Our Time Is Gone

by James Hanley

  She clung tightly to his arm. Without waiting to know whether she was liked or not, she chatted on, exhausting one subject after another.

  ‘I’ll be glad when this awful war’s over, won’t you? Remember Willie Demson? He’s gone.’

  ‘Has he? Good Lord! Ah! I don’t know when it’ll be over. But to hell with the war! I’m happy, Jo, having you like this, and all to-morrow and all the next day.’

  ‘Are you? Really?’ Her eyes bright, her fingers stroking his cheek, her mouth trembling.

  ‘’Course I am,’ and this time her face was pressed against the cold of his coat.

  ‘Wait,’ he said, ‘I want to say something first. Remember what I told you, Jo. Remember what I wrote. You know all about us, about that murder, my brother. Everything. You’d still like to come——’ And with almost frenzied utterance, ‘She would love you to come and see her. You see she’s all on her own now. Everybody gone. Dad, my eldest brother, Peter, the whole bang lot.’ He was leaning over her shoulder. ‘Funny,’ he said, ‘this evening I stepped off the gangway, and hang it all, I bumped right into her. Didn’t even know she was there. And how she knew we were docking I don’t know. But I’ve been sad about her lately. You know! When you’ve had a large family like we had—and then they go off——Well, it’s lonely, I suppose. I felt sad seeing her this evening. It’ll be awfully nice, Jo, if you come.’

  She poked her finger into his ribs, shook his arm. ‘Don’t be silly, Anthony!’

  They hurried now. The streets were deserted. Somehow this part of the world was dead. So it seemed to them both. No lights, no shouts, no voices. No laughing.

  ‘It’s full of old women,’ Anthony said. ‘Queerest place I ever saw. But she has a nice room. We’re going to move soon. In a few months now dad will be home for good. So he says. And we’ll shift then. We did have a nice home, and then that thing happened. Ah well! Anyhow, here we are. This is it. Edcott Court. It is a queer spot.’

  ‘I’ve never even heard of the place,’ she said, ‘though I was born in Gelton.’

  At the bottom of the stone steps a faint trickle of sickly light shone down on them. They paused, held each other, kissed again, and then Anthony led the way.

  ‘I do hope you’ll like each other,’ he was saying as they went up through the darkness. ‘One thing I don’t like about this place is the dampness.’ He began feeling for the iron banister, on which to guide his hand. ‘Keep close to the wall, Jo,’ he said. ‘Grab the banister.’

  ‘It does smell a little bit, doesn’t it?’ was the only comment she made, until they found themselves outside his mother’s door. She put a finger to her lips to indicate silence, then standing on tip-toe said into his ear. ‘D’you think she’ll like me?’ and felt herself hugged with one hand as the other rapped upon the door, and when it opened, they seemed to bounce in, he still holding her round the waist.

  ‘Here she is,’ he cried. ‘Here she is, Mother,’ swinging the girl in front of him. ‘Joan Lynch.’

  ‘Well! This is nice, coming to see me. How are you, Miss Lynch?’

  ‘Joan, Mother, Joan,’ exclaimed Anthony, flinging cap and oilskins to the floor.

  ‘How are you, Joan?’ said Mrs. Fury, extending her hand.

  She saw a girl, only half her size, with a head of unruly hair, the colour of pitch, that bounced about as she talked, and saw the shining white teeth between the thick red lips.

  ‘Why, you’ve brown eyes,’ said Mrs. Fury.

  ‘Mother loves anybody with brown eyes, Jo. Funny that, isn’t it?’

  But Joan made no answer. Instead she took the chair his mother put by the fire and sat down. Was she sure Mrs. Fury didn’t want it, she enquired?

  ‘I’m quite all right, where I am,’ replied the woman. ‘Anthony, son, will you take the other chair?’ and looked from one to the other, seemingly a little agitated and excited by it all. ‘Well, this is nice.’

  ‘I’m fine here,’ he said, and swung himself down on the mat in front of the fire. ‘Joan’s going to have her photograph taken to-morrow. The two of us together! We’ll have one framed for you, Mother.’

  He kept his eye on Joan, watched her as she talked to his mother, listened with rapt attention to every word that fell from her lips.

