‘Hello, John George.’ It was a silly thing to say but she couldn’t think of anything else at the moment. ‘Hello, Janie.’
‘Oh!’ Now as the tears poured from her eyes her tongue became loosened and she gabbled, ‘I’m so sorry, John George. Why? Why? We’re all sorry. We’ll come an’ see you, we will. There’ll be visitin’ times. I’ll ask.’
‘Janie!’ His voice sounded calm, then again he said ‘Janie!’ and she said, ‘Yes, John George?’
‘Listen. Will you go and see Maggie? She won’t know, at least I don’t think so, not until she reads the papers. She’s . . . she’s going to have a bairn, Janie, she’ll need somebody.’
She put her hand tightly across her mouth and her eyes widened and she muttered, ‘Oh, John George.’
‘Time’s up. That’s enough.’
‘Janie! Janie! listen. Believe me; I never took the five pounds. Ten shillings aye, but never the five pounds. You tell that to Rory, will you? Tell that to Rory.’
‘Yes, yes, I will, John George. Yes I will. Good-bye. Good-bye, John George.’
She watched him going back into the room. She couldn’t see the policeman now but she inclined her head towards him and said, ‘Ta, thanks.’
He walked with her along the stone passage and to the door, and there he said, ‘Don’t worry. As I said, what’s a year? And you can visit him once a month.’ Then bending towards her he said, ‘What are you to him? I thought you were his wife, but I hope not after what I heard . . . You his sister?’
‘No, only . . . only a friend.’
He nodded at her, then said, ‘Well, he won’t need any friends for the next twelve months, but he will after.’
‘Ta-rah,’ she said.
‘Ta-rah, lass,’ he said, and as she walked away he watched her. He was puzzled by her relationship to the prisoner. Just a friend, she had said.
She walked so slowly from the Court House that she hadn’t time to call in at the hospital and when she arrived in the kitchen she was crying so much that the cook called the mistress, and the mistress said, ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Janie,’ and she answered her through her tears, ‘No, ’tisn’t . . . ’tisn’t that, he’s . . . he’s still as he was. It’s . . . it’s John George. I know I shouldn’t have but I went to the court, ma’am, and he got a year.’
Her mistress’s manner altered, her face stiffened. ‘You’re a very silly girl, Janie,’ she said. ‘The master will be very annoyed with you. Court rooms are no places for women, young women, girls. I, too, am very annoyed with you. I gave you the time off to visit your fiancé. That man’s a scamp, a thieving scamp. I’m surprised your fiancé didn’t find it out before . . . . What sentence did he get?’
‘A year, ma’am.’
‘That was nothing really, nothing. If he had been an ordinary labouring man, one could have understood him stealing, but he was in a position of trust, and when such men betray their trust they deserve heavy sentences. Dry your eyes now. Go upstairs and see to the children. I’m very displeased with you, Janie.’
Janie went upstairs and she was immediately surrounded by the children.
Why was she crying? Had their mama been cross with her?
She nodded her head while they clung to her and the girls began to cry with her. Yes, their mama had been cross with her, but strangely it wasn’t affecting her. Another time she would have been thrown into despair by just a sharp word from her mistress. At this moment she did not even think of Rory, for Rory had turned the corner, they said, and was on the mend, but her thoughts were entirely with John George. His face haunted her. The fact that he had told her that he had got a girl into trouble had shocked her, but what had shocked her even more was his mental condition, for she felt he must be going wrong in the head to admit that he took the ten shillings but not the five pounds. Poor John George! Poor John George! And Rory would go mad when he knew.
9
A fortnight later they brought Rory home in a cab actually paid for by Miss Kean. Miss Kean had visited the hospital three times. The last time Rory had been propped up in bed and had stared at her and listened silently as she gave him a message from her father.
He was not to worry, his post was there for him when he was ready to return. And what was more, her father was promoting him to Mr Armstrong’s place. Her father had taken on a new man, but he was oldish and couldn’t cover half the district. Nevertheless, he was honest and honest men were hard to come by. Her father had always known that but now it had been proved to him.
