Harold

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Maisie.’

  ‘Oh, hello, Mike.’

  ‘I have news for you.’

  ‘I think I’ve just heard it; Gran’s been on the phone.’

  ‘Oh, yes, she would. Now listen, dear. I’ve … I’ve got something to tell you, but I can’t go into it over the phone. It’s private, so I’m popping down tomorrow. It’s my weekend off, I’ll get the early train. I’ll see you somewhere around twelve … Are you there?’

  ‘Yes, Mike, I’m here. I’m bewildered.’

  ‘You’ll be more so, dear, when you’ve heard my news. No more now; we’re going to a show in Newcastle and Jane is waiting. See you tomorrow then, dear. Goodnight.’

  Again the phone was put down abruptly.

  I must have been walking like someone drunk across the hall because Harold, coming from his room with an exercise book in his hand, said, ‘You feelin’ dizzy? You got a headache?’

  I looked down at him but didn’t seem to see him for a moment; then I blinked, saying, ‘Yes, a bad one.’

  ‘Will I make you a cup of tea?’

  ‘Would you, dear?’

  ‘Yes. But look’—he handed me the exercise book—‘I’ve got to do that sum an’ I’ve done it twice an’ I’ve got different answers, an’ I’ve done it on the computer. Will you look at it?’

  ‘Yes, dear, yes.’ I took the book from him and he ran into the kitchen.

  Sandy had been by his side, but now he didn’t turn and go with him but followed me into the drawing room. And when I sat on the couch he jumped into my arms and cuddled his head into my neck and I sat rocking him, and with each movement my mind jerked at the thought: It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. Hate wasn’t that strong.

  Once again I was roused by the phone ringing. Slowly I rose and put Sandy on the floor. What now? Reporters?

  When I lifted the phone I was relieved to hear Janet’s voice saying, ‘That you, Mrs Leviston, eh?’

  I wondered whom she expected, and I managed to say lightly, ‘Yes, Janet; who would you think it would be?’

  She laughed, saying, ‘Well, your voice sounded different somehow.’

  Yes, it would sound different.

  ‘Anything the matter, Janet?’

  ‘No; I only thought I’d better tell you, you won’t be seein’ his nibs tomorrow, Stoddart. You’ll never believe it, but he’s gone down to have a talk with Maggie; he’s goin’ to try and stop the divorce. He wants to get back with her, so I hear. Oh, I hope she gives him his answer. But you never know, not with Maggie. And I understand her belly’s full … well, she’s pregnant again, so I wonder what he’ll do when he sees that? Hie back I suppose as if the devil was after him, for he was never a one to stand his own responsibilities, let alone some other bloke’s. Anyway, I thought I would tell you you’re let off the hook tomorrow.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that, Janet.’

  ‘You all right?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m all right, Janet.’

  ‘How’s his nibs?’

  ‘Splendid, acting like an angel.’

  ‘Huh!’ I heard her laugh; ‘that’ll be the day. Well, see you on Monday.’

  ‘Yes, Janet, see you on Monday. Goodnight.’

  I’d had a peaceful night and had woken with a light feeling as if something had been drained from me. What, I didn’t know, but I eagerly looked forward to Mike’s arrival.

  When he did come he didn’t greet me with any jocular comment, but after being greeted by Harold and Sandy he said in an aside, ‘Can you get rid of the terror for the next ten minutes or so?’ And this I did by going into the kitchen and setting the percolator going and telling Harold to watch it and in the meantime to set a tray properly, and asking if he was capable of doing me a slice of toast as I’d had no breakfast.

  In the drawing room, Mike was sitting near the window that overlooked the gardens, and when I was seated he nodded towards them, saying, ‘Nice view,’ and I said, ‘Yes; it’s a lovely garden, it’s a pity it’s not used more.’ Then looking at him, I asked, ‘What is it, Mike?’ And in answer he asked a question, ‘How do you feel?’

  I paused for a while before I replied, ‘You know, I can’t really tell you: it’s as if I was getting over an illness.’

  ‘Did you have any pain last night?’

