Bill Bailey's Lot

by Catherine Cookson

  He phoned Fiona to say he might be a little late. When she had enquired where he was going he had replied flippantly, to get blind drunk, so she had better look out and get the tribe to bed because he would be in the mood to play merry hell when he got in.

  ‘I’ll do as you say, Mr Bailey,’ she had answered coolly; ‘but should you find the door locked, there’s always an hotel in the town, the one you went to before, you remember?’ He had been able to smile as he put the phone down, but he wasn’t smiling when, a short while later, he rang the bell at Seventy-two, Drayburn Avenue.

  Waiting for the door to open, he stretched his neck out of his pullover while telling himself he should have gone home and changed and smartened himself up before coming here. But what the hell! He just couldn’t wait to get at this fellow.

  The door had opened and he was looking at a woman well into her fifties: he was a good judge of age, and her tinted hair and well made-up face didn’t deceive him; she wasn’t a kick in the backside off sixty. Maybe she was the mother of Brown’s piece.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’d like to speak to Mr Brown, please.’

  ‘He’s not in.’ The woman took half a step forward and pulled the door behind her and, her voice changing now, she said, ‘And he won’t be in to you, ever. I know who you are. You’re Bailey, so get about your business. You’ve done enough harm, you.’

  She almost fell back as the door was wrenched open and there stood Brown. But he wasn’t the same Brown as when Bill had last seen him; he had lost a lot of weight; yet his manner was the same. ‘I’ve been expecting you,’ he said.

  ‘Well, you’re not disappointed, are you? And you know why I’ve come?’

  ‘Oh yes, I know why you’ve come. Your little tinpot business is being nibbled at.’

  Bill clenched his teeth, then said slowly, ‘You call being nibbled at leaving a man half dead, stealing a car, breaking into sheds, and last night aiming to sabotage me building?’

  ‘Is that all that’s been done?’

  ‘Look, Brown; you’re asking for it and you’ll get it, not from me, for I wouldn’t soil me hands on you, but from the courts because I’m puttin’ up with this no longer. You must be a fool to think you can get away with it.’

  ‘The only fool I’ve been is that I didn’t bust you years ago when I could have done.’

  ‘It was never in your power, Brown, to bust me, and you know it. In your wife’s, aye. Yes, in hers, but never in yours. You’re a little man. You’ll always be a little man.’

  The woman, in some agitation, pulled at Brown’s arm, saying, ‘Come in. Come in. Leave him; he’s not worth it. He’s not.’

  Brown brushed off the restraining arm and said slowly, ‘I’m going to tell you something, Bailey. You’re barking up the wrong tree. I’ve got no hand in what’s been happening to your tinpot business. D’you hear me? And this is the truth. No matter how much I’d like to see you and your little empire go up in smoke, I’ve never lifted a hand towards you, for the simple reason I’ve been too busy arranging my own business. No, you can take my word for it, whatever’s happening to you, and will go on happening to you, oh yes, I can promise you that, it will go on happening to you, it’s none of my doing. But you know something else? I wish it was. And yet it’s good to stand on the sideline and see your dirty work done for you. So get the hell from my door. And if the things I wish for you come about there’ll come a time when you’ll wish you were dead.’

  The door was banged, and Bill was left standing looking at it and not knowing what to think: he only knew what he felt and that was that Brown was telling the truth.

  He’d have to look for another source, somebody else, some other firm that had it in for him. And there were a number to choose from, and more probably one of those that were in for the contract for the building of the estate. He got into his car, but did not immediately drive home; he stopped in a lay-by and sat thinking.

  Three of the builders in for the business were known to him, and he felt sure they would never stoop to doing another down in the way that was happening to him. Would the big boys go to that trouble? Oh yes, yes; he could understand some of the big boys going to a great deal of trouble to wipe out an opponent. But why him? Oh yes; that was the point: they must think him worth wiping out; perhaps they had heard he had been favoured by Sir Charles Kingdom…

  Fiona greeted him with, ‘Well, what have you been up to?’

  ‘I’ve been to call on Mr James Brown and—Mrs Bailey—it isn’t him.’

