On his way home, he thought of Uncle Simon and bought some light ale at a beer shop. He preferred the dark himself and got one of those too, though he knew he would hear the uncle's lecture about caramelized beer. "A warked in a brewery when A was a lad and A had me fill of it. A lot of the men lost their jobs through drunkenness and so A took me lesson." But Simon would take a glass for his cough and he might even give Peggy a glass: she loved it and it was forbidden to her.
Tom did not pick out his gate at first, because at the gate there was a bareheaded woman of the dumpy pale Bridgehead type, black hair pulled back and strong eyebrows, talking to a workman about fifty, with cap and jacket on, no overcoat, leaning on the gate. But he saw it was Peggy. She said hurriedly, "It's the painter; I thought we'd have the kitchen painted cream, it's that grimy. He could start while you're here. Uncle Sime won't let him in."
"And get me to pay for it," thought Tom immediately, nodding curtly to the painter, a thin somewhat bent, cheeky looking man. He said, "You'll get cold, Peggy," and went in. Tom the dog was inside the door and began to bark and leap at Tom when he went in. "Shut up, you dope," he shouted angrily so that Peggy turned round and quieted him. He thought, "They all think I'm another Uncle Sime: well, I'm not." Peggy was embarrassed. Why? Was she offering the man too much, so that he'd come soon to the house and chat with her? He turned and called, "Peggy!"
"All right, all right, for God's sake," but she came in, glad to be vexed. He smiled and offered her a glass of beer, at which she became gay, "Eh, it's a gala day: you'd think it was Race Week."
Simon looked up with his spectacles on his nose. "Mind the linoleum! I'll fix it right away. The dog was tearin' at it. There's another terrible air accident here. Flying's against nature: man is not a bord. Bords know how. Ye'll see, they'll give it oop. Will ye have some tea?" Tom offered his beer, but the old man said, "Thank ye, no, no, better not: I used to like it though,"
The dog ran into the kitchen and harassed Simon and presently the mother came in, peering and said, "Oh, I thought Mother was here: I'm always doing that."
"No wonder you can't see, Mother, in the fog and filthy air."
"A large proportion of the soot is the result of incomplete combustion due to inefficient stoking," said Uncle Simon.
"And antiquated methods," said Tom.
"What are they using this opencast for," said Uncle Simon referring to the articles featuring local opencast mining. "It's for the papers. There's no use in it. They send it down south where people don't know and find they've got a bit of earth coated with a bit of coal dust when they bargained for coal. Ye couldn't sell that in Bridgehead."
"We just pipe it out of the air," said Tom. Uncle Simon began to cough such a wrenching cough that he had to get up and stand bowed over the sink.
"It's killin' me," he said to Tom between gasps; "it's the raw climate."
"The window's very dirty, Simon," said the old woman; "you old miser, why don't you let the window cleaner in?"
"Because your daughter has no sense," gasped the old man; "the silly girl was makin' a date with the windowman, that's all. A can tell ye now because ye'll forget it. A can't tell it to the silly women, or they'll fly screechin' down me neck. Peggy can do no wrong because the poor lass was unfortunate. But that's no way to treat her. It would send a steady man out of his wits to be treated like a pet dog. It's treated like a grown woman she should be and told of her responsibilities." He came back and began to toast some bread for his sister. "She hasn't eaten anythin' today. A found out she threw her chicken in the fire when me back was turned. It's no good wastin' your money on them." The dog flew at him and he waved the toasting fork feebly.
The mother said, "I can't make out where they are: it's not like them to go out without their tea and without saying goodbye."
"Sit down, Mother," said Tom, closing the door to the hall.
"But we mustn't close them out, the way they have got, they'll feel they're not welcome."
"It's those that died in the attic, Lily and Mother," said Uncle Simon.
They had not sat there long before she got up and began to search in the drawers. She found paper and string and going to the silver drawer, took things out and wrapped them. Simon told her to quit wrapping things. "You're not goin' anywhere; and if ye were, ye couldn't take the whole house with ye in little parcels."