  ‘I’m lucky,’ he was telling himself. ‘Lucky! Just my own age, and her father a very respectable man. Yes. I’m lucky, luckier than any of the others. The others!’ he thought. Good God! The others! He hadn’t even seen them! Didn’t know. They were strangers. But then it was just like his father. At sea all the time. Yes, it was quite different to working ashore, living on the land. Parents and brothers and sisters were more than words. They were really alive.

  The girl caught the expression on his face, slipped down from her chair, put her arms round his neck, and said softly: ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing!’ he said. ‘Nothing,’ and then somewhat brusquely, seeing the surprise on his mother’s face. ‘Mother’s coming with us to-morrow night, Jo. Yes—after all.’

  ‘Me?’ exclaimed Mrs. Fury, ‘going with you. Where? What’s all this about?’

  The girl went and sat by her on the sofa. ‘You’re coming to the Empire with us, Mrs. Fury. We arranged it long ago—I mean this evening. You shouldn’t be sitting by yourself all the time! You will come. We’ve got the tickets. You’ll have to.’

  ‘But—I—oh—I couldn’t go with you, Miss—I mean Joan. Good Lord, no! Sure, you young people want to be by yourselves. And I don’t do such things now. I used to go with his father, but that’s long ago. I’m too old for theatres now. Be off with you! I’m quite contented seeing you both together. It was nice of you to come! And d’you know you’re the first girl that any child of mine has brought to see me. Think of that! No! No!’ she had risen to her feet. ‘You really mustn’t. Besides, I never go out at nights. Never! I like to sit by the fire reading and thinking of things, d’you know.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Mother!’ said Anthony, dragging himself up from the mat. ‘’Course you’re coming! Who’ll ever take you anywhere unless I do?’

  ‘And me, please,’ said Joan. She was on her feet too. It was time to go.

  ‘Already! Why, I’ve hardly seen you! Do come and see me again, Miss——’

  ‘Joan!’ the girl said.

  ‘Yes, Mother. Joan, not Miss. We’re going now. I’ll see Jo home and be back here round eleven. And no getting stuff ready for me,’ he said, shaking a finger in her face, ‘and no fussing. I don’t want it. Just leave the bed made up. That’s all.’

  Then he helped the girl on with her coat.

  ‘Good night,’ Joan said, making for the door.

  ‘Won’t be long, Mother,’ Anthony said, ‘so-long,’ and he went out.

  But as she prepared to make up her bed the son came back, leaving the girl to find her way down the stairs. Came bustling into the room and saying excitedly: ‘D’you like her, Mother? D’you think she’s nice?’

  ‘I think she’s very nice. A very nice decent girl. You’re lucky.’

  ‘Good! Good!’Course I’m lucky. I know I’m lucky. Well. So-long now.’

  Then he was off again and Mrs. Fury stood at the open door listening to the noisy clatter of his feet as he dashed down the stairs, heard him call: ‘Jo! Wait, Jo.’

  She shut the door and stood behind it, still holding the knob. Above she could hear Mrs. Gumbs moving about. ‘I’ll go to bed,’ she thought, ‘he’ll be all right. He has the key.’

  She thought how nice it was for him to bring his girl, to interest her in Joan. None of the others had done it. Now Anthony was going too. Well! Well! There was only that young boy left. Kneeling in front of the fire she raked it out, spreading the hot ashes to cool upon the hearth. This was not Hatfields and she had developed a morbid dread of fires.

  She said her prayers in front of the altar and then began to make up her son’s bed. She drew a curtain across from cupboard to window. Then she went to bed.

  L
ying back she thought of Joan and Anthony, seeing them married. All going! There was only Denny. He grew large in her mind. He was the one anchor now. She didn’t mind if the others forgot, didn’t write. Denny was there! Now if Anthony married to-morrow, Denny was there at her shoulder. More and more her thoughts turned towards him. She had written him yesterday. A letter full of explanation. Saying Mr. Kilkey hadn’t come as he had promised. Saying that she had been down to the Catholic Guild and got the five pounds back. She didn’t want to go to Mount Mellery. It was only a fancy. She liked where she was. Nobody bothered her at all. She was feeling rested, she was getting better. She had the money. She would save it. Perhaps when this cruel war was over all the children would be gone. They would be left to themselves at last.

  ‘You know, Denny, you think I’m a hard woman, as well as being a foolish one, which shows that forty years together means no more than a day to you. We don’t know each other yet. I’ve done my best for the lot of them. And now I’m just tired.’