  ‘What do you mean, it isn’t him? He’s not behind this business, all the things that are happening to the men?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because he said so.’

  ‘And you believed him?’

  ‘Yes; on this occasion I believed him.’

  ‘Well, who could it be?’

  ‘It can only be one of those in for the estate job. I must have opened me mouth too often about the good gang I have and that once they get goin’ each one’s as good as three of the ordinary floaters that’s goin’ about today. I should keep me mouth shut.’

  ‘Yes, you should.’

  ‘Oh, don’t you start.’

  ‘I’m only repeating what you said. Look there’s masses of hot water; go and have a bath and change. It will make you feel better. I’ll see if I can rake up some scraps for a meal, such as a meat pudding.’

  ‘Meat pudding!’ He pulled a face at her.

  ‘Well, I don’t know what it will be like by now or by the time you’ll be ready for it. But go on, I’ll have a talk to it.’

  ‘Where’s the tribe? There’s no bustle, no yelling.’

  ‘Oh, they’re upstairs. Katie’s in a mood. The bottom’s fallen out of her world: she didn’t come top in the mock exam; in fact, she didn’t come second or third. She really can’t believe it, so she’s up there now digging into her homework, screaming at anybody who dares look at her. And Willie nearly got another twanking.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He came out with a polite “bloody”. Something will have to be done about him and that boy.’

  ‘Oh, the boy’s all right. He’ll learn.’

  ‘And so will Willie, all the wrong things.’

  ‘It’s a phase; it’ll pass.’

  Detecting a weary note in his voice, she said, ‘Go on, up those apples and pears.’

  He grinned at her, saying now, ‘I don’t mind you turning common, that’ll suit me, but it’s got to be Liverpudlian common, or Geordie common, I draw the line at Cockney.’

  He had reached the landing when he turned and called, ‘Fiona!’ And when she reached the foot of the stairs, he asked her, ‘Any news about the love birds?’

  ‘No. She said he never said a word. They had a lovely meal and went to a show, and that was that.’

  ‘Silly bugger!’

  And Fiona endorsed this as she walked towards the kitchen. Yes, Bert was a silly bugger.

  It was about eight o’clock that night when the silly bugger came knocking at the back door. And when Fiona said, ‘Come in, come in,’ he hesitated, saying, ‘She’s not in, is she, I mean Nell?’

  ‘No, no; she’s next door.’

  ‘Good. I…I’d like a word with you and the boss.’

  ‘All right. Sit down. I was just going to take him in a drink; he’s in the study.’

  ‘No, I won’t sit if you don’t mind, Mrs B, it’s…it’s…’

  ‘Sit down, Bert. And stop fidgeting.’ She laughed at him. ‘Look; have that cup of coffee.’ She took a cup off the tray.

  ‘No, no.’

  ‘Shut up and drink that; I can always make another.’

  She now left the kitchen and hurried to the study and, pushing open the door, she said, ‘Come into the kitchen for a moment, there’s an employee of yours waiting to see you. And if you want any work out of him in the future, you’d better straighten out his love life.’

  ‘Bert?’
/>   ‘Yes, Bert.’

  She gave an exaggerated whisper. ‘And by the look of him he doesn’t know which end of him is up. It’s dreadful to reach that age before love hits you. He’s had no practice at it.’

  When Bill entered the kitchen Bert got to his feet, saying, ‘I’m sorry to trouble you, boss, but…well, it’s like this.’

  ‘Sit yourself down, man, and finish your coffee. Where’s mine, woman?’

  Fiona handed him the cup, and he sat down opposite to Bert, saying, ‘What’s happened? Got home and found out you’ve been burgled?’

  ‘No, nothing like that, boss. That would be simpler. Oh aye, that would be simpler. No; it’s something I want to ask you. How long will this job take, boss? I mean …’

  ‘Well, you know as well as me, Bert, there’s a time limit on it. We’ve got another eight weeks and then, if nothing comes up, we’re all in the soup.’

  ‘Aye…aye, I know that, boss, I know I’m asking the road I know, but have you nothin’ in mind besides the big estate job?’

