The Man Who Cried

by Catherine Cookson

  ”It’s all right. It’s all right” - she was laughing as she pulled her hat straight on her head - ”it was my fault; I was hugging the wall.”

  He was still steadying her when he shouted, ”She’s out. . . Hilda. She’s at the cemetery. But let yourself in. She leaves the key on top of the wooden stanchion of the door.” He pointed, then added on a laugh, ”First place a burglar would look.”

  He didn’t loosen his hold on her but led her towards the door, and it was he who took the key from its hiding place and opened the door, and not until he was inside and the door closed did his hand leave her arm.

  Both hands free now, she lifted them upwards and took off her hat, saying, ”I must look a right mess. And trust me to wear a hat with a brim as big as this, on a day like this an’ all.” She fluttered the hat in her hand as she added, ”But it goes with the suit.”

  He stood a little way back from her now and looked her up and down before saying, ”It’s a lovely suit, a lovely rig-out altogether. With your taste you couldn’t have gone in for anything else but clothes; no, you couldn’t.”

  He had discovered some weeks ago that she dealt in clothes, and not just ordinary clothes, club clothes, or those to be found hanging in lines in the big stores. Hers were the exclusive Yvonne models, sold in a small exclusive shop in a side street at the bottom of Brampton Hill.

  He was taking a short cut one day when bringing in a car for repairs and he had drawn the car up sharply on the sight of her locking the shop door - it was natural to offer her a lift home and when she was seated beside him he said, ”So you work there ?”

  ”Yes, you could say that.”

  ”That sounds like a yes and no answer.”

  ”Well, I do work there, but it’s my shop.”

  ”Yours!”

  ”Yes. Look where you’re going!” she had said quickly as he turned towards her. ”Why be so surprised? Why shouldn’t I have a shop like that ?”

  ”No ... no reason whatever I suppose, only I’ve heard it referred to as the most exclusive shop in Fellburn. I’ve often wondered how it kept going, who the people are who have the money to buy . . . well, your kind of clothes.”

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  ”You’d be surprised.” .

  ”Yes, I suppose I would.” : :

  He said now, ”What is the material, corduroy?”

  ”Corduroy velvet.”

  ”It’s beautiful”

  He was looking into her face. She was beautiful too. He had imagined her face as being just interesting but now it was beautiful; her skin had picked up a glow from the reddish brown of the material.

  He blinked rapidly now as he asked, ”How is your father getting along?”

  ”Oh, he’s much better. He’s on his feet again and bawling like a bull, so he’s all right. I got him into a new suit yesterday. Aw” she turned her head to the side - ”Aw, you never saw anything like it. The poor man in the shop, it’s a good job he knew me else he would have thrown him out.

  Dad said he’d come round here with me today just to show Hilda.” She poked her head forward ntid made a moue with her lips. ”You know what he yelled out in the shop?”

  He shook his head as he smiled widely at her.

  ” ’The next bloody thing you’ll have me in is nancy knickers, bloody plus-fours.’ I know I have a tough hide but oh, was I glad when I got him outside.” She was bending towards him now, her hand on her mouth as she laughed and his laugh was joining hers, deep and free, as he pictured the old fellow being true to type, when the door burst open, seemingly they thought with the wind, because they both turned swiftly and their shoulders touched; but there, her face expressing her feelings, stood Hilda.

  ”How did you get in here ?” She was leaning against the door now staring at her sister, but it was Abel who answered her, saying quickly, ”I told her where the key was, I opened the door.”

  ”Then you had no right to. What right have you anyway to come in here when I’m not about?

  And you!” She pulled herself from the door and it looked for a moment as if she were going to extend her arm either to strike or to punch Florrie, but instead she pointed at her. ”You knowl go to the cemetery every Sunday. You picked your time, didn’t you? Oh, I know what you’re after.”

  Florrie didn’t answer, but for a moment she seemed to grow taller; her face from being pink-hued was now deathly white; and it was she who thrust out her arm now and, pushing her sister 107

  from the door, opened it and walked slowly out.

