All the Way Home and All the Night Through by Ted Lewis Page A

tightened into annoyance. She shook her head. Hilary said something else and began walking toward me. I heard Gwen say, “No Hilary,” but Hilary took no notice. I waited.
    â€œI’m sorry, Vic.” Her voice was flat and sober now. Her face was grey and streaked with dead tears. Her coat was draped round her shoulders. She looked dreadful.
    â€œNo need to be sorry, Hilary.”
    Janet was just behind her, being helped into her coat by the smooth one.
    â€œNo, I shouldn’t have gone on like that. It must have been awful for you.”
    â€œWell...”
    Silence.
    â€œWell, anyway,” she said. She tried to smile, then turned away and went back to Gwen and the group.
    â€œYour mother won’t mind if we get you back by one o’clock, will she?” said the smooth one to Janet.
    â€œI said I would go straight home after the dance.”
    â€œNot if we have you home at one, on the dot? Surely that would be all right?”
    â€œWell... all right, but no later.”
    Karen came down from the ladies. She had fixed up to stay the night with Jenny, so she was eager with freedom. She clutched my hand.
    â€œWhere are we going?”
    The lights had been turned up immediately after the last number. They were beginning to make me feel sober, feel conscious of my sweat-congealing clothes.
    â€œThe trumpet-player’s got some idea of driving further up the river and taking some beer on to Hetton foreshore.”
    â€œHetton foreshore? How exciting,” said Karen.
    Harry came up, hand in hand with Jenny. He was beaming fit to burst.
    â€œI say, are we off with Simon or what?” I said. “He seems set on this foreshore idea.”
    â€œMay as well,” said Harry. “We’ll pick up a crate from my place. We can always go back there later on.”
    Janet and her two friends began walking toward the door.
    â€œGoodnight, Janet,” chirped Karen.
    Janet turned slightly but kept on walking.
    â€œGoodnight, Karen,” she said.
    We all drove off to Hetton foreshore. There were two other car-loads besides Simon’s. Harry and Jenny, Karen and I, and some girl Simon had picked up went in Simon’s car. The girls commiserated with me about the Hilary scene. It was something for them to get their teeth into. Harry laughed at them outright.
    We were in the country now. Simon turned the car onto the tracks which ran, wood-lined, down to the beach. He stopped the car in a clearing, mudguard deep in long grass. The other cars drew up behind. Headlights went out and engines cut off. Everything was doubly quiet after the noise of the journey. Rain tapped softly on the roof. Dark purple clouds toiled above the treetops. No one said anything. Simon kissed his girl; I kissed Karen.
    â€œHere we are then,” said Simon. “Shove the beer over, Harry.”
    Harry took bottles out of the crate and passed them round. I drank some of mine and thought of Janet. I wondered what kind of a party she had gone to. I thought of her face and her dress. Her hair and her perfume. I thought of my home and my parents. Of my friends, the close ones, the boys at home. I thought of our cat, William. I thought of my grandmother. Of my childhood. I thought of the good parts of being at school. I thought of Janet saying Hello to me. I thought of the way her mouth had said the word. I thought of the river running broad and black out to sea, of the eels in the bottom of the river, of the lightships on top. Of the wet pebbles on the shore being tickled by the rain, of the wet grass round the car. I thought of everything as though each individual item had been invested with a warm and reverent importance of its own. Everything seemed worth love and respect: the rain, the sky, people, everything. I was no longer proud about Hilary’s scene. There was nothing which was not worth compassion. I felt a true seriousness, a true responsibility. I wanted to feel the earth. I wanted to