He had never seen Val in tears, or near to them. He didn’t associate her with tears, but now they were in her eyes. But they were tears of rage, and the rage brought her springing up from the couch to stand close to him. Her voice full of venom, she cried at him. ‘I could tear you to shreds. I could claw your face to pieces. Talk about your father being inane and gutless; you mightn’t look like him outside but you’re him inside, every inch of him. I could spit on you.’
He thought for a moment she was going to do just that, and he felt himself flinch and shrink inwardly as if from the ignominious assault. As he looked down at her he felt her hate coming at him like hot steam. He watched her turn about and move across the room. She went slowly as if her rage was weighing her down, and at the door she turned and looked at him once more, then from between her clenched teeth she said, ‘You dirty sod. You weak-kneed dirty sod.’
When the banging of the front door reverberated through the house he went to the couch and sank onto it. Weak-kneed, dirty sod. Well, the sod had cleared the first hurdle, but by the end of the course there was no doubt he’d be in the mud, as she had said, and in ribbons. Weak-kneed dirty sod.
He was still sitting on the couch, his eyes closed, his head back, when his mother came in. ‘What is it?’ she asked quietly. ‘Are you ill?’
‘No.’ He opened his eyes slowly. ‘Val’s been.’
‘Oh!…Has she accepted things?’
‘I don’t know about accepting things. If she does what she threatens to do, and I haven’t a doubt but she will, there’ll not be much left of me by the time she’s finished.’
‘You’ll survive, dear.’ She sat down beside him. ‘She can’t kill you, nor can she take your credentials from you.’
‘True, true.’ He sighed. ‘But she can strip me of every penny I have, and she knows what that is. She’ll be totting up at this moment what Uncle Robert left me, plus what I’ve saved in the last few years. That’s on the monetary side. On the moral side she’ll make my name stink; she’ll be the wronged, innocent girl and she’ll play it to the finish. She threatens breach of promise and she’ll make a three-act play out of her wrongs. I can see her doing it.’
‘It may not come to that, but if it does it isn’t the end of the world, and if you’ve got to leave your job, well there’s plenty of others.’
‘If?’ He turned and looked at her. ‘There’s no if about that, that’s a dead certainty from both sides. And with the pull he’s got in this town I can’t see me getting another.’
‘Oh!’ Her voice was high. ‘There’s Newcastle…dozens of places you could go to.’
‘Yes, yes.’ He smiled wearily at her, then asked, ‘What about you and Aunt May? I’ll break that up too.’
She rose from the couch, patting his hand as she did so, saying, ‘It’s been long overdue. I won’t be sorry.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Absolutely. May has bored and irritated me alternately for years…Now have you had anything to eat?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘But I don’t feel like anything.’
‘You must eat, and it’ll be all ready,’ she said. ‘I told Mrs Stringer to set it in the morning room; I thought it would be more cosy than in there. Come along.’ She waited for him to rise, then added, ‘The Avenue won’t hold May and me after this. I’m going to look for another house.’
He looked slightly startled. ‘But there’s been so much spent on this. And Father…’
She cut him short by saying, ‘Your father’s always hated stucco walls, he’ll be glad to change.’
As he followed her out he thought, She must have known that when she had the place decorated. And there came back to his mind the Thorpe woman saying, ‘I think her treatment of him was a subtle form of cruelty.’ Like a door opening from a dark passage showing a lighted room, he knew why his father had been drawn to that woman. There was no cruelty in her, subtle or otherwise—she was kind…Yes, even if she had drowned him in whisky and soda! …
Laurie left the hospital at about a quarter-to-nine. His father had looked extremely tired tonight. The sister said it was nothing unusual in cases like this; doubtless he would be much better tomorrow. Not till he was seated in the car did he decide to go to the club. The thought that he wasn’t answerable for his movements to anyone brought a little relief to his worried mind. There was no use in trying to put a good face on the situation to himself for he knew there was trouble in front of him, and change, but the latter didn’t matter. He had been tied to the town by his mother’s need of him. But with her change of heart he was no longer absolutely necessary to her. This had been revealed clearly to him when she said: ‘You should marry and get away from us both.’ It was as if at last she was throwing him out of the nest. He felt no hurt at this, only relief. If he was honest, an overwhelming relief. He hadn’t realised before how much the home ties had irked him. He had taken compensation from the standard of living under her management, but now he saw all her actions towards himself like local injections. He had been living under sedation for years. Well, it was over, finished. Many things were finished.
