There was the snap of cotton being shaken out before she saw anything. The snap of cotton, followed by Geenie’s voice: ‘You be Clark Gable. I’m being Claudette Colbert.’
Kitty was on her way downstairs to clear away the breakfast things, having finished sweeping the landing, when she heard the sound, and noticed Mrs Steinberg’s bedroom door was ajar.
‘Draw a moustache on me, then.’ Diana’s voice came from Geenie’s bedroom, and Kitty stopped, her soft broom in her hand, and glanced through the crack from where the snapping sound had come.
The blood seemed to thicken and slow in her veins as she stood in the gloom of the landing, holding her broom and watching Mr Crane dressing.
He was standing with his back to her, looking at himself in the mirror, his green shirt in his hand. He was naked to the waist. His shoulders were wider than they appeared when clothed, his waist slim, his spine straight, and at the very bottom of his back there was what looked like a large dimple, an indent of pale flesh just above where his braces hung down to his thighs. A soft place.
As he moved to slip an arm into a sleeve, the muscle on his shoulder jumped and stretched. He swung the shirt across his back, the fabric billowing out, and pushed the other arm in. With several shrugs, he eased himself into the shirt, smoothing it over his chest and belly with one hand, tucking it into his trousers with the other.
The girls laughed together and Kitty gave a start. But a quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that Geenie’s door was still closed.
She was about to move away and get on, ready to pretend she hadn’t been peeking; ready to pretend she hadn’t seen Mr Crane’s naked back and shoulders, hadn’t felt any tingle along her neck and down her spine; ready to pretend she didn’t now know that he chose not to wear a vest beneath his shirt. It was just a matter of getting her legs going and her heartbeat back to normal. But then he began the business of buttoning, and she knew she couldn’t move. She would have to stay and watch.
He started at the bottom and worked his way up towards his throat, teasing each button into its hole with a little twist of his fingers whilst staring at his own hands in the mirror.
‘I have to tell you what to do!’ shrieked Diana. ‘I’m Clark Gable!’
Kitty realised she was holding her breath.
Tugging his cuffs into place, he turned to the side, frowned at himself, then cupped his hands and wiped them over his hair, pressing it into shape. When he was satisfied, he pulled his braces up.
His eyes shifted then, and Kitty was sure he’d noticed her reflection in the mirror – the shadow of a girl in an apron, her hair unwashed since Friday, spying on him. She found, though, that she could not avert her gaze, and for a second it seemed as though they were staring directly at each other in the mirror. Blood was loud in her ears and a heat forced its way from her stomach to her chest to her head as his eyes remained, fixed and unblinking, seemingly on hers.
That’s that then, she thought. It’s back to Lou’s.
But he looked towards the window, and a broad smile crept across his face as he reached across for something out of Kitty’s view.
At last she managed to move. She walked downstairs as quickly and quietly as she could, clutching the soft broom to her chest, a pulse still pumping in her ears and belly.
. . . .
‘What’s this, then?’
‘It’s a French bun.’
‘Is it now?’ Arthur turned his plate around, watching the cake as if it might make a sudden move. ‘Fancy.’
She’d made them yesterday, for Mr Crane’s tea, using a recipe from Lou. Arthur had the one that was left over; the icing was a little cracked around the edges, but it didn’t matter. Arthur ate everything quickly and neatly and always said, afterwards, ‘That was good.’
Kitty sat and picked up her tea.
Arthur took a bite, then went back to reading his Western, glancing towards her just once to nod his approval.
‘Did – did Geenie say anything to you, yesterday?’
He seemed to finish reading his sentence before answering. ‘What about?’
Kitty swilled her tea round her cup. The back door was open and a warm breeze blew at her ankles. It was going to be another hot day. ‘About the willow tree.’
He swallowed the last of the bun, licked his fingers and shook his head. ‘What would she say about it?’
‘Nothing.’ Kitty stood and began to clear the crockery.
‘That was good,’ said Arthur, still gripping the plate as she lifted it from the table. Their eyes met and she held his gaze until he looked down at his own fingers on the china. When he’d let go, he wiped his moustache with his hand. ‘What about the willow, then?’
‘Diana got stuck there yesterday morning.’
‘Stuck in the tree?’
‘She was up quite high.’
‘I never heard nothing.’
That’s because you’d disappeared, thought Kitty, crashing the crocks into the sink. You’d probably dozed off over one of your silly books.
‘What happened?’
She wasn’t sure, now, why she’d begun to tell Arthur this story. She kept thinking of Mr Crane’s fingers on his shirt buttons, how he’d taken such care over each one, how he’d watched himself whilst he dressed. The flick of his muscle as the cotton sailed behind him.
She turned the hot tap. There was a belch and a spurt of water flew out.
‘What happened, Kitty?’
‘Diana was climbing the tree and she couldn’t get down.’ She looked out of the window towards the studio. The door was closed, but the windows were flung wide open and the curtains were shuddering back and forth.
‘I had to go and get her.’
‘Why didn’t you ask me?’
Submerging her hands in the warm water, she began to scrub at the teacups. ‘Because you weren’t here.’
There was a pause. ‘Can’t think where I was.’
‘Doesn’t matter now.’ She’d never understand why Mrs Steinberg didn’t buy a new, matching set of good white crockery. All her cups were different shapes and colours.
‘Just a minute, though. You went up that tree?’
She turned to face him, her fingers dripping. ‘Yes. I climbed the tree and I got the girl down.’
That hadn’t been quite what had happened, but how could she explain to Arthur how Diana had slipped before her, springing to the ground like a damn monkey?
His moustache was twitching, as if he were holding in a laugh. ‘You climbed the willow tree?’
‘Yes. I said, didn’t I?’ With a damp hand, she wiped the hair away from her forehead.
His eyes were narrowed but bright. She noticed they had specks of yellow in them. As he continued to look at her, his moustache twisted in an odd shape, the yellow in his eyes sparking, she found herself shifting on the spot.
‘Well!’ he said. ‘Well I never!’ He let out a sudden laugh, so loud that Kitty jumped. It was more of a shout – or a kind of bark – than a laugh: gruff and low, as if it escaped him without his knowledge.
She tried not to smile.
‘However did you manage it?’
‘I don’t know, I…’
‘I don’t think I could do it,’ said Arthur, slapping the table. ‘Get up that tree. There’s not much to hold on to, is there? Spindly as hell.’
Kitty shook her head and laughed. ‘It wasn’t easy.’
‘I bet it wasn’t!’
‘I didn’t want to look down.’
‘I’m certain of it!’
‘I had to take my shoes and stockings off,’ she said. ‘I felt five years old again.’
At this, Arthur ducked his head and was silent. Kitty covered her mouth with a hand.
‘Well,’ he said, quietly. ‘To think of it. Kitty up a tree. I wish to heaven I’d seen it.’ When he pushed back his chair, she saw his cheeks had coloured. He didn’t look at her as he walked to the door and began putting on his boots.
She turned to the sink, rinsed out the last cup and placed it on the drainer. When she looked towards the door again, he was still standing there, and he was staring straight at her. Her eyes remained steady, and a moment of silence passed before he said, ‘What I mentioned the other night—’ ‘Yes?’
‘About dancing—’
‘Yes?’
‘Well. I just want you to know. If you think you’d like to, the offer still stands.’ His forehead was shining with perspiration.
She found herself smiling. ‘All right, then.’
He let out a breath. ‘Friday?’
She nodded, once, quickly.
Beaming, Arthur walked through the door and out into the sunshine. Kitty could hear him whistling all the way back to his shed.