What a Carve Up! by Jonathan Coe Read Free Book Online Page B

and said: ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t.’
    Kenneth said: ‘Oh,’ and paused. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll go now.’
    Shirley hesitated, a resolve forming within her: ‘No. Hang on.’ She gestured with her hand, urgently. ‘Turn your back a minute.’
    Kenneth turned, and found himself staring into a mirror in which he could see his own reflection, and beyond that, Shirley’s. Her back was to him, and she was wriggling out of her slip, pulling it over her head.
    He said: ‘J— just a minute, miss.’
    My mother tried to get my father’s attention.
    Kenneth hastily lowered the mirror, which was on a hinge.
    Shirley turned to him and said: ‘You’re sweet.’ She finished pulling her slip over her head, and started to unfasten her bra.
    My mother said: ‘Come on. We’re going. It’s far too late already.’
    But Grandpa and my father were both staring goggle-eyed at the screen as the beautiful Shirley Eaton took her bra off with her back to the camera, while Kenneth heroically tried to stop himself from peeping into the mirror which would have yielded a precious glimpse of her body. I was staring at her too, I suppose, and thinking that I had never seen anyone so lovely, and from that moment it was no longer Kenneth she spoke to but me, my own nine-year-old self, because I was now the person who had lost his way in the corridor, and, yes, it was me that I saw on the screen, sharing a room with the most beautiful woman in the world, trapped in that old dark house in that terrible storm in that shabby little cinema in my bedroom that night and in my dreams forever afterwards. It was me.
    Shirley emerged from behind my head, her body swathed in the knee-length gown, and said: ‘You can turn round now.’
    My mother stood up, and the woman behind her said: ‘For Heaven’s sake sit down, can’t you.’
    On the screen, I turned and looked at her. I said: ‘Cor. Very provoking.’
    Shirley brushed back her hair, embarrassed.
    My mother grabbed my hand and pulled me out of my seat. I let out a little howl of protest.
    The woman behind us said: ‘Sssh!’
    Grandpa said: ‘What are you doing?’
    My mother said: ‘We’re leaving is what we’re doing. And you’re coming too, unless you want to walk all the way back to Birmingham.’
    ‘But the film hasn’t finished yet.’
    Shirley and I were sitting on the double bed together. She said: ‘I’ve a proposal to make.’
    Grandma said: ‘Come on then, if we’re going. We’ve got to stop somewhere for dinner, I suppose.’
    On the screen, I said: ‘Oh?’
    Off the screen, I said: ‘Mum, I want to stay and see the end.’
    ‘Well you can’t.’
    My father said: ‘Oh well. Looks like we’ve been given our marching orders.’
    Grandpa said: ‘I’m staying put. I’m enjoying this.’
    The woman behind us said: ‘Look, I’m going to call the management in a minute.’
    Shirley moved closer towards me. She said: ‘Why don’t you stay here tonight? I don’t fancy spending the night alone, and we’d be company for each other.’
    My mother grabbed me underneath the armpits and lifted me out of my seat, and for the second time that day I burst into tears: partly out of real distress and partly, no doubt, because of the sheer indignity of it. I hadn’t been picked up like that since I was tiny. She pushed past the other people in the row and started carrying me down the steps towards the exit.
    On the screen I seemed to be uncertain how to respond to Shirley’s offer. I mumbled something but in the confusion I couldn’t hear what it was. I could see Grandma and my father following us into the aisle and Grandpa rising reluctantly from his seat. As my mother pushed open the door which led to the chill concrete stairs and the salty air, I turned and caught a last glimpse of the screen. I was leaving the room but Shirley didn’t know this because she had her back to me and was fiddling with the bed.
    Shirley said: ‘I’ll be quite all right on the –’ She