Graham Masterton - The Doorkeepers

“No thanks. You don’t have anything stronger, do you?”

She produced a half-bottle of Gordon’s gin from under her chair and poured two large measures into teacups. “What shall we drink to?” she asked.

“Peace,” Josh suggested.

“I don’t know. How about clean knickers?”

“OK, then.” He lifted his cup. “Peace, and clean knickers.”

“That’s what I’m really looking forward to, when it’s all over,” said Petty. “Clean white cotton knickers, with a lacy frill.”

Josh said, “How long has this been going on? This war?”

“Do you know, I can’t make out if you’re having me on toast.”

“I promise you, I’m serious.”

“Well, all right, then. But I still think you’re kidding me. The war’s been going on for nearly a year now. The bloody Government said it would all be over by Christmas. I don’t know why they didn’t just let the Yanks go off on their own. But, oh no. Treason, they called it, and then the Navy sank that big American aircraft carrier, and that was it. All bloody hell broke loose.” She looked at Josh for a long time, playing with one of her earrings. It was a plastic poodle with green glass eyes. “I like you, you know,” she said, after a while. “I know you’re supposed to be the enemy and everything. But you’ve got something about you, you know? You’re thoughtful.”

“I’m confused, if that’s what you mean.”

“I just don’t understand how you don’t know nothing about the war. The Yanks have been bombing us for months and months. It’s not exactly something you wouldn’t notice.”

“I haven’t been here. I’ve been … away.”

“Bloody hell, where? Mars?”

Josh leaned forward. “If you want to know the truth, I came from another London.”

Petty gave him a smile of bewilderment. “Another London?”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but there are probably hundreds of Londons, all of them different, all with a different history. There are doors between them – ways to get through – and if you know how to do it you can get through these doors, from one London into the next. In the London I came from, there’s no war, no bombing, nothing. There’s plenty to eat and drink. There are restaurants, nightclubs, you name it. Clean knickers, too.”

Petty blew out smoke. “If that’s true, what did you come here for? To see how miserable we all are, and have a good old laugh about it?”

“I came here by accident. I was trying to find another London, but not this one.”

“So what are you going to do? Listen to me! I’m talking like I really believe you.”

“I’m going to try to get back to the London I started from, and have another crack at finding the right one.”

Petty didn’t say anything for a while, but she didn’t take her eyes away from him, either. She started to gnaw at the side of her thumbnail. At last she said, “You’re having me on toast, aren’t you?”

“Why should I do that? If it’s a joke, it’s a pretty goddamned stupid one, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps you’re expecting to have your wicked way with me, without paying for it.”

“I don’t want my way with you, wicked or otherwise. I’m involved with somebody else.”

“What, engaged, are you?”

“Kind of.”

“Would she mind if you took me back with you?”

“Say what?”

“Your fiancée or whatever she is. Would she mind if you took me back with you? To your London, with the restaurants and the nightclubs and everything?”

“So you do believe me?”

“I don’t know. Either you’re completely bonkers or else you’re telling the truth. But you don’t talk like you’re bonkers. You meet loads of people with shell-shock and that, and they talk about their families like they’re still alive, and stuff like that, and then you find out that they all got bombed. I had one bloke who thought he was an angel. But you don’t talk like one of them.”

Josh checked his watch. It was a quarter after three in the morning, and he was exhausted. “Do you mind if I get some sleep?” he asked. “I have to wait a full twenty-four hours before I can go back to my own London. Otherwise I’ll end up in another London like this. Or worse.”

“Couldn’t be worse, darling,” said Petty, finishing her gin. “Why don’t you and me lie down for a while?”

“I’ll take the couch. No problem at all.”

“Oh, rubbish. Let’s go to bed. I’m too knackered to rape you anyway.”

She stood up and tugged her satin dress over her head. Underneath, she was wearing nothing but a grubby white bra. Josh had thought that she was wearing pantyhose, but she had simply colored her legs with foundation cream, which ended just above her hemline, where she was startlingly white. She was plump and full-breasted, with a rounded tummy, and she wasn’t unattractive, but there were bruises all over her – finger-bruises mostly, where men had gripped her thighs and her buttocks and her breasts. Josh felt powerless and sad, and he cursed all men for everything they do, their wars and their religions.

He watched her as she cleaned her teeth with an old, splayed toothbrush. She drew back the blanket that separated the “bedroom” from the rest of the cellar, and climbed into bed. Josh waited for a few minutes, but tiredness was overwhelming him, and eventually he stood up, took off his coat, and stripped down to his shorts. He climbed into bed next to Petty and lay there staring at the lime washed ceiling.

She turned over and touched some of the reddened scabs from the Holy Harp. “Are you all right?” she asked him. “Who did those?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I don’t mind. Everybody says that I’m a very good listener. You have to be, when you’re on the game. That’s what they come for, you know. The listening, more than the sex.”

She kept on stroking him, but the effect was more soporific than erotic. She played with his nipples, and then ran her fingertips down his sides. His eyes closed. He wasn’t quite asleep, but he was very close to it. Her fingers trailed lightly across his stomach muscles, almost as lightly as butterflies. He saw darkness and thought that he was back in bed in Mill Valley, in the middle of the night. He was sure that he could hear cicadas, and the wind-chimes jangling out on his verandah.

“Wouldn’t it be lovely if there was another world?” said Petty, as she inserted her finger into his navel. “No war, no bombing. Everybody being nice to each other. Imagine.”

Josh slept. He was very far away. He was sitting in the bookstore coffee house in Mill Valley, trying to discourage a little mongrel called Duchovny from jumping up and annoying people. Nancy was there, and she was laughing. He could see her eyes sparkling and the sun shining through the feathers in her hair. He reached out to take her hand, but she wouldn’t let him, even though she was still laughing. Somehow her laughter began to sound tinny, and false.

“They’re coming,” she said. “Can’t you hear them drumming?”

Twenty-One

He opened his eyes. The cellar was shaking. The whole world was shaking. It sounded as if thousands of airplanes were flying overhead, thousands of them. Their droning made the door rattle and the brickwork crack and the cheap aluminum saucepans drop off their shelves. Josh looked at Petty: she was fast asleep, lying on her back with her mouth open. He shook her and shouted, “Petty! Petty, wake up!”

She opened her eyes and blinked at him. “What’s the matter? I was having a good dream then. I was dancing, and all these blokes were clapping and throwing me money.” She looked around, almost as if she expected to find the bedspread strewn with five-pound notes.