by A. J. Cronin
Chapter Thirty-One
At half past eight on the morning of Saturday, August 5th, I set out for the Criterion Hotel. Although the sky was still grey, the softness in the air was refreshing after the recent heat. I had said nothing to Uncle Leo of my plans. The good news from my mother made me hope that, if all went well, I should not be with him long. Her appointment in the Department of Health was now assured and she expected to be back in Winton within the next few weeks. She would then surely terminate my stop-gap arrangement with Leo.
Although Terence had insisted on an early start I expected that I should have to wait, but when I approached the hotel I saw that the red car was already drawn up outside the entrance with Terence in the driver’s seat and Miss Gilhooley beside him.
As I hurried forward Terence waved his arm in greeting.
‘Glad to see you, man. How do you feel?’
‘Fine, thank you, Terry.’
‘Hop in the back then. The others won’t be a minute, Nora’s just gone in for a coffee.’
As I stepped into the rear seat Miss Gilhooley half turned and exposed her gold teeth in a welcoming smile. She had on a showy check coat and a flat saucer hat secured with her favourite pink tulle. She might be Miss Donohue’s best customer, and undoubtedly her expenditure in Earle’s was lavish, yet I had never known anyone who contrived to look so garish, an effect which she intensified by a variety of vulgar affectations. She was always fluttering about, primping herself, touching up her hair, powdering her nose, looking in her handbag, patting herself in unexpected places, examining her finger-nails, straining her neck, gesturing with genteel flicks of her wrists or demanding unnecessary attentions from Terence with an air of languishing feminine charm. Miss Gilhooley was neither beautiful nor youthful and her pretensions to these attributes together with her habit of prefacing every other remark with the words ‘ I always say …’ seriously offended me, even though she now greeted me with gracious condescension.
‘Good morning, young man. I hope you’re going to make a nice bit of cash for me today.’
‘Are you in need of cash, Miss Gilhooley?’
Terence gave a loud laugh.
‘He had you there, Josey. We all know what the name Gilhooley stands for. But what’s keeping Nora?’
‘She must have had a rush getting here,’ Miss Gilhooley remarked. ‘I always say you should never rush. She looked quite faint too, the love. Pale as paper.’
A moment later Nora came through the swing doors of the hotel followed by Donohue. Urged on impatiently by Terence, who now got out and took up the starting-handle from its leather strap, they joined me in the back of the car.
‘Take the rug, Nora. There … on the rail. It may be chilly. Wrap up well, I always say, before you start.’ Miss Gilhooley offered this advice as Terence, after several swings, started the engine and, resuming his place at the steering-wheel, set us in motion.
Nora, who was sitting in the middle between Donohue and me, spread the rug over our knees. As she did so, she smiled at me, but did not speak. The car moved off.
Actually this was my first experience of a private motor and as we rolled through the main streets of Winton towards the Edinburgh road I gave myself up to the smooth luxury of our progress. Terence was an excellent driver, it seemed likely that he had driven this car many times, and I could now surmise why Miss Gilhooley possessed attractions for him beyond her rather meagre physical charms. They were both in a festive mood, laughing and talking with a vivacity that contrasted notably with the almost total silence in the rear.
Now it was impossible not to recognize that the split between Nora and Donohue had widened. While he did, presumably for the sake of appearances, address an occasional perfunctory remark to her, she barely answered, but continued to look ahead with a pale, set face. This did not suit Donohue at all and presently, with a shrug, he abruptly gave up this pretence and, leaning forward in his best manner, began to devote himself to Miss Gilhooley, whispering in her ear, making her laugh, and competing with Terence for her attentions.
Nora gave no sign, her expression did not change, but after a time her hand moved under cover of the rug and sought out mine. Her fingers were so cold I began to chafe them.
‘Are you all right, Nora?’
She looked at me and nodded.
‘I’ve been a bit off lately, but the fresh air’s helping me. I just wish I hadn’t taken that coffee.’
The others were so engaged, and Miss Gilhooley’s spasms so shrill, there was no danger of our being overheard.
