In the hallway, out of the darkness, a little nasal voice.
Ginny – what you doing up, love?
You look sad.
Peg’s never sad. Come on, and she took Ginny’s hand and walked her into the bar. Claude opened his eyes and Peg said, Go back to sleep, Claude, and she lifted a glass to the optics and picked up Col’s fags by the till. She sat on a bench and Ginny cuddled next to her. The room felt cold, but Ginny’s body was warm. Loving Ginny was easy. Loving Ginny was easier than loving her own kid. Through the window the sky was lightening at the torn edge. The faint sound of a blackbird and a horse and cart, but mostly the early hours brought silence, both reflective and confrontational. Why can’t you love your own kid, eh, Peg? She shook out a cigarette and stuck it in her mouth. Because she’s too much of me.
Ginny struck the match and held it up to Peg. What you drinking? she asked.
Mother’s ruin.
Why’s it called mother’s ruin?
You don’t want to know, and Peg kissed her head.
Peg crying, said Ginny.
It’s just the smoke, Gin Gin.
A light mizzle of rain met Peg outside. Not cold any more but soothing, the moonlight catching the drops in her hair. She can breathe now. She throws her head back and opens her arms out wide. She sings softly, on the breath, a smoky catch to her voice.
Peggy Temper walking tall and proud through the streets of her dominion. Dismissing pain with a whiplash flick of her wrist and casting it into the gutter to join a thousand other heart-raw tales. Right left, right left, her hips sway like a dirty dream and orange embers flare at her unpainted mouth. You could hang yourself off her every word and many a man had tried. The sound of her footsteps through the streets. The dark shape of the gasometers and always the smell of coal dust and a ripe canal rippling. These are the elements of her home. And she knows she will never leave. Just in case, you know, Eddie.
Drive, said Old Cress.
It was mid-April, and Ulysses and Cress were seated under the cherry tree formulating a departure plan. Mr Burgess was dealing with the passports and legal guardianship of Alys, and it was now up to Ulysses to decide how he would get them to Italy.
Drive, said Old Cress for the second time
Knock knock, said Piano Pete outside the canopy of wonder.
Come in, Pete, said Cress, and Pete entered with three small glasses of beer. Here you go, fellas.
Nice tie, Pete.
Thanks, Temps. French silk.
I’ve told him to drive to Italy, said Old Cress.
Good advice, Cress. That way, your emotional state can harmonise with the landscape. Dover to Calais, Dijon, Poligny, St-Cergue, Lyon, Geneva – maybe a turn around the lake – Milan, Bologna. Then Bob’s your doo-dah.
Ulysses and Old Cress looked at him, stunned.
That’s quite precise, Pete, said Ulysses.
Old girlfriend did a similar jaunt in ’48. Nice scenic route. You need some wheels?
Might be useful.
I’ll see if her old Betsy might be up for sale. She’s become a motorcycle enthusiast these days. Prefers the freedom.
And two weeks later, Pete pulled up outside the pub with Betsy – a Jowett Bradford Utility van, in an attractive shade of blue.
Ulysses lifted the bonnet. She’s a beauty. How much, Pete?
Never you mind, said Cress. It’s all been sorted by Fanny. Now – I’ve given her a once-over and tweaked her here and there. 30 miles to the gallon and top speed of 50. She’s five years old but she’s still reliable. She’ll get you there.
And she knows the way, of course, said Pete.
And before Ulysses could say any more, Col drew up alongside in the ambulance, honking for his parking space. Move on, traitor! he shouted.
By mid-May, most people’s minds had turned away from Ulysses’ imminent departure to the happier occasion of the forthcoming coronation of Queen Elizabeth II. Patriotic paraphernalia adorned the outside of the pub, care of Col’s new lady friend, Gwyneth. She was a florist and big on display. Ginny learnt how to use the till at Mrs Kaur’s and Mrs Kaur said she was a valuable asset to her expanding convenience shop. Peg suffered quietly the impending loss of her best friend and kid, and she hit the bottle and kept quiet the night Ted hit her too. Ulysses got the jitters and said to Cress that he didn’t know how to look after a kid or how to start again. He said he hadn’t started again there after the war, he’d just slipped back into a form of stasis that had held him close because that’s what he’d needed. The sun rose, the sun set and the beer barrels needed changing. Cress talked him down, of course. Wish you were coming too, Cress, but Cress was too choked to say a word. And finally, a week before the off, Mr Burgess came by with the guardianship papers and a huge pile of lire.