The World in My Pocket

‘Try and get it cheaper. I’ll bring the Buick with the towing tackle to your place at eleven tomorrow.’ He looked over at Gypo. ‘You follow me to Kitson’s place in the Lincoln. I’ll need transport back.’

‘Sure,’ Gypo said.

‘Okay, let’s break it up now,’ Morgan said. ‘I’ve got to take the chopper back to Lu. You come with me, Ed.’ He looked at Ginny and Kitson, ‘You two take the bus. It’ll be safer if we four aren’t seen together.’

He put the rest of the money in his hip pocket.

‘You two arrange where you meet,’ he said to Ginny. ‘I want you both back here with the caravan by tomorrow afternoon.’ He jerked his head at Bleck. ‘Let’s go.’

When they had gone, Ginny took off the green scarf and shook her copper-coloured hair free.

Looking at her uneasily, Kitson thought she was beautiful. He stood against the workbench, rubbing his knuckles, awkward and ill at ease.

‘Another drink?’ Gypo asked.

The girl shook her head.

‘No, thanks.’ She took out her pack of cigarettes and putting a cigarette between her lips, she looked at Kitson. Kitson fumbled for matches, lit one with a hand that was far from steady and held the flame so she could light the cigarette. She put her cool fingers on his hand to steady the flame and the touch of her flesh on his sent a surge of hot blood through his veins.

She moved away over to the double doors.

‘Well, so long,’ she said to Gypo.

‘So long,’ he said, winking at Kitson, who ignored him and followed the girl out into the hot night air. They walked side by side down the road and on to the highway.

‘Where do you live?’ Ginny asked as they paused at the bus stop.

‘Lennox Street,’ Kitson said.

‘Then I’ll be waiting at the corner tomorrow at eleven.’

‘I can pick you up at your place if you like.’

‘It’s not necessary.’

There was a pause while Kitson kept eyeing her as she stood at his side.

‘The other night,’ he said abruptly. ‘I wouldn’t have hit you. I - I guess I lost my temper. I’m sorry.’

She smiled.

‘I thought you were going to. You scared me.’

Kitson flushed.

‘I wouldn’t have done it. I don’t hit anyone smaller than myself. I wouldn’t have done it.’

‘If you had, it would have served me right. I was asking for it.’ She flicked her cigarette away. ‘Was it such a good idea to hit Bleck?’

Kitson scowled.

‘It’s time someone took a poke at that punk,’ he said. ‘He had it coming.’

‘Yes, but it wasn’t such a good idea. You’ll have to watch him. He’s not the type to forget.’

Kitson shrugged.

‘I can handle him.’

‘I think you can. I saw you in the ring about a year ago. When you beat Jackie Lazards. That was quite a scrap.’

Kitson looked at her, his face lighting up. That had been quite a scrap. He had been lucky to have beaten Lazards. They had fought nine slugging rounds, and it had been anyone’s fight.

‘He was a good fighter.’

‘You weren’t so bad yourself. Why did you quit the ring?’

This was an embarrassing question and Kitson hastily improvised.

‘After my last fight I got double vision,’ he said, running his fingers through his curly hair. ‘That scared me. I was doing all right, but this double vision. The Doc said I should quit, and he was pretty serious about it. I didn’t want to. I had a good chance for the title, but when the Doc said I should quit, I quit.’

This was his version of the story. His manager would have told her something completely different. He looked anxiously at her to see if she accepted the explanation, but her expressionless face told him nothing.

‘What made you pick on Frank?’ he asked after a long pause.

‘Who else is there in this town to pick on?’ she said. ‘Here comes the bus.’

They boarded the bus. She let him buy the tickets, and they sat side by side, their faces reflected in the glass of the window. The bus was full. Except for a moment’s interest when the men in the bus stared at her as she went to her seat, no one paid any attention to them.

They rode back to town in silence.

At the railroad station, she said, ‘This is where I get off. See you tomorrow at eleven.’

He got up to let her pass and he felt a surge of blood move through him as her body brushed against his.

As the bus moved off, he pressed his face against the window, looking out into the darkness, trying to get a last glimpse of her.

CHAPTER FOUR

I

At eleven o’clock the following morning, Kitson drove Morgan’s Buick out of town and headed towards Marlow, a sixty-mile drive on Highway 10.

By his side sat Ginny, whom he scarcely recognised. She looked what she was supposed to look: a young girl who had just got married and was about to experience the excitement and the fun of a honeymoon. The simple summer frock she wore gave her youthful charm. Her expression had softened and she was surprisingly talkative.

Kitson was a little stunned by this transformation. He had taken pains with his appearance, and he now gave the impression of being a fairly prosperous young man, just married and embarrassed that anyone should know he was off on his honeymoon.