Bill Bailey's Lot

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Of course, Mr Love, he may come round.’ Anything, she was thinking, only go.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am. Thank you very much. Well, I’ll be off now. I’ll have a bite and a pint afore I start again, but I tell you I’ll be hot on somebody’s trail the night if it takes me to dawn. I have me own ideas about this. Oh aye, I have. Goodbye to you.’

  ‘Goodbye, Mr Love. Will you see Mr Love out, Mark?’

  ‘It’s a fine family you have. I don’t begrudge you them, but I can’t help wishin’. No harm in wishin’ is there?’

  ‘No, Mr Love, there isn’t. No, there isn’t.’

  ‘No, there isn’t. And I know what you’re wishin’ at this minute, and it’ll come true. Believe me, it’ll come true.’ He had reached the sitting room door when he turned and added, ‘I’m a very bad Catholic, and a bad Catholic is worse than a heathen, there’s no hope for them. God forgives them who doesn’t know any better, like heathens, Chinese, Indians, and Baptists’—he grinned as he said the last word—‘but for a bad Catholic there’s no hope, ’cos you know, we should know better, we’ve been given the faith. But I’ll tell you what’ll I’ll do the night afore I start on me rounds after those two bug…blokes, I’ll go into church, before God I will, and I’ll make a bargain with Him and I’ll give you three guesses as to what that bargain will be. Now I’ll be off, rightly this time I’ll be off. Good day to you.’

  Fiona didn’t answer, ‘Good day.’ She only wished that she could laugh, but she would never laugh again. No she would never laugh again…

  The inspector called in the afternoon to tell her how things were going. His men had made a house-to-house call in the district. They had police scouring the fields on the outskirts of the town and Brooker’s woodland. He didn’t mention that there were divers in the river, nor did he say that they’d had an anonymous call from someone who had likely put in for the contract, to say that he had heard a certain man, whom he named, saying that he would like to put a bomb under Bailey’s car. That was another thread in the tapestry of this case but they were following it up.

  At seven o’clock in the evening Nell phoned. They had just heard the news; they had been out all day. They were coming back straight away.

  ‘Oh, Nell, Nell,’ Fiona had almost wailed over the phone; ‘I think I’m going mad. I can’t eat. I can’t close my eyes. Oh, Nell, Nell, I’ll be glad to see you.’

  ‘I’ll be with you soon,’ said Nell. ‘But there’s no train from here until six o’clock tomorrow morning, but we’ll be on it.’

  At eight o’clock her mother rang. ‘Fiona. Oh, my dear, my dear, I’ve just heard. I’d been on a trip, I’d been to Harrogate with the bridge four, you know we go on a little trip now and again. Oh, my dear, I am, I must say it, I am extremely sorry. Believe me, dear, I am. We had our differences I know, but for this to happen. Have you heard any more news?’

  ‘No, Mother.’

  ‘What do you think could have happened to him?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mother. It’s all in the papers or on the radio. It will be on the nine o’clock news again, I suppose.’

  ‘I’ll come round, dear.’

  ‘No, Mother, please wait until tomorrow morning; I’m…I’m going to take a sleeping tablet.’

  ‘But the children?’

  ‘The children are wonderful, Mother. Mark is managing them and Nell will be back in the morning.’

  ‘Oh, Nell! I suppose you prefer others to your own kith and kin.’

  ‘Please, Mother, please.’

  ‘All right, dear, all right, I won’t. But…but I’m distressed for you.’

  ‘Thank you, Mother. Thank you.’

  ‘Fiona, I think it only right that I should come round now.’

  ‘Mother, do this for me, please: let me sleep tonight.’

  ‘But…but, my dear, I wouldn’t disturb you. I can sleep downstairs on the couch.’

  ‘Mother, you’d never rest on the couch, you know you like your own bed, but I appreciate what you’re offering, what you’re saying. I do really.’

  ‘I’m so glad you do, dear, and I mean it. I’m really deeply sorry. And after he had got that wonderful contract. Someone’s done this out of spite, I’m sure of it. They hate to see people get on.’

