Last night he had sat in the screaming loneliness of the kitchen and wondered what Mary Ann was doing, but whatever she was doing, he imagined she would be doing it in more comfort than if she were here. She had never really considered this her home. That fact had slipped out time and time again. In her mind, home was still the farm, with its big kitchen, and roaring fire, and well-laden table, and its sitting room, comfortable, yet elegant in the way her mother had arranged things. It seemed ironic to him that it had to be at the moment when he had prospects of giving her a replica of her childhood home that she should walk out on him.
He hadn’t fallen asleep until after three o’clock, and he had been awakened at six by a hammering on the door. It was a motorist requiring petrol. That was another funny thing; he’d never had so much work in for months as he had in the last few days. Nor had so many cars passed up and down the road; it was as if the word had gone round. He had been thankful in a way that he had been kept busy during the day, yet all the while under his ribs was this great tearing ache.
A car coming onto the drive brought him out of the garage, and he now walked towards where Mr Blenkinsop was getting out of it on one side, and Mr Quinton the other. He nodded to each but did not smile.
‘Hello, Corny.’
‘Hello, Mr Quinton.’
‘It’s a long time since we met.’
‘Yes, it is that.’ Corny jerked his head, while wiping his hands on a piece of clean rag. He brought his gaze from Bob Quinton and looked at Mr Blenkinsop. The American had him fixed with a hard stare. He returned the stare for a moment; then said, ‘Anything wrong, sir?’
‘Well, that’s according to how you look at it. Can I have a chat with you?’
Corny’s eyes narrowed just the slightest. ‘Yes, certainly.’ He turned and went towards the office, the two men following. When they were inside there wasn’t much room. Corny indicated that Mr Blenkinsop should take the one seat, but Mr Blenkinsop waved it aside, and, coming to the point straight away, said, ‘What’s this about you wanting to sell out?’
‘Sell out? Me wanting to sell out?’ The whole of Corny’s face was puckered. ‘I don’t know what you’re getting at, sir.’
Mr Blenkinsop flashed a glance towards Bob Quinton, and the two men smiled, and Bob said, ‘Curiouser and curiouser.’
‘You’ve said it,’ said Mr Blenkinsop. ‘Curiouser and curiouser.’
‘Who said I was going to sell out? And who am I going to sell to?’
‘I was informed this morning that you were selling out to me.’
‘You!…I don’t get it.’
‘Well, to be quite frank, Mr Boyle, neither do I, so I’d better put you in the picture as much as I can see of it…I had a visit from your wife this morning.’
Corny’s mouth opened the slightest, then closed again. He made no comment and waited for Mr Blenkinsop to continue.
‘She came to ask me not to buy you out.’
Corny’s head moved from side to side, and then he said, ‘I don’t understand. There’s been no talk of you buying me out, has there?’
‘No, not to my knowledge, but she had been told that you were going to sell out to me, and apparently this upset her. She knows how much stock you lay on the place and how hard you’ve worked and she didn’t want me to reap the benefit.’ Mr Blenkinsop laughed.
‘But I don’t see how. I’ve never said any such thing to her.’ His head drooped. ‘I suppose it’s no news to you that there’s a bit of trouble between us?’
‘No, it’s no news,’ said Mr Blenkinsop flatly.
‘Well, how did she get this idea?’ Corny looked from Mr Blenkinsop to Bob Quinton.
‘Well, as far as I can gather,’ said Mr Blenkinsop, ‘it came from you. You told your assistant, Jimmy, that you were going to sell out, and he goes and tells your wife.’
‘Jimmy!’
‘Yes, Jimmy.’
‘He went and told her that?’
Almost before he was finished speaking Corny was out of the office door, and the two men looked at each other as they heard him bellowing, ‘Jimmy! Jimmy! Here a minute…in the office.’
As Corny re-entered the office Jimmy came on his heels. He stood in the doorway, covered with oil and grease. You could say he was covered in it from his head to his feet. He, too, had a piece of rag in his hands, which he kept twisting round and round. He looked at the American and his grin widened; he looked at the strange man; then he looked at Corny, and from his boss’s expression he knew that there was…summat up.
‘You’ve been to the farm to…to see Mrs Boyle,’ said Corny now.