  ‘No; no, I didn’t, nor the night before, Thursday night, although I had a most weird feeling around midnight. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Well’—he let out a sigh—‘what I’m going to tell you is off the cuff. It won’t appear in the papers, I feel sure of that. Some things are better kept quiet, because both the papers and the television are accountable, in my opinion, for half the trouble that the young get up to. You only grow from babyhood to youth and then to man by copying. You see something on the telly tonight or read it in the papers, and you bet your life somebody takes it as a pattern tomorrow. Not that what I’m going to tell you is really new in that way, because there are groups at it here and there, but very much underground.’

  ‘What are you saying, Mike?’

  ‘I’m saying this: you’ve been the victim over the past year, at least since Stickle started his time, if not before, but definitely since he started his time, of deep, deep hate thought.’

  I shuddered, and he said, ‘Yes, the result in your case was your pain.’

  ‘No.’ I could hardly hear the word myself, but he nodded as he repeated, ‘Yes. Definitely, yes. You see, it’s this way. I happened to be working on a case with the prison doctor. I was called in as the second opinion. It was the morning after Stickle was found and I don’t think … This is really off the cuff, mind, and you must never mention it to anyone, nor the rest of what I’m going to say. Now I don’t think he hanged himself, not he, he wasn’t that kind of fellow, he was hanged by some other inmates, not yet known. Never will be, I should imagine. Apparently he could never have done it himself; he was attached to the pipe above the cistern and his feet were only a few inches from the ground. I don’t think he was quite dead when the warder found him, but he died all right. It seems he was hated by his fellow prisoners, especially by the friends of the man he’d had a fight with earlier on. Anyway, he had a hobby. It was modelling. He worked with clay and, I understand, turned out some quite good birds and animals. Two men he had shared a cell with said he could even work in the dark, but what he modelled in the dark wasn’t animals or birds, it was a figure of you. When his things were examined there was part of a torso that hadn’t been squashed up into a ball—he had likely been interrupted—and it was studded with matchsticks.’

  His hands were on my shoulders and he was saying now, ‘It’s all right, it’s all right, it’s over, finished, ended. He’ll hurt you no more. So come on, come on.’ He patted my cheeks quite hard. He waited; then he sat back on the chair and said, ‘This kind of thing isn’t unknown, but I’ve never known it be so effective before, except we do know now of witch doctors willing men of their tribes to die, and they die. I’ve not much use for the God put over by the church, or the devil either, but what I do know is, there is evil in the world and in so many cases it proves to be stronger than good; as it has in your case, because I’m sure if it had gone on it would have affected your mind, even if it hadn’t finished your body off first. You know, you are not all that robust and the human frame can stand up to only so much battering.’

  I laid my head back against the chair and said quietly now, ‘He must have got inside me because I know this, the moment he died I was choking. I didn’t have any pain in my stomach or anywhere else but I knew I was choking. And then I went to sleep, and on Thursday morning when I woke up I had a strange feeling. Looking back now it was as if I had been released from something.’

  ‘You’ve been released all right. But now I must insist again, that you must not pass this on, not to Tommy or anyone else, because this part of the business hasn’t been made public for reasons I’ve already made plain to you. Doctor Harper only told me because we’re old friends and medic
ally connected. Of course, through time it might leak out if there’s talk, but by that time, should the papers get hold of anything, they will see that the recipient of Stickle’s hate is alive and well and thriving.’

  ‘Shall we have a drink?’ I asked quietly; ‘I feel I need it.’

  ‘Why not? And why not lunch somewhere? But not at Brown’s again; two posh lunches in a week is beyond me.’

  ‘I’d love to, Mike, but I have my charge.’

  ‘Well, we’ll take him along.’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘Why not? We’ll make it his day an’ all.’

  ‘You wouldn’t like to go and see the new James Bond film, would you? Apparently that’s where his father was going to take him today but he had other business.’

  ‘Why not? Why not? I’ve never been to the pictures for years.’ He rose from the chair and pulled me upwards, saying, ‘It’s all in the past. Remember that. It’s a new life ahead of you; nothing worse can ever happen to you.’

  Not being God, Mike did not know my fate and what lay before me.

