Bill Bailey's Lot

by Catherine Cookson

  Katie was crying, Mamie was crying, Mark’s face was wet. But Willie stood apart, and he alone seemed to show no emotion.

  Fiona now pressed Sammy from her and, looking into his dirty twitching face, she said, ‘Sammy, I will love you all my life. But tell me, is…is he all right? I must go to the hospital, but is he all right?’

  Sammy looked towards Mark and hesitantly said, ‘I don’t know. I couldn’t get him to answer. I kept talkin’ to him when I was waitin’. They were a long time comin’, I mean with the ambilance an’ that. But the pollis might know.’ He thumbed towards the door.

  Fiona hurried towards it, and to the two policemen standing in the hall she cried, ‘Is…is he all right?’

  ‘He’s alive, ma’am. But as far as we can gather, he’s in…well, in a pretty bad mess. He’s been badly knocked about, but he’s alive.’

  Fiona now turned to Nell, saying, ‘Oh, Nell, Nell. Can you believe it?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I can Fiona. Where Bill is concerned I can believe it. I told you…’ But what she was about to say was checked by a high cry, almost a scream from the sitting room, and when Fiona turned and rushed back into the room, followed by Nell and the policeman, it was to see Willie beating Mark with his fists, the while crying at him, ‘I told you! I told you Sammy was all right. He’s my friend. I want him as a friend. He’s better than your Roland. I want…’

  Fiona picked up her son in an effort to placate him, but, his face awash with tears, he now fought her, too, as he screamed, ‘You didn’t want him to come to tea. Only Dad, only Dad wanted him. And he saved Dad. And I’m going to be his friend…I am! I am!’

  ‘Yes, of course you are, dear. You were right all the time. You were the only one that was right. Yes, you are. Yes, you are. No more now. No more. Stop crying. And look, I’ll tell you what. Take Sammy upstairs and let him have a bath and give him some of your clothes to get into until his own are clean again.’ She turned now. ‘Would you like that, Sammy? Would you like that?’

  ‘I have a bath on a Friday night, the night, later on. I do it meself. I fill the bowl from the…’

  ‘It would please me, Sammy, if you would use our bath tonight and stay with us until your father comes.’

  ‘Huh!’ He jerked his head. ‘He’ll likely wallop me. He’ll be lookin’ for me now an’ he won’t know where I am.’

  She turned to the police, saying, ‘You’ll find Mr Love, won’t you, and tell him where Sammy is and tell him to call for him?’

  ‘We’ll do that, ma’am, don’t worry. And—’ he now patted Sammy’s dirty hair, saying, ‘He won’t recognise you when you’re cleaned up and got rid of your smell. But he’ll be proud of you, I can tell you that. We’re all proud of you. Aren’t we constable?’ He turned to his companion who said, ‘By! Yes. You’ll be in the papers tomorrow and likely on the telly.’

  ‘Nell, take Willie upstairs.’ She went to hand her son over to Nell, but Willie, wriggling in her arms, said, ‘I can walk.’ And when he was on the floor Sammy looked at him and grinned and said, ‘That’s what I said to the pollis earlier on when he carried me up the tip. And I said I was more used to the tip than he was. He got all mucked up with sludge, didn’t he?’ He turned to one of the policemen, and he, grinning, said, ‘He did an’ all, and he didn’t like it. He’s gone home an’ all to change.’

  Turning to Mark now, Fiona said, ‘See to them, will you?’ But before Mark could reply her second son almost barked, ‘We can see to ourselves!’ and a relieved Nell, smiling broadly, said, ‘Back to normal. Oh, back to normal. And thank God. Now get yourself ready and get off,’ and saying this, she pushed Fiona towards the hall.

  A few minutes later, when she was ready for the road, she turned to Nell and said, ‘I meant what I said, Nell. I’ll love that boy until the day I die. And I mean to do something for him. Oh, yes, yes. No matter what happens. Yes, Nell, no matter what happens. And to think I couldn’t stand the sight of him.’

  Nell again pushed her, saying, ‘Love at first sight very rarely lasts. Go on now. And if he’s conscious at all give him my love too.’

  The relief and even the vestige of gaiety that had come back to her being when she knew he had been found slipped away, in fact, was shocked away at her first sight of him.

