by A. J. Cronin
‘And a real chance it is.’ Terence turned to me. ‘It’s all fixed up, man. The togs are here for you. My own Rockcliff kit, if you please.’ He tapped the Gladstone bag with his toe. ‘And I’ve arranged for us to try you out at the Harp ground.’
‘But why, Terry?’ These preparations, the interest displayed in me, and the manner in which Donohue had been unwillingly won over were extremely flattering, yet I was not to be taken in by them.
‘Later, later, man. What’s the use of going into it till we see what you can do?’
‘No,’ I said determinedly. ‘I have to know how it’ll affect me.’
‘Didn’t I tell you on my card?’ Terence exploded. ‘ It’s definitely going to be a good thing for you. Provided you’re all we think you are, which now I’m beginning to doubt.’
That note of scepticism decided me. I agreed to go. Actually, I saw no harm in the expedition. And now I did want to show them what I could do. Because I disliked him and resented his association with Nora, Donohue especially I wished to convince. We left the buffet and got into a taxi from the rank outside the station. Trust Terry, I thought comfortably, to do things in style. My cousin had again impressed himself upon me with his charm and self-sufficiency.
Our objective lay quite far out in an eastern suburb of the city. After a drive of some twenty minutes it was revealed as a football ground belonging to the Harp Juniors Club. The neighbourhood, dominated by two huge gasometers and the contiguous gasworks, was poor and stank, not unnaturally, of gas. I had never heard of the Harp Juniors, and their domain, surrounded by a rusty corrugated iron fence in the process of falling down, enclosed an extremely worn football pitch and a small wooden pavillion. Surrounding the pitch there was, however, a cinder running-track.
‘Here we are then,’ Terence exclaimed enthusiastically, telling the taxi driver in an aside to wait. ‘You stop by the track, Mart, and I’ll go with Laurence.’
We entered the pavilion, which was even less impressive than the ground. The floor-boards were bare and broken, a few old striped jerseys hung on pegs, dust was everywhere, also a strong odour of stale sweat, beer and urine.
The bag, when snapped open, revealed shorts, singlet and spiked running-shoes. Solicitously aided by Terence, who had constituted himself my valet, I began to change. Everything fitted well except the shoes which were too long, leaving an inch of soft leather beyond my toes. I pointed this out to Terence.
‘It’s not a bad thing,’ he said, with an expert’s judiciousness. ‘It’ll give you more spring.’
We went outside. Donohue was strolling up and down, with his hands in his pockets and an air of expectancy. He had lit up a sporty-looking cheroot.
‘There he is,’ Terence exclaimed, pushing me forward. ‘And doesn’t he look a runner, every inch of him.’
‘By God, he does. He has the height. And look at those legs.’
Donohue’s tone, in which I sensed a grudging respect, was highly gratifying. Actually in this lightweight kit with the Rockcliff colours I felt that I should not disappoint them. I took a few preliminary paces.
‘That’s right, limber up, man.’
‘Only don’t weaken yourself,’ Donohue said, momentarily choking over his cheroot.
‘Now, Laurie.’ Terence, with a glance that seemed to repress D.’s enthusiasm, put one hand on my shoulder. In the other he held his watch. ‘Four times round this track is exactly one mile. Are you ready?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then get set.’ He stood back, eyes on the watch. ‘Go!’
I made a good start and, doing my level best, went round the track four times. The sandwich I had just eaten troubled me somewhat on the final two circuits and Terry’s shoes, while bending freely on the hard cinders, had less spring in them than he had promised. When I drew up, pale and panting, I felt dissatisfied with my performance. Apparently I was mistaken. Bent over the watch Terence gave a whoop of delight.
‘Well run, man. I knew you’d be right for us, and you are.’
Not a whit behind, Donohue slapped me heartily on the back. Still gasping, I flushed with pleasure.
‘What was my time?’
Terence put a finger to his lips.
‘Not a word about that at the moment. You’ll see why. Now away and change. The water seems cut off in the pavillion but give yourself a good rub down, there’s a towel in the bag.’