"Don't be meddling where you're not wanted," she said brightly; and winked at Tom. "He never was—" she tapped her forehead: "No one at home: house to let, apply within, no one went out and no one went in." She laughed greatly at this witticism. The dog felt the discouragement of Simon and began barking at him.
Mary Cotter sat down and said it was a black day for that house the day Nellie brought that dog home. Simon told the story of Nellie's finding him running barking about the railway station. She took him to the police station, put in adverts; interviewed people. "The farther they went, the warse it got and George Cook lost all patience; he is not a patient man."
"No," said Tom.
"And the end of it was, no one would have the dog; they had to keep him."
"That's not the way Nellie tells it," said Tom laughing: "according to her, it was a frail little starved waif and a puir stray. Probably the cruel mother of some probable waif, some puir lad of ten, had refused to pay the dog license; and she brought it home thinking that the puir lad of ten was crying his eyes out because of his hard-hearted mother and soft-hearted dog. On the other hand, probably it was because it was year's end and not money enough in the house, perhaps a drinking father or a strike or an industrial accident, or a widow altogether, so that with licenses at hand, they had both, with sighs and tears, to loose him on the street."
"Aye," said Simon, offended, "she may say it one way and A say it the way it happened. Perhaps she doesn't remember with trailing that dog from South Shields to Chester-le-Street to find its owner. Its owner was an invalid who didn't want it and said Nellie could have it. It began by being very spoiled."
Mrs. Cotter said it was not that dog. They argued the point for a while, when she remembered suddenly, and pointing to the dog, said to her brother, "Take him to the door and lose him, no matter what she says. You can't suffer any more than you do now."
"A'm not so sure of that," said the old man. "A don't know where the end of me sufferin's will be. Ye spoil that girl, Mary; ye're her mother but ye give in to her too much. You must know how to handle weak heads."
"Don't you say that word in this house, Simon."
"Aye, aye, A mustn't say a true word in this house: the house wud fall down. But ye can see me beaten and starved, woman, and A'm here for ye alone. Where's your feelin' of flesh and blood?"
"Now it's coming out of the old man," she said pertly, "the vanity and the arrogance. It's funny to see a little man like that so cocky."
"What's the matter with a little man if he's strong?" said Simon. "If A'm not a royal, A've got the right to live, if A'm a good worker, or was—or was."
"I gave up reading the comic papers, when I saw half the jokes were about little men," said Tom. "You can tell a Bridgehead man anywhere in England, he's so wasted and small; he may be strong but he's pitifully wasted and undersize. Now in England the classes are divided by inches. When they're laughing at us little men, they're laughing at the starveling. The seamy side of wit is cruelty."
"Ah, well, A wudna complain if A was somewhere else," said Uncle Simon tranquilly, "we all get on when the gel's not here. We get along champion."
"Would you chase my own daughter out of the house?" said Mrs. Cotter. "Shame on you, Simon."
"Shame on me, shame on me, I hear no other thanks for all A've done. It's funny, that's what it is, it's funny."
Tom said he was going to get cigarettes and took a walk. As soon as he left the house, the strong sea air, though heavy with smoke, cleared his brain. He forgot them and began to bowl along as before. "I like to breathe, I like bread, I can get along anywhere," he said to himself, "I just like t
o live. I'm easy living."
When he came back, the aunts were there and began to badger him about getting a job. As he could not explain to them that he had given up a good job to nurse Marion, he began gradually to forget why he had not a job and discussed jobs with them. "I'll get a job any day I like. I can pick and choose. War or peace, I've got work. I tried already. But I'm not staying in Bridgehead. I'll get to another town; and no more country. I'd end up chewing a grass stalk with one foot behind the other."
"Aye, but your duty is here, lad."
He saw one of the aunts home and when he came in, Peggy was worrying about Uncle Simon's cough keeping them awake and giving him a sleeping pill. Tom hung about the house and while he was getting something out of his overcoat on the hall stand, he thought he saw a head dodge around the stairhead, but took no notice. He felt a real insomnia on him and went into the front room to see if there was one of Aunt Lily's old books he had not read and he started glancing through Old Mortality. The others were going to bed, soft footfalls up and down, doors opening and shutting. When he opened the door of the front room and came out, he saw the house dark, except in the kitchen, where Uncle Simon was fidgeting, looking over his shoulders and going through a bunch of keys on a large keyring. Again he thought he saw a head dodge round the post at the landing; but he hadn't slept well for a long time: he wouldn't swear to anything.
