Beggars and Choosers

by Catrin Collier

  ‘It might have.’

  ‘I can’t see why. Aren’t you going to undress?’

  Slowly, almost reluctantly, he removed his jacket. ‘I don’t see why you thought it necessary to lie to us.’

  ‘She was obviously too frightened to tell me her real name in case her husband tracked her down. And, after seeing her bruises, I could understand why she didn’t want to see him again.’

  ‘Did she tell you that her husband had beaten her and put her in the infirmary?’ He sat on a chair and tugged off his boots.

  ‘Sort of.’ She turned her back to him. ‘Unlace my corset.’

  ‘I can’t understand why you women strap yourself into these contraptions,’ he grumbled as he tugged at the laces. ‘And what do you mean by “sort of”? She told you her tale of woe because she wanted you to feel sorry for her?’

  ‘No, she didn’t,’ Connie mused thoughtfully. ‘Come to think of it, she didn’t tell me at all. I guessed. When I said I couldn’t give her the job because she didn’t have a character, she told me I could write to Swansea Training College, but she also asked me not reveal her whereabouts, so I assumed she was hiding from someone. I suggested it was her husband and she didn’t contradict me.’

  ‘She didn’t tell you that she had a child.’

  ‘No. If she had, I would never have engaged her as your housekeeper.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you four are soft touches. Before you know it, he’ll be calling you Uncle Lloyd, Uncle Joey and Uncle Victor.’

  Lloyd had trouble keeping a straight face. ‘Not to mention Uncle Billy.’

  ‘Your father is worse than any of you and I should know. He’s been my uncle for long enough.’ Stripping off her corset and chemise, she lay on the sofa and watched him as he peeled off his socks and drawers. ‘I had no idea she was a colliery owner’s daughter. It must be tough coming down in the world.’

  ‘As opposed to never being up in the first place.’ Reaching into the pocket of the jacket he’d hung on the back of a chair, he removed a tobacco tin, opened it, and took out a French letter.

  ‘You ever offered anyone one of those instead of a pipeful of tobacco?’ she asked playfully, as he lay beside her.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘I like it when you turn up unexpectedly.’ She closed her hands around his erection.

  ‘You know just how to get me going, don’t you?’

  ‘And don’t you ever forget it. Now!’ she whispered urgently, moving closer to him. ‘Right now, but slowly ... Much more slowly, Lloyd,’ she moaned, as he penetrated her.

  ‘You always want this to last for ever.’ He rolled on his back and shifted her on top of him as he moved inside her.

  ‘And what’s wrong with that?’ She kissed him, thrusting her tongue into his mouth.

  As always, he held back until she’d climaxed, only then did he allow himself to indulge his own pleasure.

  ‘Be careful with the French letter,’ she warned, as he finally withdrew from her.

  ‘I always am.’ He left the sofa and went to the cupboard at the side of the fireplace, opening it to reveal a built-in washstand.

  He washed and dried himself and the letter before returning it to the tin. ‘I hate using those damned things,’ he swore.

  ‘A little bastard would kill my reputation and my business. Not to mention your plans for a happy family life with some sweet young thing half my age,’ she added cuttingly.

  ‘Which is why we have to stop doing this.’

  ‘Who came to whose door tonight?’

  ‘I came to find out what you knew about our housekeeper.’

  ‘You are in danger of becoming a bore, my darling. We have a warm, comfortable room, a fire to bask in front of, and,’ she reached for a packet of cigarettes and a box of matches, ‘a cigarette to share. Let’s just enjoy it and each other.’ She tickled his groin, as he lay beside her again.

  ‘Repeat that, and it’s not a cigarette I’ll be lighting.’ He took the cigarettes from her.

  ‘Promise?’ She rested her head on his chest. He struck a match, lit a cigarette and passed it to her. She inhaled and handed it back to him. ‘You are going to find a difference with a small child in the house.’

  ‘We all are.’ He blew a smoke ring at the ceiling.

  ‘Is that why you want to get married? To have children?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say no to a couple.’

  ‘You mean that, don’t you?’

  ‘I’ve never made any secret of wanting a family.’ He knew he was hurting her, but he refused to demean her or himself by telling her a lie.

  ‘Then I’m not enough for you?’ There was anger and something else in her voice that he couldn’t quite decipher.

