‘I can’t,’ said Frankie flatly. ‘And, anyway, who’s to say it arrived? It might have been lost in the post… and…’ He paused before going on, ‘And if she doesn’t get a reply she’ll come on Saturday and there’ll be a showdown.’
‘Showdown,’ repeated Arthur. ‘Don’t you think there’s enough showdowns in the house without creating more?’
‘That’s their trouble and this is mine and I’ve got to know more about it.’
Arthur looked hard at Frankie; he was taking this badly. Of course, he could understand it was a bit of a blow and, moreover, the thought came to him, they weren’t really brothers, only half-brothers. It was as Frankie said, he was different; he had always been different. He felt very sorry for Frankie and felt he had been dealt a dirty deal, but nevertheless he could in no way condemn his dad. These things happened, only it was a bit startling when they happened in your own family.
So much had happened in his own family lately. For him it dated from the time he found he was going to marry Joan Duckworth. The thought of his own troubles outweighed those of Frankie’s and when they came to Duckworth’s shop he left him with just a brief, ‘So long.’
Frankie went slowly on his way, burdened with the knowledge that had turned his particular world upside down. So much so that he passed the garage without sparing a moment to dash round the back to have a look at his particular motorbike. All he did was to allow his mind to dwell for a moment on the bike as a joy that had taken place in the far off days of his careless youth.
Chapter Five
It was right in the middle of his tea that Broderick got the urge to go and see John. He laid his knife and fork down and stared at his plate still heaped high with food, and he said to himself, ‘Away, there’s enough time after I’ve had me bite.’ But as he continued eating, the urge continued to grow and he looked to where Katie was moving back and forth in the paint-skinned rocking chair and he brought her out of her wee doze when he cried sharply, ‘Have you heard tell of what John’s been up to the day?’
‘Eh?’ said Katie with a start. ‘Oh, John. No. I’ve been round twice, y’know. Florrie’s very close since this thing’s come on John. I only know he went to his work the day, but I did see the doctor and that walking corpse of a minister drop in this afternoon.’
‘So you don’t know if he’s had any more delusions?’
‘No, I haven’t heard a thing. But when I saw him go out, he looked sensible enough to me. But, there, you can never tell, now, can you?’
‘He might look sensible enough but he’s far from it as far as I can gather.’ They both turned to where their eldest son was adjusting his tie in front of the fly-specked mirror hanging above the mantelpiece.
‘Are you after hearing somethin’?’ asked Katie, looking with admiring eyes at the brawn that went to make Pat.
‘A little,’ said Pat over his shoulder. Then he turned to his mother. ‘You didn’t know Aunt Florrie fainted away last night, did you?’
Katie was sitting up. ‘No, begod! I didn’t.’
‘Well, she did. She went up to the bedroom and there was John leading off to whoever he sees and it made her pass out. Then he was on again this morning afore he went to work. Laughing this time, he was.’
‘How did you find all this out and me not knowing a thing?’ Katie’s eyes were almost lost behind the fat of her cheeks as she peered enquiringly up into the handsome face.
Pat turned to the mirror again and said casually, ‘Oh, I was just havin’ a few words with young Linda.’
‘Oh, you were?’ Katie looked none too pleased, and when she glanced at her husband and saw that his attention was fast held, apparently, by the remainder of his meal, his ostrich attitude spoke volumes to her. ‘Mother of God.’ She pushed herself to the edge of the rocking chair and bawled at Pat. ‘You’re not seein’ that youngster, because if you are, mind, there’ll be hell let loose next door.’
Pat, pulling his coat on, looked down at his mother and his face took on a hardness that completely wiped away the jocular expression that was an inheritance from both his parents, as he said, ‘This time, Ma, let me do me own pickin’ will you… Or else…’
The ‘or else’ brought Broderick’s head up and he cried harshly, ‘No threats, Pat. No threats. Away with you now and run your own life as best you can and do your own choosin’ as you say, but no threats to your mother, now, no threats.’
As Pat and his father exchanged glances, the hardness seeped from the younger man’s face as he turned and grinned at his mother and nodding his head at her said, ‘So long, I’ll be seein’ you.’