  He was already in the theatre when she had reached hospital. ‘They have just taken him down,’ the nurse had said; ‘he’d needed some cleaning up.’ Then she had added, ‘Come and sit in the side ward; there’s two newspaper hounds already in the waiting-room and you’ll have enough of them before you’re finished.’

  ‘How…how long do you think he’ll be?’ Even as she had asked it she knew it to be a stupid question, which the nurse had answered seriously, but just as she should have expected, ‘Well, it all depends on the extent of his injuries …’

  Twice they had brought her tea and biscuits. She had drunk the tea but left the biscuits. And she had made an effort to smile at the nurse who had come to take the tray away when she said to her, ‘If any of my children had been here that would have been an empty plate.’

  ‘Oh, sure,’ the nurse had said; ‘I have three young brothers so I know.’

  It was almost two hours later when there was a commotion outside the ward door and the trolley was brought in; and on it she saw Bill. When she had last looked on him he had been a spruce, good-looking middle-aged man, who, because of his energy, could have lied within ten years about his age. But here they were easing into bed a figure that seemed bandaged from head to foot. His head was bandaged and all down one side of his face. Both arms were bandaged from the wrist to the shoulder. He was dressed in a sort of sleeveless nightshirt. When it fell open as they put him on the bed she saw that his stomach too was bandaged, and one leg was in a sort of splint.

  The sister did not ask her to leave the room; she and her nurse and two male nurses were obviously too preoccupied with their patient, so much so that she was thrust back against the wall, and there she stood with one hand pressed tight against her cheek. When the three nurses left the room the sister drew up a chair to the side of the bed and beckoned her forward. And quietly she said, ‘You may sit with him for a time; but mind, he won’t wake for some hours, so if you’d like to rest there is a visitors’ room with a bed in it just along the corridor. You might be able to sleep for a while.’

  ‘How…how bad is he?’

  ‘I think the doctor will be able to answer that better than I could. He’ll be along in a moment or so. Have you had a cup of tea?’

  ‘Yes, yes, thank you.’

  The sister now put her hand on Fiona’s shoulder, and what she said was, ‘He’s alive,’ but her tone could have indicated, ‘just’.

  She was alone with him now and, bending towards him, she murmured, ‘Oh, Bill, Bill, my love.’ Then she gently touched the fingers of one hand that was sticking out from the bandages; and the tears running down her face, she cried brokenly, ‘How could they do this to you? Whoever it was, I hope I never have to come face to face with them.’

  She did not hear the doctor enter the room and so she started when he spoke her name. Hastily, she got to her feet and dried her face, and he, pointing to the chair, said, ‘Sit down. Sit down.’

  ‘Tell me’—she was gulping in her throat—‘how…how bad is he? He looks’—she spread her hand wide towards him—‘dreadful.’

  ‘Well, first of all I will say to you that he is a very lucky man. I understand a little boy found him on a tip. Another night, in fact a few more hours, and there would have been no hope whatever. How long he’s lain smothered in that muck in his condition I don’t know. But you’ve got one thing to be thankful for, he’s got a very strong constitution. If he hadn’t, well, I’m afraid all this’—he moved his hand from the top to the bottom of the bed—‘would have been in vain.’

  ‘Is…are his injuries serious?’

  ‘Well, yes, I can say some of them are. He’s had fifteen stitches in the back of his head. There was a big gash ther
e, but fortunately it didn’t go deep, nor did the knife that went into his stomach.’

  She put her hand tight over her gaping mouth and repeated, ‘A knife?’

  ‘Yes; they were out to do a thorough job on him, whoever they were. And I think it must have been more than one because a man of his build would have been able to fight off one. I think it’s what they call a gang job, because his arms and legs are lacerated.’

  ‘What damage did the knife do?’

  ‘Oh, it penetrated the gut but fortunately it missed his kidneys and the bladder. But I would say he’s gone through enough to kill ordinary men. And I think you owe a lot to that little boy. I understand he’s only a nipper about eight or so?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know. He…he came to the house to tell me.’

  ‘He did?’

  ‘Yes, yes. I don’t know what state my husband was in but the child was filthy and, well, it was as if he too had been buried among the refuse.’

  ‘He deserves a medal whoever he is. They say he’s from Bog’s End. They don’t come tougher than they do from that quarter, children upwards. But there are good ’uns and bad ’uns as in all classes. I would say, though, there’s a few more bad ’uns down there than good ’uns.’

