“I don’t want him near Sid.”
“You’ve nothing to worry about. He didn’t say he was going to glass him or anything.”
“No, well I still think its better that they don’t meet. Let bygones be bygones.”
“Yes, you’re probably right. Trouble is, Rory was talking about a job up at the garage and you know what Dad’s been like lately. I was thinking of taking it.”
It’s a fact that Dad has had the dead needle with me ever since I got back from Bentworth, and I usually get more of it than Sid. This evening’s little interchange has not been typical.
The reference to the job with Rory is obviously a master-stroke and I can see Rosie wriggling.
“It’s a bit difficult isn’t it,” I go on, “I mean, I’ve got to get a job and the garage seems favourite but I can understand your feelings about Rory. It would be difficult to stop him coming round here.”
“I haven’t got any feelings about Rory” she snaps, “I just don’t want him telling Sid a lot of lies about me.”
‘No, of course not.” I shake my head understandingly and then my face lights up as an idea suddenly comes to me. “I’ve just thought,” I say, “Sid was telling me that the old window cleaning lark was picking up a treat. Perhaps I could go in with him? Keep it in the family and all that. I’ve heard him saying he’s got more work than he can handle.”
I’m holding my breath and crossing my fingers and, by Christ, it works.
“That’s a good idea,” she says. “Why don’t you have a word with him about it?”
“I would but – you know – it’s his business, and what with him living here and me being family, I don’t want him to feel that I’m pushing it too much. You know what I mean? I think it would be much better if you could mention it to him first. Might make things easier with Dad too.” I soon learn that I’m overplaying my hand there.
“Dad can get stuffed,” she says, “he’s always had it in for Sid and now he’s beginning to do alright for himself he’s getting jealous.” He’s not the only one I think.
“Yes, you’re probably right. Well, if you could have a word with Sid and see if there’s anything going, I’d be very grateful, Rosie. I’m supposed to be seeing Rory tomorrow and he was pushing me for an answer so maybe I can say ‘no go’ and warn him off, so to speak.”
“I’ll talk to him tonight,” says Rosie firmly, “it seems a good idea to me, really it does. And if you can, see Rory doesn’t make any fuss – of course he can’t do anything but you know what it’s like.”
“Of course, Rosie, don’t worry yourself. I’ll see you alright. It’ll be a sort of tit for tat won’t it?”
She looks at me a bit hard but I give her my brotherly smile and I don’t think she suspects anything.
A few minutes later she goes to bed and I have my Ovaltine with Mum. It makes me think how I could have used all that malt, milk and eggs and added vitamins earlier in the evening. I can never understand how the stuff is supposed to give you more energy than you know what to do with and yet help you to sleep at the same time. Mum pushes off and I take a quick shufty in the hall stand where Dad keeps all the dirty books he’s ashamed to bring into the house. Things must be bad down at the lost property office where he works because there’s not so much as a censored copy of ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ let alone the hard core porn he thrives on. Dad and his mates down at the L.P.O. are on to a good thing because, knowing that no one is ever going to come round and confess to having lost a fully illustrated copy of ‘Spanking through the ages’ they nick everything juicy they can lay their hands on.
My room is at the top of the house; in fact if it was any higher my head would be sticking out of the chimney, and I have to go past Sid and Rosie’s room to get there. Normally, at this time, I would be treated to the sound of creaking springs, but tonight I can hear Rosie rabbiting away and Sid making occasional muffled grunts that sound as if he’s got a pillow over his head. I hope she is getting stuck in on my behalf.
I lie in my bed, naked, and listen to somebody’s wireless playing a few houses away. Or maybe they’re having a party. Now that I don’t need it I’ve got a bloody great hard on and when I think of Silk Blouse, or even Aunty Lil, or any of the millions of birds who must be lying alone in bed and feeling like a bit of the other, I’m bloody near bursting into tears.
When I come down the next morning Sid is sitting there with his hands wrapped round a cup of tea and he’s giving me an old fashioned expression that tells me Rosie has been getting at him.
“Morning” I say agreeably. Sid doesn’t answer.
“You going down the Labour today?” says Mum.
“I went yesterday” I say. “I don’t want to look as if I’m begging.”
“Well, don’t leave it too long, dear, you know what your father is like.”
I help myself to a cup of tea and ask Sid for the sugar. He slides it across very slowly without taking his hand off the bowl. I think Paul Newman did it in ‘Hud’ but I can’t be certain.
“I had a talk with your sister last night,” he says.
“Oh, really.”
“Yes, I thought you’d be surprised.”
“Well, I didn’t know you talked to each other as well.”
“Don’t be cheeky” says Mum.
“Don’t suppose you’ve any idea what we were talking about?” says Sid.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Well it was about what we were talking about yesterday.”
“Really? Oh, interesting.”
“Yeah. And to stop us poodling on like this any longer I might as well tell you that I’ve agreed to give it a go.”
“Great!” I say. “Ta very much. You won’t regret it.”
“Um, we’ll see.”
“What you on about?” says Mum.
“Sid and I are going into business” I say. “I’m going to be a window cleaner, Mum.”
“That’s nice, dear. Do you think he’ll be alright, Sid?”
“No” says Sid bitterly, “but you don’t expect much from a brother-in-law do you?”
“Now Sid,” says Mum, all reproachful, “that’s not very nice. That’s not the right spirit to work together in.”
“It’s alright, Mum,” I say, “he’s only joking, aren’t you, Sid?” Sid can’t bring himself to say ‘yes’ but he nods slowly.
“Today, you can do your Mum’s windows” he says, “It’ll be good practice for you. Tomorrow we’ll be out on the road.” He makes it sound like we’re driving ten thousand head of prime beef down to Texas.
“That’s a good idea” says Mum, “I was wondering when someone was going to get round to my windows.”
Sid gives me a quick demo and it looks dead simple. There’s a squeegee, or a bit of rubber on a handle, that you sweep backwards and forwards over a wet window and that seems to do the trick in no time. With that you use the classical chamois and finish off with a piece of rough cotton cloth that won’t fluff up called a scrim. It seems like money for old rope and I can’t wait to get down to it. Sid pushes off to keep his customers satisfied and I attack Mum’s windows. Attack is the right word. In no time at all I’ve put my arm through