  As Abel stood looking down into Hilda’s tight-drawn face he thought for the moment he was in the cottage facing Lena again in the throes of one of their frequent battles, and his voice sounded as if he was really dealing with his wife when he cried, ”You want to be careful, you can go so far. . . .”

  ”Don’t tell me how far I can go, Mr Gray.” She walked round ’ him, then sidewards to the table, keeping her eyes on him all the time, and there she tore off her black velour hat and flung it on to a chair as she used his very words: ”You want to be careful,j/«w’// go too far.” Then leaning across the table towards him, she cried, ”You know nothing about it; you know nothing about her. She’s bad, she’s man mad. Always has been. She breaks up homes. You think she’s nice, funny, amusing to be with; the wives of the men she takes don’t think that, let me tell you. The one who’s running her now is married with four children, and he’s lasted the longest, six years.

  Just think, Mr Gray, just think what the wives must feel. And you say I go too far. Oh, I know what she’s up to, and if you had any sense you’d see it an’ all. Oooh!” She let out a long- ”

  drawn sigh and her fury seemed to seep away with her escaping breath as she sank down into a chair and dropped her head into her hand. She was quiet for a moment; then more to herself than to him she said, ’ ’All my life I’ve been plagued with her, plagued that’s the word, and he’s taken her part against me. But then, of course, he would, she’s a kept woman and she keeps him mostly out of it, so of course he would take her part. It’s natural, isn’t it ?”

  She seemed to have forgotten his presence until he said quietly, ”I’m going for a walk.” He had opened the door and had one foot in the yard when she called softly, ”Abel. Abel, don’t go.”

  He took no heed of the plea in her voice but closed the door before going quickly across the yard, out into the road, past the gates, and into the open country.

  He must have walked for two hours, by which time he had circled the outskirts of the town, come through Bog’s End, through the deserted market place, up by the equally deserted park, and was now approaching Brampton Hill itself.

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  As he struggled up the incline, the force of the wind caused him to lower his head into his chest.

  If anything, the wind had increased and he knew it wouldn’t let up until the rain started, and the low, dark sky promised this at any moment. He was within ten minutes’ walk of the house but he didn’t want to go back there, at least not until there was a chance of his getting up to his rooms without her spotting him, and the light was good for another hour yet.

  When he came to a stop at the big iron gates of number 46 he questioned himself if it had been his intention from the beginning to make for here, and the answer gabbled in his mind, God no !

  for he’d had enough for one day. He didn’t want to hear anything more from either of them.

  Why did he get himself entangled in these situations ? Ever since first setting out on the road it had been the same. No, no ; he had to be honest about it, the entanglement had started with Alice; before that he had been just a married man, a bored, frustrated, unhappy man. But he was still a married man, he must remember that, the only difference now was he was no longer bored or frustrated. . . . Aw, hold your hand a minute. He jerked his shoulders and nodded his head at the thought that had taken on shape, and he answered it, If I’m not frustrated then what is it that’s eating me ? Why am I here ? Come on,
why am I here ? The reply was a little while in coming, it came as he was walking along the gravel drive: If she’s had so many one more won’t make much difference.

  As he walked around the side of the house towards the french windows the wind met him with renewed force and, as he approached the windows, it seemed to be filled with voices. It was these voices which brought him to a stop before he actually reached the door. The drawing-room he saw was lighted and she was standwith her back to him ; and not a yard from the door and to the side, holding on to one of the partially open french windows with both hands, was her father, and he was yelling at her, ”You tell her an’ as God’s me judge I’ll never speak to you again as long as I live. Do you hear? I’ll never open me lips to you. You breathe one word of it, one word . . .I’m warnin’ you!”

