Other People Read Free Page A

people. There were only two kinds of people: it was just that all kinds of things could happen to them.
    • • •
    Correct: but only as far as it goes. (I generally find I've got some explaining to do, particularly during the early stages.) These people are tramps, after all.
    You know the kind of people I mean. The reason they are tramps is that they have no money. The reason they have no money is that they won't sell anything, which is what nearly everyone else does. You sell something, don't you, I'm sure? I know I do. Why don't they? Tramps just don't want to sell what other people sell—they just don't want to sell their time.
    Selling time, time sold: that's the business we're all in. We sell our time, but they keep theirs, but they don't get any money, but they think about money all the time. It's an odd way of going about things, being a tramp. Tramps like it, though. Being a tramp is increasingly popular, statistics show. There are more and more tramps doing without money all the time.
    I'm obliged to deal with these sort of people fairly frequently. In a sense it's inevitable in my line of work. I'd far rather not, of course: they're always wasting my time. I'd avoid them if I were you. You're much better off that way.
    • • •
    'I know what you are, Mary,' said Neville, leaning forward to tap her warningly on the thigh. 'You're simple.'
    Mary nodded in agreement.
    'See?' he said.
    It was true. She knew little, and what little she knew she would have to keep to herself. She would have to learn fast, and other people would have to show her how.
    'Aren't you a beauty though,' he added slowly. 'Here, isn't she a beauty though, eh?'
    Mary hoped he was wrong about this... But the accusation clearly wasn't a very serious one; the man's hostility gave out, and he turned away, raising the bottle to his lips. It wasn't too bad here, Mary thought, though she was quite curious about how long it would go on.
    'Right, come on love, you're coming with me. On your feet, girl.'
    Mary looked up expectantly. It was someone of the third kind—a girl, she thought, one of me. Mary had noticed her before, out on the edge of the other people there, hanging back with a certain sense of her own ex-clusiveness and drama. She was big, one of the biggest people Mary had ever seen. Her numberless hair was a violent red, trailing from her head in distracted spirals; and her eyes were ice.
    Without protest Mary was helped to her feet. As she straightened up, Neville made a cunning but enfeebled lunge towards her. The big girl thumped her great fist down on the back of his neck and then kicked him skilfully, so that he barked his forehead on the metal grill.
    'You leave her alone, Neville, you dirty little sod! Ooh, I know you, mate. Yeah, that's right! She needs a good friend to look after her, that's what she needs.'
    Neville murmured grumblingly as he curled up away from them.
    'What? What? You want to watch it, mate, or I'll kick your bloody head off. All right? All right? ... Come on, my love. Let's get away from this lot. Scum of the earth, they are—the pits. I mean, some people. Where's the consideration? I mean, where is it?'
    With her shoulders working, the big girl marched Mary off towards the pale line of forgotten buildings. As soon as they turned the second corner she halted and looked Mary carefully up and down.
    'My name's Sharon. What's yours?'
    'Mary,' said Mary.
    Sharon looked into Mary's eyes. She frowned. Her broad face seemed to carry an extra layer of flesh, a puffy afterthought grafted on to her natural features. It was a layer of delay; there was a sense of missed time about everything one would get from that face, thought Mary. Something skipped a beat between the face and any feelings that might prompt it.
    'Phew, girl. Someone's done you over, haven't they?' She laughed harshly, and started to straighten Mary's clothes. 'We all do it though, don't we? Isn't it a scream? I mean, I like that every now and then