Through the early morning sun

I can see her, here she comes

She bangs the drum

 

 

 

 

June 3^rd 1965

 

George lay on his side, staring at the rose pink wall. There was a shaft of bright sunlight shining across it, coming from the window, but he couldn’t bear to turn and look at the blue skies outside. It didn’t feel appropriate.

 

The bedroom was as beautiful as the whole flat. A perfect balance of the modern and the traditional, tasteful even down to her bed sheets; satin, silk and pure cotton. A lovely feel on naked skin, as George was aware. His mind ached but it wasn’t a hangover. He hadn’t drunk enough. George tried to picture where he had discarded his clothes in the journey from the living room to the bedroom. He wondered if Grace would bring them to him.

 

He had pretended to still be asleep when she had gotten up a short while ago, but in truth he had been awake since dawn, alone with his thoughts. He had considered getting up and going home but he felt unable to, so hours later he was still lying there. Bed’s normally felt like safe places, but this one didn’t.

 

“Good morning, darling,” Grace purred, as she came in carrying a breakfast tray. George turned over on to his back and gave her a weak smile. She was wearing a shimmering negligee, which clung to her curves in all the correct places. George couldn’t remember her putting it on. Perhaps she kept one in the kitchen for such an occasion.

 

She sat down on her king-sized bed next to him, folding her legs underneath her. “I made toast,” she told him, “Do you crave honey… or marmalade?”

 

“Neither,” George said and wriggled to sit up, keeping the bed cover up to his neck.

 

“Oh, George, are you still fretting over that girl?” Grace said, buttering a round of toast.

 

George blinked at her disbelievingly, “That girl? Pattie? My girlfriend? Your best friend? Supposedly.”

 

Grace handed him the toast, “Don’t you put this on me now,” she said, her voice even and smooth, “You were the one who…” she cleared her throat, “jumped, on me.”

 

George bit into the toast. He still wasn’t ready to talk about it.

 

“Now, sweetie, let’s not quarrel,” Grace said.

 

George nodded. “Could you… could you have made a mistake?” he asked, not looking at her.

 

“No, George. She’s definitely sleeping with someone. She tells me all the details… except who he is, of course.”

 

“Why won’t she tell you who?”

 

“She say’s it wouldn’t be fair. Not until they’ve had a chance to tell you. His girlfriend is a mutual friend too, apparently. Poor cow hasn’t a clue.”

 

“Yeah, well, neither did I,” George replied, resentfully.

 

Grace turned to him and frowned concerned, “That’s why I had to tell you, George,” she said, snuggling up to him, “You do understand that, don’t you, love?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I couldn’t let her go on making a fool of you.”

 

George’s spirits dropped again, he hadn’t even considered that aspect of it. Grace saw his face and kissed him, not quite on the mouth, “Everything will be alright,” she said.

 

“I should talk to Pattie,” George said, trying to imagine what he could possibly say.

 

“Yes,” Grace agreed.

 

“Perhaps we could sort it out,” George thought out loud, “Maybe if I explain to her, that what she thinks is going on, isn’t.”

 

“What?” Grace lost the sweet tone of her voice.

 

“I mean, it’s my fault really. I pushed her to it. If I talk to her then she can break it off with this other fella…”

 

“George, you can’t seriously be considering going back to that slut?” She moved round to face him.

 

“Don’t call her that,” he said quietly.

 

“After what she’s done to you?”

 

“She’s… she is my girlfriend…”

 

“She was.”

 

“But she doesn’t understand. There’s nothing going on…”

 

“There wasn’t. There is now,” Grace corrected him.

 

George put his hand to his forehead, brushing his hair back, “Grace, I can’t…”

 

“Am I a whore?”

 

“What?” The question took him by surprise.

 

“You heard. Am I a fucking whore, George?”

 

The language took him by surprise too, it sounded wrong coming from Grace. “No,” he replied, hesitantly.

 

“Then you don’t treat me like one.”