  ”You can warn me all you like” - Florrie’s voice was as high as his now - ”you can threaten all you like. You’ve done it since I can remember anything. Well, I’m telling you, Dad, and I mean it, just one more insulting remark from her and she’ll get it, in one 109

  mouthful she’ll get it. You’re a bastard! I’ll say. ïnfyery sense of the word you’re a bastard.”

  There was a pause during which only the voice of the gusting wind came to him; then he could just make out Mr Donnelly’s words as he said, ”You wouldn’t, Florrie, you wouldn’t do that.”

  ”I would, Dad. Get this into your head, I would, and I will. I’ve stood enough. You’ve always said yourself there’s nobody either black or white, but all shades of grey. Well, she’s made me out to be deep black, pitch black. She tells people I’m bad, rotten. I know what I am, nobody better, but I’m not what she makes me out to be. And that man today was given the impression I was the lowest of the low. And you know why ?”

  He saw her now thrust her hand out and place it above her father’s and bang the door closed, and he strained his ears to listen but no sound came from the room. He could see her face now, her profile contorted with anger; and her father’s face, his eyebrows raised, his hand napping as if dismissing what she was saying.

  He was actually hesitating whether to step forward or to go back when the decision was made for him by a slate hurtling down from the roof and missing him by inches before crashing on to the terrace to the side of him.

  The french window was now open; Fred Donnelly was standing on the step looking at him and shouting, ”What the hell do you want here?”

  ”Nothing.” The answer sounded inane even to himself.

  ”Well, I hope you bloody well find it. It’s a pity it missed you,” he said, looking down on the splintered slate; then he marched away along by the side of the house.

  ”Come in; I want to close the door.” She was gasping as if she had been fighting against the wind.

  He paused a moment before stepping into the room, and when she closed the doors behind her the peace, the warmth and the silence enveloped him so quickly and to such an extent that for the moment he felt weak and slightly stupid as if the tile actually had hit him.

  That was until she demanded, ”How long have you been standing there ?”

  ”I ... I couldn’t say.”

  She turned from him, then put her doubled fist to her mouth and closed her eyes before walking towards the fire. There she

  no

  thrust out her hands towards it as if she were seeking warmth, and now she asked flatly, ”Why had you to come here at this time?”

  ”I don’t know.”

  She swung round and faced him, shouting at him now, ”Don’t say that! That’s what they . . .”

  She stopped abruptly and once more her doubled fist was pressed against her mouth. Nor did he move from where he was as he said, ”Why don’t you finish, that’s what they all say?”

  But his face screwed up in protest as she screamed at him. ”Yes ! that’s what they all say, all three of them.”

  Her voice had been so loud and so high that he looked quickly towards the door, then upwards.

  ”Don’t worry,” she cried; ”this is an old house, the walls are thick, and this flat is detached, there’s only a cellar below. I can shout as much as I like. In any case if we were right in the middle of the hall I’d still shout. And now I’m going to tell you something so we can get it straight. I am thirtytwo years old; there have been three men in my life; the last one has lasted for six years. I am not a prostitute,”

  ”I never thought you were.”

  ”Don’t lie, that’s why you came here. I know. Oh, I know.” She flapped her hand disdainfully at him. ”I know the impression she’s given you. And, of course, she’s laid it on blacker because she wants you, she wants to marry you . . . and don’t look so surprised, you can’t be that blind.

  Anyway, it’s the best thing you could do.”

  She turned from him and went slowly towards the couch and sat down; then looking up at him, and her voice quiet now, she said, ”Don’t let what you heard stand in your way, she’s not to blame for that, and I won’t tell her. I said I would, but with her kind of temperament she wouldn’t be able to stand it. As far as she’s concerned, illegitimacy is a sin, she wouldn’t only blame those responsible she would take the sin on to her own shoulders, being made as she is.”

  He walked forward now and took a seat opposite to her before asking quietly, ”You’re half-sisters then?”

  ”No, no.” She shook her head. ”No relation whatever.”

  ”What! . . .you mean?”

  ”What I mean is, Dad’s not her father and my mother wasn’t her mother.”