Miss Kean had then asked, ‘Have you any idea who attacked you?’ and all Rory did was to make one small movement with his head. He had stared fixedly at Miss Kean and she had smiled at him and said, ‘I hope you enjoy the grapes, Mr Connor, and will soon be well.’ Again he had made a small movement with his head. It was then she said, ‘When you are ready to return home a cab will be provided.’
His mind was now clear and working normally and it kept telling him there was this thing he had to face up to and it was no use trying to ignore it, or hoping it would slip back into the muzziness that he had lain in during the first days of his recovery when they had kept saying to him, all of them, the nurses, the doctor, Ruth, his dad, her, Janie, all of them, ‘Don’t worry, take it slowly. Every day you’ll improve. It’s a miracle. It’s a miracle.’
Although after the third day he had stopped saying the word ‘Pity’ aloud it was still filling the back of his mind. Whenever he closed his eyes he saw the big feet coming towards him; that’s all he remembered, the big feet. He couldn’t remember where they had hit him first, whether it was on the head or in the groin or in his ribs; they had broken his ribs. For days he had found it difficult to breathe, now it was easier. His body, although black and blue from head to foot, and with abrasions almost too numerous to count, was no longer a torment to him, just a big sore pile of flesh. He did not know what he looked like, only that his face seemed spread as wide as his shoulders.
He didn’t see his reflection until he reached home. When they helped him over the step he made straight for the mantelpiece. Although Ruth tried to check him he thrust her gently aside then leant forward and looked at his face in the oblong mottled mirror. His nose was still straight but his eyes looked as if they were lying in pockets of mouldy fat. Almost two inches of his hair had been shaved off close to the scalp above his left ear and a zig-zag scar ran down to just in front of the ear itself.
‘Your face’ll be all right, don’t worry.’
He turned and looked at Ruth but said nothing, and she went on, ‘The dess-bed’s ready for you, you can’t do the ladder yet. We’ll sleep upstairs.’
He said slowly now, like an old man might, ‘I’ll manage the ladder.’
‘No,’ she said, ‘it’s all arranged. Don’t worry. Now come on, sit yourself down.’ She led him towards the high-backed wooden chair, and he found he was glad to sit down, for his legs were giving way beneath him.
He said again, ‘I’ll make the ladder,’ and as he spoke he watched Lizzie go into the scullery. It was as if she could read his mind; he didn’t want to lie in the same room with her, although she lay in the box bed behind the curtains. He couldn’t help his feelings towards her. He knew that she had been good to him over the past weeks, trudging down every day to the hospital, and he hadn’t given her a kind word, not even when he could speak he hadn’t given her a kind word. It was odd but he couldn’t forgive her for depriving him of the woman he thought to be his mother. But what odds, what odds where he slept; wherever he slept his mind would be with him, and his mind was giving him hell. They thought he wasn’t capable of thinking straight yet, and he wasn’t going to enlighten them because he would need to have some excuse for his future actions.
Nobody had mentioned John George to him, not one of them had spoken his name, but the fact that he had never been near him spoke for them. Something had happened to him and he had a good idea what it was; in fact, he was certain of what it was. And he also knew that he himself wasn�
��t going to do anything about it. He couldn’t. God! he just couldn’t.
‘Here, drink that up.’ Lizzie was handing him a cup of tea, which he took from her hand without looking at her and said, ‘Ta.’
It was good of old Kean,’ she said, ‘to send a cab for you. He can’t be as black as he’s painted. And his daughter comin’ to the hospital. God, but she’s plain that one, stylish but plain. Anyway, he must value you.’
‘Huh!’ Even the jerking of his head was a painful action, which caused him to put his hand on his neck and move his head from side to side, while Lizzie concluded, ‘Aye well, you know him better than me, but I would say deeds speak for themselves.’
When Lizzie took his empty cup from him and went to refill it, Ruth, poking the fire, said, ‘I’ll have to start a bakin’,’ and she turned and glanced towards him. ‘It’s good to have you home again, lad. We can get down to normal now.’
