Greyhound for Breakfast

Renee

I had landed in a position of some authority offering scope for advancement. A storekeeper. I kept records of food for the stores of food I had authority of. The Foodstore was a fairly large smallroom. I had no assistants. Those in superior positions held little or no authority over me. I was belonging to the few able to match figures on paper with objects on shelves and was left alone to get on with it.

Members of the kitchenstaff came to obtain grub and it was down to me to check they were due this grub. If so I marked it all in a wee notebook I kept hidden in a concealed spot. The chap I succeeded was at that moment serving a bit of time as an effect of his failure to conceal said notebook. He left the fucker lying around for any mug to find. And eventually someone pulled a stroke with cases of strong drink, and this predecessor of mine wound up taking the blame.

The kitchenstaff consisted of females most of whom were Portuguese but though I found them really desirable they seemed to regard Scotchmen with disfavour. And the rest of the British for that matter. They spoke very little English. I could manage La Muchacha Hermosa in their own language but it got me nowhere. Alongside them worked a pair of girls from somewhere on the southeastern tip of England, one in particular I was disposed towards. The other was not bad. I had to carry on the chat with both however because generally speaking this always transpires in such circumstances viz when you are on your tod and have nobody to help out in 4somes. Obviously I had no desire to escort both on a night out. But neither did I wish to ask one lest the other was hurt. What a mug! Never mind. It could have gone on for ages but for the intervention of the Portuguese. At long last they successfully conveyed to me that a certain girl from the southeastern tip of England wouldnt take it amiss if I was to dive in with the head down. Joan was her name; she seemed surprised when I asked her out but she was pleased. We walked down to the local pictures after work. The Odeon. People considered it a dump but I didnt; it showed two full-length feature films while the flash joints up west were charging a fortune for the privilege of seeing one.

My relations with the other girl declined palpably which was a bit of a pity because I quite liked her. She began visiting the Foodstore only when absolutely necessary. Then soon after this Joan was becoming irritated all the time. To some extent I couldnt blame her. My financial situation was hopeless and the very ideas of equality and going dutch were anathema to her. The upshot was the Odeon three weeks running. She hated it. That last conversation was totally ridiculous, me standing about humming and hawing and trying to assume a woebegone countenance. She said nothing but her face inflamed, she was quite passionate in some ways. The bloody Odeon again, she muttered and set off marching down the Gray’s Inn Road.

I strode after her. But not too quickly because I was having to figure out a speech. By the time I had counted through the last of my coins and paid for the two tickets she was through in the foyer at the end of the sweeties queue. She paid a fortune for chocolate but the thought of assisting me with the tickets never crossed her mind. And neither did the thought of walking off and leaving me — anything was better than spending the night indoors back at the female hostel where she stayed with her pal.

I waited for her to stick the sweeties and so on into her handbag then paused as she stepped past me and into the hall, where I handed the tickets to the aged usherette who was also from Scotland and occasionally gave me a cheery smile.

It was supposed to be hazardous for single women alone in the Odeon but to me that was extremely doubtful, perhaps if they’d had a halfbottle of rum sticking out their coat pockets. I never saw any bother. Just sometimes it was less than straightforward distinguishing the soundtrack from the racket caused by a few dozen snoring dossers. By the time we reached the seats the speech was forgotten about and we settled down to watch the movie. Later I slipped my arm about her shoulders and that was that, and we nestled in for a cuddle. On the road home afterwards we continued on past the local pub, straight to the female hostel. We stood in at the entrance out from the worst of the wind. There was no chance of her smuggling me inside. The place was very strict about that. Men were not wanted at all costs. She had hinted once or twice about my getting her into my own quarters. But it was not possible. In fact — well, the rumour circulating amongst the kitchenstaff at that precise moment concerned myself; they were saying I used the Foodstore as a sort of home-from-home to the extent that I actually slept in it. It was the main joke and I helped it along, telling them I was having a coloured television installed, plus a four-poster bed and a small portable bar, the usual sort of nonsense. The truth of the matter is that I was sleeping in the place; but nobody knew for sure and none had the authority to enter the Foodstore unless I was with them, this last being a new condition of the post because of the plight of my predecessor. Two keys only existed: one was held by myself while the other was kept in the office of the security staff. That was in case of emergencies. But I reckoned that with me being there on the premises most of the time there would be very little scope for ‘emergencies’. I had overheard a couple of those in superior positions refer to the plight of my predecessor as an ‘emergency’. The idea of becoming one myself was not appealing. But as long as the Foodstore remained under my control I had grounds for optimism; for the first time in a long while I was beginning to feel confident about the future. Even so, just occasionally, I could suddenly become inveighed by a sense of panic and if outside of the Foodstore I had to rush straight back to ensure everything was okay, that I hadnt forgotten to lock the bloody door. That Saturday night I started getting fidgety with Joan.

