?'
'If you like.'
And what if I don't like? Does it matter to her either way? What's a kiss on the back row of the pictures after all? It doesn't mean we've signed an agreement or something.
'No need to if you don't want,' I say, and I'm horrified at the way I'm inviting her to turn me down.
'I'd like to,' she says.
Well, that's okay, then. We stop at the end of their avenue. It's certainly a cold wind. I shove my hands down into my pockets and hunch my shoulders up. It's going, all that in the pictures. I can feel it slipping away. For all I know it might have gone for good ... If I could kiss her, though, maybe I'd catch a little bit of it to carry till next time. But here in the open we're like strangers again. I couldn't do it easy and natural the way it was in the pictures. It'd be like making a pass out here.
'Come on,' I say, 'I'll walk you to the gate.'
'You've no need to, y'know.'
'I want to.'
'Oh, all right, then.'
We walk up this curving avenue, not touching, a foot apart, till she stops at a gate.
'Is this it?'
'This is it.'
I look up at this little modern semi standing up above the road with the garden tumbling down to the fence. Two thousand five-hundred at today's prices, I reckon. Neat, though, and worth painting because it would look smart when
Now there's a few schools of thought about how you should carry on on a first date. Some say you shouldn't put a finger out of. place, and patience pays. At the other end of the line there's the caveman school. I reckon their methods only apply when you're out with a certain kind of bint who knows why you've asked her and comes expecting it. Then there's the middle-of-the- road boys who reckon you should at least show you know the difference between boys and girls and that you're interested in it. It depends what you're after, I always think. There's no doubt what the bloke on the row's after, for instance; and from the way the bint's holding him down it looks like he'll get it. But that's not the way I feel about Ingrid. I only want her to like me and let me be good to her. I want to be kind and gentle to her so bad it gushes up in me like a fountain whenever I think about her. And now, with her here, so close, in the dark ...
Well the way it happens is that the lights go up in the interval and the ice-cream comes round. I ask her if she wants some and she says no, so I don't bother myself either. I put my elbow up on the back of the seat while I'm talking to her and when the lights go down again all I have to do is drop my hand and it's where I want it to be. She's very cooperative, because as soon as she feels it on her shoulder she comes over and tucks herself away under my armpit and her hair's in my face and I've got this lovely smell of a high-class chemist's shop all round me. The next thing we know we're kissing for the very first time and it's marvellous.
There's quite a cold wind blowing when we come out of the pictures. We walk along the main road for a bit then turn off up the hill to where Ingrid lives. Neither of us says much. I want to say something that will fix what's happened in the pictures; only out here in the cold it's as though we've left it behind in the warmth and the dark and we might never find it again.
'I'm glad we came out together,' I say.
'You're not disappointed, then?' she says, and I feel like gaping at her. Disappointed!
'P'haps you'd like to try it again?' I say. 'What about the week-end?'
'If you like.'
And what if I don't like? Does it matter to her either way? What's a kiss on the back row of the pictures after all? It doesn't mean we've signed an agreement or something.
'No need to if you don't want,' I say, and I'm horrified at the way I'm inviting her to turn me down.
'I'd like to,' she says.
Well, that's okay, then. We stop at the end of their avenue. It's certainly a cold wind. I shove my hands down into my pockets and hunch my shoulders up. It's going, all that in the pictures. I can feel it slipping away. For all I know it might have gone for good ... If I could kiss her, though, maybe I'd catch a little bit of it to carry till next time. But here in the open we're like strangers again. I couldn't do it easy and natural the way it was in the pictures. It'd be like making a pass out here.
'Come on,' I say, 'I'll walk you to the gate.'
'You've no need to, y'know.'
'I want to.'
'Oh, all right, then.'
We walk up this curving avenue, not touching, a foot apart, till she stops at a gate.
'Is this it?'
'This is it.'
I look up at this little modern semi standing up above the road with the garden tumbling down to the fence. Two thousand five-hundred at today's prices, I reckon. Neat, though, and worth painting because it would look smart when
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