‘Aw, that.’ The grin spread over Jimmy’s face and he said, ‘Well, I took the lads. You see, one of the fellows had set the piece she did, I mean Mrs Boyle, to a tune.’
‘What are you talking about now?’ said Corny roughly.
Jimmy again glanced from one to the other, then went on. ‘Just what I said. I went to the farm with the lads because of the piece Mrs Boyle had written, the pop piece.’ He stopped, and again his glance flicked over the three men. And then he gabbled on, ‘She had the idea that if she wrote a pop piece it could bring in some money, and it could you know. It still could, it’s good. Duke, our Group leader, he says it’s good; he says she’s got the idea. We’re going to play it on Saturday night at The Well. She got the idea because of what you said…sir.’ He nodded at the American. ‘You said she acts like a woman, you remember? An’ I said to the boss here it was a good line, and so she worked on it and she said not to tell you.’ He was nodding at Corny now, and Corny said quickly, ‘Stop jabbering, Jimmy; that’s not what I want to know. What else did you tell Mrs Boyle when you saw her?’
The silly expression slid from Jimmy’s face, and it was with a straight countenance that he said, ‘Nowt.’
‘Did you tell her that I was going to sell out, that Mr Blenkinsop was wanting to buy me out?’
Jimmy now looked down at his feet. Then he looked at his hands and began to pull the rag apart. Next he looked at the men, one after the other; but not at their faces, his glance was directed somewhere at waist level. At last, after a gulp in his throat, he said, ‘Well, I…I did say that.’
‘But what for?’
Jimmy’s head now came up quickly and, staring with a straight face at Corny, he said, ‘I thought it would bring her back, that’s what. She knows what stock you put on the place. I thought she’d come haring back straight away. She’s miserable, an’ you’re as miserable as sin, an’ it’s awful workin’ here like this, so, well I got wonderin’ what I could do, an’ I just thought up that. But it didn’t work. But…but how did you know about it?’ His glance swept the other men again, and he chewed on his lip as the explanation came to him, even before Corny said, ‘She went to Mr Blenkinsop here and asked him not to go through with it.’
‘Cor! I never thought she’d do that; I just thought she’d pack up an’ grab Rose Mary and come haring back. I expected her to be here when I got in this mornin’…I’m sorry, boss.’ He was looking with a sideward glance at Corny, and Corny’s voice was low as he said, ‘All right, Jimmy, you tried. I won’t forget it. Go on.’
The three now looked at each other for a moment; then Corny turned away and stood gazing out of the window while Mr Blenkinsop said, ‘I wouldn’t mind a factory full of that type.’
‘Nor me,’ said Bob Quinton. ‘It rather gives the lie to the thoughtless modern youth; at least, that they are all tarred with the same brush.’
There followed another silence. Then Mr Blenkinsop said, ‘You know, I feel very guilty about the situation; I feel I’m the cause of it.’
‘No, sir, don’t think that.’ Corny turned towards him. ‘This started long before you came on the scene, and now it’s up to me to put an end to it.’
‘You’re going to fetch her?’ asked Bob quietly.
‘Yes, I would have done it before if I hadn’t been so pig-headed. You climb up so far in your own estimation and it’s a devil of
a job to get down again.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I want to get the boy ready; I’ll take him with me.’
‘You go ahead.’ Mr Blenkinsop nodded at him and patted his shoulder as he went out of the office, and then he looked at Bob Quinton and they raised their eyebrows at each other, and Bob said under his breath, ‘It’s a pity he’s been driven to do this.’
‘What? Go for her?’
‘Yes; it won’t do her any good in the future making him climb down.’
‘I know what you mean.’ Mr Blenkinsop nodded. ‘Pity she couldn’t have met him halfway.’
Bob Quinton jerked his chin upwards and, nodding at Mr Blenkinsop, he said, ‘That’s an idea. That-is-an-idea.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just a minute, I’ll tell you.’ He put his head out of the door in time to see Corny taking David into the house and he called to him, ‘Do you mind if I use your phone?’
‘Go ahead,’ Corny shouted back.
The next minute Bob was dialling the farm number. The phone had been switched to Mike’s office in the yard and it was Michael who answered.
‘Hello, Michael,’ said Bob. ‘This is Quinton here. Remember me?’