‘Do you feel sick?’
‘Just a little. It’ll pass.’
I gazed at her with concern. She did not look herself at all. Had Donohue’s defection upset her to such an extent?
‘If you don’t feel well you shouldn’t have come.’
‘I couldn’t bear hanging about all day alone. Miss D.’s away buying in Manchester. And don’t forget, I want to see you run.’
Did she really mean this? In her present state of mind I doubted if the race was even remotely in her thoughts.
At this point a diversion occurred. Terence had mistaken our route and now discovered, on consulting his map, that a wrong turn beyond Dunbar had taken us about fifteen miles off the direct route. Rather than risk getting lost in country lanes, it became necessary to go back to the coast road, a divergence which raised the question as to whether we should arrive in time for the start of the Sports at two o’clock. Conversation was now reduced as Terence pushed the car to its top speed, and with such effect that at twenty minutes past one we slipped through a narrow stone archway and entered Berwick-on-Tweed.
This was an old grey border borough, straddling the river Tweed where it entered the sea, with cobbled streets and twisting wynds, ringed by a medieval wall, with ramparts that over-looked the harbour. As we passed through the old arched gateway I felt at once that it would be a delightful place in which to wander round and dream. Today, however, it presented a scene of activity that was clearly unusual, the main street alive with people, the central square crowded with cars, wagonettes and farm carts, the entire town in a state of commotion that, from their comments, proved highly gratifying to Terence and Donohue.
‘We must get a paper,’ Terry said, drawing up beside a newsboy and tossing him a coin. It was a small double sheet—I saw the name: Berwick Advertiser—and Terence scanned it quickly.
‘Is it in?’ Donohue asked, craning forward.
‘It is,’ Terence answered. ‘And it’s good.’
They both examined the page with every appearance of satisfaction until Miss Gilhooley, peeved at her temporary desertion, exclaimed:
‘Look here, you two, when are we going to get lunch? That looks like some kind of a hotel over there.’
‘No, Josey dear,’ Terence said. ‘The food there would kill you. We’ll run down to the sports field, have a drink and a snack in the marquee, and on the way home we’ll stop in Edinburgh for a big blow-out at F. & F.’s.’
I experienced a premonitory thrill. F. & F.’s, the smart name for Ferguson and Forrester’s, was the most famous restaurant in Edinburgh. Terence was certainly going to treat us well. Before starting off again he turned and, with a smile of approbation, handed me the paper, pointing to the centre of the page.
‘Take a look, young fellow-my-lad. That’ll show you what they think of you here.’
It was a conspicuous box paragraph in a section devoted entirely to the Sports, giving the times of the races, the names of the runners, and the probable betting odds.
A Dark Horse for the Mile
The general belief that the Open Mile lies between Peter Simms, last year’s runner-up, and the present holder, hardy veteran Harry Purves, may be rudely shattered just after 4 p.m. today by a young stripling from the West in the person of Laurence Carroll. This ex-schoolboy, who will be in the Rockcliff colours, was recently timed over the measured distance at the ground of the Harp J. C. and rumour hath it, much to the annoyance o
f his trainer, that young Carroll showed a clean pair of heels to the record. This will not be a long shot now, but for my money it’s the best thing on the card.
Glowing with pride, I lowered the paper. I wanted to show it to Nora, but now, bumping over a rough track, we had joined the crowd already making for the Sports field, and she was leaning forward, supporting herself against the handrail on the back of the front seat. I folded the paper carefully and put it in my pocket. I would show it to her later; in any case, it was something I wanted to keep.
Presently we came to the field, an expanse of flat, cropped downland stretching along the cliffs, neatly railed off, marked out with limewash and gay with flags, marquees and a variety of booths that gave the place the air of a country fair. On one side was a small golf course, on the other the open sea. The situation appealed to me and the fresh breeze blowing in from the ocean stirred my blood. I knew that I could do well here. I jumped out of the car and, while Miss Gilhooley and Nora went off to the refreshment marquee, began to help untie the gear from the luggage grid. Terence had not parked the car in in the regular enclosure but behind the row where the bookmakers were putting up their stands. And now, as Donohue began to set up his board and a kind of platform made of sections that fitted together, Terence said:
‘Mart, don’t you want a sandwich first?’
