All the Way Home and All the Night Through Read Online Free PDF Page B

answer.
    â€œHonestly, Sweet, I just feel that I’ve got to be alone in this thing. It’s not that I feel you couldn’t help; I just don’t want to involve you.”
    Finally, after a long spiel, I convinced her. We left the cinema. It was half-past six and the shoppers had gone away. The sharp blue sky soared quietly over the relaxing streets and squares. Light dust moved in the gutters, stirred softly by the thin early evening breeze. Victoria Square was almost deserted. Its broad perspective stopped short in the deep purple shadow of the North-facing buildings.
    We walked slowly along past the station facade and the Station Hotel. We were facing the sunlight. I let its pleasant comfortable warmth soak through my sweater. Hilary was silent. We trailed along for a while until we came to Allenby Road.
    â€œWell,” I said, “I’d better be off. I won’t catch my ferry other-wise.”
    â€œAre you going home?”
    Her voice was taut with surprise.
    â€œWell, yes, I’d better.”
    â€œBut aren’t you coming with me to Harry’s?”
    â€œLook, Sweet, can’t you understand? I’ve told you how things are. Try and make it easy.”
    â€œBut just for tonight, I mean; it’s not as though we’re finishing. We’re going to be together again soon aren’t we? We can’t just part now, like this.”
    She stood there, nearly in tears, the pastel sun shimmering round her summer dress. I brushed some hair out of my eyes with my forefinger. A trolley bus rolled dustily by.
    â€œLook, I’ve got to go. It would only make things more difficult if I stayed tonight.”
    â€œPlease, Vic, please. Don’t be mean.”
    â€œI’m not being mean. You won’t understand.”
    â€œI don’t think it’s just because of what you told me. I don’t believe it’s just that.”
    â€œDon’t then.”
    â€œIt’s not just that, is it? Is it? Tell me, Vic, tell me what’s wrong.”
    â€œNothing’s wrong. Just try and understand.”
    â€œOh, Vic.”
    She started to cry. I grabbed hold of her by her forearms.
    â€œLook at me. Listen. There’s nothing the bloody matter. It’s just that I’m sick and tired of you. You do nothing except get on my nerves all day long. So that’s why I’m finishing with you. Permanently. That’s the truth. This is it.”
    She stood stock still, staring at me in disbelief. I still had hold of her by the arms.
    â€œAnd now I’m off to get my ferry. See you.”
    I let go of her and strode off.
    â€œVictor!”
    She came after me.
    â€œVictor. Vic. Don’t. Don’t go. Say you don’t mean it. Come back. Oh please.”
    â€œGet lost.”
    She tried to stop me by clutching hold of my shoulder. I shook her hand off and the sharp movement must have thrown her slightly off balance. She lost her grip on her string bag; it tilted too far forward and all its contents fell out onto the pavement. I turned round and looked down. Compacts, biros, gloves, hankies, sunglasses, all these littered the ground. A headscarf began to slide away in the breeze. She looked at the mess on the pavement then at me. She compressed her lips in frustration and misery and began automatically to bend down and pick up her belongings. The movement made her look gawky, and the breeze lifted her skirts and petticoats slightly. She had to squat partially to begin gathering in the clutter. I stood there for a few seconds, watching, and then I found myself backing away from her, into the warm sun. The movement quickened then suddenly I had turned round and was charging away into the sun, flying as fast as I could. The light breeze screamed past my ears, triumphant. I heard a wail coming from far behind me, but I never turned round and I never stopped running.
    â€œYou’re back,” said my mother, surprised as I came in through the