  Eleven

  During the following weeks I felt myself a new woman. I seemed to walk on air; a great weight had been lifted from my mind. The pain had vanished with Stickle’s death, I’d cancelled my appointment with the psychiatrist, and Doctor Bell had confessed himself amazed by the sudden and sustained change in me. With each new week I couldn’t get into my study quickly enough to start writing. And when Janet heard me singing about the flat, she said, ‘You won the pools, Mrs Leviston, ma’am?’

  ‘Kind of,’ I said; and the reply puzzled her.

  Now, incredibly it seemed, we were in August. Harold had broken up for the school holidays, and I had let him go off to spend a few days with one of his new friends. The Mohican had been largely silent, apart from occasional rather cryptic messages to the effect that he was still keeping watch; and then later on this Thursday afternoon he phoned me, his voice sounding very adult as he said, ‘Mrs Leviston, this is the Indian Chief.’

  ‘Oh, hello, John.’ My voice was light, though tinged with surprise.

  ‘I’m sorry this has all taken so long, but do you think you could meet me tomorrow morning? At last I can take you to the shop where the coffee jug is; now on offer, I may say, as a solid silver antique with filigree lid and inner container. Did you know it had an inner container?’

  ‘No, no, I didn’t.’

  ‘Well, at that size, it’s a work of art to have an inner container. Priced at one hundred and twenty-five pounds. Cheap at that, I should say, because at Sotheby’s it would likely go for two or three times that price.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Yes.’

  Why was I thinking that the person on the other end of the phone was dressed as an ordinary human being to match his voice?

  ‘Can you manage it?’

  ‘Yes. But where shall I meet you?’

  ‘I’ll be outside Liverpool Street station, the main entrance. I won’t ask you to come and speak to me because I don’t think you’d feel comfortable walking with me, would you?’

  I stammered as I replied, ‘I … I wouldn’t mind, John, knowing that under that make-up you’re no Indian.’

  ‘Thank you once again, Mrs Leviston. Anyway, if you’ll just follow me, I think it’ll be better. It’s about five minutes walk from there. I’ll stand outside the shop and you can go in. Pretend you’re looking for something. Don’t remark on the jug or anything else you might see that’s yours. Just take note. When you come out of the shop, there’s a turning about twenty yards further down. It’s a quiet part. Go up there. I’ll be waiting … And, Mrs Leviston?’

  ‘Yes, John?’

  ‘There’s something else. In case there are people about and I can’t have a word with you: I’ve … I’ve got to go off for a few days, you know on a jaunt again, itchy feet; I wonder if you’d tell Mum to tell Hilda … ’

  ‘Why can’t you tell her yourself, John?’

  ‘Well, I won’t be back tonight, and as I said, I don’t like going to the factory. If you would tell Mum in the morning … ’

  ‘Won’t Hilda worry?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think Hilda worries very much, Mrs Leviston, she takes life as it comes. Anyway, will I see you in the morning because it’s the only chance I’ll have of showing you the shop?’

  My voice was curt now as I said, ‘Couldn’t you just tell me the name of it?’

  There was a long pause before he said, ‘Yes, yes I could, but I … I wanted to have a word with you, as Mum would say, private like, if that’s at all possible. You see I … Well, how can I put it? I feel you’re on my side and I thought if … well, if I could explain something … ’

  I cut off his hesitant words by saying, ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘Fine, fine. Goodnight, Mrs Leviston.’

  I didn’t reply but put the phone down.

  Why didn’t I tell Tommy that I was going to meet the Mohican in the morning? I spent almost four hours with him later on, so why didn’t I tell him? Because I knew that he would do everything in his power to stop me, or make it his business to come along with me, and somehow I knew that the Mohican wouldn’t like that …

