No Heaven, No Hell

by J. T. Brindle

  The other woman’s face broke into a grin. ‘Cutting out yer tongue seems a bit drastic,’ she replied in a relieved voice. ‘What d’ye say we kick each other’s arses instead?’

  ‘Goodnight, Maureen.’

  ‘Goodnight, me ol’ sunshine.’

  Katherine had a bad night. Sleep seemed elusive and thoughts of her parents wouldn’t let her be.

  It was exactly five minutes to eight when Maureen arrived with the breakfast tray. ‘The eggs are sunny side up, and the toast oozing with butter. The tea’s piping hot – no spills,’ she said mischievously, ‘and would you believe it’s like a summer’s day outside?’

  Fitting the legs of the tray over Katherine’s lap, she went to the window and flung back the curtains: the sun flooded in. ‘I had a word wit’ the man up there.’ She winked, flicking a thumb towards the heavens. ‘Let the lovely Katherine wake up to a bit o’ sunshine, Lord, or she’ll be crotchety and impossible all the day long.’

  ‘That’s not true, you old devil.’ Katherine was in a brighter mood. The eggs were delicious and the aroma of fresh cooked toast filled the air. Better still, her toe felt unusually comfortable.

  ‘Hey! Not so much of the old, if ye don’t mind.’ Feigning indignance, Maureen gripped the hem of her pinny to flick a speck of dust off the windowsill. ‘What time’s yer man coming?’

  ‘Nine thirty.’ She bit into the toast and the butter trickled down her chin. Embarrassed, she wiped it away with the napkin. ‘As usual you’ve buttered the toast too thickly.’

  ‘Aw give over! If I didn’t put at least three layers of best butter on it, ye’d have me guts fer garters, sure ye would.’ She came to stand by the bed. ‘Are ye sure ye want to meet this fella?’

  Glancing up, Katherine appealed to her friend. ‘I’ve come this far, and there’s no turning back now, but I must admit I am a little nervous.’

  ‘Get away wit’ ye!’ She hurried to the door. ‘I’ve never known the day when Katherine Louis was nervous. Anyway, I’ve got things to do.’ She grinned. ‘I bet ye mean to sit the poor beggar in the high chair, don’t ye?’

  ‘I might.’

  ‘Yer a wicked woman, sure ye are.’

  ‘Don’t I deserve a little pleasure at my age?’

  ‘Will I come back for yer tray in fifteen minutes?’

  When Katherine nodded, she breezed out, singing at the top of her lungs: ‘I’ll take you home again, Kathleen, to where the fields are fresh and green…’ As Maureen swept past the window, she looked out to see the traffic jammed below, with myriad people crushing sidewalks, and not an inch in which to twirl about. ‘One o’ these days I’ll cross the seas to the old country,’ she promised herself. But then she had promised herself the very same these past twenty years, ever since… since… She couldn’t let herself think about that. So she took a deep breath and broke out in song once more, going about her work in a dream. The ol’ country. Always the ol’ country. When she sang she cried, and when she cried, she cursed herself. All her family were long gone. What was there to go back for?

  Eddie Laing was on time, looking smart and businesslike, in a grey suit and long dark overcoat. ‘Shouldn’t have worn this,’ he remarked, handing the coat to Maureen. ‘Whoever thought it would turn out to be so damned warm?’

  Katherine was ready for him. Bathed and dressed in a white blouse and straight navy skirt, she looked quite formidable. Her silver hair was meticulously coiled at the nape of her neck, and when she spoke it was with a clipped voice that hid her anxiety. ‘Sit down, Mr Laing.’ Gesturing to the chair in front of hers, she waited for him to be seated. Her chair was low and relaxing, while his was upright and hard. It was a technique she had seen on an educational programme, and one which gave the interviewer an advantage. She had tried it on the bank manager and it worked a treat.

  Maureen brought tea. As she came in she noticed how Eddie had been confined to the high chair. While his head was bent over his notes, she wagged a discreet finger at Katherine and went away sniggering.

  ‘Your son is living in England,’ Eddie said. ‘He’s changed his name from Jack Louis to Jack Lucas.’ He paused there, waiting for her reaction. Somehow he believed the news would infuriate her.

  It didn’t. ‘Go on,’ she urged, her features betraying nothing of her disappointment.

