Sarah Waters - The Night Watch

Perhaps it worked. Julia smoked her cigarette for a time, looking thoughtful, but without speaking; then she ground the cigarette out and got to her feet. 'Kay wants a wife,' she said. She smiled. 'That sounds like a children's game, doesn't it? Kay wants a wife. She always has. One must be the wife with Kay, or nothing…'

She yawned, as if bored by the idea; then went to the window and drew back the curtain. There were little chinks, Helen could see, in the grey talc boards, and she put her eye to one of these and peered out. 'Don't you hate these evenings?' she said. 'Not knowing if the Warning will sound, and so on? It's like waiting for an execution that might or might not take place.'

'Would you rather I went?' Helen asked.

'God, no! I'm glad you're here. It's much worse when one's alone, don't you think?'

'Yes, much worse. But bad in the shelters, too. Kay always wants me to go over to the one in Rathbone Place; but I can't stand it, it makes me feel trapped. I'd always rather sit and be petrified on my own, than have strangers see me being frightened.'

'Me, too,' said Julia. 'Sometimes I go out, you know. I like it better in the open space.'

'You just go strolling,' Helen asked her, 'in the black-out? Isn't it dangerous?'

Julia shrugged. 'Probably. But then everything's dangerous, just now.' She let the curtain fall and turned back into the room, and reached for her glass.

Helen felt her heart begin to flutter again. It occurred to her that she'd far rather be with Julia outside, in darkness, than in here, in the soft, exposing, intimate light. She said, 'Why don't we go out now, Julia?'

Julia looked at her. 'Now? You mean, for a walk? Would you like to?'

'Yes,' said Helen. She felt the wine inside her suddenly, and started to laugh.

Julia laughed too. Her dark eyes were shining, with excitement and mischief. She began to move more quickly-putting back her head to drink off her wine, then carelessly setting down the glass on the mantelpiece, so that it rang against the painted marble. She looked at the fire, then squatted in front of it and began to shovel ash on

the coke. She did it with the cigarette clamped at the side of her mouth, and with an expression of tremendous concentration and distaste: screwing up her eyes, holding her graceful head at an awkward angle away from the rising grey cloud-like a debutante, Helen thought, on the maid's night off… Then she got up, and dusted off her knees; went back through the curtained doorway for her coat and shoes. She reappeared after a moment in a black double-breasted jacket with polished brass buttons, like a sailor's coat. She stood at the mirror, put on lipstick, powdered her face, turned up her collar. She ran her hands, critically, over her damp head, then drew a soft black corduroy cap from out of a heap of gloves and scarves: pulled it on, and tucked up her hair.

'I shall regret this, later,' she said, 'when my hair has dried at odd angles.' She caught Helen's eye. 'I don't look like Mickey, do I?'

Helen laughed, guiltily. 'Not at all like Mickey.'

'Not like a male impersonator on the stage?'

'More like an actress in a spy-film.'

Julia adjusted the angle of the cap. 'Well, so long as I don't get us arrested for espionage… I tell you what, let's take the rest of that wine.' There was half a bottle left. 'I shan't want it tomorrow, and we've hardly touched it.'

'That really might get us arrested.'

'Don't worry, I've a plan for that.'

She went back to the cupboard, moved things around, and brought out the nightwatchman's bottle that they'd had tea from, in Bryanston Square. She pulled the cork from it, and sniffed it; then carefully filled it up with wine. There was just enough. She stoppered it up again, and put it into her jacket pocket. In her other pocket she put a torch.

'Now you look like a house-breaker,' said Helen, as she buttoned on her own coat.

'But you're forgetting,' said Julia; 'I am a house-breaker, by day. Now, there's just one more thing.' She opened a drawer and took out a sheaf of papers. The papers were thin, the 'flimsy' kind that Helen was issued with at work. They were covered all over with close black handwriting…

'That's not your manuscript?' asked Helen, impressed.

Julia nodded. 'It's a bore, but the bombs make me afraid for it.' She smiled. 'I suppose the wretched thing must be rather more to me than a sort of crossword puzzle, after all. I find I have to carry it about with me wherever I go.' She rolled the papers up and stuffed them into the inside pocket of her coat. She patted the bulge they made. 'Now I feel safe.'

'But, if you get hit?'

'Then I shan't care one way or the other.' She drew on gloves. 'Are you ready?'

She led the way downstairs. As she opened the door she said, 'I hate this bit. Let's close our eyes and count, as we're supposed to'-and so they stood on the step with their faces screwed up, saying, ' One, two, three …'

'When do we stop?' asked Helen.

'… twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen -now!'

They opened their eyes, and blinked.

'Has that made a difference?'

'I don't think so. It's still dark as hell.'

They switched on their torches and went down the steps. Julia's face showed palely, strangely, framed by the lines and angles of her turned-up collar and her cap. She said, 'Which way shall we go?'

'I don't know. You're the veteran at this sort of thing. You choose.'

'All right,' said Julia, suddenly deciding. She took Helen's arm. 'This way.'

They went left into Doughty Street; then left again, into the Gray's Inn Road; and then right, towards Holborn. The roads, even in the short space of time in which Helen had been at Julia's flat, had grown almost empty. There was only the occasional cab or lorry-like creeping black insects, they seemed in the darkness, with gleaming, brittle-looking bodies and louvred, infernal eyes. The pavements, too, were almost clear, and Julia went quickly because of the cold. Helen could feel-as if with disturbing new senses, born of the dark-the weight and pressure of her arm and hand, the nearness of her face, her shoulder, her hip, her thigh, the roll and rhythm of her step…

At what must have been the junction with Clerkenwell Road they turned left. After a little while Julia made them turn again-right, this time. Helen looked around, suddenly confused.

'Where are we?'

' Hatton Garden, I think. Yes, it must be.'

They spoke quietly, for the street seemed deserted.

'Do you know for sure? We won't get lost?'

'How can we get lost?' asked Julia. 'We don't know where we're going… Anyway, you can't get lost in London, even in the black-out and with all the street-signs gone. If you can, you don't deserve to live here. They should make it a kind of exam.'

'If you fail, you get booted out?'

'Exactly. And then,' Julia laughed, 'you must go and live in Brighton.' They turned to the left, went down a short hill. 'Look, this must be the Farringdon Road.'

There were cabs again here, other pedestrians, a feeling of space-but a dreary feel, too, for half of the buildings which lined the street had been damaged and boarded up. Julia led Helen south, towards the river. At a warden's post in one of the arches underneath Holborn Viaduct, a man heard their voices and blew his whistle.

'Those two ladies! They must get themselves a white scarf or a paper, please!'

'All right,' called Helen meekly in reply.

But Julia murmured: 'Suppose we want to be invisible?'

They crossed Ludgate Circus and went on towards the start of the bridge. They saw people going down into the Underground with bags and blankets and pillows, and paused to watch them.

'It gives one a shock, doesn't it,' said Helen quietly, 'to see people doing this, after all this time? I hear the queues still start at four and five o'clock at some of the stations. I couldn't bear to do it, could you?'