The Rover was almost jammed in between two other cars that hadn’t been there when he parked, and he had to nose his way gently out, feeling as he did so that the fellow in front in the grey Ford could have helped him by driving a few yards forward, but apparently he was against co-operation.
He noticed, through his mirror, that the car moved away, almost immediately after he had passed it. Example of the considerate driver, he commented to himself.
In the club he had a small whisky and a lager, and a long chat to Harry Belham, whom he hadn’t seen for several months. It would be more correct to say that Harry Belham had a long chat with him. Harry was a keen fisherman, and an authority on fishing rights, river boards, and the crazy, mad, ignorant nincompoops who took their holidays in motor cruisers and sailing craft, and selected for their enjoyment all the best rivers in the land, so it wasn’t until quarter past ten that he left the club. His car was parked in the private car park by the side entrance. There were not more than half-a-dozen cars there, and as he went to insert the key into the lock of the Rover a voice behind him said, ‘Have you a match, chum?’ …
What he remembered later was turning round, then doubling straight up as a fist was rammed into his stomach, then being dragged up straight by the shoulders and another fist meeting him under the chin. As the world spun round, he felt himself choking, then slowly dropping to the ground as if he was floating down.
Following this he was vaguely aware of something sharp being repeatedly jabbed at his hip. The fact that it was the toe of a boot didn’t get through to him until he felt the car stop. He hadn’t realised he was in a car. There were hands grabbing his shoulders again and he was being hauled from the floor of the car, then pushed against something hard. Vaguely he became aware of his surroundings as he was pushed up against the wall, then the fists came at him from all sides, into his stomach, his chest, his face…Oh, his face. Once more he was floating down and then there was nothing.
When he next regained consciousness he thought he was on a rack, for his arms were being dragged out of his body. Only faintly he realised he was being pulled along by his arms. And then he was on his feet, but they kept flopping against something. Flop, flop, flop, flop. As he groaned out a protest something hit him in the face and the blackness came down on him again and he sank into it as if never to return.
‘Oh my God! Oh my God!’ The words were swirling round his head as he crawled up through the layers of blackness towards the surface. ‘Oh my God! Oh my God!’ They kept repeating themselves over and over again. They were like rumblings heard through the dentist’s gas. When with a gasp he thrust himself into the light and tried to open his eyes he groaned and joined his voice to the other one, crying, weakly, ‘Oh! Oh! Pol-ice! Pol-ice!’
‘It’s all right, it’s all right. Oh my God! Who’s done this to you?’
‘Help!’
‘Try to drink this. Come on, come on.’
When the raw whisky reached his throat, he coughed and the effort caused excruciating pain in every part of his body. ‘Oh God!’ He spluttered into the whisky.
‘Try, try to drink it all up.’
‘Wh…where am I? What’s?’ He opened his eyes as wide as he could and saw her above him with that hair hanging down each side of her face. ‘Wh-where?’
‘Lie quiet…Is that kettle not boiling yet? Bring the water, Pat.’
‘It’s here. It’s here.’
The warm sponge on his face was soothing, but the rest of his body felt terrible, and he was going to be sick. He tried to push her away and retched, and she said, ‘It’s all right, it’s all right.’ She held his head and he turned on his side and vomited into the bowl on the floor at her knee. When he had finished she wiped his mouth and laid his head gently back on a cushion.
‘Oh God!’ He lay panting, trying to understand what had happened to him. Then looking at her he said with the simplicity of a child, ‘Why?’
She shook her head. Her voice and her body were trembling. ‘I don’t know, I don’t know.’
‘How…how did I get here?’
She gulped and blinked her wet eyes. ‘I…I was in bed. The bell rang, and when I opened the door, there you were.’