He nodded his head and smiled weakly at her but didn’t speak. It was odd. Over the past weeks he had longed to be home, away from the cold painted walls and clinical cleanliness of the hospital, but looking about him now, the kitchen, which had always appeared large, for it was made up of two rooms knocked into one, seemed small, cluttered and shabby. He hadn’t thought of it before as shabby, he hadn’t thought of a lot of things before. He hadn’t thought he was cowardly before. Afraid, aye, but not cowardly. But deep in his heart now he knew he was, both cowardly and afraid.
He had always been afraid of enclosed spaces. He supposed that was why he left doors open; and why he had jumped at the collecting job, because he’d be working outside most of the time in the open. He had always been terrified by being shut in. He could take his mind back to the incident that must have created the fear. The Learys lads next door were always full of devilment, and having dragged a coffin-like box they had found floating on the Jarrow slacks all the way down the East Jarrow road and up the Simonside bank, they had to find a use for it before breaking it up for the fire, so the older ones had chased the young ones, and it was himself they had caught, and they had put him in the box and nailed the lid on. At first he had screamed, then become so petrified that his voice had frozen inside him. When they shouted at him from the outside he had been incapable of answering; then, fearful of what they had done, they fumbled in their efforts to wrench the heavy lid off.
When eventually they tipped him from the box he was as stiff as a corpse itself, and not until he had vomited, after the grown-ups had thumped him on the back and rubbed him, did he start to cry. He’d had nightmares for years afterwards, and night after night had walked in his sleep, through the trap door and down the ladder. But having reached the kitchen door that led outside he would always wake up, then scamper back to bed where he would lie shivering until finally cold gave place to heat and he would fall into sweaty sleep.
But since starting collecting, he’d hardly had a nightmare and he hadn’t sleep-walked for years. But what now, and in the weeks ahead?
Jimmy came in at half-past six and stood just inside the door and stared towards the dess-bed where Rory was sitting propped up, and he grinned widely and said, ‘Aw, lad, it’s good to see you home again,’ then went slowly towards the bed. ‘How you feelin’?’
‘Oh, well, you know, a hundred per cent, less ninety.’
‘Aye, but you’re home and you’ll soon be on your feet again. And you know somethin’?’ He sat on the edge of the bed. ‘I’ve seen him, Mr Kilpatrick. I told him how things stood, an’ you know what he said? He said the rest can be paid so much a month. If you could clear it off in a year he’d be satisfied.’
‘He said that?’
‘Aye.’
‘Oh well—’ Rory sighed—’that’s something. Yes—’ he nodded at Jimmy—’that’s something. We can go ahead now, can’t we?’
‘You know, he came to the yard for me ’cos he was down that way on business. And Mr Baker wanted to know what he was about ’cos I had to leave me work for five minutes, and so I told him.’ Jimmy pulled a face. ‘He wasn’t pleased. Well, I knew he wouldn’t be. You know what he said? He said he had intended keepin’ me on an givin’ me a rise . . . That for a tale. He asked what we were givin’ for it and when I told him he said we were being done, paying that for the goodwill when it was just a few sticks of furniture and half an old patched sculler. One of the lads told me that he had seen him round there himself lookin’, an’ what he bet was that the old fellow was after the place for himself. Anyway, we scotched him.’ He jerked his head and grinned widely, then added, ‘Eeh! man, I’m excited. I never thought, I never thought.’ He leant forward and put his hand on Rory’s. ‘And if it wasn’t for what happened you we’d be over the moon, wouldn’t we?’
‘Aye, well, we can still be over the moon now.’
‘Get off the side of that bed with your mucky clothes on!’
‘Aw, Lizzie.’ Jimmy rose to evade her hand and he laughed at her as he said, ‘You’re a grousy woman,’ and when she made to go for him he ran into the scullery, his body swaying and his laughter touched with glee.
Jimmy was happy, Ruth was happy, and, of course, Lizzie was happy; and Janie would be happy; everybody was happy . . . except himself . . . and John George. John George. God Almighty, John George!
Yes, Janie was happy at the news that they had got the yard, for this meant she could be married any time now. Yet her excitement seemed to have been stirred rather by the fact that she had been granted a full day’s leave next Thursday. She sat by the bed gazing at Rory as she gave him the news. He wasn’t actually in bed, just lying on the top of it fully dressed. His legs and ribs still ached, and so the bed was left down during the day so that he could rest upon it.
