Muriel Spark - The Ballad of Peckham Rye

‘Who?’

Trevor twisted her arm.

‘Humphrey Place. Goes with Dixie Morse.’

‘No, never seen him but once at the Grapes.’

‘You’ll be seeing us again,’ Trevor said.

He went down the dark stone stairs followed by Leslie and Collie.

‘Killing herself,’ Merle said, ‘that’s what she is, for money. Then she comes in to the pool dropping tired next day, not fit for the job. I said to her, “Dixie,” I said, “what time did you go to bed last night?” “I consider that a personal question, Miss Coverdale,” she says. “Oh,” I says, “well, if it isn’t a personal question will you kindly type these two reports over again? There’s five mistakes on one and six on the other.” “Oh! “ she said, “what mistakes?” Because she won’t own up to her mistakes till you put them under her nose. I said, “These mistakes as marked.” She said “Oh! “ I said, “You’ve been doing nothing but yawn yawn yawn all week.” Well, at tea-break when Dixie was out Connie says to me, “Miss Coverdale, it’s Dixie’s evening job making her tired.” “Evening job?” I said. She said, “Yes, she’s an usherette at the Regal from six-thirty to ten-thirty, makes extra for her wedding sayings.” “Well,” I said, “no wonder she can’t do her job here!”’

Dougal flashed an invisible cinema-torch on to the sprightly summer turf of the Rye. ‘Mind the step, Madam. Three-and-sixes on the right.’

Merle began to laugh from her chest. Suddenly she sat down on the Rye and began to cry. ‘God!’ she said. ‘Dougal, I’ve had a rotten life.’

‘And it isn’t over yet,’ Dougal said, sitting down beside her at a little distance. ‘There might be worse ahead.’

‘First my parents,’ she said. ‘Too possessive. They’re full of themselves. They don’t think anything of me myself. They like to be able to say “Merle’s head of the pool at Meadows Meade,” but that’s about all there is to it. I broke away and of course like a fool took up with Mr Druce. Now I can’t get away from him, somehow. You’ve unsettled me, Dougal, since you came to Peckham. I shall have a nervous breakdown, I can see it coming.’

‘If you do,’ Dougal said, ‘I won’t come near you. I can’t bear sickness of any sort.’

‘Dougal,’ she said, ‘I was counting on you to help me to get away from Mr Druce.’

‘Get another job,’ he said, ‘and refuse to see him any more. It’s easy.

‘Oh, everything’s easy for you. You’re free.’

‘Aren’t you free?’ Dougal said.

‘Yes, as far as the law goes.’

‘Well, stop seeing Druce.’

‘After six years, going on seven, Dougal, I’m tied in a sort of way. And what sort of job would I get at thirty-eight?’

‘You would have to come down,’ Dougal said.

‘After being head of the pool,’ she said, ‘I couldn’t. I’ve got to think of my pride. And there’s the upkeep of my flat. Mr Druce puts a bit towards it.’

‘People are looking at you crying,’ Dougal said, ‘and they think it’s because of me.’

‘So it is in a way. I’ve had a rotten life.’

‘Goodness, look at that,’ Dougal said.

She looked upward to where he was pointing.

‘What?’ she said.

‘Up there,’ Dougal said; ‘trees in the sky.’

‘What are you talking about? I don’t see anything.’

‘Look properly,’ Dougal said, ‘up there. And don’t look away because Mr Druce is watching us from behind the pavilion.’

She looked at Dougal.

‘Keep looking up,’ he said, ‘at the trees with red tassels in the sky. Look, where I’m pointing.’

Several people who were crossing the Rye stopped to look up at where Dougal was pointing. Dougal said to them. ‘A new idea. Did you see it in the papers? Planting trees and shrubs in the sky. Look there – it’s a tip of a pine.’

‘I think I do see something,’ said a girl.

Most of the crowd moved sceptically away, still glancing upward now and then. Dougal brought Merle to her feet and drifted along with the others.

‘Is he still there?’ Merle said.

‘Yes. He must be getting tired of going up and down in lifts.’

‘Oh, he only does that on Saturday mornings. He usually stays at home in the afternoons. He comes to me in the evenings. I’ve got a rotten life. Sometimes I think I’ll swallow a bottle of aspirins.’

‘That doesn’t work.’ Dougal said. ‘It only makes you ill. And the very thought of illness is abhorrent to me.’

‘He’s keen on you,’ Merle said. ‘I know he is, but he doesn’t.’

‘He must do if he’s keen -‘Not at all. I’m his first waking experience of an attractive man.’

‘You fancy yourself.’

‘No, Mr Druce does that.’

‘With your crooked shoulder,’ she said, ‘you’re not all that much cop.’

‘Advise Druce on those lines,’ he said. ‘He doesn’t take my advice any more. ‘‘How long would you give him with the firm?’

‘Well. since he’s started to slip, I’ve debated that question a lot. The business is on the decline. It’s a worry, I mean about my flat, if Mr Druce loses his job.’

‘I’d give him three months,’ Dougal said.

Merle started to cry again, walking towards the streets with Dougal. ‘Is he still there?’ she said. Dougal did a dancer’s pirouette, round and round, and stopped once more by Merle’s side.

‘He’s walking away in the other direction.’

‘Oh, I wonder where he’s going?’

‘Home to Dulwich, I expect.’

‘It’s immoral,’ Merle said, ‘the way he goes back to that woman in that house. They never say a word to each other.’

‘Stop girning. You look awful with your red eyes. It detracts from the Okapi look But all the same, what a long neck you’ve got.’

She put her hand up to her throat and moved it up her long neck. ‘Mr Druce squeezed it tight the other day,’ she said, ‘for fun, but I got a fright.’

‘It looks like a maniac’s delight, your neck,’ Dougal said.

‘Well, you’ve not got much of one, with your shoulder up round your ear.

‘A short neck denotes a good mind,’ Dougal said. ‘You see, the messages go quicker to the brain because they’ve shorter to go.’ He bent and touched his toes. ‘Suppose the message starts down here. Well, it comes up here -‘

‘Watch out, people are looking.

They were in the middle of Rye Lane, flowing with shopping women and prams. A pram bumped into Dougal as he stood upright, causing him to barge forward into two women who stood talking. Dougal embraced them with wide arms. ‘Darlings, watch where you’re going,’ he said. They beamed at each other and at him.

‘Charming, aren’t you?’ Merle said. ‘There’s a man leaning out of that car parked outside Higgins and Jones, seems to be watching you.’

Dougal looked across the road. ‘Mr Willis is watching me,’ he said. ‘Come and meet Mr Willis.’ He took her arm to cross the road.

‘I’m not dressed for an introduction,’ Merle said.

‘You are only an object of human research,’ Dougal said, guiding her obliquely through the traffic towards Mr Willis.

‘I’m just waiting for my wife. She’s shopping in there, Mr Willis explained. Now that Dougal had approached him he seemed rather embarrassed. ‘I wasn’t sure it was you, Mr Dougal,’ he explained. ‘I was just looking to see. A bit short-sighted.’

‘Miss Merle Coverdale, one of my unofficial helpers,’ Dougal said uppishly. ‘Interesting,’ he said, ‘to see what Peckham does on its Saturday afternoons.’

‘Yes, quite.’ Mr Willis pinkly took Merle’s hand and glanced towards the shop door.

Dougal gave a reserved nod and, as dismissing Mr Willis from his thoughts, led Merle away.