Life Goes On

by Alan Sillitoe

  She brought a tin of biscuits from the cupboard.

  ‘Have you ever written a novel?’ I asked.

  He wiped a tear from his eye when Wayland took two biscuits. I threw one to Dismal. ‘I’m trying,’ he said, ‘but not under my own name. A firm called Pulp Books wants me to write one.’

  I trembled for the good name of English literature. ‘Not Sidney Blood?’

  Sheep bleated from the hillside. ‘They’re paying me two hundred pounds. I’m halfway through. It’s only sex and violence, but that’s all the people want, whether they live in Gateshead or Hampstead. June’s helping me, aren’t you, Pet?’

  She sat down, and stroked his greasy oil-cloth hair. ‘I always was good copy.’

  ‘I never knew it was so easy to write novels. I’ll do another if they want me to. Gets cold in winter.’

  I’d noticed plenty of dead wood between the trees on my way down the lane. ‘Why don’t you get some in during the summer?’

  ‘Me? You must be joking. If you want to come up from your soft life in London and do it, you’re welcome. I’ll give you sessions on oriental religion and the craft of poetry in the evening – if you aren’t too tired after spending all day in muddy boots pushing a wheelbarrow. But I don’t suppose anybody like you, with your short-back-and-sides, would be interested in that kind of profound edification, would you?’ He sneered. ‘No, Philistines like you would leave me to do my own rough work, and ruin my hands so’s I couldn’t write poetry anymore. I’m not going out in the wind to cut logs. It’s bad for my hands. Not long ago I had to lift some bricks to fix the wall – didn’t I, Pet? – because the sheep had been getting into my garden. When I’d put the last brick on I thought of a poem, but I could hardly write it down because my hands shook so much. I couldn’t hold the pencil.’

  His lips trembled as if he was about to cry. He put his empty cup on the saucer.

  ‘Just shut up,’ June said to me. ‘You’re upsetting him.’

  Delphick put his face against her shoulder. ‘Are they going soon?’

  ‘In a bit, Pet.’

  I didn’t think I’d even arrived. Doggerel Bank seemed the ideal hideout. Neither Moggerhanger, nor Chief Inspector Lanthorn’s police force, nor even the Green Toe Gang would ever find us. ‘I don’t care how much you blubber, you inhospitable bastard, but we’re staying. It’s important that we hole up for a day or two, but before you have a fit, let me inform you that the car’s full of provisions. We spent sixty quid on booze and grub in a supermarket on the way. I’m not so unrealistic as to imagine that a greedy bastard like you would put us up for fuck-all.’

  He smiled. ‘Why didn’t you say so? We can have a party. How much booze have you got?’

  ‘Bottles and bottles.’

  ‘And meat?’

  ‘A couple of legs of mutton, sausages, pork, ham, bacon, and veal pies. We’d better start bringing it in,’ I said to Clegg and Wayland.

  ‘I’ll help you,’ Delphick said. ‘Is it in the boot?’

  I pushed him back. ‘We’ll do a human chain between car and kitchen. There are five of us, so that’ll mean me at the car and June in the kitchen.’

  ‘I’d be a much better person if people trusted me. Anyway, I’ve got to go and work on a poem. I’ll be in my study when it’s time for drinks.’

  He was so much himself I couldn’t help but admire him. I almost liked him for the fact that you certainly knew where you were when you were with Delphick, something you couldn’t say for everyone.

  The notion of going to Doggerel Bank certainly seemed a good one when I looked at the land round about. The track to it descended in one or two curves through fields and then woods, to the house which was invisible from the minor road above, which seemed to go nowhere and had hardly any traffic along it. Below Doggerel Bank the track led to a clear stream which was fordable by my sturdy vehicle, and which had a kind of plank-and-girder footbridge over it. I explored the area with Dismal, while June and Clegg got a meal together out of the provisions we’d disembarked.

  Beyond the stream the motorable track curved westerly up the hillside, though after a few hundred yards it was lost sight of in more trees. I reconnoitred far enough to see that there was an outlet to another road running parallel to the eastern side of the valley.