It was getting on for midnight according to her watch and I had visions of folk stealing in and filling swagbags full of grub and strong drink. And also there was an underlying suspicion that all was not well between Joan and myself, a sort of coldness, even a slight impatience. Eventually I asked her if anything was up but she said there wasnt then told me she had been invited to a good party the following night and would it be okay if she went. Of course it was okay. I quite fancied going myself. Good parties are uncommon. Especially in London. Things have a habit of going badly. I told Joan that but she said it would probably be alright, it was taking place in the home of the big brother of a former boyfriend. That sounds great, I said.

What d’you mean jock? she said.

Nothing.

Joan was good at kidding on she didnt notice things, my sarcasm was one of them. And five minutes later I was striding back down the road and sneaking in past the security office and down the long dark corridors to the Foodstore.

*

I didnt see her the next day but she sent a note via one of the Portuguese women, just to say she would meet me at the lounge door of the local pub at 8 that evening. It was after 9 when she arrived and I was into my third pint. She apologized. She was looking really great as well and there was a perfume she had on that was something special. Then too the material of her dress; I touched the side of her arm and there seemed to be a kind of heat radiated from it. Or else the Guinness was stronger than usual. And I kept having to stop myself from touching the nape of her neck. I noticed the landlord of the pub glancing at me in a surreptitious fashion as if fearing I might do something that would embarrass us all.

Joan kept looking at her watch until I swallowed down the last of the beer and collected my tobacco tin and matches. It was cold and blowy, and nobody was about. Nor were there any buses in view. It was as well to start walking. Joan wasnt too pleased; each time a taxi passed she made a show of looking to see if it was for hire. Eventually we reached Chancery Lane tube station.

As it transpired the party was not too bad at all, plenty of food and stuff. Joan’s pal was there too but she seemed to be ignoring us. I lost sight of her amid the people who were bustling about dancing and the rest of it. Joan as well, eventually I lost sight of her. I went into a wee side room next to the kitchen, opened a can of beer and sat on a dining chair. A fellow came in who was involved with another of the girls from the hostel; he supported Charlton Athletic and we spoke about football for a time, then women. His girlfriend was older than him and it was causing problems with her parents or her roommates or something. His voice grated on me and it was as if he was just kidding on he was a Londoner. He kept on yapping. I began to wonder if maybe it was a plot of some sort to detain me.

*

Shortly before midnight a girl told me to go along to the end bedroom on the first floor. Joan was there. She nodded me inside but bypassed me, shutting the door behind me; and there was her pal, Renee was her name, she was sitting on the edge of the bed crying her eyes out. I took my tin out to roll a smoke then put it away again. She knew I was there. I stepped across and touched her shoulder. Okay? I said.

She shook the hand off. She had stopped crying but was trembling a little. I rolled a smoke now and offered her it but she didnt smoke. She dried her nose with a tissue. I laid my hand on her arm and asked if she was feeling any better. When she didnt answer I said: Will I tell Joan to come in?

No, she replied. She sniffed and dried her nose again. I stood smoking while she continued to sit there staring at the floor.

Do you want me to leave? I said.

Yes.

Joan had gone. Downstairs in the main dancing room I found her doing a slow one with this monkey dressed in a cravat and strange trousers. Over she came, she was frowning. Jock, she said, how’s Renee? is she alright?

I think so. What was up with her?

She paused a moment then shrugged briefly, glanced away from me. Look jock, she said, I better finish the dance with David.

Oh good. Ask him if he’s selling that cravat.

It wouldnt suit you, she muttered, and off she went. A loud dancing record started and other people got up onto the floor. I returned to the wee side room. The Charlton Athletic supporter was sitting on the floor with another guy; they both watched me enter. That was enough. Cheerio, I said.

It was time to get back to the Foodstore. I went into the kitchen first though and lifted a handful of cocktail sausages, wrapped them in a napkin and stuck them into my pocket and also as well a halfbottle of gin. Out in the hall I bumped into a couple at the foot of the stairs. I asked them if Renee was still in the end bedroom but they didnt seem to understand what I said.

Closing the front door after me I waited a moment in the porch, then I opened the gin and swigged a mouthful. It was really fucking horrible and didnt even taste like gin. I set off walking. Along the street and round from Basset Road I saw Renee away about fifty yards off, standing at an empty taxi rank. A man approached her and looked as if he was trying to chat her up. She stood stiffly, gazing directly to the front. He stepped towards her and she said something to him. Hey Renee! I shouted. Hey. . I trotted along the road and the man walked smartly off in the opposite direction.

