The Man Who Cried

by Catherine Cookson

  ”Up to here you mean ?” She held the back of her hand under her chin.

  And yes, that’s what he did mean ’cos she didn’t look a bit like Aunt Florrie. Her black hair was as straight as a die and all other young women’s hair seemed to be frizzy or wavy. And she hadn’t any colour in her face; sallow, he supposed, was the word for her skin. But she had nice eyes; they were long-shaped with heavy lids. He remembered his dad once remarking about her eyes and saying they were beautiful, and his Aunt Hilda had added it was a pity the rest of her face didn’t come up to them, which he thought wasn’t very nice. But then his Aunt Hilda often said things that weren’t very nice; more so of late. Faintly he could remember a time when she had, so to speak, been all over him. Still, she was all right, was Aunt Hilda; and she was a good cook.

  To make up for his apparent tactlessness he now said, ”Dad once said you had lovely eyes.”

  ”Did he?” ” .’,’.

  ”YeS.” .’;;.. ’

  ”But there, your dad is a very kind man.”

  ”Yes, I suppose he is.” He nodded at her and she made that little sound in her throat again; then whipping up the blazer from the ironing board, she threw it towards him, saying, ”Get it on. And the next time you want to smoke, try a tab.”

  ”I don’t think I’ll try anything again.”

  As he buttoned up his blazer he went towards the door, sayHi ing, ”Ta, Molly. That’s saved me a wigging. Ta-rah.”

  ”Ta-rah.” She placed a hand between his shoulder blades and pushed him through the door, and he turned and laughed at her before scampering along by the side of the house, then across the meadow and through the broken fence boundary, round by the garden outhouses, through the narrow cut between the garage and the bicycle shed, and so into the yard.

  Arthur was at the petrol pump seeing to a customer. This recalled to his mind that it was Arthur’s Saturday on, which meant that his dad would be free. The thought gave a lift to his spirits and he dashed up the yard towards the kitchen door, but slowed down to a walk before reaching it.

  ^, He opened the door and stepped quietly into the familiar brightness, then looked towards the dinner table in surprise. He had fully expected to see his dad and Aunt Hilda sitting there and had been prepared for her demanding, ”Where have you been till this time?” However, he had no sooner closed the kitchen door behind him than he was given evidence of where his father and his step-mother were, and the tone of their voices brought a slump to his shoulders and his chin drooping towards his chest. They were at it again, at least his Aunt Hilda was at it again. It didn’t take much to set her going.

  He tiptoed towards the far door and cocked his head to the side. His father was saying, ”I got more when I was a hand. And why can’t it be a joint account, I’m supposed to be a partner, aren’t I? Partner? Huh!”

  ”There’s money there if you want it; I’ve never kept you short.”

  ”What are you talking about, money if I want it ? You have every penny docketed that comes into the place. You attend to. those books there as you do to your Bible.”

  ”Abel! Now I’m warning you.”

  ”Well, you can stop warning me and come to an arrangement, a fair arrangement. . . . My name was to go up on the board, wasn’t it ? What happened to that ? I’ve doubled the business in the yard in the last five years but to all intents and purposes I might as well still be the hand; in fact, to you I’m still the hand, aren’t I?”

  ”Don’t be ridiculous ! I’ve given you everything you’ve asked for.”

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  ”What did you say, Hilda, you’ve given me everything I’ve asked for?”

  ”I’m not going to stand here wasting my time talking to you.”

  As Dick prepared to jump back his father’s voice checked him as it did Hilda’s, and in his mind’s eye he knew that his dad had hold of her. Then his voice came deep and angry sounding. ”What have you ever really given me, Hilda ? A new suit a year, rigged the boy out for school, four square meals a day. Oh, I’ll grant you that. And yet that too has a selfish side because you like nothing better than stuffin’ your face. . . . No, you don’t ! You’ll just stay and listen; for once you’ll listen to me.”