‘Later,’ Donohue said. ‘You go … and take him.’
As the principal participant in the great event of our day, this oblique and somewhat slighting reference to myself was not particularly agreeable. When I went off with Terence I said:
‘I daresay I should be careful what I eat. And not too much either.’
‘All you’ll get here won’t hurt you.’
The truth of these words was borne out when we joined Nora and Miss Gilhooley at a long crowded bar. Miss Gilhooley had an outraged air.
‘This is the giddy limit, Terry. What a low-down mob. And there seems to be nothing but sausage rolls.’
‘Just put up with it,’ Terence said placatingly. ‘You’ll have lobster and champagne tonight.’
‘Tonight’s a long way off. And here’s Nora, sick as a dog, she ought to have a cognac. I always say there’s nothing like cognac to settle the stomach.’
‘Do you want a brandy, Nora?’
She shook her head. She did look sick and unutterably miserable too.
‘If I’m to have something I’d rather try some gin.’
‘All right.’ He pointed to a table in the comer of the tent. ‘Both of you go and sit over there.’
Terry, who was extremely good at that sort of thing, managed to get two plates of assorted food and some drinks. Between us we carried them over to the table. Nora drank the gin but did not eat anything. Miss Gilhooley ate half a sandwich, then, with an air of wounded refinement, discarded the other half. I had a couple of sausage rolls, sanctioned by Terence who finished what remained of the sandwiches, even absently consuming the half left by Miss Gilhooley. He then produced a round competitor’s tag and handed it to me.
‘That’ll take you into the changing-tent. I have your togs in the car. Get there in good time.’ He got up. ‘Come along, Josey dear, we’ll go out for a breath of air.’
As they went off together, I tied the tag to the lapel of my jacket. I was glad to be alone with Nora, anxious to discover exactly why she was so upset. Then, raising my head, I saw that Donohue had come into the marquee and was advancing towards us. He sat down, and glancing at me as though he wished I weren’t there, said, uncomfortably:
‘I’m just going to start work. I thought I’d see how you were first.’
I thought Nora wasn’t going to answer, but after a moment she said, stiff-lipped:
‘Aren’t you a bit late? If you do want to know, I’m feeling awful.’
‘Can I get you something? A gin.’
‘I’m sick of drinking gin. I seem to have been living on the blasted stuff: And you know I hate it.’
‘Now, Nora … pull yourself together. Things may not be as bad as all that.’
‘I’m glad you think so.’
I wanted to get away from this quarrel but the bench Donohue was sitting on wedged me in. I had to listen as, trying to control his temper, he said:
‘Don’t be a bloody wet blanket, Nora. For God’s sake make an effort. The party tonight will buck you up.’
‘I’m not going to the party,’ Nora said.
‘What!’
‘No, I’m not. I’m going to stay here in this marquee and if I don’t feel any better I’m not going back by car. I’m going to take the train home.’
‘What train?’
‘The ten to six express. Yes, I mean it. I thought I mightn’t stick it out all day so I looked up the timetable before we left.’
‘You’re not coming back with me?’
‘No. And don’t look at me like that.’
‘Not so long ago you were glad enough for me to look at you.’
‘That’s all finished now. And you are too. Finished and done with.’
Donohue was silent. Then he gave her a long hard stare.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘If that’s how you want it, go ahead.’ He stood up and pulled at my arm. ‘Come on, you. It’s time I got you over to the secretary’s office. I don’t know why the hell everything falls on me. If you don’t confirm your entry, that’ll be a washout too.’
We left Nora and went to the office, square tent near the finishing line. Outside, Donohue paused and said, warningly:
‘Don’t let on who brought you here.’
‘Why, aren’t you coming in too?’
‘I’ve got my book to make,’ he said. As he was turning away he suddenly stopped. ‘And listen, if they ask you what your age is, you’re sixteen past.’