  Doggerel Bank was a world of its own and miles from anywhere. It was as much of a hideout as Peppercorn Cottage and it was a wonder Moggerhanger never got his hands on it. Dismal splashed and leapt, telling me that he thought so as well. We went back up the hill, sun dropping behind the ridgeline like a yellow Smartie. I dragged in a couple of dead branches and jumped on them in the yard so that they would fit the fireplace, because even in August it was cold in Yorkshire.

  Wayland was asleep in the car. Clegg had gone for a stroll. June informed me, as she laid the table in the large kitchen, that Delphick, as befitted the Lord of the Manor, was in his workroom until supper was ready. Dismal flopped lengthwise in front of the stove. ‘Anything I can do?’

  ‘Reach in that high cupboard,’ she said, ‘and get some plates and glasses off the top shelf.’

  I set them on the table. ‘What else?’

  ‘Talk to me.’

  ‘Glad to. Doesn’t Ronald ever talk?’ I sat at the table and poured two whiskies. ‘Water?’

  ‘A drop.’ She put bread and knife down. ‘He only says “I want”, and complains about his hard life. But I’m with him for such a short time that it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘What are you doing these days to earn a living?’

  ‘I’m a hostess in a gaming club.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘We rob people – mostly Arabs.’

  ‘Do you mind it?’

  ‘I don’t like robbing anybody. It bothers me more and more. So much robbing goes on I often think I’ll choke if I put up with it a minute longer. But I have to. I’ve got my daughter at boarding school and that costs three thousand a year, apart from the uniform and all the extras. She has dancing classes and goes riding. She goes on a foreign holiday. I couldn’t provide that on a saleswoman’s wage. And then I have to live in London, though I only run a small flat in Kentish Town, where I live with my girlfriend.’

  ‘Janet?’

  ‘That’s right. I have to keep her, as well. She’s unemployable, and totally unable to look after herself, so what can I do? I got her a job last year serving dinners at a school for backward girls. She should have been at the school herself. She couldn’t cope. Another woman worked there who was happily married with five children. I came home one night and found them in bed together – my bed. She’d seduced the woman, and the woman had fallen for her. It had been going on for weeks, and I didn’t know. What a fuss and bother that was. I threw them out, never having fancied a threesome, not with women, anyway. They’re enough bother one at a time. Some weeks later she came back, sweet as pie. I could never make out what happened to the woman with the five kids. I expect she went back to her husband. Sometimes I feel like giving the whole thing up, but how can I? Ronald’s hopeless. All men are, but who isn’t? Most women are, as well, but I can cope better with a woman. I lived on my own for a while, early on, between affairs, but it was impossible. I lost my job, and all but went to pieces. But I came out of it somehow, and got my present work four years ago. It’s hard, but it pays marvellously.’

  I poured more drinks. She took the leg of mutton out of the oven and stabbed it with the knife. ‘Is it one of Moggerhanger’s places, where you work?’

  She pushed the pan back in. ‘Yes. When I was down in the dumps I went to see him, and he set me on. Gave me two hundred quid and told me to buy some clothes. He’s very loyal, Claud. We’d finished our affair years before, but he remembered me. He always sticks by you, if you’ve been connected in any way with him. There’s not much old-fashioned loyalty these days, but Claud’s got it. I’m not saying he’s the best of people, but he’s been good to me, so what more can I say? Anyway, I don’t know why
I’m telling you all this.’ She tried the potatoes, but they weren’t done either. She got to work making five plates of hors d’oeuvres, putting a hard-boiled egg, half a lettuce leaf, a tomato, black and green olives, a pickle, a blade of chicory, a sardine and a sheet of ham on each plate. The sight made me hungry. ‘You’d make somebody a good wife.’

  She laughed. ‘Maybe. But get down five wineglasses, love, and open those two bottles of red.’

  I was glad to help. She wasn’t a bad sort. If I ruined Moggerhanger with my plan of handing the contents of the boot over to Scotland Yard or Interpol I would ruin her as well, and God knew how many others. I would certainly put the kaibosh on myself, because even if Moggerhanger got sent down there would be a skeleton organisation left to keep his firm going, and get even with people like me. If June knew what was in the car and why it was there, I thought, she would do all she could to stop me getting away, and see to it that the news went through to Moggerhanger that I was at Doggerel Bank.