  ”She was adopted?”

  in

  ’If

  ”Well, in a way you could say so. Funny.” She turned her head to the side and shook it slowly before looking at him again and saying, ”You’ve seen my dad, haven’t you ? A scruffy little man, five foot three inches tall ... I take after my mother” - she accompanied this statement with a movement of her hand that started at her head and finished pointing to her feet - ”although I am much taller than even she was. But can you see my dad, looking at him now, consumed with fires of love ? Well, he was. He was one of twins. His brother Len inherited both looks and height.

  They must have looked opposites. But they both fell in love with Annie the girl next door, not exactly next door but along the street, and, of course, she chose Len. Well, as I understand it from my mother who actually did live next door to them, he took himself off and nobody saw anything of him for five years, but when he came back he picked up with my mother. As she said herself, she had always liked him - she never used the word love. She was a shy woman was my mother, but kindness itself, and he on the long rebound needed kindness so he married her.

  ”In the meantime, so the tale goes, Len and Annie who had moved from the town came back, and from the minute they arrived Dad was never away from them. Even the night I was born he was along there ; he didn’t see me until I was some hours old. This situation went on for five years ; then my Uncle Len died in a pit accident - both he and Dad worked down the pit. My mother waited for the worst to happen, that is my Dad to walk out and go to Annie’s, because he had seen to everything, the funeral and all its details, and he was never away from her, at least for a fortnight after my Uncle Len died. Then, so my mother told me, he came in one day almost demented. She had gone, just walked out, left him a note to say that she was fed up with Doncaster . . . that’s where we lived, and she was going to London. You know” - she now rose from the couch and went again to the fireplace and, again extending her hands towards the flame, she rubbed them together, talking all the while - ”I’m amazed at the things women do for men and at what men expect women to do for them; even today.” Her head snapped round towards him. ”Nothing’s altered in the last thirty years. The vote? Huh! makes you laugh, that. You know what?” She turned fully round now and looked down on him. ”He expected my mother to sympathize with him, he even cried, for the first time in his life my mother said she saw him cry.

  He

 
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  hadn’t cried when his brother died, nor yet when his mother and father died. Can you understand it ? Anyway -” She now took the seat opposite to him again and, leaning back in it, resumed quietly, ”Eighteen months passed, then one day who should turn up on the doorstep but dear Annie, pregnant to the hilt, and I mean to the hilt for the child was born only forty-eight hours after she stepped into the house, and as she brought it into life she went out of it.”

  She paused, sighed, and then said, ”Now I can take up the story because I can remember seeing the new-born baby lying across the foot of the bed and Mrs Williams from up the street and my mother trying to bring back life into Annie. Later I can see myself sitting by the kitchen fire looking into the wash-basket where the baby was, and I can see me dad sprawled half across the kitchen table, his head buried in his arms.

  ”Well, the next picture I have of all this is our furniture being packed into a little van, and then Dad carrying the baby and my mother with me by the hand boarding a train. We moved straight into 109 Temple Street. Dad had come up here and rented the house; he had arranged everything.

  To all intents and purposes Hilda was his daughter and my mother was to be known as her mother. In that quarter the obvious situation was accepted. There you have the full story ; except for one thing, which is ironic when you think about it, all the love that he deprived my mother of and bestowed first on his twin’s wife and then on her illegitimate child, because he never learned who the father was, was wasted because Hilda grew up almost disliking him. He knows this and it has turned his feelings into a love-hate relationship with her. He deprived my mother or love, even of consideration, and he certainly deprived me of the affection due from a father because before Hilda came on the scene he hadn’t much use for me, but from the moment she appeared all I was good for in his eyes was seeing that no harm came to his little dear.”

  She leant towards him again and there was a wry smile on her lips as she said, ”Can you imagine how he felt when she married Peter Maxwell, a man older than himself, because if anyone was in love with his daughter, who wasn’t his daughter, he was. . . . Don’t look so shocked.”