  Next morning, when I gave Janet the message for her daughter, she put her hands on her hips and wagged her head as she said, ‘That’s just like him, isn’t it? He never turned up last night. Our Hilda came round about ten. I was gettin’ ready for bed. Had anybody seen him? she asked. Nobody had. Joe was there and he went for her and said she was a blood … bloomin’ fool and she wanted her head looked at; he was just playin’ fast and loose with her. And what did he get up to on his jaunts? And when Joe said that he was likely on drugs, she went for him and said he wasn’t. But to my mind she protested too quickly an’ too loudly. Then I went for her, and I told her if I thought for half a minute she was on the stuff she wouldn’t dare put her face in that door again ever. And you know what, Mrs Leviston, ma’am? She did what I’ve never seen her do in me life, she started to cry. She said she loved him; no matter what he was, she loved him. Ooh, I tell you there was a scene, and at that time at night. And of course after she left, an’ when one after the other of them came in, Joe had to give them the whole tale over again. And there they were, the lot of them, havin’ a committee meetin’ about it, and they ended up all being of one mind, there was something fishy about the Indian. And as their dad went up to bed he said to Greg, “You’re chatty with that young market bobby, aren’t you? Tell him what you think; it can do no harm and it’ll put us in the clear if anything does come out about him.”’

  Self-preservation, I thought. But they were right to try to find out what took the Mohican away on these trips of his.

  A short while later I said to Janet, ‘I’ve got to go out to see my solicitor. I should be back before you leave.’

  ‘I’ll keep something hot for you,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks, Janet.’

  I had put on a grey costume and wore a headscarf as there was a high wind blowing. I took the bus to Liverpool Street station, and walked over to the main entrance; and from there I saw, in the distance, the Mohican. He was standing on the kerb looking as if he was waiting for an opening in the traffic to cross the road. He looked first one way then the other. Then it appeared as if he had decided not to cross over but to walk straight on: he turned away and sauntered along the road; and I followed.

  A short time later I followed him across a road; and whilst he was waiting to cross a second, I came up almost behind him. But when I reached the other side I let him get ahead. I had never been in this part of town before. It wasn’t a business district, and it certainly wasn’t spruce.

  I was now following him down a street that had a number of shops on one side only; on the opposite side the buildings looked like warehouses. I saw the Mohican stop in front of a shop window, then move on. By the time I reached the shop he had turned the corner he had spoken about.

  I stood looking into the shop
window. In the front were displayed two old guns in cases, behind them two naval swords, while round about was a conglomeration of brass and pewter and copper articles, urns and jugs and vases. There was a whole set of green plates, perhaps thirty pieces in all. To the side of the window there were three plates on stands. Two were Coalport, similar to those of my dinner service, and they were priced at thirty-five pounds each. Next to them was a smaller plate, the tag said Dresden. It had a tiny crack in the top but it was marked forty-five pounds. But standing between that and the Coalport was the miniature silver coffee jug. And yes, there it was priced at one hundred and twenty-five pounds. And further along the shelf lay the portrait locket that the General had carried in the breast pocket of his uniform. It was open, and pinned to the faded blue velvet interior was a tag, which read: Solid silver nineteenth century miniature locket. £140.

  I didn’t go into the shop; I felt I shouldn’t be able to act as an ordinary customer. As I turned away from the window a big black car drew up at the kerb and the driver looked towards the window, as did one of the two men in the back. At least that’s what I thought at the time. I walked quickly down the street to a turning which brought me into a broad thoroughfare at the far end of which was another street parallel to the one I had just walked down, and about halfway along it stood the Mohican talking to another man as oddly dressed as himself.

  As I approached them I realised they were arguing, and I had almost reached them when I saw the man grab the Mohican by the throat, but seemingly in an instant the Mohican twisted free and at the same time he yelled something at me. What it was, I couldn’t make out, but I must have taken it as a cry for help, for I screamed at the man, ‘Leave him alone!’ And at this, the man swung round and made a grab at me.

  What followed happened so quickly that even now I cannot explain it, except that there was the black car again and three men pouring out of it, two of them going to the assistance of the Mohican’s assailant and trying now to drag John into the car, whilst the third one, a huge individual with a nose that seemed spread right across his face, grabbed me and held me tightly against him with his hand across my mouth to stop my screaming. And all the time my dominant feeling was one of amazement that the Mohican could continue to kick and twist and punch his assailants. But then the man who was dressed similarly to the Mohican stuck the knife into him.