‘Of course, of course.’
‘Look, I’m in a bit of a hurry. Is Mary Ann anywhere about?’
‘She’s over in the house.’
‘Could you get her for me? Or switch over to the house? You are on the phone in the house, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, yes, I’ll do that. Hold on a minute.’
It was some seconds later when Mary Ann said, ‘Hello, Mr Quinton.’
‘Listen, Mary Ann. There’s no time for polite crosstalk. I’m at the garage and as usual you’re getting your way, Corny is coming over for you…Are you there?’
‘Yes.’ Mary Ann’s voice was scarcely audible.
‘As I said, you’ve got your way. I only hope you don’t live to regret it; no man likes to come crawling on his knees.’ Bob Quinton jerked his head towards Mr Blenkinsop as he spoke, and Mr Blenkinsop jerked his head back at him.
‘Oh. Oh, I don’t want him to come crawling on his knees, I don’t. Believe me, I don’t.’
‘Well, you can’t do much to stop him now; he’s practically on his way; he’s gone upstairs to have a wash and get the boy ready, and that shouldn’t take him more than fifteen minutes.’
‘I…I could…’
‘What?’
‘I…I don’t know. Oh, I want to come home, Mr Quinton, I want to come home.’
‘Well then, what about doing it now?’
‘But we’d likely miss each other. Anyway it wouldn’t make much difference now because he’d think I’d only done it because you’d told me to. But…but I was going to come, I really was, I was going to come back after dinner.’
‘Look, listen to me. It’s twenty past twelve. There’s the Gateshead bus if I’m not mistaken, passes along the main road round half past. You and Rose Mary could sprint up that road in five minutes. It’s only a fifteen-minute run in the bus to the bottom of the road here. It would be extraordinary if just as you’re getting off the bus you should see the car coming down the lane. What about it?’
‘Yes, yes.’ She was gasping as if she was already running. ‘Yes, I’ll do that and…and even if I miss him I’ll be there when he gets back. Thanks, thanks, Mr Quinton.’
‘You did the same for me once. I always like to pay my debts. Get going, Mary Ann. Presto!’ He put down the receiver, then passed his hand over the top of his head, and, looking at Mr Blenkinsop, he said, ‘And she did, you know. She fixed my life for me years ago, and I have never forgotten it…Well now, what we’ve got to do is to try to delay the laddie a little if he comes down within the next fifteen minutes. Have you time on your hands?’
‘I’ve time for this,’ said Mr Blenkinsop, ‘all the time that’s needed…’
Upstairs, Corny was saying, ‘Wash your ears. Wash them well now; get all the dirt out.’
‘Washed ’em, Da-ad, clean.’
‘Run and get your pants, then, the grey ones. And your blue shirt.’
‘Clean sand-ams, Da-ad?’
‘Yes, and your clean sandals.’
Corny scrubbed at the grease on his arms. The sink was in a mess; there was no hot water; he had let the back boiler go out last night. He thickened his hands with scouring powder. It was like the thing. No hot water when he wanted to get the grease off, and she would go mad when she saw the state of the sink, of the bathroom, of the whole house. He stopped the rubbing of his hands for a second. What had he been thinking of? Why had he been so damned stubborn? He knew her; he knew she hadn’t meant what she had said; he knew quite well that she’d had no real intention of walking out on him, that she had expected him to prevent her. Why hadn’t he? Just why hadn’t he? Looking back now over the interminable space of time since he stood on the road calling after her, he saw himself on that day as a stubborn, pig-headed, high-and-mighty individual. He saw himself on that day as a man still young, but he felt young no longer; the last few days had laid the years on him.
‘Da-ad.’ David stood in the doorway, dressed in his clean clothes, and he looked from Corny down to his feet, and Corny said, ‘That’s fine…fine.’
‘Goin’ ride, Da-ad?’