‘But I’m not sixteen till the second of next month.’
‘You are now, you stupid young bastard, or you’ll be disqualified before the race. And if that happens I’ll break your bloody neck.’
I stared after him in angry dismay. What right had he to treat me like that? And what was all this pretence about my age?
Still indignant, I went into the tent. The secretary was a short, red-faced man, wearing a Hawick tweed knickerbocker suit and a club tie. He made no disagreeable inquiries, indeed, when I signed my name in the book he looked at me with interest and held out his hand.
‘We want more of your sort here.’ He smiled, salving my damaged pride. ‘Good luck.’
When I came out Donohue had gone to his stand. Terence and Miss Gilhooley were still not in evidence. It was almost two o’clock and all the bookmakers had begun to call the odds. I walked slowly along me line, noting that the prices for the main event, the mile, were already chalked up on the boards. My self-esteem was further restored as I observed that I had been made joint favourite with Purves at evens, with Simms at two to one behind us. Indeed at one board I was quoted at evens with Simms and Purves both at two to one. I had now had quite enough of Donohue, I did not go near his stand, but from the crowd around him he appeared to be doing a roaring trade.
The report of a pistol shot split the air. The first event had begun. Pressing forward to the rails I saw that it was the first heat of the hundred yards. Almost at once the second heat came up. I wanted to go to Nora, she was terribly on my mind, intermingled confusedly with a number of other worries that had begun to trouble me. Yet I felt that she wanted to be left alone and that any interference on my part would only make things worse. A strange passivity had come over me, an indefinable impression that I had been caught up by circumstances in which I could do nothing but submit. I remained at the rails and continued to watch the races.
As time went on and one event succeeded another, my nerves tightened. Restlessly, I moved my feet, and bent my knees, restoring elasticity to my legs. My moment of truth was approaching, I must not be late. Edging out of the crowd I retrieved the Gladstone bag containing my togs from the car, then walked along the bookmakers’ row to the ch
anging-tent, encouraged by the fact that I was permanently installed as favourite at evens. More people than ever were gathered round Donohue now, hands reaching out, clamouring to place their bets. Curiosity alone caused me to glance at his board. I could not believe it. With a painful shock I saw that, chalked up in plain figures, he was giving odds of five to one against me. Even as I went by, he rubbed out the five and made it six. At that, the crowd around his board increased.
I entered the tent in a state of absolute incomprehension. The thing was meaningless. Had Donohue gone out of his mind? From the outset, every step taken had been premised on the certainty that I should win and now, if I did, he would pay out six times what he took in. Suddenly, as I stood in a maze of mystification, a hearty grip brought me to myself. A lean elderly man, bald as a coot, with a thin weather-beaten face, wearing a red and blue striped jersey and old washed-out tight trunks that clung like a second skin to his sinewy legs, was shaking me by the hand.
‘I’m Purves.’ He grinned, nodding towards the bench at the back of the tent. ‘And that’s Simms. I hear you’re going to knock the stuffing out of us old timers.’
Simms, in the process of stripping and practically naked, came forward. He was a much younger man than Purves, about twenty-six or seven, solidly built, with short muscular limbs and a thick chest covered with a moss of matted black hair. He did not look particularly dangerous, he was altogether too heavy. As for Purves, why, the thing was ridiculous, he was virtually an old man.
‘Well, good luck, youngster,’ Simms was saying, good-naturedly. ‘May the best man win and devil take the hindmost.’
‘Better get shifted, lad,’ Purves said. ‘The bell will be going soon.’
I began to change. Some others were on the benches pulling on singlets or lacing up running-shoes. A lanky youth, addressed as Chuck, whom I guessed to be about seventeen, was the only one near my own age. Most of my rivals seemed on intimate terms and, from their jocular references to past events, regular competitors at all the Border meetings. Beyond that I scarcely noticed them. Out of the turmoil in my mind one clear certainty had emerged. Whatever trickery Donohue was up to would be scotched if I won the race. I took a long deep breath. I had come to win, I had promised to win, and by heaven I would win!