  This was followed by a silence in which Dick drew in a deep breath, then endeavoured to hold it in case he should cough. But when his father spoke again it was about something different, something personal, which embarrassed him, so much so that what he heard quickened his breathing and brought out a sweat on the back of his neck. He shut his mind to the first spate of words, then found his eyes widening and his ears seeming to stretch to take in the flood of words his father was pouring out, words he knew that were connected with . . . that other thing, the thing that Géorgie Armstrong knew all about, the thing that he said happened between his mother and father. That’s what his dad was talking about now. . . .

  ”So far and no further. You didn’t like it, did you? Came as a shock to you, is what you said. You were made for old Maxwell. God! what a pity he had to go. He supplied all you needed, didn’t he, nursed you, cuddled you, petted you; and with him there was no ripening, was there ? All he needed was a little girl at night and a business-woman during the day, and you fitted his picture perfectly. Well, I’m no Mr Maxwell. I don’t want any little girl to play with, nor do I want a boss woman over me during the day, I want a fair deal. I’ve put a lot of hard work into your business your business, do you hear ? - because you wouldn’t let me start one of my own. That was in the plans to begin with. Oh yes, but it was soon put aside, wasn’t it ? I had to have nothing of my own. I had to depend upon you, hadn’t I ? I was still the fellow from the road. Oh yes, I was.

  Shake your head as much as you like, Hilda. I was still the fellow from the road and I still am, isn’t that so. I catch you looking at me sometimes as if you’re wondering why you took me on.”

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  Dick now turned his chin tightly into his ffoulder as he heard a scuffling; then Hilda’s voice came from the room yelling, ”Yes! you’re right in part, but I didn’t think at the time what I was taking on. You’ve made me think about it since though, because you act deep. I know no more about you now than on the day we were married. As for me not giving you anything, what have you given me, I ask you ? You accuse Mr Maxwell of treating me as a little girl. Well, things might have been different if you had treated me with a little of his gentleness instead of always wanting to satisfy your lust. You should have married someone like our Florrie, she could have satisfied all your needs. Oh yes, she would have satisfied all your needs.”

  There was a short silence before his father’s voice came to him again ; and now his eyebrows moved up even further as he listened to him saying quite quietly and firmly, ”Yes, I should have, you’re right there, Hilda, except it wasn’t someone like Florrie I should have married, it should have been Florrie herself.”

  ”You beast! You cruel, cruel beast! You know what I feel about our Florrie, yet you could say that to me.”

  ”You brought it up, not me. Anyway, I’ve had about enough of this. I’ll say now what I came in to say. I’m going to take five pounds each week out of that till, at least five pounds. I’ll work out the profits and take a percentage. I think that’s only fair for the twelve-hour day I put in. And now I’m going out and I don’t know what time I’ll be back ... or if I’ll be back. Aye, or if I’ll be back.”

  From the sanctuary of the scullery now, Dick saw his father enter the kitchen, then stop as Hilda’s voice cried, ”You can’t, I mean you’ve got to get back for tea, Mr Gilmore’s coming.

  You know he is.”

  ”Well, Hilda” - his father had turned about and was apparently facing her - ”you can tell Mr Gilmore from me that he can go to hell, now and on all future visits. . . . Do you know something, Hilda ? He’s the one you should have married. But, of course, his wife was alive at the time.

  What a pity she didn’t go about the same time as Mr Maxwell because you would have made a wo
nderful pair. And he’s still got you in mind, do you know that, Hilda?”

  ”You’re wicked. That’s what you are, Abel Gray, you’re wicked.”

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  As the kitchen door closed on his father Dick stepped back further into the scullery, but he didn’t attempt to open the back door and make his escape because that door had a habit of creaking, and there in the kitchen now was Hilda. She was standing near the table, her face held tightly between her hands; then she disappeared from his view and he heard a slight thud, followed by a gasping cry and the sound of weeping.

  After a moment during which he stood gnawing on his thumbnail while looking from one side of the scullery to the other, he moved slowly into the kitchen. Hilda was lying halfway over the kitchen table. Her head was resting on her forearms but, in unison with the rest of her body, it was rocking from one side to the other. She looked like someone trying to throw off a great pain and the sight upset him. He couldn’t have explained why, but he knew that, over this present issue, he was more in sympathy with her than with his father. He had already forgotten the substance of the issue, he only knew that somehow he was on her side in this.

