Ebbed away from Kings Cross

Brenda started becoming quite intense over Peter. Things settled slightly, so much as they ever have done in my life... Started sleeping with her in her big, ugly house ... in the Master Bedroom. She had remarked at this, smiled at the situation, pleased with her triumph, my sleeping with her in what had been his place, his bed... another new experience for her ... But not quite accepted by her daughters, a sense of loyalty to their Father emerged ... a not altogether concealed resentment... Hardly needed that... there had been, perhaps too much in my life. No problem, simply change the venue to just round the corner, to Clapton Common ... Brenda, it emerged, had a son by a previous marriage. A surprise to me ... Must have been about eighteen, quite capable of looking after the house and the two daughters, which is the way it drifted. Gradually she spent her nights with me, days with all the children.


Ebbed away from Kings Cross. The position with Brenda and myself falling precisely into the same mould as that of any other. Some underlying creaks and groans, mostly financial ones. Brenda's husband had not been short of a few bob, unused to skimping on the limited money he was now giving her and the children, quite seriously believed I would do the "right thing" marry her and attempt to keep her in the manner she was previously accustomed.

Really where I came in.. echoes of other female voices, the same initial, quiet, confidential tone. patient explanations.... how much better it would be for myself and Mark.. a home to come home to... clean clothes, clean bed. I would sparkle like a soap ad... no doubt, a benign look on my face. Could hear Vie's voice echoing Brenda's attitude ... all I had to do was "work" ... be "supportive".

Did my usual quick mental arithmetic, two pairs of girls shoes would probably cost me a days work.... for starters. Little need to go on... see the trend of thought, must have cost her husband a cock eyed fortune to maintain that little household. I, unfortunately, not in his financial league.

Brenda pooh-pooed this. The usual cliché' how ... if I worked properly! and so on .. I did not want to work properly, or in any other way, content to get by the easiest possible ... Considered what I was getting for the equivalent of my hypothetical two trolley loads of shopping at Sainsbury's ... almost a different woman every other night... Can't be bad.

Brenda, far from stupid, could see my reluctance, see the way my mind worked when it came to keeping other people. done enough of that. My turn to be kept, tired of turning the steering wheel, of slowly being choked by endless lines of busses belching black smoke. Why they never directed the exhaust above their roofs, same as some lorries.. cannot imagine. No, Peter had never been a worker in that sense, always preferred to use whatever brain, try and slip by any given situation... So far as I was concerned, all notion of my working, keeping a host of people, purely irrational, finished.

My long Saturday nights.. into Sunday morning, picking up the Hoi Polloi over, an inescapable fact. Most men at my age thinking.... just up the road to retirement... I have never started