  He smiled at her. She didn’t smile back but she said, ‘Thank you. Thank you very much, doctor. You’ve…you’ve likely saved his life.’

  ‘No, Mrs Bailey, I haven’t saved his life, nor Doctor Pinkerton who helped to sew him up; as I said, all your thanks should be due to that little nipper. You don’t often hear the police speaking highly of anyone from that quarter. I also understand one of the lorry drivers did his bit too. Slush from the lake, they said they were pouring down on them.’ Shaking his head, he turned towards the door as he said, ‘The days of miracles are not yet past. I’ll be seeing you again shortly, Mrs Bailey.’

  She inclined her head towards him, but found it impossible to say anything; he seemed to have said it all: ‘The days of miracles are not yet past.’

  She resumed her seat by the bedside. She was feeling odd, not faint but just odd, sort of tired. She hadn’t taken a sleeping pill last night but had sat on the sitting room couch and dozed while waiting for the phone to ring. And then today had been the longest day in her life, and the loneliest day in her life, and yet the most surprising, when she came to think of it: her mother had been round twice, and she’d put her arms around her and she had cried and she had even said she was sorry about the things she had said about Bill. But of course, she had thought he was dead. What would she say when she knew he was alive and that he wasn’t going to die? No! No! He wasn’t going to die. He wasn’t. He wasn’t…

  She must stop her mind from galloping on like this. That’s what it was doing all last night and all today. She was talking to people, answering people, yet her mind was away by itself, galloping, galloping.

  A nurse came and gently squeezed the bag of blood that was hanging from a hook above the bedhead; then after she had felt Bill’s wrist she smiled at her before going out. And she sat on, telling herself she should phone home and tell Nell to tell the children. But she was tired and she didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to leave him. She never wanted to leave him.

  Another nurse came in and, bending over, she said quietly, ‘There is a Sir Charles Kingdom and another gentleman. Sister has put them in the visitors’ rest room. Do you think you could go and speak to them? The old gentleman seems very anxious.’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes.’ She rose from the chair, looked down on Bill, then went out.

  On her entry, Sir Charles and his secretary rose quickly, and the old man approached her with hands outstretched, saying, ‘I’ve never been so relieved in all my life. How is he?’

  ‘They think he’ll survive.’

  ‘They think?’ Sir Charles glanced up at his secretary; then, looking at Fiona again, he said, ‘As bad as that?’

  ‘Oh yes. Yes.’ Then briefly she gave them a description of what the doctor had told her. And when she finished the old man groped at the chair and sat down again, muttering to himself, ‘She wouldn’t have meant that. She wouldn’t have meant them to go as far as that. Never! Never! I can’t believe there’s that in her. No. No.’

  ‘Sir.’ Rupert bent down towards his employer, saying quietly, ‘I think you must face up to the fact that Mrs Brown probably did organise this whole business. She herself mightn’t have meant to go as far as murder but she was out to destroy someone. It’s right what Lady Kingdom said before we left: you have always seen her through rose-tinted spectacles.’

  ‘Don’t you chastise me too, Rupert. I’ve had enough of it, and in condemnation from myself too, which is something more bitter and hard than either you or my wife can dole out to me. And I’ll show you both that I mean business because I’ll bring her to justice over this. Oh yes, I will.’

  ‘She’s left the country, sir, and you have no idea where she is. No-one seems to have. We’ve been into all this, sir.’

  ‘If you weren’t a distant relation, Rupert, playing at secretary, I would sack you this moment, I would that.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the first time in the last ten years, would it?’

  The man now smiled gently at Fiona and he said, ‘The last thing you want to witness, Mrs Bailey, is a family quarrel.’

  ‘Oh I don’t mind.’ There was even a small smile on her lips as she replied, ‘It takes my mind off things. But, I will say this, if Mrs Brown is behind attempted murder, and that’s what it is, then she must be brought to justice.’

  ‘And she shall be. She shall be.’ The old man was nodding his head. ‘Once she can be located I will set to work, I promise you. Yes I do, I promise you.’