  This phrase lit up in her mind and then she drowned it, swamped it, wanted to forget it. What nonsense! What nonsense! Talking like a dying woman. What nonsense! Anthony and Joan crept in and wiped all that nonsense out—that surrender. Why to-morrow—why, he’d only to say the word and she’d make a new home.

  ‘I would! Yes, I would,’ she began saying to herself. ‘I know I would.’

  She forgot the letter, forgot her husband, seeing only her son and the girl he had brought to see her. A nice girl. She hoped he would be happy. She laughed outright.

  ‘I say this, and I hate him going. I’ve hardly seen him, any of them! I shall hate him going. But I want him to be happy. That’s all. I think he’s good and sensible, and I think Joan is good for him too.’

  She lay awake, going over in her mind the events in her life, the struggles and promises and hopes. She thought of her father and was certain he had passed away. Perhaps her sister too. ‘How strange people are,’ she reflected, thinking of her only sister who had not written her a single line since she had taken Mr. Mangan back to Ireland. ‘Not a single line! Strange! Strange!’ And all through those horrible days. No. Not a word! Of Peter. Herself. Of nobody. Quite forgotten. ‘I shall always re-remember that,’ she told herself.

  Denny returned, hovering in her thoughts. Scraps of conversation came into her mind. ‘You’ve been too soft, woman. Too bloody soft!’

  ‘I loved them all,’ she said to herself. ‘He called me a fool! Well, I don’t mind. I loved every one of them.’

  In the midst of these reflections Anthony’s key could be heard turning into the lock. The door closed. She smelt cigarette smoke. Heard him undress. Then all was quiet again. Suddenly she spoke.

  ‘Be careful with your cigarettes! I’m so afraid of fire,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Good heavens! You awake yet, Mother! Can’t you sleep or something? Why, it’s gone half-eleven!’

  She could hear him moving restlessly about in the bed. ‘That bed comfortable? You’ll have a proper one to-morrow.’

  ‘Fine! Nothing wrong with it. You know, Mother, I’m glad you like Joan. You know we were talking about you a lot. Suppose next trip, or say the trip after that—suppose we got married and dad was still away. Wouldn’t you come to live with us, Mother? We were saying that if we could …’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that,’ she said. ‘You see—well—oh.’

  ‘Why, Mother! Besides, think of Peter! He’ll be out soon. I mean he will get out some time. I want you to come with us, Mother. Won’t you think about it?’

  ‘No! I wouldn’t do it. I love you, Anthony, but I couldn’t do that. Wouldn’t live on anybody. Besides, in spite of what you think I am content here. Just living nice and quiet, waiting for your father. That’s all that matters. One time I would have said yes, to everything. But it’s too late! You get tired trying.’

  ‘But only to-night, Mother—why,’ and she could hear her son getting out of bed. ‘Why, you were saying …’

  ‘Yes, I know. But it’s just my imagination! And I was so excited, Anthony; you were a dear child to bring the girl to see me. I hope you’ll both be very happy. Sometimes I sit here thinking of the others. I’d like to see Maureen. I could never understand why she didn’t like me, and Desmond. He’s well away now, and only time to think of himself. But the woman. No! I couldn’t meet her! I can hear you laughing to yourself,’ she said. ‘I can hear you.’

  ‘Yes, I am laughing! But I was thinking of something. Go on, Mother, talk away.’

  Suddenly he was by her side.

  ‘Remember that time I growled and swore about you sending Peter off. Remember. Well, I’ve often thought of that. And now I see you were right in spite of what the others said.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ She turned over on her side, and looked at him, reaching out a hand that stroked his head. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘You were better than him, because you meant well, and he didn’t. I mean you were better than any of us. You were too good to the lot of us. I know it.’ He paused. ‘I remember when I was called “the slob.” Remember that?’

  They both laughed together; their laughter circled them like halos in the darkness.

  ‘Well, d’you suppose I haven’t felt it, coming home and finding you in a room like this? I have! I hate the idea of you being here. I want you to get out of it. I’ll help, at least till dad comes home. Only last month I wrote him a long letter, begging him to give up the sea. Surely to God he’s had enough. Then you’ll be together for good.’