He wanted to shake his head at her but he couldn’t. It didn’t make sense.
‘You must have the doctor,’ she said, ‘you’re in an awful state. Pat!’ she called softly. ‘Get your things on.’
A few minutes later, when the boy was standing by her side, and he said, ‘Doctor Bell, Mam?’ she answered, ‘Yes, and be quick.’
At this point Laurie protested. ‘Wait…a minute. Don’t go. Not a doctor. I’ll…I’ll be all right. Help me up.’
With her arms about him she got him to his feet and onto the couch, and as she did so she thought, first the father and then the son.
She pillowed his head, then knelt by his side and muttered coaxingly, ‘Let me send for the doctor. You’re in a bad way.’
‘No, no. No fuss, only cau-se trouble…more…’ He was finding difficulty now in moving his lips. ‘If…if I could get home.’
‘You could never get home like this.’ She shook her head at him. ‘You’re in an awful state.’
‘You drive?’
‘Yes.’
‘My car…Don’t know where it is. Would…?’ He looked towards Pat and she said, ‘Go downstairs and see if Mr Emmerson’s car is by the garages.’ She looked down on Laurie again and asked, ‘Is it your father’s?’ and when he made a slight movement with his head, she said, ‘It’ll be a Rover. You know, a big blue one. Take the torch.’
When the boy had gone she said, ‘You’ll never get down the stairs.’
‘You help me.’
She stared at him, all the pity in her body showing in her face. Then her head dropping, she murmured, ‘Oh! oh!’
‘Could…could you get me some black…black coffee?’
‘Yes, yes.’ She put out her hand and gently touched his distorted, swelling face then she flew to the kitchen, but was back within seconds. And again by his side, she said, ‘It won’t be a minute.’
He put his hand to his thigh now and as he gasped she said, ‘What is it?’ He made a motion with his head that indicated he didn’t know.
‘Will you try to sit up and I’ll get your coat off.’ Again he made a motion with his hands to be left alone.
Then Pat came back hurrying into the room. He stood at the bottom of the couch and whispered hoarsely, ‘There’s no car there, Mam, and the garages are all locked up.’
Laurie looked at the boy as he tried to sort things out. He had to get home. He was in a bad way, and he was going to get worse, he knew that. He had to get home. He said to her now, ‘Can…can you get word to…to my mother?’
‘Yes,’ she nodded swiftly. ‘I’ll get someone from downstairs to go and phone.’
He put out his hand, caught hers and groaned at the sudden movement. ‘No, don’t let this…this get about. Don’t want any fuss. Pat…Pat could phone.’
‘He can’t use the phone, I’ll go.’
Of a sudden he was fearful of being left alone, of dropping into that blackness again…or worse still, of someone coming at him again. His hand tightened as much as it could on hers, and he whispered, ‘Don’t…don’t leave me.’
He watched a tenderness suddenly flood her face. She turned from him and spoke to her son. ‘You know where Lime Avenue, is, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Mam.’
‘If you hurry you might get the last bus, the one that goes to the corner of Newton Road…What’s the number of your house?’ She was bending over him.
‘Seventy-four. Right-hand side. Near—near the top.’
‘Seventy-four. Near the top,’ she repeated to Pat. ‘Go on now, and if you miss the bus run all the way; you can do it in quarter of an hour or less. That’s a good boy. You’re not frightened, are you?’
‘No.’
‘Go on then…Wait a minute.’ She went after him and led him towards the door. ‘Ring the bell and ask for Mrs Emmerson. See her yourself and tell her…tell her to come here. Tell her to bring the car. Tell her Mr Emmerson is ill. All right?’
‘All right, Mam.’
Laurie lay with his eyes closed. He heard her running towards the kitchen, then it seemed only a second later that she had her arm under his shoulders and was holding a cup to his lips. ‘I’ve made it ready for drinking,’ she said.
He took a sip, and then another, and then two long drinks, and she put the cup down and he lay back.