  ”Aunt Hilda.” He put his hand gently on her shoulder and she started and seemed to roll on to her side. Now with one elbow on the table she rested her head in her hand while her eyes rained tears and her mouth opened and shut as if she were finding it difficult to breathe.

  ”Don’t cry. Don’t cry like that, Aunt Hilda. Come on.” He caught hold of her shoulders and pulled her upright. ”Come on, come on, sit up; I’ll . . . I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

  She allowed herself to be led to a chair and there, looking up at him, she gulped, ”Oh, Dickie!”

  When she caught hold of his hands he expected her to say, ”How long have you been in ?” but what she said was, ”Your father doesn’t love me, he doesn’t care anything for me. He doesn’t.

  He doesn’t.”

  When she fell against him he put his arms about her and brought her head to his breast and for the second time in a half hour, in less than half an hour he found himself being embraced by a woman, and returning the embrace.

  It was strange but he realized that this was the first time that Hilda had really held him close to her. She had put her arms around his shoulders, she had kissed him good-night on the cheek, but she had never held him like this. He found he liked the feeling. As his laughter had come easy to him with Molly, so now words

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  of comfort seemed to flow from him. He didr$ know exactly what he was saying or why he was saying it, but he was telling her that she was mistaken and that his dad thought the world of her, and that people said all kinds of things when they were angry. He even reminded her of a sermon Mr Gilmore had preached one Sunday not so long ago about the sin of temper and of hurting people you love.

  When she pressed him gently from her she was no longer crying and she looked into his face and said quietly, ”You’re a good boy, Dickie. You’re a very good boy. I’ve . . . I’ve been harsh with you at times but it’s just because . . . well, I’ve . . . I’ve been so unhappy.”

  She was about to cry again but with an effort stopped herself and, getting to her feet, she went to the sink and turned on the cold tap before holding her face sideways under it, then slowly dried herself on the roller towel, after which she looked out of the kitchen window, and her voice low, she said to him, ”Your dad’s just gone into the garage. Go to him, will you, and . . . and stay with him? Wherever he goes this afternoon, stay with him.”

  ”Aye. All right, yes, yes, I’ll . . . I’ll do that. And don’t worry, it’ll be all right.”

  As he opened the door to go out, she said, ”I forgot, you usually go to the matinee on a Saturday.”

  ”Oh” - he jerked his chin up - ”I wasn’t going anyway; I’ve seen it.”

  He ran down the yard now towards the garage and met his father just coming out, buttoning up his overcoat. He didn’t stop in his walk but went towards the road. Dick kept pace with him, but neither of them spoke until they were on the pavement and hidden from the house by the high wall; and then Abel stopped and said, ”I’ve got some business to do.”

  ”Can’t I come along, Dad?”

  ”No. Anyway, you generally go to the matinee the day.”

  Again the boy said, ”I’ve seen it.”

  ”Well, go and watch the cricket then; they’re playing on thp bottom field.”

  ”Dad, let me go along of you.”

  ”No, I’ve told you, haven’t I! I might end up going tramping over the hills and you’ve got no love for tramping, have you?”

  ”I wouldn’t mind today, Dad.”

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  They stood staring at each other for a moment until Dick said, ”She was crying, Dad, badly.”

  Abel turned his head to the side and drew his bottom lip in between his teeth for a moment, then he said, ”Well, if she’s crying she needs someone to look after her, so go back and keep an eye on her.”

  ”But she . . .”

  ”She what?”

  ”It doesn’t matter.” <

  Again they looked at each other; then Abel stalked away down the road and Dick turned back into the yard. But he didn’t go towards the kitchen, yet he knew she had seen him for she was standing looking out of the window.

  Arthur Baines’s time for leaving on a Saturday was half past six and he was just about to close the garage when the car turned into the yard. It was a black high-body Rover and as the driver, a man in his early fifties, alighted he let out a long breath as if he had been walking instead of riding, and what he said was, ”Oh, glad I found you. You know, this is the first garage I’ve come across in miles; you’d think they’d never heard of the motor-car here.”