  I supposed she wondered in any case what I was doing there with his Rolls-Royce, and coming with sufficient provisions to last a week. Moggerhanger never gave his hirelings such leave to hang around. She must have become suspicious the moment Dismal sprang at her tits. I’d been very dim, otherwise I’d have woven a story to explain my presence more convincingly.

  Fortunately there was no telephone at the house, or she might well have been on the blower while I was out for a walk, trying to do Moggerhanger a favour in return for those which he had done for her. The only way to get in touch with the outside world was to walk up the hill and use the phone box at the crossroads about a mile away.

  My heart nearly stopped beating, but she was too busy to notice. ‘Where’s the bathroom, love?’

  ‘Outside the door, and up to your right.’

  Such directions had always given me access to every room in the house. On cat’s feet I went upstairs, opened all doors, and saw no one. Downstairs, I entered Delphick’s study, and that was empty as well. So was every other room, except the kitchen. I even looked in the broom cupboards. It became plain that Delphick had gone. For once in his life he was doing something for June, the mother of his child, and I supposed she had talked him into it by suggesting that if it turned out to be important that Moggerhanger knew of our presence the reward would be so great he’d be able to put in central heating.

  Her plan was a pretty one, and the five plates were arranged with the precision of an executioner over the last breakfast of the condemned. She would feed us a banquet, get us drowsy if not blind drunk – all at our expense – and put us to bed so that, on waking up, Moggerhanger’s squad cars would be coming down the lane and blocking it. They could get from London in under three hours, a fact which set my tripes shivering. Spleen Manor was only thirty miles away, so if any of the mob was there they could be here in an hour. If Delphick had phoned London half an hour ago, they might appear any minute.

  I went into the kitchen. ‘It’s a lovely house.’

  She smiled, tense and flushed. ‘Ron’s lucky.’

  ‘He isn’t in his study.’

  She folded paper napkins and set one by each plate. ‘He must be somewhere.’

  ‘Give one to Dismal. He likes to sit at table with the rest of us.’

  She took me seriously. ‘All right.’

  ‘All this house needs,’ I said, ‘is a telephone. Then you wouldn’t need to go to the crossroads every time.’

  Her hand trembled. ‘We never phone. We don’t need to.’

  I knocked a bottle of wine onto the floor, as if by accident. My guts were hot with murder. Dismal leapt up at the smash. ‘Sorry about that.’

  ‘I’ll clear it up.’

  I pushed her aside. ‘You must need to, sometime.’

  She was beginning to catch on. ‘What’s got into you?’

  ‘Delphick’s gone to phone, hasn’t he?’

  ‘You’re off your rocker.’

  ‘Do you want to be a basket case?’

  She stood, cloth in one hand, pan and brush ready. She was frightened. ‘No.’

  ‘He’s telephoning Moggerhanger, isn’t he? If they catch me here, I’ll be a basket case.’ There was nothing else I could say, and nothing she would tell me. I ordered Dismal out of the door. She backed away, hands protecting her face. As if we had been married twenty years, I could no longer stand the sight of her. I got hold of the table, and sent plates, bottles, food and cutlery flying to the four points of the room. She and Delphick could feed off that.

  Twenty-Seven

  Clegg and Wayland walked in from the trees. ‘Get in the car,’ I said. ‘We’re leaving.’

  Dismal snugged down immediately in the back as if it was more home to him than any of us. I told them in a few words what had happened. ‘They’ll be here any minute, and if they catch us they’ll cut us into little pieces and feed us to the pigs.’

  I heard June crying, as I stood by the kitchen wondering whether to go in and apologise, or set fire to the house. I had a vision of Delphick puzzled as to where the smoke was coming from as he walked back from the phone booth. Life was too short, dangers too pressing. I felt the chill wind of the gasworks around me, that same old grandad breeze that at dread moments pushes me back into reality.