‘Yes,’ said Corny. ‘We’re going to see your mam and Rose Mary.’ Corny did not look at his son when he gave him this news, but after a moment, during which David made no sound, he turned his head sharply. There stood the boy, his face awash with tears. The silent crying tore at Corny as no loud bellowing could have, and when, within the next moment, David had rushed to him and buried his face in his thigh he wiped a hand quickly, then placed it gently on the boy’s head. This was only the second time he had seen David cry since that first wild outburst of grief when Rose Mary was lost, and it had been a similar crying, a silent, compressed crying, an adult sort of crying. There came to his mind the look he used to see in the boy’s eyes when he was defiant, the look that had made him say, ‘That fellow knows what he’s up to; he’s having me on.’ He realised, as he stroked his son’s hair, that there was a depth in this child, an understanding that was beyond his years. Perhaps it had matured because it had not been diluted by speech.
He bent to him now and said, ‘Come on. Come on. You don’t want your mam to see you with your face all red, do you?’
David shook his head, then gave a little smile.
It was a full fifteen minutes later when they came down the stairs together, and Corny was not a little surprised to see that Mr Blenkinsop and Bob Quinton were still about the place. But Mr Blenkinsop gave an explanation for this immediately.
‘You don’t mind?’ he said. ‘We’ve been looking at the spare piece of land, getting ideas…you don’t mind?’
‘Mind!’ Corny shook his head.
‘We would like to tell you what we think could be done, subject to your approval, of course. But that’ll come later, eh?’
‘Yes, if you don’t mind.’
Mr Blenkinsop now stood directly in front of Corny and said, ‘How about tomorrow morning?…Is that all right with you, Mr Quinton?’ He looked at Bob Quinton; and Bob nodded, then said, ‘Hold on a minute. I’d better look and see.’ And then he proceeded to take a book from his pocket and study it.
Corny’s eyes flicked from one to the other. They were blocking his path into the garage and the car. He didn’t want to be brusque, or offhand, but they knew where he was going, so why must they fiddle on?
‘Yes, that’ll do me fine,’ said Bob Quinton, glancing at Mr Blenkinsop, and Mr Blenkinsop, turning his attention again to Corny, said, ‘All right, will eleven suit you?’
‘Any time, any time,’ said Corny. ‘I’ll be here.’
‘Well now, that’s settled. And now you’re wanting to be off.’
‘If you don’t mind.’
‘And we’d better be making a move, too. What about lunch? Have you any arrangemen
ts?’ Mr Blenkinsop moved slowly from Corny’s path, and as Corny hurried into the garage he heard Bob Quinton say, ‘Nothing in particular, but you come and lunch with me. I have found a favourite place and…’
Their voices trailed away and Corny pulled open the car door and lifted David up onto the seat. A minute later he was behind the wheel and had driven the car to the garage opening. But there he stopped. You just wouldn’t believe it, he said to himself; you’d just think they were doing it on purpose, for there was Mr Blenkinsop’s car right across his path and his engine had stalled. He put his head out of the window and called, ‘Anything wrong?’
‘No, no,’ Mr Blenkinsop shouted back to him. ‘She’s just being contrary. Sorry to hold you up. She’ll get going in a minute; she has these spasms.’
Corny sat gripping the wheel. If he had to get out and see to that car he would go bonkers.
For three long, long minutes he sat waiting. Then with an exclamation he thrust open the door and went towards the big low car, and just as he reached it and bent his head down to Mr Blenkinsop’s the engine started with a roar.
Mr Blenkinsop was very apologetic. ‘It’s a long time since she’s done it; I’ll have to get you to have a look at the plugs.’
‘They were all right last week.’
‘Oh yes, I forgot you did her over. Well, it’s something; she’s as temperamental as a thoroughbred foal. I’ve always said cars have personalities. I believe it, I do.’
Mr Blenkinsop had turned his head towards Bob Quinton, and it seemed to Corny that Bob Quinton was enjoying Mr Blenkinsop’s predicament, for he was trying not to laugh.
‘Ah, well, I’d better get out of your road before she has another tantrum. Sorry about all this.’ Mr Blenkinsop again smiled at Corny, and Corny straightening himself, managed to say evenly, ‘That’s all right.’
He got into the Rover again and the next minute he was driving onto the road. The American’s car, he noticed through his driving mirror, was again stationary. Well, it could remain stationary until he came back. But whatever was wrong with it, it didn’t seem to be upsetting Mr Blenkinsop very much for he was laughing his head off. Americans were odd—he had thought that when he was over there years ago—nice but odd, unpredictable like.
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