  She put out her hand now and touched the shaking shoulder, saying, ‘Please don’t distress yourself any further, Sir Charles. You were very fond of this woman, you trusted her. We’re often led away by our feelings.’ Her mind lifted her back for a moment to her first marriage and how, within a short time, she knew she had made a mistake. Yet, it had given her three beautiful children and so she should be thankful to the man who inveigled her into marriage with soft words, only to tell her within a year that his work would always come first and that one day he would be a famous writer. He never became a famous writer. He never wrote anything good enough to really keep the wolf from the door. But why was she thinking like this? Sir Charles was now standing up and shaking her hand. ‘I’ll be in tomorrow again. You look very tired, my dear, and that is natural. Can we run you home?’

  ‘No, Sir Charles, thank you very much; I’m staying the night.’

  ‘Yes, well, that’s what I would expect. Can I do anything for you? Anything at all?’

  ‘You could call at my house, if you wouldn’t mind, and explain that my husband is as well as can’—she shook her head—‘I think the term is, as well as can be expected. You can say that to my friend, Mrs Ormesby; but tell her to tell the children that he is all right and…and will soon be home, and that I too will be home tomorrow sometime.’

  ‘We’ll do that. We’ll do that.’ He was nodding at Rupert now. ‘Goodbye then, my dear. Goodbye. I’m a very sad man, yet at the same time a relieved one. You understand?’

  Yes, she understood.

  It was half-past nine and her head was drooping with sleep when the night sister said, ‘I would go and lie down for an hour or so, dear. If there’s any change at all, believe me, I’ll call you. But I can assure you he won’t be conscious for some hours yet.’

  But she hadn’t the opportunity of going to bed straight away, for a policeman who was apparently on duty stopped them outside the ward door and said to her, ‘There’s a man here. He insists on seeing you. He’s the father of the boy who found your husband.’

  ‘Oh yes, yes. Oh yes, I’ll see him, certainly.’

  ‘Well, if you’ll go to the visitors’ room, Mrs Bailey, I’ll tell him.’

  When Davey Love entered the room and stood before her neither of them spoke for a m
oment. And then he said, ‘How is he, ma’am?’

  How was he? Could she say all right? She said, ‘He’s alive.’

  ‘Aye. ’Tis happy I am to hear that. Happy indeed.’

  But there was no smile on Davey’s face; in fact, now that she looked more closely at him, there was a cut across the bottom right-hand side of his chin, and one eye, although not black, was dark and puffed. And then he said, ‘An’ my lad saved him. What d’you think of that, eh? ’Twas my own boy that saved him.’

  ‘I think it’s wonderful, Mr Love,’ she said, ‘and I’ll never forget him as long as I live.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear yerself say that, ma’am, I am. I am. An’ you know, I’ve thought all this out, ma’am, and I’ve thought how strange it is.’ He did not go on to say what was strange, but seated himself on the edge of the bed and said, ‘If it’s all the same to you, ma’am, I’ll take the weight off me legs, ’cos to tell you the truth you could knock me down with a flannel hammer this minute. And how that’s come about I’ll tell you shortly. But as I said, there was I thinkin’ how strange life is. I haven’t got a dirty mouth meself. I swear, oh aye, I know every one in the book an’ more; but I’m not gone on the four-letter ones, never have been, see no sense in ’em. Yet there was me youngster comin’ out with ’em an’ levellin’ ’em at yer son. Now that was the beginnin’ wasn’t it? Then yer good man hauls him into the house. An’ you don’t like that a bit, do you? Now, now, now, it’s all right; you needn’t bow yer head. In yer place I would ’ave kicked his ar…backside out of the door meself. But strangely he takes a shine to you. Oh aye, he does, he takes a shine to you. An’ I’ll say this for him, if there was nothin’ else about him he would be persistent. Oh aye, like me old father, he would be persistent, ’cos himself spent four years in an Irish prison through bein’ persistent. Well now, ma’am, what’s happened to yer man would have happened in any case, seems to me, ’cos it was a different thing altogether, along different lines, seemingly not connected with me lad or me. Yet, if he hadn’t used that language an’ he hadn’t been allowed to enter yer house an’ wanted to give you a present, he would never have gone to the tip now, would he? Well, on the other hand, he would, ’cos he was used to goin’ to the tip. But what I mean to say is, after findin’ the teapot he would never have gone back there lookin’ for the milk jug an’ sugar basin or what have you that goes to a set of such. So, as I said to the Chief Constable himself not an hour or so ago, God works in a strange way to clear things up. But mind you, ma’am, I didn’t think I’d end up in the clink again just ’cos I went out of me way to help clear this business up.’