  ‘Your son is married, with two offspring – both girls, one fifteen, the other seventeen. Very close they are… born within two years of each other.’

  ‘The way you talk, they might as well be dogs.’ Katherine interrupted him icily. ‘Do they have names, these “off-spring”?’

  He coughed and smiled, and cursed his mistake. ‘Of course. I’m sorry.’ He glanced down at his notes. His hands were trembling. Only this morning he had unearthed the background to Katherine Louis’ family. It had been riveting, and shocking.

  The sweat began to trickle down his forehead. ‘Would you mind very much if I sat there?’ he asked boldly, glancing appreciatively at the inviting leather couch. ‘Only I feel conspicuous perched up here. It’s like I’m being interrogated.’ He wasn’t really warm, just extremely uncomfortable.

  Surprised and amused by his honesty, Katherine turned away to smile. Maureen would be amused too, she thought. Clearing her throat, she answered with great dignity, ‘Oh, I am sorry. Of course.’

  Visibly relieved, he moved to the couch, shuffling his notes as he went. The younger girl is named Lianne,’ he continued. ‘Her elder sister is called Virginia.’

  He didn’t see the colour drain from Katherine’s face, but he heard the small sharp gasp, and looked up, thinking she had said something.

  Katherine was shocked by the name of her son’s eldest daughter, but had learned from experience not to show her deeper emotions. Returning his gaze, she asked calmly, ‘And what about my son’s wife?’

  Again he consulted his notes. ‘Her name is Elizabeth. She’s thirty-five years of age.’

  ‘So! She was not yet twenty when she had her first child.’ She felt a strange comradeship with this young woman whom she had never met; this woman who had borne her son’s children.

  ‘What sort of work does my son do?’

  ‘He owns a small bakery, supplying to the local shops and restaurants.’

  That was good news. ‘Following in his grandfather’s footsteps,’ she remarked proudly, then realising she was thinking aloud, she quickly added, ‘I’m sorry. Please go on. Whereabouts in England do my son and his family live?’

  Flicking through his notes, he found the necessary information. All the time that her eyes were on him, he felt sure she was examining his nose. Once or twice he covered it with his hand, until she asked impatiently whether he needed a tissue. That made him feel more conspicuous than ever. ‘The address is Heath and Reach,’ he said, with an inward sigh of relief, ‘in the county of Bedfordshire. According to my information, the house is a huge rambling place… in the Second World War it belonged to the British army.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Laing. Leave me now.’ She felt emotionally exhausted.

  For a moment he was confused. She had dismissed him so quickly, he didn’t quite understand. ‘If there’s anything else…?’

  ‘There is nothing else, except for you to send in your bill. Oh! And leave the notes for me.’

  ‘Of course. I brought the report, all neatly typed.’ God! What the hell did a woman like Katherine Louis know? With her money and privilege, she had only to click her manicured fingers. It was only poor sods like him who knew how hard it was out there. Look how difficult it was proving to get himself a decent secretary. The last one had left to work in a burger bar, and he still hadn’t managed to replace her. It took him three nights, and four baskets filled with discarded paper, to type this particular report. Christ almighty! The tips of his fingers were still aching. And all she could say was, ‘Send in your bill.’ If he didn’t soon find a secretary, he’d have to type that as well!

  ‘The notes, please, Mr Laing.’

>   Suddenly she was standing beside him. Her nearness was oddly disturbing. Quickly now, he reached into his briefcase and withdrew a bound copy of his report. ‘You’ll find everything in there,’ he reassured her.

  Taking the folder, she walked with him to the door. ‘My housekeeper will see you out,’ she said.

  As he stepped into the hallway, Maureen was already waiting.

  ‘She’s some lady, ain’t she?’ he said with admiration.

  Maureen pushed him out the door. ‘Ain’t she?’ she quipped. But her smile was genuine, because, much to her surprise, she found she had taken a liking to him.

  When she came into the study, Maureen was astonished to find Katherine at her desk. ‘I want you to take a cab, and send this letter airmail,’ she said, handing her a long white envelope.

  Curious, Maureen took the letter and also took the liberty of reading the address. In her beautiful handwriting, Katherine had addressed the letter to ‘Mr Jack Lucas, The Lodge, Heath and Reach, Bedfordshire, England’.

  Maureen was puzzled. ‘Jack Lucas?’