  Fiona closed her eyes. How could people change like that? Her mother talking like a normal caring person, a normal caring mother, when only two days ago Bill’s name was like a firebrand to her. If only she didn’t talk as if Bill was dead and she herself already a widow.

  ‘Goodnight, Mother,’ she said. ‘Thank you for calling. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  ‘Goodnight, my dear. Goodnight.’

  She had said she was going to take a sleeping tablet. She had no idea of taking a sleeping tablet. She doubted she had any in the house. Yes, she had. When she had come out of hospital at the beginning of last year she hadn’t been able to sleep and the doctor had prescribed some for her but telling her not to make a habit of them:

  ‘You’re a healthy human being and sleep should come naturally,’ he had said. So there must be some somewhere upstairs. They wouldn’t be in the medicine cupboard; she didn’t keep pills or anything like that in there in case the children got their hands on them. They would be in her toilet drawer in the dressing table. That’s what she would do, she would take a sleeping tablet. She’d blot it out and when she woke in the morning he’d be there.

  Yes, he’d be there.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Da, ya didn’t come in till late.’

  ‘I know I didn’t, but I thought you were asleep.’

  ‘I couldn’t get to sleep. They were rowin’ next door.’

  ‘They’re always rowin’ next door, but you sleep through it, usually you do.’

  ‘Aye, I know. But I wasn’t really thinkin’ about them, but about Mr Bailey.’

  ‘We’re all thinkin’ about him, lad. Eat yer flakes.’

  ‘I don’t feel hungry, Da.’

  ‘Eat yer flakes.’

  ‘Why…why were you out so late, Da?’

  ‘I went to see a man about a dog.’

  ‘Da, don’t be funny. I feel awful inside ’bout Willie’s da.’

  ‘You’re not the only one that feels awful inside ’bout Willie’s da. An’ that’s why I was out late. You know those two fellas I asked you about? It was some time ago. You remember the car that was stolen?’

  ‘Aye, I do.’

  ‘Well, I asked you if you had seen a tall fella and a one not so tall, thick-set, fatty like. They had been in Kit’s bar. And ya said ya had. Would you know their mugs again if you saw ’em?’

  ‘Aye, Da. An’ I’ve seen them a number of times.’

  ‘You have! Then why in hell’s blazes didn’t you tell me then?’

  ‘I didn’t know ya wanted them; the man got the car back, didn’t he?’

  ‘Where did you see them?’

  ‘Oh, in the street, an’ where they lived.’

  ‘Where they lived?’ Davey was now on his hunkers pulling his son round towards him. And the boy said, ‘Look out, Da, you’ve spilt me flakes.’

  ‘Never mind yer bloody flakes! Ya say you know where they live?’

  ‘Well, I did, sometime back. It was behind Gallagher’s yard.’

  ‘The scrap iron place?’

  ‘Aye, Da.’

  ‘There’s nothin’ behind there, only broken down sheds.’

  ‘There’s Gallagher’s Mill, the old stone house that’s droppin’ to bits. They took the machinery away years ago.’

  ‘Gallagher’s Mill? How d’you know they’re livin’ in there?’

  ‘Well, I found a bit o’ scrap on the tip. It looked like lead, and I took it to Gallagher’s yard and old Mr Gallagher was in the office. But there was a man, clearin’ up like, two of ’em, a tall one and a short ’un, and I thought they were the men who I’d seen afore. One of ’em took me scrap an’ said it wasn’t lead. He gave me fifty p. And when I was goin’ away the
other one laughed an’ said, “That’s worth a quid or two,” so I knew it was lead. I went out the gate pretendin’ I was goin’, but I went along by the railin’s and I saw them both come behind the office an’ go into the mill. They had me bit of lead with ’em. Then I stayed put and I watched ’em. It was on a Saturday so I had plenty of time. An’ when they came out they had different jackets on, so I guessed they were livin’ there.’

  ‘How long ago was that?’

  ‘Oh, a fortnight ago, Da, or three weeks. P’raps longer. But one thing, they didn’t leave by the yard gate, they went out the back way an’ cut across the fields and onto the road there.’

  Davey Love stood up and, looking down on his son, he said, ‘It’s God’s judgement on me for not talkin’ to you more. If I had, I’d likely have had those two bastards weeks ago.’