  ‘When we are like this, you’ve always been enough for me, but we’re not always like this, and it was you who refused to marry me, remember?’ The scent of her perfume suddenly caught at the back of his throat, and he moved away from her. ‘You should have seen Joey and Victor tonight in the Pandy.’ Weary of discussing their complicated relationship, he changed the subject. ‘They went shopping for clothes for Sali’s son and bought all kind of other rubbish as well. Sweets, comics, toys. The poor kid’s been pushed from pillar to post for the last couple of months. By the look of him he’s never seen a square meal in his life and Joey wants to give him a bag of gobstoppers.’

  ‘While you, of course, are totally indifferent to him?’

  ‘Not entirely.’ He reached for his drawers. ‘He looks a quiet enough child and his grandfather was good to me.’

  ‘And his mother?’ She snatched the drawers from his hands.

  ‘Creeps round the house like a frightened mouse waiting for a cat to pounce.’

  ‘You aren’t attracted to her?’

  ‘For pity’s sake, Connie, have you seen her?’

  ‘Not since her bruises have faded. The delivery boy says they have. Is he right?’

  ‘Yes,’ he snapped in exasperation. ‘She also has a figure like a twig with the bark scraped off, a convict hairstyle and about as much personality as a hat stand.’

  ‘Then I can expect you to carry on visiting me for a while yet.’ She slipped her hand between his naked thighs.

  ‘I’d rather we switched to a platonic relationship.’

  ‘So you keep saying, but you never start doing.’

  ‘Because you always end up seducing me. But I warn you, someday I’ll develop willpower.’

  ‘Not for a long while yet, I hope. I enjoy sinning with you too much to forgo the pleasure.’ She removed the cigarette from between his lips and tossed it into the fire. ‘Besides, it gives me something to confess.’

  ‘Do you tell the priest everything about us?’ he asked, horrified.

  ‘Absolutely everything.’ She slipped her hand higher. ‘The poor man is supposed to live a celibate life so he’s entitled to a little excitement now and then, even if it does come second-hand. Our friend is stirring. Shall I pass you the tobacco tin?’

  ‘Can’t we give them to him as a present?’ Joey pleaded.

  ‘No,’ Sali countered sternly. ‘Harry is my son and I will buy his clothes and pay for his keep. Now, can I please have the bill for everything you bought?’

  ‘You can have the bill for the clothes and boots.’ Joey smiled at Harry.

  Harry glanced timidly back at Joey. He was sitting at the table struggling to eat all his porridge because his mother had asked him to. Dressed in his new Sunday best – a sailor suit with breeches that buttoned at the knee over long, thick woollen stockings – he felt warmer, more comfortable and more dressed up than he ever had in his life before. The only problem was, his boots hurt and he wasn’t sure he should tell his mother in case it upset her and made her shout even louder at his new Uncle Joey.

  ‘Joey.’ Sali held out her hand, and Joey produced the bill from his shirt pocket. She read it carefully.

  One sailor suit, two pairs of cord breeches, one waistcoat, two wool
len jerseys, three flannel shirts, three sets of underclothes, two nightshirts, three pairs of stockings, a pair of boots, a woollen coat and a cap.

  All essential, but the total was two pounds, nineteen shillings and seven pence. Nearly three pounds! She took her purse from her pocket opened it and counted out the exact money. ‘Now I want the bill for the comics, toys and sweets.’

  ‘No!’ Joey said emphatically.

  ‘Yes,’ she contradicted, holding out her hand.

  ‘You won’t let him eat the sweets,’ Joey protested.

  ‘Not yet, no –’

  ‘No, Mam! No shouting! No shouting!’ Harry left the table and ran to her. Wrapping his arms around her legs, he burst into tears.

  ‘It’s all right, Harry.’ She tried to crouch down to his level, but he was holding on so tightly it was impossible for her to move without hurting him.

  ‘Harry.’ Kneeling, Victor gently unwound the boy’s arms from around Sali’s legs. ‘Mam and Joey will stop shouting, right now,’ he murmured, giving them both a stern look. ‘They were only arguing because your mam wanted to pay for the comics that Joey bought for himself.’

  ‘And I suppose you never looked at them?’ Joey retorted.

  ‘Ssh, no shouting, Joey.’ To Sali’s amazement, Harry clung to Victor as he rose to his feet.