  ‘Not a thing, Bert. Not a thing, at least so far. Of course there might be some odd bits and pieces pop up in the next few weeks, but they’ll only be patching jobs, or gutting, because there’s no spare land around here now, or very little, and what there is they want a gold mine for it. Anyway, Bert, you know the lie of the land, you’ve been with me long enough, you know I discuss everything with you all.’

  ‘Aye, I know that, boss, but it’s…er—’ He drooped his head now and watched his fingers drumming on the table before he said, ‘It’s Nell. I want to ask her. Oh aye, I want to ask her. But what are me prospects if I’m finished after this lot? I own me own house, as you know, but there’s rates and upkeep and you’ve got to eat, and in spite of all she’s been through, she’s lived a very…well, sort of middle-class life, so I can’t ask her, the way things stand. It’s come too late in life anyway.’ He turned his head to the side, only to be almost startled by Fiona and in a voice that could have been attributed to Bill, crying, ‘Don’t be so damn soft and blind! Nell hasn’t lived an easy middle-class life; she’s had to work all her days to help to keep that no-good husband of hers in comfort. So don’t make that an excuse.’

  ‘Oh. No! No! No!’ He was on his feet now. ‘I…I don’t want to to make an excuse, I just…don’t want to offer her something less than she’s been used to and…’

  ‘You know what you are, Bert’—it was Bill speaking in a voice that was unusually quiet for him—‘You’re a bloody fool. And I’ve known some good bloody fools being left on the shelf through the same ideas as you’ve got. And I can tell you this: if you wait any longer, when you do pop the question you’ll be refused; ’cos she’ll get the idea that you don’t really want her. Women are like that, you know; they’re bloody awkward.’ He cast a glance at Fiona. ‘They go as far as to tell their sons that they’ll never marry, at least not fellas like brickies.’

  ‘Bill!’

  ‘Yes, Fiona? Well, you did. You did tell Mark that you’d never marry me.’

  ‘Only because you kept pumping into me and everybody else within earshot that you were a middle-of-the-road man and that you would never marry anybody. Anyway, it’s just like you to turn everything into a personal fight.’ She looked at Bert now. ‘Bert, you go next door this very minute and tell Nell what’s in your mind and why you didn’t pop the question to her last night when she was all dressed up and waiting.’

  ‘You think she was?’

  ‘I don’t think, I’m sure. But, as Bill here said, women are queer cattle and you don’t know what will happen just out of sheer pride.’

  ‘But what if I’m out of work?’ He was looking at Bill now and Bill’s answer was a bark. ‘There’s always the bloody dole and social security and the odd scraps from our table here.’

  Bert was smiling quietly now as he looked from one to the other, and his head wagged for a moment before he said, ‘Well, if I never have a wife I’ll always feel I’ve got two good friends.’

  As he turned from the table, Bill said, ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Do what your Mrs B told me, go next door. But mind, me heart’s in me mouth.’

  ‘Well, spit it out and give it to her. Go on.’

  Bill pushed him out of the door; and then, looking at Fiona, he said, ‘I didn’t know there were any of them left.’

  ‘What left? What do you mean?’

  ‘Just him, the likes of him, fellas who are afraid to ask a woman. He’s an oddity.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ She went towards the kitchen door now, saying, ‘I think there are many men like him. It’s people like you who are the oddities, the brash individuals.’ And she let out a squeal when he brought his hand across her buttocks, then hearing a door open upstairs she turned on him, saying in a whisper, ‘There you are! Prepare yourself to meet the horde.’

  There was only one solitary figure at the top of the stairs. ‘Mam.’

  ‘Yes; what is it?’

  ‘Sammy’s got a present for you. He’s going to bring it on Saturday.’

  ‘A present for me? That’s very nice of him. What might it be?’

  ‘He wouldn’t tell me, but he says it’s lovely.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll look forward to that. But he’d better not bring it in the morning because, as you know, we all go out shopping.’

  ‘I told him that. I said early afternoon.’

  ‘Oh, you did?’

  ‘Yes, Mam. That O.K?’

  ‘I…I suppose so.’