Ten minutes later we were in the taxi on our way back to the city. As we rolled along Terence turned to me in an extremely confidential way.
‘Now listen to me, man.’ He spoke in a guarded tone, as though he feared the driver might overhear. ‘There’s a sports meeting coming up the beginning of August at Berwick-on-Tweed. It’s a small country affair and it’s mostly no-account clod-hoppers who enter for it. But,’ he eyed me keenly, ‘ there’s a lot of betting goes on and Martin, as you know, is in just that line of business. Our idea is to enter you for the mile. We’ve studied the local form and from what you’ve shown us today we’re convinced you can do it.’
‘Win?’ I exclaimed.
‘The cup.’ Seriously, he inclined his head, adding even more impressively, ‘And win a packet as well. We’ll take care of the money angle. Martin’ll handle the bets. And you’ll be ten quid to the good.’
‘Ten pounds!’ It was more than tempting—a dazzling amount. ‘But, Terry, I’m taking my examination the first week in August. On the seventh.’
‘The sports are on the fifth. Two whole days before. It’s no more than a three-hour run from Winton and we’ll get you there and back the same day. What’s your worry?’
I bit my lip in agonized-indecision. I wanted to win that cup, and I particularly wanted the ten pounds. My mother, in a recent letter, mentioning the flat she would take on her return, had bitterly regretted having sold our furniture when we left Ardfillan. Ten pounds would buy furniture, might even furnish a whole room. But how would Pin regard such an expedition, practically on the eve of the Ellison?
‘Why, it’ll do you the world of good to have a bit of a break before your exam.’ Donohue must have read my thoughts. ‘Of course, if you want to throw good money away I’ve another fellow in mind who’d jump at the chance.’
The thought of being supplanted was too much for me.
‘I’ll do it.’
‘Good, man.’ Terence shook my hand in congratulation. ‘You’ll find you won’t regret it. All you have to do is keep your mind easy and do a little light running of an evening. Don’t over-train. And if you look in at the back of the hotel occasionally I’ll see you get a few good steaks.’
Familiar thoroughfares were being traversed. I saw that we had passed the North British Station and were entering Mortonhall Street. Donohue lowered the window and dispensed with his cheroot, He glanced at me.
‘Where would you like us to drop you?’
I judged it must be well past six o’clock, almost time for me to be starting for my session with Pin.
‘Anywhere near Hillside Street.’
Obligingly, Terence told the driver to make a sweep round the Park. The taxi stopped at the foot of Gilmore Hill, not far from the University, and I got out.
‘I’ll be keeping in touch with you, man,’ he shouted, as they drove off.
I walked towards Pin’s lodging, still rather excited and with a pleasant feeling of importance. It was flattering to have been sought out by Terence, and to have confirmed my innate belief in my own exceptional fleetness of foot. This awareness of my own speed, first implanted in my consciousness when I ran for the doctor for my father, and fostered by my own efforts to maintain myself in condition, was well supported by material evidence, since when I trained with the Ardencaple Harriers I had twice won the race for boys under fourteen at the end of the season Annual Sports. Yes, this was unquestionably a special gift, comparable almost to the capacity for levitation bestowed by heaven on some of the rarer saints. Indeed, when I ran, in the rush of air occasioned by my transit, I not infrequ
ently had the impression that I had temporarily lost contact with terra firma. In view of all this it seemed only just that I should capitalize on my advantages. Terry’s handsome proposal was perfectly legitimate, and if Donohue wanted to bet on me that, too, while entirely his affair, was a permissible proceeding. Nevertheless, in its bearing on the Ellison my conscience was not altogether clear, and as I arrived at Hillside Street and climbed the stairs, to Pin’s room I decided I must let him have the final word. He was already seated at the table waiting for me, and turning over a sheaf of papers with every appearance of interest.
‘Laurence,’ he began immediately, motioning me to the other chair. ‘I’ve been fortunate enough to get hold of the Ellison exam papers for the last ten years. They make advantageous reading.’
‘Do they, sir?’