  ‘Come on, Sali,’ Joey coaxed in a softer voice. ‘We only bought him a ball and a teddy bear. He can accept presents, can’t he?’

  ‘This once,’ Sali relented, seeing Harry stroke the bear that Victor picked up from the table and handed to him. ‘But he’s my son, not yours, and he’s not used to being given things. I don’t want him spoiled.’

  ‘We’ll ask your permission before we give him anything else,’ Victor conceded.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And now we’re late for mass.’ Forewarned by his father and Lloyd, who hadn’t had time to move the coat rack, Joey looked at Harry. ‘Is it all right if I lift the coats and caps down, Harry?’ He waited for the boy to nod before grabbing them. ‘Look after Mr Bear, Harry. See you later, Sali.’

  ‘I’ll be making dinner.’

  ‘It’s your day off,’ Victor reminded.

  ‘I don’t feel like going anywhere. It will be on the table at one o’clock.’

  ‘What’s all the noise?’ Lloyd brushed past Joey in the passage.

  ‘Sali being bossy.’ Joey slammed the front door behind him.

  ‘What have you been doing to my brothers?’ Lloyd asked Sali in amusement as he sat at the kitchen table.

  ‘Ordering them not to spoil Harry. There’s tea in the pot.’ She set a cup, saucer plate, knife and fork in front of him. ‘What would you like for breakfast?’

  ‘It’s your day off.’

  ‘I really don’t mind.’

  ‘In that case, bacon and eggs, please.’

  She watched her son struggle with a spoonful of porridge and decided it was better he eat a little than make himself ill forcing down food he would have trouble digesting. ‘You can leave the table if you can’t eat any more, Harry.’

  Holding his teddy by the arm, Harry picked up the comics Joey had given him and walked to Mrs Evans’s chair.

  ‘Not there, Harry,’ Sali warned.

  ‘If you come here, I’ll read you those comics while your mother cooks my breakfast, Harry.’ Lloyd pushed out the chair next to his.

  Harry waited for Sali to give her approval before climbing on to the chair.

  ‘Now, what have we here?’ Lloyd opened the comic. ‘Coloured comics with Frog Faced Ferdinand, Watty Wool Whiskers, the Monkey and the Bathers. I’ll read it to you if you like, then later on, I’ll get something I think you’ll enjoy a whole lot more. Do you like reading?’

  ‘I ... we didn’t have books,’ Sali explained as she laid strips of bacon in the frying pan. ‘But I taught Harry his letters.’

  ‘F’, Harry pointed to the ‘F’ in Ferdinand.

  ‘Clever boy,’ Lloyd said approvingly. ‘We’ll have you reading Das Kapital next week.’

  ‘I think Harry might prefer fairy stories,’ Sali said.

  It was the first time Lloyd had heard Sali express an opinion on something since she’d moved into the house and he decided to push her to see how far she would go to defend her viewpoint. ‘Fairy stories are for girls.’

  ‘They are suitable for small children,’ she persevered.

  ‘I cut my reading teeth on the children’s version of the Iliad and the Odyssey. I still have the copies. How about we start Harry on those?’

  ‘I think I’d prefer them to Frog Faced Ferdinand and Watty Wool Whiskers,’ she agreed. ‘Would you like one egg or two?’

  ‘Three, fried with soft yolks, and bread and butter soldiers for Harry to dip.’

  After Lloyd and his father left the house to go to the County Club, Sali cleared the breakfast things, prepared the vegetables, put a chicken in the oven, tidied the kitchen and made the beds. Tempted by the cold, clear autumn day, she dressed Harry in his coat and cap, slipped on her own coat and hat, gave him the ball Joey and Victor had bought for him and took him into the garden. Harry dragged his steps as she led him past the vegetable plot, which Victor had stripped of plants. The dogs wagged their tails in their pen.

  ‘These are Victor’s dogs, Harry. They are friendly; you can pat them.’

  The child did as she suggested, but Sali sensed only because she had told him to and she wondered how long it would take for the shadow of the monstrous regime Owen Bull had imposed on them to lift from their lives.

  ‘You can’t play football in the garden, Harry.’ Lloyd opened the gate and joined them.

  ‘I wouldn’t have allowed him to,’ Sali protested defensively.