His mind was clearing a little. He was trying to think, think what had hit him, who had hit him, and why. There had been two of them, but he never saw their faces. Not even the face of the man who had asked for a light. Yes, that’s how it had started, a man had asked for a light. That was the only time he’d heard anyone speak. No, no it wasn’t. Some time after when they propped him up against the wall. One of them had said…What had he said?…Tax collector…Something about a tax collector…‘That’s one for the tax collector!’ But he couldn’t have said that, he was imagining it. It was because his head was going round and round. But no. No. ‘Have you got a light, mister?’ ‘That’s one for the tax collector…’ It had been the same voice. Bolton had promised him something and he had kept his promise.
‘Bolton.’ He wasn’t conscious of speaking aloud.
‘Who? Bolton? Bolton’s done this? Yes, yes, of course. Oh my God!’ And again she cried, ‘Oh my God!…and all because of us.’ She was touching his blackening, swelling face with her fingertips and he peered up at her through his fast-closing eyes. She was kind. His father said she was kind, and her son said she was good. She was also beautiful, in spite of that towy hair she was beautiful. ‘Don’t cry, don’t cry,’ he said.
She gasped out now between her catching breath, ‘I…I never meant it. It was the last thing on earth I meant to do, but, but I’ve brought trouble to you both, both you and your father.’
He put his hand out. It touched her hair, but he could see nothing for the blackness was descending on him again, and without protest he was sinking into it. The last thing he remembered at this time was that she held his hand tight in both of hers and buried it between her breasts.
Pat caught the last bus. He was one of two passengers, and the conductor, looking at him, said, ‘You’re out late, sonny. What’s your mother about?’
Pat said, ‘There’s someone ill; I’m taking a message.’
When he alighted from the bus, he ran up the lane leading to the avenue as if someone was after him; it was very dark in the lane and he was frightened. In the avenue he paused before numerous gates, peering at their numbers. When he came to No. 74 he ran swiftly along the shingled drive towards the house.
There was a car standing outside the front door, and a light shining in the porch, but before he had passed the car and entered the porch he hear
d the sound of an angry voice, like someone fighting, he thought, which was very puzzling to him, for people that lived in houses like this didn’t fight.
As he paused with his finger hovering over the bell he heard a man’s voice say, ‘I’m waiting. If it’s two o’clock in the morning when he comes I’ll be here to greet him,’ and a woman’s voice, angry sounding too, replied, ‘If John were here you wouldn’t act like this.’
‘Oh, don’t make me laugh, Ann. John! John! You faced up to the fact years ago just how much spunk John had, so don’t come that over me now.
‘Shut up you! Shut up…’
It was a row. They were really rowing in there. The surprise jerked his finger onto the bell, and almost immediately he heard the sound of the woman’s voice, high now, crying, ‘No, you won’t, this happens to be my…’ Then the man’s voice saying, ‘Get out of my way, Ann.’
The next minute Pat was looking up into the red, angry face of a man he had seen before, and for a moment he was swamped with terror and had the desire to turn and flee. Although he knew that Mr Bolton had told the truth and things looked better for him now, he knew that this was the man he’d have to go before next week. He had seen his face in nightmares during the past week, and it had looked just like it did now.
‘What do you want?’ Apparently the man did not recognise him, and Pat, looking at the woman who had come to the door, said in a small voice, ‘Are you Mrs Emmerson?’
‘Yes, I’m Mrs Emmerson.’ He saw her put her fingers to her lips, and he glanced towards the little man again before saying, ‘Me mam sent me. She said would you bring the car, Mr…Mr Emmerson’s took bad.’
‘W’what! Mr Emmer…You mean…Who are you?’
‘Pat…Pat Thorpe.’
‘Thorpe?’ James Wilcox almost screamed the name. ‘Yes, yes, I thought I recognised you. Yes, of course, Thorpe. And your mother wants the car because Mr Emmerson’s taken bad? Well, well.’ He turned on Ann, his fury almost lifting him from the ground. ‘It’s clear now. Oh, it’s clear now. This is what you were trying to hide, and no wonder, father and son drinking from the same fountain.’
The Unbaited Trap Page 18