‘So long,’ said Katie pleasantly in return, but the door had no sooner closed on him than she was standing over Broderick demanding, ‘Is there anything in this, d’you think?’
Broderick chewed hard on a piece of steak and swallowed it in a gulp before he answered, ‘If I’m not blind, there is. But I warn you, Katie’—he pointed his fork up within a fraction of her nose—‘let it run its course. They know nothing about it next door, so don’t you set the house on fire afore they strike the match, for, as you say, hell will be let loose soon enough. Yet I’m thinking, and have been for a while…’ Broderick smiled to himself. ‘There would be no better time than the present to spring this news for there’s so much on their plate they mightn’t take the notice of it they would do at a more peaceful moment.’
Katie straightened herself up and her eyes darted here and there before she said, more to herself than to her husband, ‘Begod! If this isn’t a set up and him just been ladled out of one boiling pot—and then only by the hand of God.’
‘And I’ll tell you something else while we’re on.’ Broderick was giving her his full attention now. ‘If we’re not soon connected with the Gascoignes in one way, we will be in another unless I’m very much mistaken. Did you know that our Moira and Arthur are courtin’ on the sly?’
‘God and His Holy Mother. What are you saying, Brod!’ Katie had her hands clasped as if in supplicating prayer. ‘Arthur’s to be married, the day’s fixed an’ all.’
‘Aye, but I can bet you me pay packet this week that it won’t be to Miss Duckworth he’ll be getting hitched. Not if I know me daughter.’
‘God bless us this night,’ cried Katie. ‘There’s trouble comin’ upon us.’
‘Well,’ said Broderick with a laugh, ‘sit down in your chair now and enjoy it, for I’m going to have me wash and then I’m going next door to have a word with John. I’ve a hankering somehow to have a word with him the night.’
So Katie sat down to enjoy her troubles and Broderick had his wash and put on a clean muffler before going next door to take a rise out of John—for that’s how he explained this urge that had come upon him to see his neighbour. He was badly in need of a laugh, he told himself…
When Broderick knocked on his neighbour’s back door and it was opened by Gran, who informed him without any preamble that John wasn’t in, that he had already had his tea and gone out again and she didn’t know when he’d be back, he experienced a decidedly flat feeling.
‘And where was he makin’ for, Gran?’
‘The cemetery,’ said Gran briefly.
‘But he’s just come back from there—he was at his work the day, wasn’t he?’
‘Well, that’s where he’s gone,’ said Gran. ‘He said afore he went out he had one or two things he wanted to finish and he was going back there to do them. Very explicit he was about it an’ all.’
‘Aw, well,’ said Broderick, disappointment in his voice. ‘I just wanted to ask how he was.’
‘I guessed you did,’ said Gran, and the tone of this remark brought forth Broderick’s bellow.
‘I cannot see meself going up to the cemetery, Gran.’
‘Not walkin’,’ commented Gran caustically.
‘Aw. Aw, now, Gran, don’t joke along these lines. Y’know I’m superstitious about things like that; cemeteries and such.’
‘You’ll go up the road
one day.’
‘Aye, aye, likely, of course, when the time comes.’ After nodding to Gran, Broderick retreated back down the path. The conversation had taken a turn he did not relish, for like all superstitious people he could not bear to discuss death, especially his own.
So Broderick made his way to the club as he usually did in the evenings, and there he met his workmate, Dick Turner, and Dick’s first words to him were, ‘Well, what’s the latest gravedigger doings, Broderick?’
‘Devil a thing I have to report,’ said Broderick, calling the barman to him with a lift of his chin. ‘The only thing I know is that he’s still seeing the Saint and him not paying a penny for the privilege… And mind you, aye, that’s not my crack—he said it to me himself and I thought it was rich, at least for him to come out with, and here we are throwing away our hard-earned money and seeing nothin’ for it larger than life… except the wife, that is.’
