‘Well – if you change your mind . . . Anyway, I expect you’re busy, Saturday before Christmas.’
‘Not really. Although the local Labour Party are having a sort of party that night. I shall have to go to that.’
‘Why? I mean, why do you have to?’
‘Because,’ he said, very seriously, ‘it would look bad if I didn’t. You have to do these things if you want to make your way in politics. It’s what I’ve got now. Instead of Laura. It’s not enough, of course. But it helps.’
‘Well, that’s good,’ said Jillie, thinking that if anyone ever considered taking Laura’s place in Tom Knelston’s life she would have a very hard time of it. ‘Look, if you change your mind about the party – here’s the address.’ She scribbled it down on one of the paper napkins.
Walking back to his flat, Tom thought about Jillie.
He realised she was the first girl he had noticed as a girl, since – well, since. He decided she was attractive, with her gleaming straight brown hair, her rather dark green eyes, and her curvy smiley mouth with one tiny dimple tucked underneath it. Large dimples reminded him too much of Laura’s, but this small one was all right. She was tall, and very slim, again suitably different from Laura, and he liked her voice, which was slightly husky and low-pitched.
Alice lay on the small bumpy bed, curled into a ball of misery, pulling the blanket over her head, and started to cry. That Philip, who she loved so much and had thought loved her, could do this awful thing, deliver this cruel ultimatum. Oh, she had heard of men doing it before, of course, but if anyone had told her Philip would . . .!
‘Alice,’ he’d said. ‘I am very fond of you and I love being with you. But you’re saying you won’t have sex with me unless I tell you I want to marry you. Is that what you’re saying?’
She had nodded, terrified at what he might say next.
‘Well,’ he said, turning away from her, onto his back, ‘we might have a bit of a problem. Why, for God’s sake? I thought you said you loved me?’
If only she hadn’t; if only she hadn’t let it slip out as she stopped kissing him just for a moment, loving not just him, but the way he kissed her, pushing her into so many sensations, new, overwhelming, enjoying the feel of his hands on her, longing for more, knowing she mustn’t. It had made it all so much worse.
‘I do,’ she said. ‘I do love you.’
‘Well then, why not?’
‘Because – because it’s wrong. Having sex before you’re married is wrong. It ought to be – well, special.’
‘Alice, if we have sex it will be very special indeed.’
‘That’s not what I mean. I mean, it would cheapen it. It wouldn’t be important enough. I’m a virgin, Philip, you know I am. I’m scared.’
‘Oh, Christ.’ He sat up, looked down at her. ‘You’re scared of getting pregnant. Is that it? Because I swear you won’t. I’ve got some rubber johnnies, of course I have. You don’t have to worry, Alice. I’ll take care of you, I won’t let that happen. So if that’s all it is – come on, Alice, trust me –’ He lay back down again, started playing with her breasts. Somehow she pushed his hand away.
‘Philip, no. I’m sorry. I can’t. That’s not all I’m scared about. I’m scared that it doesn’t mean as much to you, and I don’t think it does. I thought – I thought you loved me.’
‘I’m very fond of you, Alice. I’ve gone out with you longer than I’ve ever gone out with anyone before. What more do you want? You’re not suggesting I should ask you to marry me, are you? Alice, really!’ He sounded almost amused. ‘Even if I thought I might want to marry you, how could I know? How could you know, for that matter? Look, we’re only doing something very natural. It’s not wrong. It’s no more wrong than the rest of what we’ve been doing this afternoon.’
She was silent. He sighed and sat up again.
‘You’re absurdly young for your age, you know that? You’re a child. I hadn’t realised. Well, I’m sorry, Alice, but there is no way I’m going to lie to you and say I want to marry you just to get into your knickers. At least I’m honest. You’ll have to find someone else, someone more high-minded, to share all your ridiculous hang-ups. So – very sadly, Alice, I think we should go our separate ways. I’m on duty in an hour anyway. I’ll go and get a meal and you should get back to the nurses’ home and – well, have a good look at yourself. The world’s changing, Alice. It’s not the same as when your mother was a girl.’
He leaned over and kissed her, then stood up, started pulling on his clothes. She lay, watching him, somehow managing not to cry.
The party was quite dreadful. If Tom hadn’t experienced many similar ones over the years, he would have been shocked. The hall had been decorated with balloons and paper chains and a rather sparse Christmas tree, listing dangerously to the left. There were a few bottles of red wine, some beer, and a lot of almost empty plastic cups. Everyone was very drunk. Tom had several times already been dragged onto the dance floor by a series of girls, each more drunk than the last, and tried to follow their increasingly random steps.
He had arrived late, at eight o’clock, and was already, at nine, wondering how soon he could escape. He stood now, a refugee from the dance floor, nursing a plastic glass of warm bitter, smiling at everyone he knew, agreeing it was a very good party, and occasionally sharing in the relief of some more serious conversation about how the Labour Party would be fine and they’d get in again: no one was going to let the Tories undo all the good that had been done in the last five years.
Finally, at nine thirty, he decided he would slip away and was just making for the door when a young man barred his way, held out his hand and said, ‘Jim Dunne, Islington Gazette. Can I talk to you? One of the men here said I should ask you for an interview.’
‘I’m surprised you value his opinion,’ said Tom with a grin. ‘I’m not very important.’
‘He seemed to think you would be. Would that be your wish for yourself, in the New Year?’
‘I – I suppose so. Yes. It’s such a wonderful party. Look at the fine politicians we have. So how can we fail? The Welfare State, education, and of course the National Health Service, all looking after people from the cradle to the grave. Of course I want to be part of it. And to have a voice in it.’
‘Do you think people need looking after? Can’t they look after themselves?’
‘I think a lot of them need help,’ said Tom, choosing his words with care. ‘There are still too many inequalities, too much shameless exploitation of working people.’
‘What do you do, Tom?’
‘I’m a solicitor. I work for a firm that does a lot of legal aid work, giving representation to people who could never normally afford it. And I do a twice-weekly session at the Citizens’ Advice Bureau.’
‘So what would your next step be? Would you hope to be selected as a candidate? Who would you model yourself on?’