  ‘What have the bastards done, Da?’

  ‘Now enough of that. I’ve told you. You keep a clean tongue in yer head else it won’t be soap I’ll wash yer mouth out with but a pan scrub.’

  ‘But ya said it, Da.’

  ‘Never mind what I said. Take no notice of what I say, just do what I tell you. Goin’ along to a fancy house like the Baileys’ an’ pallin’ up with a lad like that Willie, then comin’ out with words like bastard.’

  Sammy looked up at this tall man. He was funny, not laughable funny, well just at times he was laughable funny, but at other times he was funny. He said he hadn’t to swear and use bad language, especially four-letter words, yet his own mouth was drippin’ them all the time. He was a funny man. ‘What’re ya goin’ to do, Da?’ he said.

  ‘What I’m goin’ to do now, lad, is go to work. But what I’d like to do is go round there an’ take those two fellas by the scruff of the neck an’ bang their heads together till they were just about insensible. Then I’d half string ’em up until I put the fear of God in ’em with just their toes touchin’ the ground. Then I’d punch ’em silly. After that, I’d call the pollis an’ let ’em deal with what was left. That’s what I’d do. But I’ve got to go to work. But you say nothin’ ’bout those two blokes, mind, not a word to anybody. I’ll deal with ’em after five o’clock the night. By God, I will! And may He an’ His Holy Mother help me…I went to church last night, you know.’

  ‘Did ya, Da?’ Sammy’s voice came out on a high squeak.

  ‘Aye, I did. And I asked Him to help me find them fellas who had done whatever they had done to the boss. I made a deal with Him. Well, if He carries out His deal I’ll carry out mine.’

  Sammy’s face was one wide smile now and his father, getting into his coat, turned and looked at him, saying, ‘That pleased you, me goin’ to church, did it?’

  ‘Aye, yes, it did, Da. But Sister Monica told me ya would.’

  ‘Sister Monica told you that I would go to church?’

  ‘Aye, she did an’ all.’

  ‘How did that come about?’

  ‘She asked if ya went to Mass, an’ when I said no, she said did ya go to Confession and I said, no. Then she said, did ya go to yer Easter duties, and I said, I didn’t think so. Well, she said if I lit two candles every week and I said one Our Father and ten Hail Marys every night for a month, ya would go.’

  ‘She did? An’ did you?’

  ‘Aye, I have. But the month isn’t quite up yet.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be buggered. Was that the one I was goin’ to skelp if she hit you again across the ears just once more?’

  ‘Oh no, that was Sister Catherine. But as I said, Da, she doesn’t hit me ’cross the ears any more, she just shakes the bloody life out of me.’

  ‘Now, now, what did I tell you. Wash your mouth out. You want to go to church every night yerself and ask God to stop you swearin’.’

  ‘Aye, I could. And I could ask Him for both of us, Da, couldn’t I?’

  There was a grin on Davey’s face as he lifted his hand, but it stayed in mid-air and he said, ‘You know yer gettin’ too big for yer boots; they’ll be givin’ you corns, but that’ll be nothin’ to the corns that’ll sprout on yer backside if I have any more of that lip of yers. Now I must be off. Do the usual, mind: wash up, make yer bed, and mine; rub the kitchen floor, then lock up. All right?’

  ‘All right, Da. Be seein’ ya.’

  ‘Be seein’ you.’

  When the door had closed on his father and he heard him running down the iron stairs, he sat where he was at the table, not eating now, but thinking. His da was a funny bloke. But he was all right. Oh aye, his da was all right. He was glad he had his da. And he didn’t miss his ma now, not like he used to. He knew what he was going to do today, and if his da was to find out he’d skin him alive. Oh aye, he would, because he was one for him stayin’ at school, but he was goin’ to play the nick. After he’d had his school dinner he was goin’ to slip out. There was something he had to do. His da had said he could go and see Willie the night. But he didn’t only want to go and see Willie, he wanted to go and see his mother; there was something about Willie’s mother that he liked. And he wanted to take her another present. He had the idea that that teapot could have been part of a set. His ma had a china one on the dresser, an’ she’d gone mad when it got broke in a bloody row. People just didn’t throw away a teapot like that. If they had a teapot, they wouldn’t just have the teapot they would have the sugar basin and the milk jug, wouldn’t they? He knew exactly where he had found the teapot, and so if they hadn’t tipped any more stuff there and he did some rakin’, he’d likely come across either the milk jug or the sugar basin. And then of course he’d have to clean them up, so he needed time. And he couldn’t do all that if he stayed at school all afternoon and get to Willie’s for teatime. So his day was planned.