  She listened to him, loved him more and more, smiled inwardly, called them ‘rambling thoughts,’ but she listened on, and when he stopped, said. ‘Go on, son. Say it all! Get it off your chest. You’re being sorry for me. Well, don’t. I hate it! I’ve always loathed that kind of thing, and what’s much worse, people being sorry for themselves. Your father was.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ thought Anthony, ‘I’d better get back to bed. She’s changed and there’s nothing more to say. Now she’s really beat. She’s old. Old.’

  ‘Good night,’ he said, and went back to his bed.

  She was beat now! He lay awake too, thinking of Joan, and of to-morrow, and the next day. But not beyond that. He didn’t want to. He knew she was still awake. Lord! The years it had gone on! Right back—oh, how long! Yes, when he was a boy and he slept in the same room, and dad was away. How often he had watched her, lying awake. Thinking! Thinking!’ Still awake, Mother?’ he asked, and struck a match, lit another cigarette.

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Who d’you think I’m seeing to-morrow? Give you three guesses?’

  ‘Who? I couldn’t guess. Well, Joan, of course.’

  ‘Postlethwaite! You know George! He’s home on leave. But I told you, of course. I wrote and told you he was in the Fusiliers. Yes, we’re meeting in town. His father’s a sergeant in the railway corps. Imagine it?’

  ‘Desmond’s a captain,’ she remarked softly. ‘A captain! I never believed it till somebody showed me his picture. He does look a swell. He came to see me. I wasn’t very well.’

  ‘Did he? Desmond did? You never said,’ exclaimed Anthony, and the portly figure of George Postlethwaite disintegrated at once. ‘Well I never! When?’

  ‘Maureen came too! It is surprising. I wasn’t at all well at the time, and I’ve even forgotten how it happened. I must have been very ill, I think, because they told me I hadn’t known them. But I’m sure I did. I shook hands with both of them. I’m certain! Your father was there too. Good Lord! It came into my mind just like that,’ she concluded. ‘Just—like—that.’

  There was dead silence, broken only by the metallic click of the alarm clock.

  ‘Mr. Kilkey was the only one who didn’t. I thought it strange at first,’ she said.

  ‘Why, he’s the very one you’d think would come,’ remarked Anthony. ‘But, Mother, what about Peter? You see you’re awake and I’m awake! And we both knew we had to talk about these things. Wha
t about him? I wrote him months and months ago. Poor Peter. It must have been awful for you, Mother?’

  ‘It was, in a way,’ she said. ‘He writes, but only two or three times a year. Mr. Trears is very good. Very good. He always reminds me of the gentleman who took me up into the lift when I went down to see Mr. Lake about your money, that time you fell off the mast. A gentle sort of man. And so considerate, so considerate! I do like that in people. You know they’re decent as soon as you look at them. Lord! The times I’ve been to that office. I’ve worried that man to death. Sometimes it all seems so hopeless; so hopeless. But I know that if anything did come along he’d let me know. He was a good friend to me in all that trouble! A good friend, and God must bless him many and many a time. Peter’s well and works hard. But, oh, Anthony, it makes me cry reading his letters. Last time your father read it aloud. The poor simple, foolish child. Just like his mother! Foolish! Foolish!’

  ‘Let’s not talk any more, Mother. Shall we? Let’s go to sleep,’ he said.

  He heard the break in her voice, in his voice. He couldn’t think of Joan. Peter supplanted her.

  ‘Am I selfish?’ he asked himself, Peter used often to give me things. I think he liked me, even though I was the slob of the lot. And here he was thinking of Joan, and to-morrow and George, and that trip to the fair and the theatre at night. Thinking this and feeling Joan’s arms about him, their warmth as loving now as when they had embraced outside her home only half an hour ago. Poor Peter!’ I’d like to see him. I’d like to see everybody, Maury, Joe—Desmond. Yes, even Sheila!’ At that moment a kind of icy film descended over his world, his warm, pulsating world, full of to-morrows. But there was Peter! and the others! They were in the world too. He sat up in the bed.

  ‘Mother! It would be great if we were all together again. Don’t you think so? All round the table, you know! Oh—ah well——’ and he said no more.

  He listened. She must have fallen asleep! At last! He lay there peeping from behind his curtain. And then he heard the gentle snore, the deep breaths. She was asleep. He got up out of bed, and crept over to where she lay. He stood there watching her. Was she asleep? or was she just pretending? Or was she thinking like she used to do when he was a boy. Lying awake half the night. He crept nearer. Yes, she was fast asleep.