This quip raised a laugh among the nearby company as Broderick intended it should, and it made him feel more like himself again. But as he plunged his lips into the foaming froth of his first pint, he once again experienced the strong urge to see John. The urge grew with each successive drink until he had to chide himself with such remarks as, ‘Oh, to hell. What’s up with me anyway? I’ll see him soon enough, afore I turn in.’
It was a good hour and a half before closing time when the strange urge, getting the upper hand of Broderick, forced him to his feet in the middle of a conversation, and as much to the surprise of himself as to his mates he heard himself saying, ‘Well, I’ll be gettin’ along, fellas. I’ve things to do.’
As Broderick made his way to the door he was followed by a loud protest of which he took not the slightest heed until he was standing alone in the bar yard, and there he asked himself a question: ‘What’s come over you an’ all?’ When he received no answer he moved on, thinking, ‘You’ve lost a good hour’s drinking time. What’s so important in taking a rise out of him?’ Still he could not give himself an answer.
When he reached the street he did not turn in at his own gate but made his way straight to the Gascoigne’s back door again, and it was Florrie this time who opened it to him.
‘Aw, hullo there, Florrie. I just looked in again to see how John was.’
Florrie lowered her eyes for a moment before replying, ‘He’s not in, Broderick.’
‘No?’ Broderick’s face and voice showed his surprise and also his disappointment. ‘Well, where has he got to till this time? Don’t tell me he’s still up.’ He jerked his head to indicate the cemetery.
Florrie’s voice was very low as she answered, ‘Yes, he’s still there. He’s working.’
‘Well now, workin’ at this hour.’ Broderick leant towards Florrie and asked in a whisper, ‘Is he more of himself the day?’
When Florrie lowered her eyes again but made no reply, Broderick said, ‘Aw, now, I wouldn’t worry meself unduly, he’ll come round, it’s only a spasm he’s havin’. Look, it’s really early yet, I left the club afore me time the night, I think I’ll just take a dander up the road and meet him.’ As Florrie’s head jerked up at this and she put out a hand of protest, he added jocularly, ‘And it was Gran who said to me the night I’d never go up on me feet.’ He laughed loudly now. ‘Gran’s the one full of jests. She’s as good as meself at them, only on a different tack, aye.’
Florrie had had to wait until Broderick finished and now she said quite firmly, ‘I wouldn’t go and meet him if I was you, Broderick.’
‘And why not? John and me’s on the best of terms. I pull his leg but he likes it. Aw, he doesn’t say much and he keeps up a grim front, at least he had up until this week, but he’d miss me and me leg-pullin’, I can tell you that, Florrie. And for me own part I can state that if I hadn’t John to joke with me life would be empty indeed… Now I’m away and you’ll see us comin’ back arm in arm the best of pals, so don’t you fret.’
Florrie could say no more; she always felt helpless against Broderick’s garrulousness and reasoning. She watched him walk jauntily to the bottom gate before turning and closing the door. She felt bound to voice her feelings when she entered the kitchen. ‘I believe he gets a kick out of tormenting John… You know what I think?’ She looked from Gran to Aunt Lucy, who had braved another visit. ‘I think it’s him—Broderick—who’s turned John’s mind; not that cricket ball at all.’
‘Aye, well.’ Gran’s nondescript nose twitched. ‘You may be right, but I wouldn’t say that. If it hadn’t been one thing, ’twould have been another. It was ready to be turned in any case. He’s been simmering darkly underneath for years. He’s my son and I should know.’
Gran cast a taunting glance at her sister but Aunt Lucy was apparently oblivious to it for she made no remark whatever but went to the window and from there watched Broderick’s swaying gait as he walked towards the bottom of the street. She was about to comment that it was odd he hadn’t looked in at his own house if he had just come from the club, when she saw John and quietly said, ‘Here he comes.’
‘John?’ exclaimed Florrie, hurrying to her side.
And yes, there he was. As Broderick disappeared round the bottom of the street, John was entering it from the top end. This wasn’t the way he came when returning from work. Where had he been? Florrie shook her head, and at that moment Gran startled her by remarking almost in her ear, ‘T’other one will have his walk for nowt, strike me.’
‘Come away from the window,’ said Florrie hastily. ‘In case he sees us.’