  ‘I didn’t mean it that way.’ Lloyd held his hand out to the boy. ‘Come into the street. There’s a patch of ground next door that the council keep threatening to build a school on. It will be a pity if they do; it makes a great football pitch.’

  Harry tightened his grip on her hand. ‘You come too, Mam.’

  Sali followed Lloyd into the street. To her surprise it was deserted, then she realised it was Sunday. ‘You can’t play football.’

  ‘You don’t want Harry to play football?’ Lloyd asked in surprise.

  ‘It’s Sunday.’

  ‘And God will rain down a pestilence if you allow your son to play football on the Sabbath?’

  ‘No ... I ...’

  ‘We’ll play quietly so no one will hear us, not even God.’

  ‘That’s blasphemous.’

  ‘As Marxists are atheists, they can’t commit blasphemy.’

  She hesitated. Was Harry playing football on a Sunday so different to her reading library books instead of the Bible when Owen was in chapel? Or her father smoking and enjoying a glass of whisky with Mr Goodman in his study?

  ‘I didn’t mean to mock your religion,’ Lloyd apologised, wondering if he had offended her. ‘I didn’t even realise you had one.’

  ‘I don’t, not really.’

  ‘Do Harry and I play football, or not?’

  ‘Do you mind if I watch?’

  ‘No, Mrs Jones, I don’t mind.’

  ‘Call me Sali.’

  ‘It is good to see that you can make a decision when you want to, Sali. We’ll make a Marxist of you yet.’

  ‘My father always said Marx’s views were too extreme.’

  ‘Your father owned a colliery among many other things. A workers’ revolt would have cost him a great deal. But how about you, Sali? Do you think Marx’s views too extreme?’

  ‘I don’t know enough about him to have an opinion one way or the other.’

  ‘And you were doing so well at making decisions until now,’ he derided. ‘You’ll find his collected works on the bookshelves in the middle room. If you get tired of reading romances, you could give him a try.’

  ‘I do not read romances.’

  ‘I’ve seen you read Charles Dickens, Charlotte Brontë and Jane A
usten.’

  ‘They are great writers,’ she remonstrated.

  ‘I beg to differ. But if you’d like to convince me otherwise, we’ll discuss the subject again, after you’ve read Das Kapital. And while you debate whether or not to read it, why don’t you come down the library with me a couple of evenings a week? The miners’ union are running evening classes and we are desperate for teachers.’

  ‘I never qualified.’

  ‘The colliers and their wives who didn’t have a chance to go to school are so keen to learn to read and write, they won’t care whether you qualified or not.’

  ‘I have to look after Harry.’

  ‘Bring him. You can teach him at the same time. Run out of excuses?’ he taunted when she didn’t answer.

  ‘How long are the lessons?’

  ‘One hour. You can spare a couple of hours a week, can’t you? Starting at six o’clock on Tuesday.’

  ‘I’ve never actually taught an adult to read but I’ll try.’

  ‘Excellent. Now, Harry, I am going to teach you to kick a ball. I’ll kick it to you first, then you kick it back.’ Lloyd set the ball on the ground and gently nudged it towards the child. When the boy kicked it back, he shouted, ‘Well done, you are a born footballer.’

  Harry flushed with pride. ‘Did you see me, Mam?’

  ‘I saw you, darling.’

  ‘This goes even better with three, Harry. Shall we let your mother play, even if she is a girl?’

  Harry slipped into life in the Evanses’ house more easily than Sali had expected him to after their separation. Within days they had established a routine and by the end of the month he was sleeping on his own in the box room. He played happily by himself while she worked during the day and after a few days, even allowed her to go down to the basement and the garden without him, although every time she did so, she saw him watching her anxiously from the window.

  All her plans to do her work, bring up Harry and live a quiet life dissipated as the Evanses and their neighbours roped her into Tonypandy life. Megan called on her most days and Megan’s youngest cousin, Sam, introduced Harry to his ‘gang’ of boys who ranged from two to seven years old. To her surprise, she enjoyed teaching the colliers and their wives to read, and began to pick up the rudiments of Spanish and Italian from her students. Harry liked the library and sat quietly deciphering words in picture books while she tried to concentrate on teaching, as opposed to listening to Lloyd who lectured on philosophy, history, Marx and Engels at the opposite end of the library.