You saw it, right? said Peg.
I saw it, said Kath.
The kid stirred next to her. The kid who looked like him. Same shiny thick dark hair and bright eyes. Some nights the similarity could have ripped her guts out. She’d never wanted a kid and her mum had never wanted her. Bloody careless, stupid cows. And now Tempy’s back.
Over at the mirror, she looked a mess. Her mother would have loved to have seen her like that. Now you know how I feel, she would’ve said. Thought you had it all worked out, didn’t you? Think you’re better than me, don’t you?
This is what you men do to us women, thought Peg. You make us hate us. For your absence. For your lies. For your violence.
She got up and went to the window. I’m still here, Eddie. And I know you’re out there.
For a whole week, the pub was on tenterhooks, waiting for Peggy the gunslinger to enter town and shoot up the peace. Ulysses opened up and the regulars barrelled in with coats smelling of mothballs and complaining about the wait. Then they’d stop and look about. She been in yet?
Nah, not yet, said Col.
What she up to, that girl?
What she ever bin up to? said Col.
The tension simmered. The pub had never been so quiet. Mr Mason had a heart attack in the wait and he was in death’s grip before he hit the floor, but at least something had happened.
They all knew Peg’d turn up sooner or later, but it was how she was going to do it, that was the question. Four evenings later, she didn’t disappoint. With an hour and ten minutes of drinking left and Piano Pete warmed up, she pushed open the doors and stood backlit by a particularly bright streetlight. It was all MGM and the lion roared. She dropped her cigarette and stubbed it out under her shoe.
Eh up, said Col.
And Ulysses raised his head from the bar.
Easy, lad, whispered Col. Easy there.
The swing of her hips, the sound of her heels across the floor. Droll Pete tapping C flat in time with her stride until she headed his way, and the C flat fell flat. She glanced through the sheet music, but she knew what she was going to sing. This one, she said quietly, and handed Pete his instruction. Slow, she whispered. Real slow. And Pete obliged, fingers dextrous along the keys, ash falling from his moist lips, smoke irritating his bloodshot eyes.
Ulysses watched her every move. He’d had women in Italy, but none like her. Had even loved some of them, but not like her. In Naples, he used to watch the women head over to the American camp. The Yanks had lots of money, lots of charm, the women were sad and beautiful. What a combination, he thought. He never stood a chance.
He felt Col’s hand on his back. Col knew he didn’t stand a chance.
Peg – you only had to look at her to know she was born to better things. She knew it and he saw it. She was an upriver swimmer, struggling against a contemptible tide, but by God she tried. She sang to no one. Locked eyes with no one. Focussed on an empty corner of the room that held a ghost that’d haunt her till the end of her days. Drinks were left untouched and cheeks were glazed by tears. She mesmerised because that was the Peggy spell. She had class. She may have stolen it, but she had it. And she told you so when she sang, because she sang for her life, and for yours too, because the world never turned out the way you wanted it to. It simply turned. And you hung on.
The last notes rang out. Her voice cracked. Piano Pete wept. A standing ovation and whistling and cheering, and boy did she look modest, a look she’d practised well. Old Cressy sent over a gin and she raised the glass to him, and he raised his to hers, and she downed it in one. Then she turned towards the bar. The sound of thirty heads following. Crack crack crack went the necks. Hips swaying, arms swinging, and by God those cards were on the table now. Cressy said she’d got a crap hand, but everyone could see she was the one holding the aces.
Keep that horse steady, said Col before he disappeared into the snug.
Ulysses and Peg locked eyes, and it was familiar and there was history and also truce.
She walked up to the counter. You could have heard a pin drop.
Hey soldier, she said and touched his cheek.
Hey you, he said and touched her hand.
I— they said in unison.
You first, she said. No you, he said. OK, she said.
I want a divorce, Tempy.
Blimey, he said.
The sound of thirty mouths exhaling. The sound of Claude manically pecking his bell.
The next morning, Peg woke in his bed because that’s what they did. She groaned loudly and gripped him tight with her thighs before he got soft. She rolled off and said, I’m glad you’re not dead.
（It was as romantic as she ever got.）