‘Tell me about it,’ he said, and belched again.
‘Tell you about what?’ and she sat up, seemed on the point of hitting him, but changed her mind, and then he flopped heavily across the bed.
‘You lied to me this morning, Mrs Gandell, you lied to … you …’ but the remainder of his sentence died away in the bedclothes.
‘Come along, Jones,’ and she got up and began undressing him.
‘Leave me alone,’ and he pulled himself free, staggered across the room, and fell into the nearest chair.
She stood over him. ‘You promised, Jones.’
‘Ssh.…’
‘Come along, Jones. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t settle, I was worried about you, it’s so late.’
The stream of gibberish that followed was quite beyond her. She undressed him where he sat, and when his head fell she propped it up again. ‘You can be a bloody nuisance when you like, Jones.’
‘This is all,’ he stuttered, flung arms into the air, embraced the room. She raised him out of the chair.
‘This is my home.’
‘Come along now,’ Mrs Gandell said, and Jones gave forth with another belch.
‘This is where I live,’ he said, as she slowly dragged him towards the bed, and finally flung him into it, then sat down.
‘Sometimes you’re positively silly,’ she said, suddenly hating the Jones belch, the Jones breath. ‘Over four hours, you said you’d be back by ten. It’s getting on midnight,’ but Jones, his face now turned to the wall appeared not to hear. She turned him over on his back, and he opened his eyes and looked up at her. She took a handkerchief and wiped his mouth. And fiercely, hotly into his ear. ‘Jones!’ She switched out the light, lay clear of him, listened to his heavy breathing; at any moment he would begin to snore.
‘Jones!’
‘What?’
‘Where is it?’
‘Where is what?’
‘What I sent you for?’
She seemed to wait an age for the answer. ‘He said No.’
‘Who said no?’
‘T - - t Tegid Hughes.’
‘Refused?’
And Jones shouted, ‘Said no.’
‘Why?’
‘Ask him, Mrs Gandell.’
She grabbed his shoulder, shook him. ‘I’m asking you,’ and she sat up and switched on the light, saw the Jones eyes closed, but the mouth wide open.
‘You drunken swine.’
‘S - - said you won’t last three months, Mrs Gandell.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Said you’d pull out.’
‘Pull out?’
‘Go,’ shouted Jones, ‘Go, Mrs Gandell,’ and slowly he raised himself up and lay over her, and felt neither wish nor warmth, the lie between them, ‘and you - - - you - - - you said you wouldn’t.’
When he gripped her shoulders she broke free, and cried in his face ‘Take that, you little bastard,’ and struck him hard on the mouth. And like a duty to do, like a breath of the old times, she heard him stutter. ‘Thank you, Mrs Gandell, th - - th - - -’
Her breath was warm at his cheek. ‘You’ll wake Miss Vaughan, Jones.’
‘That Mr Pro there said it’s lousy … he said … said …’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ each word a hiss. ‘What’ve you done, Jones?’
‘My bloody duty,’ he shouted.
‘You’d better sleep it off. We’ll talk about it in the morning.’
‘Morning?’ In a flash Jones exploded, and Jones was sober. ‘Now,’ he shouted in her face, ‘Now, Mrs Gandell,’ and shook, and went on shaking her.