  He did his chores as he did every morning, locked the door, put the key in his pocket, and went to school.

  But Sammy didn’t manage to play the nick after school dinner. Sister Catherine, coming into the dining hall just as they were finishing, called out, ‘You, you, and you, come with me.’

  Sammy was one of the you’s, and was about to protest, but he had recent memories of his head wagging at such a rate that he thought it would fly off his body. So he golloped the last of his pudding, joined the other boys who were all bigger than him and followed Sister Catherine’s modern skirt along the corridor. He had always thought it unfair that nuns didn’t look like nuns any more, but like ordinary human beings, woman human beings.

  This one, far from being a human being, marched them into the library and pointed to the shelves saying, ‘All these books have to be got down and packed before you leave tonight, before anybody leaves tonight.’

  Then one of the bigger boys dared to ask, ‘Why, Sister? Aren’t we goin’ to have a library any more?’

  ‘Yes, we’re going to have a library some more, Reilly, not that it would interest you as it’s a surprise to me that you even know this is a library because you never use it, do you, except under force, brute force. The fact is, there’s all kinds of rot, here, wet rot, dry rot, and all the rest in the walls, and these shelves have to be cleared and the walls behind the racks inspected. Now are you satisfied?’

  ‘Where have the books got to go to, Sister?’

  ‘E Block. Sister Monica is over there with her gang. But where they go from there and what’s finally going to happen to them will be no concern of yours, Reilly. Now, you see those cardboard boxes there?’ The nun pointed to a large stack of flat cardboard in the corner of the room. ‘Now you, Baxter, open up those boxes and set them round the shelves. And you, Reilly, get up that ladder and hand books down carefully to Watson, and dear little Samuel Love will take them from you, Watson, and pack them care…fully. And I’ll see they’re done carefully. I’ll be back in a minute.’ And she stressed this to Sammy by pulling a face at him, and with a nod of the head, so when the door closed on her he did her the courtesy to stick his tongue out as far as it would go. And when Reilly, from the top of the library steps, said, ‘I’d like to put a bomb up her b
um,’ and Watson, who was standing on the bottom step, added, ‘Make it a rocket, Reilly, an’ she’ll fly straight into heaven,’ they all laughed until Reilly cried, ‘Stop it! You’re rockin’ the boat. I’ll be landin’ either on me face or me arse in a minute.’ Then looking down on Sammy, he said, ‘She’s got it in for you, Love, hasn’t she? Ever since your da threatened to knock her block off. When I told me ma about that and asked her would my da do the same, she said, no, because he wasn’t soft in the head or a bloody fool, ’cos only a bloody fool would tackle a nun.’

  ‘Me da’s no bloody fool, Reilly.’

  ‘All right, all right…dear Love. I was only kiddin’. Don’t get your rag out unless you want to blow your nose.’

  Sammy glared up at Reilly. He’d often wanted to hit him, especially when he said ‘Dear Love’ like that because sometimes the others would take it up and sing songs about his name, like the one the chorus sang last year in the concert: ‘My Love Is Like A Red Red Rose.’

  Oh, but why worry about Reilly? He was stuck here for sure this afternoon, and he’d never find what he was lookin’ for.

  It was at this point that Watson brought up the subject that made it so necessary that he should find something to take to Willie’s ma the night. He said to him, ‘You’re thick with that Protestant, aren’t you, whose da’s been kidnapped?’

  Sammy didn’t answer, but glared at the boy who wasn’t much bigger than himself and who, he promised himself, he would nobble if he didn’t shut his mouth. Then Reilly put his oar in again, saying, ‘You know where you go to if you have any truck with Protestants, more than to be civil.’