Janie glanced from him to the Sunday company, all assembled as usual, and she hunched her shoulders at them as she said, ‘I told a fib, well, only a little one. I told her, the missis, it would need time to clear up the place an’ put it to rights an’ suggested like if I could have a full day. But you know what I wanted the day for? I thought we’d go up to Durham and—’ She clapped her hand over her mouth, then stared at Rory before looking back at the others again and saying, ‘Eeh! I forgot.’ Again she was looking into Rory’s unblinking stare and, taking his hand, she said softly, ‘We . . . we didn’t tell you, ’cos you were so bad, and you wouldn’t have been able to take it in.’ She gave him an apologetic look now. ‘I mean, with your head bein’ knocked about an’ that. And we knew that if you had been all right you would have asked for him, you know. Now, Rory, don’t be upset.’ She gripped his hands tightly. ‘John George’s been a silly lad. It’s all through that lass. You know, you said he was daft. Well, he was, and . . . and he took some money. He meant to put it back. I don’t know whether you knew or not but he had been on the fiddle for a long time and so . . . and so he was caught and’—her head drooped to one side as she shook it—’he was sent along the line. He’s in Durh . . . Oh, Rory . . .’
They were all gathered round the bed now looking flown on him. The sweat was pouring from him and Lizzie cried at them, ‘Get back! the lot of you’s an’ give him air.’ She looked angrily across the bed at Janie. ‘You shouldn’t have given it him like that.’
‘I’m sorry. I know, but . . . well, he had to know some time, Lizzie.’
‘He’ll be all right. He’ll be all right.’ Ruth was wiping the sweat from his brow and the bald patch on his head. It’s just weakness. It’s like how he used to be after the nightmares. Go on—’ she motioned the men towards the table—’get on with your game.’
‘Bad that,’ said Grannie Waggett. ‘Bad. Don’t like it. Bad sign.’
‘Anybody can have sweats, Gran.’ Jimmy’s voice was small, his tone tentative, and she bent forward from her chair and wagged her bony finger at him, saying, ‘Nay, lad, not everybody, women but not men. Bad look out if all men had sweats. Always a sign of summit, a man havin’ sweats. I remember me grannie when she worked for those high-ups in Newcastle sayin’ how the
son got sweats. Young he was an’ the heir. Lots of money, lots of money. He started havin’ sweats after the night he went out to see Newcastle lit up for the first time. Oil lamps they had. Eighteen and twelve was it, or eleven, or thirteen? I don’t know, but he got sweats. Caught a chill he did going from one to the other gazin’ at ’em, got the consumption . . .’
‘Gran!’
‘Aye, Ruth . . . Well, I was just savin’ about me grannie an’ the young fellow an’ the things she told me. Do you know what the bloody Duke of Northumberland did with a pile of money? Gave it to buildin’ a jail or court or summat, an’ poor folks . . .’
‘Look, come on in home.’ Bill Waggett was bending over his mother, tugging at her arm now, and she cried at him, ‘Leave be, you big galoot!’
‘You’re comin’ in home, Rory wants a bit of peace an’ quiet.’
‘Rory likes a bit of crack, an’ I’ve said nowt.’
‘Go on. Gran.’ Janie was at her side now pleading. Spluttering and upbraiding, the old woman allowed her son to lead her from the cottage. And this was the signal for the Learys, too, to take their leave, although it was but six o’clock in the evening, and a Sunday, the day of the week they all looked forward to for a game and a bit crack.
The house free from the visitors, as if at a given signal Jimmy went up the ladder into the loft, and his father followed him, while Lizzie and Ruth disappeared into the scullery, leaving Janie alone with Rory.
She had pulled her chair up towards the head of the bed, and, bending towards him, she asked tenderly, ‘You feeling better?’
He nodded at her.
‘I knew when it came it would be a shock, I’m sorry.’
He made no motion but continued to stare at her.
‘I . . . I thought we should go up and see him on Thursday. It’ll be the only chance we have, he’s allowed visitors once a month . . . All right, all right.’
She watched his head now moving backwards and forwards against the supporting pillows, and when he muttered something she put her face close to his and whispered, ‘What do you say?’
The Gambling Man Page 12