‘In the first place, in six out of ten occasions the essay set was devoted exclusively to a Scottish historical character of the sixteenth century. In the second place, I observe that it is exactly ten years since the character selected was Mary, Queen of Scots.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Nothing probably.’ He smiled, tugging at his beard. ‘ Still, as a guess, I’ve an idea it would do us no harm to pay special heed to the fifteen hundreds with a little extra attention to that unfortunate young woman and her immediate circle: Andrew Lang would help us there. I got his biography from the Library today. And how he favours the poor creature!’
He was opening the book when, anxious to clear my mind, I spoke up.
‘Just one thing before we begin, sir.’
I told him that my cousin had asked me to take part in a sports meeting in Berwick two days before the Ellison and that while I had provisionally accepted, if he thought this in any way likely to impair my chances I would immediately withdraw.
He considered, gazing at me with kindness. His face at that moment had a simple dignity that outweighed his absurd deformity, prosy sentimentality and old-maidish ways, and all at once I felt how much I liked him.
‘Why, Laurence, I believe it would be the very thing for you. I always advise a break before an exam. And a day in the open air would be perfect.’
This reasoned approval was a great relief. With renewed ardour I joined Pin in a fresh and more intensive examination of the character of Queen Elizabeth’s cousin.
Chapter Thirty
That same evening, when I finished my session with Pin and came out of the house into the street, Nora was not there. Quite often, when the weather was fine, she would walk across the park to meet me and I would find her waiting under the lamp outside No. 212. Then, arm-in-arm, we would stroll back to the Crescent where Miss Donohue, who fancied her talent in this direction, and enjoyed a tasty bite; made welsh rarebit on toast, to which we drank cocoa. The concentrated application demanded of me by Pin had prevented further excursions to the country, nor had Nora herself proposed them. Although I sensed it only vaguely, never having grasped the full significance of these abandoned moments on the houseboat deck, Nora’s attitude towards me had undergone a subtle yet material change. I felt that she was fonder of me than before, not quite in the same casual and mischievous way, but always encouraging me, and telling me how she hoped I might win the Ellison. She seemed suddenly to be older, more restrained, and while we kissed with tenderness, something I could not define was missing—solicitude had taken its place. Lately, indeed, I had begun to imagine that something was worrying Nora. Although she denied this and brushed aside my inquiries she often had an absent look and at times appeared thoroughly depressed. As it was more than a week—an unusually long interval—since I had seen her I decided to call in at Park Crescent on my way back.
Here, however, I was unlucky. There was no answer to the bell and though I took trouble to go round to the back court no light was showing in any of the windows. I hung about for a quarter of an hour vainly hoping that Nora or Miss Donohue would turn up. Then I set off along the Crescent towards Craig Hill. This was by no means my shortest route to Argyle Street, yet Craig Hill held a special attraction for me in the shape of a Jesuit church which, contrasting with the many conventional Pugin chapels of the city, was outstandingly attractive, at least to my mind, in a grim Romanesque style. Partly this was due to lack of funds, since the original design to marble the interior had been shelved, leaving stark arches and pillars of brickwork that cast medieval shadows across the nave. Moreover, in the late evening the church was usually empty, darkish and very silent, all of which I liked, and I will confess that I had the habit after leaving Park Crescent—it was in any case the nearest church—to enter this sanctuary not from pure religious fervour, which I could never claim, but, with a trusting heart, in order to solicit heavenly aid for success in the Ellison, without which I felt I would not have a chance.
This evening when I entered, I proceeded to my favourite side altar where there was a replica of Simone Martini’s Madonna that I enjoyed looking at, which usually put me in a proper petitioning mood and induced me to part with a penny, if I had one, for a candle. Tonight, however, I could barely see it; all but one of the surrounding votive lights had gone out. A woman, opposite me, was presumably responsible for the single candle, since it was newly lit. Most holy women who lit candles were invariably discovered on their knees with beads between their fingers. But this woman, who was young, merely sat, staring straight ahead, as though hypnotized by the tiny flickering flame she had herself created. Surprise, rather than curiosity, caused me to concentrate my vision through the intervening gloom, then, all at once, with a start of pleasure and surprise, I saw that it was Nora.
