mean all right. Actor, eh?
- Yes, Pete said, they’re a funny lot. It’s a shame but there it is. But we’re sure to bump into each other. Both working around here, like.
- I should hope so! slammed Derek, his face singing, elbow- gripping. We must have a drink after all these years.
- Without a doubt.
- Well, look here, Peter, vaulted Derek, his face chanting, back-slapping, why don’t you give me a ring? We can meet one night after work. Wait a minute, I’ll write it down. I still see Robin and Bill, you know? Ever see any of the old crowd? Oh yes, Gilbert. Here you are. Well, look, give me a ring, will you? And I’ll ring up Robin and Bill, and we can all have a jolly good yarn.
- How’s Robin these days?
- Blooming, old boy. Not married yet. You married yet? sharped Derek, his face sprouting.
- Ha-ha, said Pete. Oh, that’s it, is it? Good. I’ll do that then. Must toddle now. You know these actors.
- Grand luck meeting you! chucked Derek, his face ceasing. Don’t forget.
Pete turned, waved, and crossed the road.
Sweating all over. Someone arranged that. Must keep my eyes open. Wouldn’t have seen me on the other side. Shady. Oh yes he would. They all do. Should wear a hat. Grow a moustache. Get a wheelchair. False nose can work wonders. That was a close one. Where’s that piece of paper. Uh. Down the drain.
Between hoots and carshins Pete crossed the road. Under planes of corrugated iron he saw bricks and pans arranged and raised by figures in heat. He turned into a sidestreet.
Down here. River. Yes. Cooler the nearer you sniff. Hum still though. Hum and crackle. London burning. Look. Sandwich girls. Legshow for a city gent. Wall perchers. Waiting for a catch. Birds of prey. What’s it like to be a woman, Maisie? I wouldn’t know. Nothing to get in your way. No hang and. no jut. Smooth and wet. Fingers in the paper. Tissuepaper for all purposes. Lipstick and cucumber. Eyes. No I’m not coming your way. And never’s the word. Some of them like it sweaty. Animal labour. Putrefied mechanics. Barebacked with a squelch. In God’s image. Costs nothing. Not good enough. Sluttery to neat excellence opposed. Sweat and spit and nothing to show. The act of mercy. Eachway bet. Money or your life. Something for nothing. The general levelling. Not like that. Not like that.
There’s a boat. One for me. That’s a good boat. Boats. Midgets. Take a butcher’s at that sun. Bloodthirsty. Sails. Midgets. Drivelling midgets. Sun is steel too. Quite steel. IfI were steel. All problems solved. Ready for action. Sleep.
Pete walked into the office and closed the door behind him.
- Ah, said the deskgirl, Mr Lynd wants to see you, Mr Cox.
- Me?
- Who else?
Fair gurgling heads dipped.
- Now?
The girl nodded and tilted her head. Pete marched across to the far door and knocked.
- Come in.
Pete entered.
- Ah.
- I heard you wanted to see me, Mr Lynd.
- Ah yes, I did, said Mr Lynd, palming the lid of a cigarbox. Do come in, will you? Close the door. That’s right. Now. Yes. Do sit down, Mr Cox.
- Thank you.
Pete sat down.
- Well now, Mr Cox.
Mr Lynd tapped the desktop.
- Will you smoke? he advanced, his hand straying about the desk.
- No thank you, Mr Lynd.
- Well now, Mr Cox, said Mr Lynd, how are you getting on?
- Oh, said Pete, not so bad you know, Mr Lynd.
Clasping the fingers of both hands and sniffing discreetly, Mr Lynd, his mouth closed, smiled.
- Good, he smiled. And how are you getting on with your work?
- Well, said Pete, I don’t think I can supply an answer to that, Mr Lynd. The answer, I should say, would depend upon whether you were finding it satisfactory.
Swivelling on his seat, Mr Lynd glanced at his reflection in the dark glass cabinet.
- Not quite what I meant, he said. But I can tell you, Mr Cox, that your work is, yes, quite satisfactory.
- Oh, said Pete, thank you.