When John entered the kitchen it was to see Gran sitting in her usual chair, Florrie setting the table and Aunt Lucy sitting on the couch, and it was to her he spoke first saying, ‘Why, hullo there, Aunt Lucy.’
‘Hullo, John, how are you the day?’
‘Fine.’ John let out a long breath then repeated, ‘Fine. Never better, Aunt Lucy.’
‘Good evenin’. It’s been a nice day.’ Gran’s voice speaking the greeting to herself was heavy with temper and sarcasm. Her son had spoken to their Lucy but had never a word for her.
When John turned and looked at his mother she was not only taken aback but made a little apprehensive, for she noticed something akin to a twinkle in his eye, and when he said to her in a voice that was almost jocular, ‘Now if I had said… “It’s been a nice day” to you, Mother, your answer would have been “Well, you’ve had your share of it”, wouldn’t it?’ Her mouth fell agape and for a moment she could not find a word to say in reply. Then, almost spluttering her indignation, she cried, ‘It would only be me due and common decency to give me a chance.’
Florrie, not wanting a row to start between the two of them, and not having seen the merriment in John’s face as he quipped his mother, made an effort to turn the conversation away from her and took the first thought that came to hand, which, if she had taken the time to consider, she would not have voiced. ‘Broderick called twice the night to see how you were,’ she said as she passed him.
‘Aye, I thought he would.’
This remark brought Florrie up short and she looked at her husband and repeated, ‘You thought he would… Twice?’
‘Aye, twice, maybe three times. You told him I was at the cemetery?’
She nodded then said, ‘Yes, yes, I told him.’
‘And he’s gone up there now?’
‘Just a few minutes afore you came in.’ Florrie watched a smile almost split John’s face. She could not remember seeing all his teeth at one time before.
Looking at his watch John said now, ‘I think I’ll sit down for five minutes.’
The women glanced at each other as John took his seat at the table, and Florrie said, ‘I was going to cook you something.’
He replied, ‘I want nothing but a bit of cheese and bread and a cup of tea.’ Then he nodded at his watch and repeated, ‘Five minutes, ten at the outside.’
‘What’s going to happen in five minutes?’ asked Gran grimly.
‘I don’t rightly know, Mother; you�
�ll just have to wait and see.’
John’s next question, which was put with a startling eagerness, almost caused Florrie to drop the teapot. ‘Has the doctor been the day?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Florrie briefly.
‘And is he comin’ back the morrow?’ His voice was still eager.
Florrie moved to the table, placed the teapot on the stand and looked at John very, very hard, and he returned her stare as he said, ‘Well, lass, is he?’
‘I expect so.’ Now her tone was curt.
‘Well, that’s a good thing,’ said John. ‘For he’s likely to have another patient. In fact, McNally and me could be in the same bed, both with the same complaint.’ He turned to Aunt Lucy on this and laughed. ‘That would be funny, Aunt Lucy, eh?’
Aunt Lucy managed a smile in reply but did not speak.
Florrie now found she was trembling and that she was experiencing much the same feeling as she had done last night before she fainted. But tonight she was determined she was not going to faint, so placing her hands before her flat on the table, she forced herself to look into John’s smiling face and demanded, ‘John, pay attention to me. Stop that grinning and tell me, what have you concocted up for Broderick?’
John blinked and seemed to recall himself from some pleasant place, then he pressed himself back from her in mock indignation and drew his chin into his collar and pointed to himself as he said, ‘Me? Concoct anything for Broderick? Me? Why, lass, the shoe’s on the other foot and always has been. Broderick’s the arch concoctor, you should know that by now.’
‘He’s gone up to the cemetery because he thought you were there.’
‘Well, what’s that got to do with me?’
‘You knew he would go up.’
‘Aye, perhaps I did.’ Slowly John rose from the table and drew his chair towards the sink. Putting one foot on the seat of the chair, he rested his elbows on the draining board and leant forward so he could have full view of the bottom of the road.
The three women in the room behind him looked at each other and then at his back.
Saint Christopher and the Gravedigger Page 15