  ‘He changed his name.’

  ‘I see.’

  Katherine’s face softened with pride. ‘He has two daughters.’ Then her voice stiffened. ‘One of them is called Virginia.’

  Maureen was incredulous. ‘Virginia, you say? Dear God above! Why would he do that?’

  There was a pause, before Katherine answered softly, ‘That’s just one of the things I shall have to ask him.’

  ‘Why don’t ye leave him be?’

  ‘I can’t.’ There was a strange desperation in her voice. ‘When you come back, we’ll begin the travel arrangements. I told you I had made provision for you in my will. At present my brother Cyrus is the main beneficiary. I have no plans to make changes just yet. Not until I’ve seen Jack and spoken with him.’

  Maureen stared at her. ‘I’m still not sure yer doing the right thing.’

  ‘It’s too late for all that, my dear. I have a son, and I have two granddaughters.’ Her words were chilling. ‘How could you expect me to stay away?’

  Cyrus stayed in the doorway for the briefest moment, then he turned away. He had heard enough, and now he felt it in the pit of his stomach. It was all going to happen again.

  2

  Jack sat hunched over the bar. The Red Lion was always busy, but tonight it seemed as if the world and his neighbour had poured in. Every now and then he would glance round the room as though expecting someone… something. He shivered. Even in a room filled with people, he felt oddly alone, frightened. The cold rippled through his body as though a tap had been turned on.

  Highly nervous, yet not knowing why, he clutched his pint jar, gently rolling the cool glass between his sweaty palms, and occasionally wiping his finger up the rim to scoop up the over-blown froth. ‘Christ, Lenny, you tight-arsed bugger.’ Licking at the froth, he visibly shuddered. ‘It’s freezing in here. Are you trying to save on the heating, or what?’ He was so cold. So very cold. Behind him he could feel the warmth from the radiator, but he was chilled to the bone.

  Lenny the barman gave him one of his shrivelling looks. ‘Get your missus to buy you some long johns. That’ll keep your balls warm.’

  Jack chuckled. ‘You’re a crude bugger.’

  ‘And you’re out of your mind if you think I’ll turn up the heating.’ The sweat was dripping from his forehead. ‘If you need to warm up, get behind this bar and serve a few customers. Sal’s had to go out and I’m run off me feet.’

  Jack took a moment to consider. ‘I can give you half an hour. But then I’ll have to be away. I promised Liz I’d be back before the girls went to bed.’

  Lenny took the cap off a bottle of Coke and mixed it with a measure of rum. ‘That’s a nice little family you’ve got.’

  Jack groaned. ‘Liz rang me at work. Ginny’s been in trouble at school again, and I’m supposed to come the heavy father with her.’ Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead now, but his back was icy cold. He made himself wonder about the trouble at school. What was it this time? Ginny had always been his favourite, but the older she got, the less he understood her.

  The barman looked at him enviously. He and his wife had never been blessed with children. It was the biggest regret of his life. ‘It’ll be something and nothing,’ he consoled. ‘You know what kids are like… fighting one day, and fast friends the next.’

  ‘That’s the trouble. She’s not a “kid”. In a few weeks’ time she’ll be eighteen.’ His mood brightened. ‘Thank God she’ll be leaving school soon. She’s got herself an apprenticeship at one of the big hairdressers in London.’

  ‘A commuter, eh?’ There had been a time, many years back, when Lenny had travelled backwards and forwards to London. He wouldn’t do it again. ‘That’s not an easy life,’ he said dryly. ‘You’re in danger of ending up like a bloody zombie.’

  ‘She’ll cope.’ He was proud of his girls, and it showed in his voice.

  ‘Hmm.’ He served a packet of crisps and ten Rothmans. ‘She’ll not be carrying on with her studies, then?’

  ‘Not altogether, though the apprenticeship means her going to college three days a week, and if that’s what she wants –’ he turned his hands over and made a grimace – ‘it’s fine by me.’

  A threatening voice yelled from the other end of the bar, ‘Hey! Let’s have some service down here!’

  Harassed, Lenny put up his hand in acknowledgement before turning to Jack. ‘That’s one trouble. Get yourself over here,’ he pleaded, ‘before the buggers lynch me.’

  ‘Half an hour, that’s all… or it’ll be Liz lynching me.’