  ‘Do you like Sammy, Dad?’

  ‘Yes. Yes’—Bill nodded up at him—‘yes, I quite like Sammy.’

  ‘I thought you did. I…I told him you would, I mean like him, because he’s your type. I’m off to bed now. Goodnight, Mam. Goodnight, Dad.’

  Fiona had hurried away, her hand across her mouth.

  And they had just entered the sitting room and Bill was saying, ‘I see nothing funny in that, Mrs B,’ when the phone rang, and Fiona, swinging round, said, ‘That’ll be Nell to give us the news.’

  But a moment later when she lifted up the receiver and the voice said, ‘Fiona,’ she turned her head quickly and looked towards where Bill was standing in the doorway. And when she raised her eyes ceilingwards she heard him say, ‘Oh, no!’ as she herself said, ‘Yes, Mother?’

  ‘Now don’t you get on your high horse, Fiona, at what I’m going to say. It’s all for your own good. Well, I mean, the children’s good.’

  ‘What is for the children’s good, Mother?’

  ‘Well, to put it in a nutshell, the company they keep.’

  ‘Oh. Well, as far as I know they all keep very good company.’ She closed her mind to Sammy. ‘Mark is very friendly with the son of a doctor whom I understand is a leading specialist in his own way, he’s a gastroenterologist; and Katie has a number of friends, and their parents, I know, would pass your scrutiny. One is an air pilot who I understand makes frequent trips to America.’ She did not continue along this line to state that two of the fathers were unemployed, one having been made redundant just recently after twenty-five years managing quite a large business concern; she paused, and presently her mother’s voice came over the line, saying, ‘And Willie’s friend?’

  ‘Oh, Willie’s friend is the son of a builder.’

  ‘Son of a builder indeed! If I’m going on what Mrs Quinn heard, the “b” could stand for blaggard and bad language. She happened to be following them as they came along the street and she said, the…the b’s punctuated every other word that boy said, and they were many and varied.’

  ‘What a pity some of them didn’t sting Mrs Quinn if there were so many flying about.’

  ‘Don’t be facetious, Fiona. And don’t tell me that you’ve sunk so low that you condone your son’s keeping company with dirty scum like that boy.’

  Fiona held the phone away from her face for a moment; ‘He’s neither dirty nor scum! He is an unfortunate child who didn’t have your opportunities
or mine, as badly brought up as I was.’

  ‘Fiona!’

  ‘Yes, Mother; I say again, as badly brought up as I was. In fact, there’s a great similarity between young Sammy Love, and that’s his name, and myself, for Sammy, too, has never tasted mother love as far as I can understand. And will you please tell Mrs Quinn that if she doesn’t stop minding my business I might start looking into hers and why she’s on her own so much.’

  ‘Her husband works away. You know that.’

  ‘Yes; but why does he work away? And where does he work away?’

  ‘On an oil rig. He’s quite a big man.’

  ‘Oh, I admit, he’s quite a big man, at least in appearance; but men don’t work on oil rigs for nearly eleven months in the year. It’s a long time since I’ve seen Mr Quinn. Now you tell her or I’ll tell her myself. Yes I will; so don’t bother, Mother, I’ll do it myself. Goodnight!’ She banged down the phone, then turned to where Bill was standing close to her and he said quietly, ‘Good for you, lass. Good for you.’ Then, bending and kissing her, he said, ‘Pick up the phone again.’

  ‘I…I didn’t mean, Bill…’

  ‘Pick up the phone again and hand it here.’

  Slowly she handed him the phone; and he dialled a number and when a polite voice said, ‘Yes, Patricia Quinn here,’ he said, ‘Good evening, Mrs Quinn. This is your neighbour-but-one, Mr William Bailey. We have just had a call from Mrs Vidler relating to us all the information you gave her concerning my son’s companion. Now, Mrs Quinn, I want to tell you something. You interfere with our family life, my children’s companions, or anything that happens in Number Sixteen, then I will start probing into the affairs of Number Twenty, and I’m sure that’ll be very enlightening. Have you got my meaning, Mrs Quinn?’