He said he'd make some tea, get a sandwich and he'd sit up all night.
"Will ye sit up all night?" asked Simon earnestly, in a low tone.
"I might."
"Then ye can watch the gel. She's put paraffin in the backroom fire, so that it will burn for hours. A looked through the keyhole. There's a terrible white flame in the grate and the chimney'll be on fire, if we can't get in. See there!" The sooty brick wall of the next house was rosy at the top where flame from the chimney lit it. "She's taken the door key and hidden it somewhere." They went out into the freezing back yard to look, but Peggy had first closed the back-room curtains. Out of the chimney into the thick air came fire and sparks, the shadows of the chimneypot hopped on the shed roof. They tried the window but it had been fastened. "I'll get it from her," said Tom. But as he went upstairs, he heard the key turned: she had locked herself, her mother and the dog into the bedroom, which was directly over the back room. There she could hear the fire roaring in the chimney and chuckle at her naughtiness. "You'd better come up too," said Tom to Simon, at the bottom of the stairs. "If we make a fuss, then she'll feel she's had her fun and she'll give up the key."
They went upstairs, knocked, begged and shouted, but only got a few sprightly or angry responses. "It's Uncle Sime's fault," she shouted laughing. "He will rake the fire out front and fill the room with smoke, so I've made a good bright flame backwards."
"Listen," said Tom, "if you set the place on fire in mischief, Peggy, you won't get insurance."
"They have to pay you," said Peggy.
"No, they don't. Do you think they won't find out about the paraffin. You won't get a shilling. That's what the spotters are for. You'll lose everything, your money in your moneybox, your insurance and everything."
"We've got our moneybox with us," said Peggy laughing; "eh, don't rack your brains, man."
"Come out ye little fool," shouted Uncle Simon, "your money will burn up with ye."
"I'll come out in time, don't worry about me, go to bed and have pleasant dreams," she began to singsong.
"What aboot ye puir old mother, ye daft thing, no one's worried about your skin, you're safe enough."
Peggy shouted at being called a daft thing.
"How much paraffin did she put on?" asked Tom.
"She emptied out her mother's night light."
"I put some on out of the can too," said Peggy listening to them behind the door.
The dog barked behind the door. "The bright intelligent young woman has got her dog in there and he'll be burned up hair and hide, and good riddance," shouted Uncle Simon, hovering about, jingling the keys and trembling.
"Eh, I'm sick of ye all. I wouldn't count the cost of a cup of paraffin to burn ye all up, you're shriveled up like dried-out Christmas trees, ye old rubbish," called Peggy. "I should worry. It's not me, but yourself you're worried about: and your savings."
"Listen, lass," said Uncle Simon firmly, "now listen to what A'm tellin' ye. Oopstairs in the back attic is me toolbox; in me toolbox is me savin's." Peggy was listening. "A never kept them in the bank like A said: they're oop there. This family owes me three hundred pounds from when you were kiddies, but A'm not countin' that. But A've still got a bit there and it's in notes: and it's more than two hundred pounds. If ye don't come out this instant and give us the key, A'll take that money and give it to Tom and that'll be the end of it. Ye'll never get a smell of it. A'm sick and tired of dancin' the dance of death round ye. A mean that."
"I'll come out," said Peggy at once, "if ye'll take me right up and show me the money, so I'll find out if ye're a liar ye old rascal, I'm on to ye."
"Come out and come quick."
She unbolted then unlocked the door immediately. She was fully dressed as if to go out and looked as usual, rather sharper and more blooming than usual, perhaps. They argued about whether she should be shown the money first or should give up the key first, and they were obliged to give in. They went upstairs, Uncle Simon slowly, to the freezing attic, where in the corner lay a toolbox that looked like an infant's coffin, with a catch and a lock. Uncle Simon unlocked it with a key taken from his chest-warmer and going carefully through the bedded tools of wheelwright, ironworker and general handyman, he got out a large envelope addressed to Tom and an old wallet with an elastic round it. "That's the wallet ye made for me when ye were learnin' leatherwork as a lad, Tom," he said nodding. "A appreciated it. A never got a gift in all me years in this house but that." Tom stood by, holding the bunch of keys and Peggy looked down into the box with a glittering look. She bent down and picked up a large screw-wrench, "What's that for?"
