So on this Monday morning I was glad to see Janet, at least in one way; in another, of course, I had a lot of explaining to do with regard to my frantic phone call. That she was upset was evident, and there was the same thought in her mind as to what I should have done about my neighbours, for she said, ‘I told Johnny that you should have sent for the police there and then ’cos, little scamp that he is, he would never take anything that didn’t belong to him. There’s been a box in the kitchen for years where I leave the milk an’ the paper money, an’ me purse has lain about an’ all, and that child has never touched a penny.’
Her indignation was evident all the morning.
It was in the afternoon that something went wrong with the tank in the roof above the bathroom: it would make a dreadful thumping noise every time taps were turned on or the cistern emptied. It was a modern cistern and easy to get at. I’d taken the top off to see if the ballcock had stuck, but that was all right.
Mr Brown’s brother-in-law was a plumber and he usually saw to anything that went wrong in the flats, but because I didn’t want to disturb the caretaker’s teatime I left going down to see him until well after six o’clock.
Harold was sitting at the kitchen table, drawing. Sandy sat at his feet. I said to him, ‘I’m just going down to see Mr Brown about that noise, I won’t be a minute.’
He looked up at me, saying, ‘Okay.’
He seemed to have forgotten Saturday’s business, and yet not quite, because before going to school this morning, he had said, ‘He’s not comin’ up here again is he, the Captain?’ And I had replied, ‘No,’ then added, ‘You’ll remember what I asked you earlier on, won’t you, not to say a word to anyone about the Captain?’ and he had merely nodded.
It had been raining so I took a light mac from the hall wardrobe, then went down in the lift, and I had just opened the door into the street when to my amazement I saw Jimmy Stoddart coming towards me. He wasn’t dressed as he usually was, with collar and tie, when he called on a Saturday to take Harold out, but was wearing corduroy trousers, a sweater and a loose jacket. His attire was casual, befitting his stance and manner of greeting: ‘On your way out then?’
‘No, I was just going down to see the caretaker.’ And I motioned towards the area steps. ‘Something’s gone wrong in the tank, it’s making a noise.’ I gave a little smile.
‘Oh, perhaps I can ’elp there. I can turn my ’and to anything on the job. ’Ave to at times.’
‘Thank you all the same, but there is a resident plumber.’ This was stretching it a bit but I didn’t want this man upstairs. ‘Is … is anything wrong?’
‘No, nothing from my point of view except that tomorrow we are bein’ moved down to Kent on a job an’ I may not make it at the weekend, so I thought that I could take ’im out tonight.’
‘Oh, it’s getting on and it would mean his being out in the dark and … ’
His chin jerked up and he laughed, saying, ‘Well, I think I’d be able to protect ’im in the dark, what d’you say?’ Then bending towards me he added, ‘Both of you in the dark. What about you comin’ along? Pictures or some such.’
I pressed myself back against the stanchion of the door and all I could think to say at that moment was, ‘Mr Stoddart.’
‘Oh! Oh! Come off it now, you sound like somebody in one of them Victorian plays on the telly, shocked at the suitor’s approach.’ He let out a laugh and he seemed pleased with his description of my attitude for he went on, ‘That’s just how you sounded. It was funny.’
‘Well, it didn’t sound funny to me, and I consider it presumption on your part … ’
‘What?’ His voice was loud. ‘Presumption? My God! You are livin’ in a play, aren’t you? Know your place, man, know your place.’ Now his face was poking into mine as he said, ‘You want to realise there’s no class these days: Jack’s as good as his master an’ I’m as good as you any day in the week; you’re only where you are by chance. Oh’—he drew his head back from me—‘you’re a writer so-called. They say anybody goin’ round the bend could write what you’ve done.’
‘Let me pass, Mr Stoddart.’