  ”We’re just about to close, sir; what can I do for you?”

  ”Well, a number of things I should say. I’m nearly out of petrol, water, and oil; and then there’s this brake” - he pointed to the lever near the driving seat - ”it’s sticking. Had a job to get it to work coming down one of your hills. And my goodness they are hills, I’ve never seen so many.

  Well now, can you fix me up?”

  ”I can supply you with the petrol, oil, and water but if there’s anything wrong with the brake, anything serious . . . well, I’m ... I’m just off.”

  ”Oh! Do your best, have a look at it.”

  The short thick-set man walked to the middle of the yard and was looking towards the door opening in the side of the garage when the young boy came out, and he said to him cheerily,

  ”Hello there, young man.”

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  Ja:

  k

  ”Hello, sir.” f ,- -, ’ • •

  ”Nice big yard you have here.” . , I i

  ”Yes, it is a big yard.” I

  The man now moved round in a slow circle and he said, ”I wonder if it would be possible to have a glass of water ?”

  ”Oh yes, yes, sir. If you’ll come up to the kitchen I’ll get you one.”

  ”Good. Thank you.”

  Dick preceded the short talkative customer up to the kitchen door and, opening it, he called,

  ”Aunt Hilda, this gentleman would like a drink of water.”

  Hilda, on hearing the kitchen door open, had come quickly from out of the sitting-room, and she paused for a moment, a look of disappointment on her face, then said, ”Oh yes, yes, by all means.”

  Quickly Dick filled a glass with water and handed it to the man, who drained it at one go before handing the glass back to Dick and saying, ”Thank you very much.”

  Smiling at Hilda, he said, ”There’s nothing to beat God’s wine when you’re thirsty, although at other times we don’t value it.” Then he asked, ”By the way, is there a good hotel in the town?”

  ”Well, we’re just on the outskirts here but if you go right into Fellburn there’s The Bull and also The Forestry. . . . The Forestry is a very comfortable place I understand.”

 
”Thank you. Well now I must be on my way, that is if your man has been able to fix my brake.”

  As the man turned and looked towards where Arthur Baines was lying half in and half out of the car, Abel came through the opening and walked slowly into the yard. He merely glanced towards the car and his gaze just flicked over the group at the kitchen door. It was his intention to go straight to one of the old rooms above the garage which he now used as a workroom, but a voice high with surprise halted him.

  ”Well I never! there couldn’t possibly be two of you.”

  Abel turned and looked towards the man hurrying towards him and for a moment his throat felt completely dry, yet at the same time he reassured himself there was nothing to fear, it was only the doctor, the mad woman’s cousin.

  ”Mr Gray, isn’t it?”

  ”Yes.” -:-, ,,H

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  ”Well! well! it’s a small world. I never thought to run into you again. How are you ? But need I ask ? You look very prosperous. And . . . and” - he half swung round - ”don’t tell me.” Then he put his hand to his brow and struck it twice, saying, ”Of course. Of course. He hasn’t altered that much, he hasn’t even grown all that much. Your boy.” He looked to where Dick was moving towards him with Hilda just a few yards behind; then he turned towards Abel again, a question in his eyes, and Abel swallowed deeply before inclining his head towards Hilda and saying, ”My . •

  • my wife.”

  ”Well, I never! How do you do, Mrs Gray?” He now walked towards Hilda, his hand outstretched, and when she took it he shook her hand up and down, saying, ”I’m very pleased to meet you. And you know, I’ve often thought of your husband.” He glanced back towards Abel.

  ”We met under the most odd circumstances. By the way” - he leant towards her, a broad grin on his face - ”you didn’t have to chain him up to get him, did you ?”

  Hilda’s eyes narrowed in perplexity.

  ”Not like Tilly did?”

  Seeing her expression, he said, ”Oh, he’s never told you about Tilly? Well, well” - he again looked towards Abel - ”he should have; you would have had a laugh.” Then turning to her once more, he went on, ”Tilly was my cousin. Not quite with it up here” - he tapped his forehead -