"Put it down," said Tom. She put it back again with a sly smile at Tom and looked greedily at the other things there.
Uncle Simon stood up slowly and angrily facing the girl, with trembling hands he undid the wallet and showed the money. "There ye are, gel, it's all there. Now give oop the key."
"I'll give it up, Uncle Sime; now don't put on the tragedy act."
Uncle Simon bent down and put the money back, fixed the tools. Peggy stood there with an awful smile. "That's a canny thing," she said, "that screw-wrench. Now what would it be for?" Uncle Simon locked the box. Looking very old, he stood and faced Tom.
"But there won't be much for ye, Tom, for the money there is for the unforeseen for Mary and meself: the funerals are paid for. A don't want a young feller to be stuck with the expenses of puttin' away two old bodies. It's not fair to burden the young with the old; and there's too much of it." He took the key off the greasy cord hanging in his chest-warmer, and handed it to Tom.
"I suppose you think I'll be coming into your room late at night, Uncle Sime, the only woman was ever in your room, eh? and take it off your neck and kill you for your bit of money?" Peggy said. "Well, don't worry, man, I wouldn't go into your room, no one could, it's a hole an animal would be afraid to crawl into."
"Give me the key, Peggy," said Tom. The three of them went slowly down the stairs and when they reached the landing, the old woman was there with a shawl round her shoulders, looking wonderingly at the stairs filled with people coming down from the attic. She went back into her room without a word.
When the fire was out and the house fixed for the night, they all went to bed and Tom rapidly imagined scenes in which he rescued his mother, Peggy, Uncle Simon, the dog, the moneybox, the toolbox, the insurance policies. He felt the toolbox key in his pocket by the bed, got up and locked the door. Uncle Simon had left his door open, as always; but the pill had put him to sleep: he snored.
"Well," said Tom to himself, "I always expected to see this house in Hadrian's
Grove in the News of the World and it's surprisingly long coming to it." He lay in bed and thought about Market Orange, the town where he had lived so long with Marion and Constantine. He became too tired for that but remained awake. He could not read, could not move, lay there in an empty delirium. About half past two, he was sure he was awake when he heard a door open and someone go downstairs. He waited awhile, no one returned. Shortly after, a car stopped outside the house, he thought; or was it next door? The people next door were gay; night owls. A car door slammed. Then it seemed to him their own front door opened and shut. At this, he struggled out of bed and went to the window. A woman was getting into the car; it did not drive off; it remained there. Tom waited and waited, freezing and tottering with insomnia. He unlocked his door and listened: everyone was asleep. When he looked over the banisters, he saw new firelight shining faintly through the back-room doorway. He went down to the back room and sat there in the chair waiting for Peggy to return. There he suddenly fell asleep. He awoke after an interval, with someone on the stairs. He got up quickly and seemed to see a head over the banisters at the top which quickly withdrew. He raked out the fire and went up: the car was gone. In the morning he asked himself several times if he had dreamed it. He did not wait for them to rise, but went out and got a chimney-sweep and a new electric fire for his mother's bedroom. Peggy was very excited. Uncle Simon had committed an indiscretion by informing her that Tom was not penniless, but was living off his car. Peggy told him they needed a new vacuum cleaner and a hot-water boiler in the kitchen sink.
There was great talk of selfishness and in the end Tom agreed to take Peggy and her mother out for a ride to Aunt Bessie in Wallsend in a rented car. "Though I don't know what you expect to see in joyless Newcastle!" He drove them around for several hours, as far as Two-Ball Lonnen which Peggy had not seen for seventeen years, since they used to go out over the towns and the moors in bike parties; he drove around Tyneside and as far as Whitley Bay, Cullercoats and Tynemouth.
Cotter's England Page 12