Renee was frowning, and she looked at me. He thought I was a prostitute, she said, he asked me how much I charged. . She turned and stared after him but he had vanished.

Dont worry, I said, that kind of thing happens all the time. London. You waiting for a taxi?

Yes. She stepped back the way and continued speaking without looking at me. I shouldnt’ve come. I had a headache most of the day. I just shouldnt’ve come. I wasnt going to. I changed my mind at the last minute.

It was rubbish anyway, I said. Looked as if it was going to be good at the start and then it wasnt.

She nodded. Where’s Joan?

Joan. . I shrugged. I pressed the lid off the tobacco tin but put it back on and brought out the gin instead. She didnt want any of it. She rubbed her forehead. If you’ve got a sore head, I said, this night air’ll clear it. Eh, come on we’ll walk for a bit.

She continued to stand there.

It’s quite a nice night.

Jock, I just want to go home.

I know, but just. . a lot of queeries hang about here you know — we’ll probably pick up a taxi quite soon. Eh? hey. . I brought out the cocktail sausages, unwrapped the napkin, passed her a couple. Then we carried on, eating as we walked. I began telling her about some sort of nonsense connected to the Foodstore to which she made no comment though she was quite interested. Then she started talking about her life, just general stuff to do with her family back home in this southeastern tip of England which is apparently very green. Joan was her best pal and they had come up from there together. This was their first job and they were supposed to be sticking it out till something better turned up. Meantime they were supposed to be saving for this great flat they planned on acquiring. Has it got all mod cons? I said.

Pardon?

I shook my head but when she saw me smiling she started smiling as well. And she added, Sometimes you’re funny jock.

I am not always sure about women, about what exactly is going on with them. This was just such an occasion. But I knew it was okay to put my arm round her shoulders. She continued talking about the hostel then about the kitchen and the Portuguese women whom she liked working beside because they were always having a laugh. And then I knew about the blunder I had committed; it was Renee I was supposed to have asked out back at the beginning, not Joan. It was basic and simple and everything was explained. I was glad she wasnt looking straight at my face.

A taxi trundled past. We were walking quite the thing though and scarcely noticed till it was out of earshot. Beyond Marble Arch the wind had died and it was not a bad night considering it was still only March. We had the full length of Oxford Street ahead of us but it was fine, and the shop windows were there to be looked into. I took Renee’s hand and she smiled as if she had just remembered something funny; it had nothing to do with me.

When we arrived at the hostel she didnt want to go in. We moved into the space to the side of the entrance and started kissing immediately. And the way her eyes had closed as she turned her face to meet me, a harmony. I asked if it was definitely out of the question to smuggle me inside.

Honestly jock.

Are you sure?

There’s just no way.

I was breathing her perfume, the point behind her ear. She had her coat open and my jacket was open, our arms round each other’s waist. I had been hard since stepping into the space, and Renee was not backing away from it. We continued kissing. She definitely did not want to go in and up to her room, and it was because of Joan. She’ll be there in the morning, said Renee, and I wont bear to look at her. Not now.

That was that. I opened my tin and rolled a cigarette. She was waiting for me to make things happen. Eventually I said, Listen Renee, the trouble with the place I stay in, it’s 8 bloody beds to a room and that I mean you cant even get leaving a suitcase because somebody’ll knock it. No kidding.

She pulled away to look at me properly. I brought out the gin, offered her a swig, took one myself when she declined. There was an all-night snackbar across at the Square and I asked if she fancied a cup of coffee. She shrugged. The two of us came out onto the pavement, walked for a couple of minutes together without speaking. Then we had our arms round each other again and we walked that way that the bodies link, the thighs fast together, the feet keeping pace and so on. At last I said, Right: how would you like to find out where I really stay?

I didnt look at her. But when she made no answer I did, and I could see she was trying not to smile. What’s up? I asked.

Oh jock!

What?

She shook her head, lips tightly shut; but not able to stop smiling now.

I dont stay in the Foodstore if that’s what you’re thinking.

Yes you do.

What?

You do jock.

Naw I dont.

Oh well then I’m looking forward to meeting your landlord! And she laughed aloud.

I chipped away the cigarette and had another swig of gin, gestured with it to her but she shook her head. You’re wrong, I said.

Am I!

Well you’re no, but you are.

Oh, I see. Renee shook her head: All the kitchenstaff know!

They dont.

Jock, they do.

They fucking dont! I’ll tell you something, it was me started the rumour in the first place.