  My natural fuck-you-jack-I’m-all-right ebullience immediately shot me out of it but, just the same, the fix I was in was tightening. Pull off a stunt like robbing Claud Moggerhanger of his ill-gotten gains, and you find you have no friend to shield you. I’d expected this, of course, which was why I had gone to Doggerel Bank, but it was just my luck to find June there. She was the sentimental sort that made the world go round a bit faster because she couldn’t forget a good turn. And she was right, in spite of the fact that it might be the death of me.

  Clegg accepted that we must leave, and got into the car. Ten years of adversity had made him easy-going, but Wayland was cantankerous: ‘How do you know he’s gone to phone Moggerhanger?’

  ‘June will tell you.’

  He stood there sourly. ‘I thought we were set for a party? Is this place too dull for your excitable temperament?’

  I was at the wheel, and switched on. ‘I don’t particularly like you, but I wouldn’t like to see you kicked around so much that your girlfriend wouldn’t recognise you. You won’t be in a very good shape to write your article –’

  ‘Documentary.’

  ‘– if you stay here. On the other hand, you’ll have some first class material. Take your choice.’

  I was glad when he got in. The more we were, the safer I felt. I drove towards the stream, and as I turned a bend saw out of my mirror the glint of a car coming down the lane behind. I had slid so quickly under cover that he hadn’t seen me. Or so I thought. I couldn’t understand how they had got here so quickly, though there was no mystery when I worked it out. Delphick had gone up the hill two hours ago. Moggerhanger phoned Spleen Manor on hearing from him, then phoned Delphick back at the box and told him to wait so that he could guide the car from Spleen Manor down to Doggerel Bank. Otherwise they would never have found it. Moggerhanger was nothing if not quick of thought. The fact that he could put me to shame in the matter was one reason why he was where he was and why I was where I was.

  The car went so fast over the stream at the bottom of the hill that a bow-wave hit trees and bushes on either side. I slurped up that half-paved track like a rally driver, bumping against roots and jerking into potholes. The way curved between trees which cut out the light, so I gave it the big beams. After a straight bit across a field, a solid five-barred gate blocked us from the road. Clegg jumped out with the agility of a much younger man, unravelled the chain, and dragged it open. ‘Get back in,’ I shouted. He closed it, and looped the chain into place.

  ‘For God’s sake, we’re in a hurry. Let’s go.’

  ‘What holds us up will hold them up,’ he said as I drove off, ‘and I left that chain in a far more complicated knot than when I found it.’

  The
wind wasn’t faster than me around those lanes. If I’d been in any seat but the driver’s I’d have heaved my guts up. Twilight was coming on, an illuminated sheet of blue to the east, and a band of threatening vermilion to the west. I turned so much at the cool commands of Clegg’s navigation that pale blue and bloody rays seemed in every direction at once. If the car had followed us up the hill we had already lost it. If it had chased us any distance I hoped the manoeuvres had curdled Ronald Delphick’s innards. Not that I thought either he or his stomach were tender. In my view he was as tough as old iron, though he would need to be even harder if I caught up with him.

  The direction was southerly. Clegg turned round. ‘They’re still after us.’

  ‘Are you certain?’

  Being in the lead, we had the harder job. All the other car had to do was look for the scintillating roses of our brake lights and stay locked on. All we had to do was pick out the twisting wink of their dazzlers to know they were still with us. Even Dismal was tense. If I’d been alone in the car I’d have used all my shoe leather on the pedal, but such bad driving would have been hard on the others. In meeting so few cars we could not confuse our pursuers and throw them off the trail. The way the car was sticking to us, even though some distance off, suggested that it was driven by Pindarry.

  ‘We can’t edge so far west,’ Clegg said, ‘or we’ll be on the moors. But if we can hold them off for twenty miles we’ll have a better chance.’

  My brain was melting through lack of sleep. We went a mile without turning. Clegg’s cool instructions to go left and then right brought the adrenalin back. ‘Do you feel like giving it the gun?’

  ‘If you two don’t mind.’

  ‘I’m prepared for anything,’ Wayland said eagerly.

  ‘In that case,’ Clegg said, ‘I’m going to take you onto the main road for ten miles or so. Slow down a bit. You’re going through a village.’

  A pretty picture it was, fit for a tin of biscuits going to India. ‘If anyone gets pulled up for speeding,’ Clegg said, ‘let it be them.’