- I meant rather, said Mr Lynd, swivelling back on his seat and hitching his trousers, I meant rather, how do
- Yes, Pete said, they’re a funny lot. It’s a shame but there it is. But we’re sure to bump into each other. Both working around here, like.
- I should hope so! slammed Derek, his face singing, elbow- gripping. We must have a drink after all these years.
- Without a doubt.
- Well, look here, Peter, vaulted Derek, his face chanting, back-slapping, why don’t you give me a ring? We can meet one night after work. Wait a minute, I’ll write it down. I still see Robin and Bill, you know? Ever see any of the old crowd? Oh yes, Gilbert. Here you are. Well, look, give me a ring, will you? And I’ll ring up Robin and Bill, and we can all have a jolly good yarn.
- How’s Robin these days?
- Blooming, old boy. Not married yet. You married yet? sharped Derek, his face sprouting.
- Ha-ha, said Pete. Oh, that’s it, is it? Good. I’ll do that then. Must toddle now. You know these actors.
- Grand luck meeting you! chucked Derek, his face ceasing. Don’t forget.
Pete turned, waved, and crossed the road.
Sweating all over. Someone arranged that. Must keep my eyes open. Wouldn’t have seen me on the other side. Shady. Oh yes he would. They all do. Should wear a hat. Grow a moustache. Get a wheelchair. False nose can work wonders. That was a close one. Where’s that piece of paper. Uh. Down the drain.
Between hoots and carshins Pete crossed the road. Under planes of corrugated iron he saw bricks and pans arranged and raised by figures in heat. He turned into a sidestreet.
Down here. River. Yes. Cooler the nearer you sniff. Hum still though. Hum and crackle. London burning. Look. Sandwich girls. Legshow for a city gent. Wall perchers. Waiting for a catch. Birds of prey. What’s it like to be a woman, Maisie? I wouldn’t know. Nothing to get in your way. No hang and. no jut. Smooth and wet. Fingers in the paper. Tissuepaper for all purposes. Lipstick and cucumber. Eyes. No I’m not coming your way. And never’s the word. Some of them like it sweaty. Animal labour. Putrefied mechanics. Barebacked with a squelch. In God’s image. Costs nothing. Not good enough. Sluttery to neat excellence opposed. Sweat and spit and nothing to show. The act of mercy. Eachway bet. Money or your life. Something for nothing. The general levelling. Not like that. Not like that.
There’s a boat. One for me. That’s a good boat. Boats. Midgets. Take a butcher’s at that sun. Bloodthirsty. Sails. Midgets. Drivelling midgets. Sun is steel too. Quite steel. IfI were steel. All problems solved. Ready for action. Sleep.
Pete walked into the office and closed the door behind him.
- Ah, said the deskgirl, Mr Lynd wants to see you, Mr Cox.
- Me?
- Who else?
Fair gurgling heads dipped.
- Now?
The girl nodded and tilted her head. Pete marched across to the far door and knocked.
- Come in.
Pete entered.
- Ah.
- I heard you wanted to see me, Mr Lynd.
- Ah yes, I did, said Mr Lynd, palming the lid of a cigarbox. Do come in, will you? Close the door. That’s right. Now. Yes. Do sit down, Mr Cox.
- Thank you.
Pete sat down.
- Well now, Mr Cox.
Mr Lynd tapped the desktop.
- Will you smoke? he advanced, his hand straying about the desk.
- No thank you, Mr Lynd.
- Well now, Mr Cox, said Mr Lynd, how are you getting on?
- Oh, said Pete, not so bad you know, Mr Lynd.
Clasping the fingers of both hands and sniffing discreetly, Mr Lynd, his mouth closed, smiled.
- Good, he smiled. And how are you getting on with your work?
- Well, said Pete, I don’t think I can supply an answer to that, Mr Lynd. The answer, I should say, would depend upon whether you were finding it satisfactory.
Swivelling on his seat, Mr Lynd glanced at his reflection in the dark glass cabinet.
- Not quite what I meant, he said. But I can tell you, Mr Cox, that your work is, yes, quite satisfactory.
- Oh, said Pete, thank you.
- I meant rather, said Mr Lynd, swivelling back on his seat and hitching his trousers, I meant rather, how do
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