You?

Aye, of course.

But the Portuguese women all laugh about it jock.

Aye okay, but it’s like a double bluff; when it comes right down to it they dont really believe it.

Joan does.

Joan. .

It was her that told me.

Oh christ. I took out my tin and rolled another fag immediately. Look, I said, Renee I mean the only reason I do it’s because of the thieving that goes on in there. You cant turn your back. Christ, you know what like it is!

She didnt answer.

As far as I’m concerned I’m only going to stay there till I make sure I’m no going to get fucking set up — cause that’s what they’re trying to fucking do, and I’m no kidding.

There’s no need to swear about it.

Sorry.

Anyhow, you dont have to worry.

What?

About who knows; it’s only the kitchenstaff, and they wont say anything.

How do you know?

They wont.

What a life!

Jock, dont worry.

I wonder how the hell they found out.

Renee chuckled. Maybe you were snoring!

She seemed to take it for granted I could smuggle the two of us inside with the greatest of ease, and showed not the slightest interest in how it was to be accomplished. I led her round into the narrow, enclosed alley at the back of the building and told her to wait at a special spot. She smiled and kissed my nose. Renee, I said, you’re actually crazy, do you know that?

Not as crazy as you. She raised her eyebrows.

It was never easy getting inside the building at night and that was another reason why I didnt go out very often. The security man on nightshift was from Yorkshire and me and him got on quite well together. Usually the way I managed things was to chap the window of his office and go in for a cup of tea and a chat. He assumed I was just stopping off on my road home and when I said goodnight he paid no further attention, never for one moment even dreaming I would be sneaking back beneath the window and along the corridor to the rear staircase. Tonight he kept me yapping for more than twenty minutes. I left him seated at his desk, twiddling the tuner of his transistor radio; he spent most of the night trying for a clear sound on the BBC World Service.

She stepped forwards from the shadows when I appeared at the window. We were both shivering with nervousness and it made it the more awkward when she clambered up and over the sill. I snibbed the window afterwards. That was the sort of thing Yorky would have discovered routinely. We went quickly along and down to the basement, and along to where the Foodstore was situated beyond the kitchen and coldrooms. Once inside I locked the door and stood there with my eyes shut and breathing very harshly.

Alright? she said.

Aye.

She smiled, still shivering. Can you put on a light?

No, too risky. Sometimes I use a candle. . I crossed the narrow floor and opened the shutters; the light from the globes at either end of the alley was barely sufficient to see each other by. I opened them more fully.

God, she said, it cant be very nice staying here.

Well, it’s only temporary remember. . I brought out the rags and sacking from the teachests, fixed us a place to sit down comfortably. It was always a warm place too. She unbuttoned her coat. I opened the halfbottle and this time she took a small mouthful of the gin. We leaned our backs against the wall and sighed simultaneously, and grinned at each other. This is actually crazy, I said.

She chuckled.

Perishable items? I said.

Pardon?

I’ve got milk stout and diabetic lager and butter and cheese and stale rolls, plus honey and some cakes from yesterday morning. Interested?

No thanks.

More gin?

She shook her head in a significant way and we smiled at each other again, before moving closely in together.

The daylight through the window. I blinked my eyes open. My right arm seemed to be not there any longer, Renee was lying on it, facing into the wall. I was hard. I turned onto my side and moved to rub against her; soon she was awake.

When eventually I was on top and moving to enter her she stared in horror beyond my head, and then she screamed. Through the window and across the alley up in the ground-floor window a crowd of female faces, all gesticulating and laughing. The Portuguese women. I grabbed at the sacking to try and cover the two of us. Renee had her head to the side, shielding her face in below my chest. Oh jock, she was crying. Oh jock.

Dont worry, dont worry.

How long’ve they been watching!

It’s alright, dont worry.

Oh jock, oh jock. .

Dont worry.

Shut the shutters, please.

I did as she asked without putting on my clothes first. I quite enjoyed the exhibitionist experience of it. Renee dressed without speaking. I tried to talk her into coming down to King’s Cross for a coffee so we could discuss things but she shook her head and mumbled a negative. She was absolutely depressed. I put my hands on her shoulders and gazed into her eyes, hoping we would manage to exchange a smile but there was nothing coming from her. It had just turned 7 a.m. I’m going to go home, she said. She lifted her bag and waited for me to unlock the door, and she left saying, Bye jock.

*

It was time for me to leave as well. This had been a warning. I gathered the chattels immediately and filled a plastic bag with perishables. I got my all-important notebook from its concealed spot, just in case of future emergencies, and left, leaving the key in the lock.