 

“I’m not, Grace, but Pattie’s my…”

 

“Do you think you can just sleep with me and then go back to your ‘girlfriend’ the next day?” She knelt, making herself taller than George, “Like you said, George, Pattie is my best friend.” It was a threat.

 

“What are you saying?”

 

“Well, I can’t let my best friend’s boyfriend shag around on her, can I? I’m sure Pattie would be very interested to hear how you took advantage while she was absent.”

 

“It wasn’t…” George began to argue, but Grace got off the bed and walked out of the room.

 

George jumped after her but paused, realising he was still naked. He pulled the cover off the top of the bed and wrapped it around his waist, letting most of it trail behind him, and rushed after Grace.

 

He caught up to her by the phone in the living room. She was already dialling. George put his finger on the hook, cutting her off. Grace stared at him, her brown eyes looked orange in the light. “Don’t, please Grace,” George said.

 

“Are you going to tell her?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell her.”

 

“Tell her that we’re together now?”

 

“Yes,” George took the phone from her and hung up, “It would be better from me,” he said helplessly.

 

Grace wrapped her arms around his waist, “Oh George, you’ll thank me in the long run,” she told him, “You’re going to be so happy.” She pulled at the sheet around his waist, slipping her hand down between it and George.

 

George rested his head on her shoulder, letting her hand wander over him, wondering if he could get himself any deeper in this hole.

 

 

 

He stood in the hallway. The house was quiet. He wondered if she was home. She might have run away to her sister’s. Or to her…

 

George closed the door quietly. He felt wretched. It was three o’clock before he had mustered the courage to go back and confront Pattie. He didn’t know what he would say to her. He knew what he wouldn’t say to her, he wouldn’t so much as mention Grace. That was a problem he would deal with once he had straightened things out with Pattie.

 

“Pattie?” he called, finally finding his voice. There was no reply.  He sighed, partially in relief and partially in disappointment.

 

He took his coat off and hung it up. There seems a strange aroma on it, on the rest of his clothes too. They smelt of Grace.

 

He walked to the bathroom and switched the shower on, letting the water run to warm up, then went to the kitchen in search of aspirin for his throbbing head, and there she was.

 

A magazine was laid open in front of her although she wasn’t reading it. She was just sitting, staring at the wall. Her hair was scrapped back in a ponytail and she wore an oversized jumper.

 

George stopped when he saw her, feeling like he had walked in on something he shouldn’t. Pattie didn’t look up.

 

“I thought you were out,” he said.

 

“I can hear water running,” Pattie replied.

 

“I put the shower on,” George explained.

 

Pattie closed her magazine and picked it up, making to leave. George stood in her way. “Pattie, I’m sorry,” he said quickly.

 

She looked at him for the first time. Her big blue eyes looked puffy, as if she had been crying. George tried to hug her but she stepped back out of his reach. “Please, Pat, whatever I did yesterday, I’m sorry,” he tried again.

 

“You didn’t come home,” her voice cracked.

 

“I know,” George said, “I got drunk. I stayed at John’s.”

 

Pattie looked him, searching his face. George was sure she would see right through him. He swallowed the lie, an uncomfortable lump in his throat.

 

Pattie suddenly let out a sob and collapsed into George’s chest, wrapping her arms around him tightly. George held her, kissing the top of her head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

 

“I’m sorry too,” she cried, muffled by his chest, “George, I thought you weren’t going to come back.”

 

“Of course I’d come back,” he said plaintively.

 

“I thought you’d left me.”

 

“I’ll never leave you.”

 

“I love you, George.”

 

“Oh, Pattie,” George tightened his arms around her, loosing all the conviction of confronting her about her affair. As she cried in his arms he decided he wouldn’t ask. He had no proof, after all, only Grace’s words and despite what she said, he wasn’t sure her motives were so pure. And even if it were true, then he would just have to win her back to him. He had done that to get her in the first place. He could do it again.

 

He lifted her head up and wiped the tears off her cheeks, then leaned down to kiss her, lovingly and passionately.