  ‘Half an hour will save my life.’ He glanced up at the clock. It was half past ten. ‘By that time the bar will be half-empty anyway.’

  Swilling down his drink, Jack wiped the froth from his lips and, much to the amazement of the onlookers, vaulted the bar. ‘Right, mate,’ he grunted, addressing the burly fellow who had yelled for service. ‘Where’s the fire?’ He had served behind this bar enough times to know that the big man’s bark was worse than his bite. All the same, he was prepared to deal with him if need be.

  The big man took one look at Jack’s capable physique and at the determined glint in his green eyes, and wisely decided to be sensible. ‘Give us a pint, mate,’ he pleaded, licking his rubber lips. ‘I’ve a raging thirst on me.’

  The next half hour was frantic, with customers queuing three-deep to be served, and money spilling over the counter like it had gone out of fashion. ‘I thought times were hard,’ Jack remarked, when he and Lenny found themselves side by side pulling the pints.

  ‘Maybe,’ Lenny mused aloud. ‘But if a man can’t afford his pint, his newspaper, and a woman in his arms, life isn’t worth living.’

  The time went by unnoticed and, just as Lenny had predicted, so did half the customers. ‘That’s me finished.’ Jack served his last pint and rinsed his hands under the tap.

  ‘I owe you.’ Lenny winked. ‘Off to face the music, are you?’

  ‘I don’t mind admitting, I hope they’re all in bed asleep by the time I get home.’

  Outside was pitch black. January was always a dark month. The days were short and the nights long, and in between it was grey and cold. ‘G’night, mate.’ The voice of a passerby sang through the air. ‘Too cold to piss, ain’t it?’

  Jack nodded. He wasn’t in the mood for strangers. He needed to think, to get his head together before he faced Liz. She was a good woman, warm and loving, the kind of woman a man met just once in his life. But, like any woman, Liz wasn’t all sweetness and light. When occasion demanded it, she had a quick and fiery temper. She was in a temper when they first met: he had bumped into her as they alighted from the train at Waterloo. He was in such a hurry that he didn’t see her, until he sent her flying along the platform; the high heel broke off her shoe, she lost all her shopping on to the track, and she split three fingernails. It took him twenty minutes to calm her down, during which time a crowd g
athered to enjoy the show. It also took him two cups of tea and a salmon sandwich to earn her forgiveness.

  She was in the same fiery temper when she rang the bakery earlier, and he had no doubt that she would still be in a temper when he got home. It was usually Ginny who set her off. He stopped in his tracks, astonished at the brutality of his own thought. What in God’s name made him think that? In fact, wasn’t it true? Wasn’t it always Ginny who set her off? Always Ginny who came between them? And lately, wasn’t it happening more and more? He wasn’t thinking straight. He was angry. Angry with himself for doubting Ginny’s goodness.

  The rain began to fall, and the heightened wind cut through his clothes. Pulling up the collar of his overcoat, he sighed. What the devil was wrong with him? He told himself to look on the bright side… in a few months’ time Ginny would be working. In a few years both she and Lianne would be married and off his hands. He chuckled. The chuckle turned to a serious mood. The trouble was, he didn’t believe there was a man alive good enough for his precious Ginny. He was flushed with guilt. Or Lianne, he chided himself. Don’t forget Lianne.

  He crossed the road and hurried along the narrow path. Feeling something squelchy beneath his shoe, he swore out loud: ‘Dog shit!’ Leaning against the wall, he examined the sole of his shoe in the light from the street lamp. The dark lumpy stain confirmed his fears. ‘Bugger it!’ That’s all he needed… to take the stench of dog shit in with him.

  Going to the edge of the path, he vigorously wiped his foot up and down the grass verge, again and again, until he was satisfied. Can’t blame the dogs, he thought, quickening his footsteps home. It was the bloody owners who wanted their noses rubbed in it.

  He paused outside his house. He always did. It gave him a great sense of pride just to look on it. The house was much too big for his needs; it was old and dilapidated and if he worked his arse off from here to doomsday, he would never earn enough to restore it to its former glory. Even in the rain it was imposing, a glorious relic of a former time. It had a skyline all of its own, with a multitude of chimneys, different roof levels and quaint dormer windows; there was even a battlement at one end. The front windows were huge, with small panes and attractive stone mullion surrounds.