Andrew Martin - The Last Train to Scarborough

The end property was turned somewhat towards the cliff edge, as though disgusted with the rest of the street, and a derrick stuck out from its front, from the forehead of the house's face, so to say. This must be for drawing things up the cliff. I walked directly to the end of Bright's Cliff and looked down. I saw an almost sheer bank, covered in old bramble bushes and nettles; then came a gravel ledge, then the rooftops of some buildings on the Prom: a public house, a public lavatory, and the Sea Bathing Infirmary. A little light leaked out of the pub, and, as I looked down, with Tommy Nugent breathing hard behind me, a man walked out of it – well, he was just a moving hat from where we looked, and the hat revolved on the Prom, and doubled back into the public lavatory, which must still have been open. I doubted that the sea bathing place was open. There'd be very few takers for its waters in March.

Tommy tapped me on the shoulder, and I wheeled about.

'Paradise is that one,' he said, and… Well, I didn't know about paradise but, as far as Bright's Cliff went, the house indicated was the best of a bad lot.

It was a house of white-painted bricks, and the paint was falling away a little, like the white powder on the face of a pier- rot. It was perhaps a hundred years old, and sagged somewhat. The windows were rather ill-assorted as if they'd been bought in a job lot at knockdown price, no two being the same size. The door was blue; over it was a fanlight of coloured glass with the name of the house set into it, the letters being distributed between the different panes like so: PA-RAD-ISE.

'You knock,' said Tommy, and he held one kit bag in each hand, as though he was ready to march straight in.

I knocked, and there came the sound of a woman's laughter from beyond the door as I did it. The door opened slowly, and there stood a trim, well-dressed man, perhaps in the middle fifties. The laughter had stopped but the man was smiling pleasantly. He was the very last sort of person I'd bargained for, and I was silenced for a moment by the sight of him. He tipped his head, preparatory to asking our business. But Tommy was already speaking.

'We're two railway men,' he said. 'He's the fireman, and I'm the driver.' (I thought: Don't say that, it's not convincing.) 'We've just come from the station, and we're having to overnight in Scarborough.' He took a deep breath before continuing: 'Now we've heard…'

But the man cut in, turning a little to one side, and saying, 'Miss R! Two gentlemen in need of a bed – they're railway men,' he added, in a way I didn't much care for.

The trim man was now replaced in the doorway by a woman and it was the one who'd been sitting on the bench. She'd evidently just come in, for she had her grey-blue coat and hunter's hat still on. She looked a bit distracted, flushed and very pretty. I took off my hat, and she whipped hers off at exactly the same time, as though we were playing the looking glass game; and then she shook her curls.

The hall was rather cramped. The landlady stood on a brownish carpet, a little worn, under a swinging gas chandelier, with three of the four lights burning. The wallpaper was green stripes, also a little faded; there was a faint smell of paint. On the wall was a thin case with a glass front. Above it a sign said, 'Today's Menu,' but there was nothing in the case. The stairs were narrow, and rose up into darkness. The thin banister was rather battered… and the hall was too hot. In spite of this, the woman seemed highly amused at something or other and she was beautiful.

I was on the point of speech, but Tommy was under way again.

'Our engine's broke down,' he said. 'It's an injector steam valve that's giving bother.'

'I'm awfully sorry,' said the woman, 'but you see…'

'Steam's pouring out of the overflow, and when that happens…'

The woman was eyeing me, half smiling. Did she remember me from the bench?

'We saw your notice in the engine men's mess,' I interrupted, for fear that if I didn't speak up soon she'd think me dumb.

'Ordinarily,' Tommy was saying, 'we'd have taken the engine back to York tonight but it's not up to the trip, so we've left it at the Scarborough shed, and in all likelihood they'll have it sorted out by morning.'

'Good,' said the woman, by which she no doubt meant: 'Shut up.' Then she said, 'We hate to turn railway men away, but we only have the one room available tonight.'

'Single bed, is it?' I asked.

'If that,' she said, with half a smile.

I turned about and looked at Tommy; then back to the woman, who looked as if she was trying not to laugh. It was fascinating to watch the movement of her lips over her teeth.

'Do you mind if we step away for a moment to talk it over?' I asked her.

'Not a bit,' she replied, and she retreated into the house, leaving the door on the jar.

I walked with Tommy towards the gas lamp at the end of Bright's Cliff.

'I'm going to take the room, Tommy,' I said. 'I'm the investigating officer and… well, do you see?'

He put down his two bags on the cobbles, and, opening one of them, said, 'Fair do's, Jim. But you'll take a rifle, won't you?'

I'd forgotten about the bloody rifles.

'No,' I said, and Tommy looked put-out. 'I mean… they're a bit small,' I said.

'Dangerous to a mile these are, Jim,' he said, 'and I should think the average room in that house is about ten foot across.'

'But they're meant for target shooting. I mean, they're miniature rifles, aren't they?'

'How big a hole do you want to make in their bloody heads, Jim?'

He was unwinding one of the great bandages he'd made of all his under-clothes.

'Well,' I said, 'I don't want to make a hole in their heads at all. I'm not trained up in rifle shooting.'

'No need to be a dead eye,' he said. 'Not inside a house. You're not going to need orthoptic bloody spectacles, Jim: just pull the bloody trigger. And I'll tell you something else: you're well away with this because it's about the only gun you could loose off indoors and not deafen yourself.'

He was obviously a good deal more concerned for the one firing than the one being fired at. I looked down at the kit bag, where one of the rifles was in clear view.

'I just don't fancy it, Tommy,' I said. 'I shan't bother.'

'Jim,' he said, glancing back over towards the door, 'those people are strange.'

The door of Paradise was still half open, spilling coloured gaslight onto the cobbles of Bright's Cliff.

I said, 'They didn't look strange to me.'

Tommy now held a third bloody shooter in his hand: a pistol this time. It was very small and thin – there was nothing to it. It looked like a pop gun of Harry's.

'Two-two pistol,' he said.

'How many more have you got in there?'

'What do you say, Jim? You can carry this beauty in your pocket.'

I shook my head, and he fastened up the kit bag, covering over this final offering.

'Remember this,' he said, 'if Ray Blackburn was killed, and you click to the reason, they'll come after you no matter what.'

'Tommy,' I said, 'I can't hang about or it'll look funny. I'll see you at the station tomorrow, all right?'

And it appeared that I really had offended him, because without another word he marched along the short cobbled road until he came to the junction with Newborough, where he hesitated for a moment, before turning left and disappearing from sight.

I returned to Paradise and knocked on the opened door. The woman came again, and I liked being able to make her appear in this way – like Aladdin with his lamp. She now carried a cup and saucer with a bit of cake on the side. She'd disposed of her hat and coat, and wore a dress, more lavender than blue. I thought: What a pity that, being a married man, I can't fuck you, because you'd certainly make a very nice armful.