I could scarcely believe it. Nora was not devout. I had now discovered that she was careless about such things as not eating meat on Fridays and her Easter duties. Indeed, she was apt to make jokes about holy water and holy smoke that worried me. Yet what happiness it gave me that, aware of my evening habit to light a candle, she should tonight actually have forestalled me and herself made the votive offering for my intention. My heart swelled with love and gratitude. Still unseen, I contemplated her with a rapture that here I usually reserved for heaven. Yet she too, against the background of the altar, her pale, pure profile, softened and made serious by her mood, was like a little madonna. I could wait no longer. Tiptoeing forward, I bent towards her and whispered.
‘Thank you, Nora. Thank you for the candle … and everything.’
‘Laurence,’ she said, turning sharply.
‘It’s the nicest thing you could ever have done. I’ll always remember it.’
She looked at me.
‘Will you?’
‘Yes, I will, Nora. Even if I don’t get the Ellison. What made you think of it?’
She looked away.
‘It seems I just did. I was sort of in that kind of mood. Strange, isn’t it?’
‘No, Nora. I believe it will help.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ she said.
There was a silence.
‘Do you want to stay longer?’ I asked.
She shook her head. I smiled at her.
‘Then let’s go together.’
Outside, as we came down the steps of the church, I took her arm.
‘What a lucky meeting, Nora. I called at the flat but there was no answer. And it’s ages since I’ve seen you. Shall I walk back with you now?’
She stopped at the foot of the steps.
‘I’m not going back yet. I’ve a message to do … for Miss Donohue.’
‘Where, Nora?’
‘Why … down by Mortonhall Street.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
I spoke eagerly, prepared to step out. But she seemed to hesitate and I wondered if my inadvertent discovery of her offering for me had annoyed her, until a moment later she said:
‘Aren’t you tired? You must be. After all that study and everything.’
‘I’d never be too tired to walk with you, Nora.’
‘Oh, very well, then,’ she said, after the slightest pa
use. ‘Come along.’
We set off. Had there been the faintest note of impatience in her tone? Impossible. Yet, glancing at her sideways, I had the impression that she was not quite herself. The city was enduring a midsummer heat wave and the evening was still and stifling. Under the street lamps she was pale, with a distant expression and darkish patches under her eyes. She was also unusually silent. But I was dying to tell her about my eventful day.
‘I don’t suppose you know that I’ve been running. And that I’m entered for the Berwick Sports.’
‘Yes, I did hear that was coming off. Apparently we’re all supposed to be going in the Gilhooleys’ car.’
‘You too?’ I cried.
‘It depends. To tell you the truth, dear Laurie,’ she turned to me, ‘I’ve been a little off colour lately.’
‘I’m terribly sorry. What is it?’
‘Oh, just a bit out of sorts. I’m sure I’ll be all right soon.’
‘Then do come, Nora. The trip would be good for you.’
‘Well, then, we’ll see.’
We were at the end of Craig Hill and had turned into Mortonhall Street, crowded, as usual, and thick with traffic. Not far from Market Cross, near the Market Arcade, she disengaged her arm.
‘This is as far as I’m going.’
We stood on the pavement opposite the Arcade, a covered passageway occupied by odd little interesting establishments: a herbalist’s, a queer sort of chemist’s, even a fortune-teller and a naturalist’s shop with live tortoises in the window. It was here that Mrs Tobin bought the ants’ eggs for her goldfish.
‘Before you go, Nora.’ It was difficult, I didn’t want to keep harping on the subject, but I simply had to get this out. ‘Thanks again for your candle.’
Again I thought I had offended her. But no, as she stepped off the pavement she gave me a faint, wry smile.
‘Well, Laurie, as you probably know, I’m not all that religious, but when you want a thing badly enough you’ll try anything.’
I could not speak for an overflowing gratitude. Her manner, the very words she used, told me how much she was behind me in my effort. I waited till she had crossed the street, then, still uplifted, took my own short cut to Argyle Street and the Templar’s Hall.