His hand now came out and pressed flat against the wall to the side of the door, his sleeve almost touching my face, and he said, ‘I will when I’m ready. You’ve played the ’igh and mighty with me from the start. An’ I’ll tell you something now: I’m damned sorry I let the boy go. And if what I ’ear’s true I could contest it on immoral grounds … you an’ the big fella. An’ you know what? You’ve got a bloody nerve to refuse any invitation ’cos who’d pick up with you ’cept for what you’ve got.’
As my hand caught him a resounding slap on the face, in return I received a blow that knocked me dizzy. But the screeching of brakes penetrated the ringing in my ears. I was trying to keep my head still by holding it and my eyes were closed, but when I opened them there were two figures punching it out on the pavement, and Mr Brown yelling, ‘Give over! Stop it!’
I saw Tommy’s fist land on Stoddart’s jaw, causing the man to reel for a moment; but then he seemed to be battering Tommy’s head first one side and then the other.
I staggered forward, screaming, ‘Stop it! Stop it!’
Mr Brown seemed to have disappeared, and for a moment I wondered why. Then my mind cried at me, Oh, no! No! Not the police. Not the police.
Stoddart now had Tommy bent back over the bonnet of the car. Tommy was no fighting man; he had been in an office all his life except for his trip abroad last year. I saw him now bring his knee up and Stoddart stagger back for a moment, then I put my hand tightly over my mouth as, locked together, they fell onto the roadway.
I was aware that we had a small crowd gathering, but when from out of the hall door the Captain stepped demanding, ‘What’s this? What’s this?’ I turned on him like a tigress, screaming, ‘Shut up, you! It’s got nothing to do with you. You dare sp … speak to … to me.’
Later, when I had time to think, I was to realise that it was on the sound of a police car that the Captain had disappeared indoors and not because of my manner towards him.
Now I watched in horror as two policemen wrenched the combatants apart and dragged them to their feet. There was blood streaming from both their faces and it was obvious that Tommy was in a very bad way because he could hardly stand but that Stoddart was still aggressive because he went to throw off the policeman’s hold. And when the policeman said, ‘We’ll have none of that. Now come on. Come on,’ Stoddart turned on him and there issued from his lips a spate of words that I hadn’t heard since my first husband had spat them at me almost every night during the early part of our marriage.
The next minute two of the policemen were bundling Stoddart into the back of the car; and one policeman following him in, leaving the other to pull Tommy from where he was leaning against his own car and to thrust him into the front seat of the police car.
Then they were gone and the street was quiet. Nobody had spoken to me until Mr Brown, taking my arm, led me back into the hall, saying, ‘What started that, Mrs Leviston?’
I stammered now as I said, ‘It … it was the boy’s father. He … he was insulting.’
Then pulling myself from his hold I said, ‘I must go; they’ll be at the station. I must see to Tommy … Mr Balfour, but I must lock up. I’ll take the boy with me.’
‘I’ll see to the boy when you bring him down; you can’t take him to the station.’
‘Oh, thank you, thank you, Mr Brown.’ I now dashed into the lift and when, a minute later, I ran into the kitchen crying, ‘Come on, get your coat on,’ Harold slid from the chair saying, ‘What? Where we goin’?’
‘You’re going down to Mr Brown’s.’
‘Mr Brown’s? What for?’
‘Look, all I can tell you at the moment’—I was bending over him now holding him by the shoulders—‘Mr Tommy has had a slight accident and he’s been taken to the … hospital. I’ve got to go and see him.’
‘He’s bashed up his car?�
��
‘No, no; the car’s all right.’
‘Was he knocked down?’
‘Yes. Yes.’
‘Where?’
‘Never mind. Never mind. Come on; get your coat on.’
‘Can I take Sandy?’
‘No. No, close the door.’
I now dragged him into the hall, leaving him there whilst I ran to his room for his coat; then as I thrust it onto him his questions came at me: ‘Where did he have the accident? You’ve just gone down, how do you know?’
I pressed my lips tightly together before I said, ‘It happened in the street as he was getting out of his car.’ The last thing I wanted him to know was that his father was implicated.
When I reached the basement flat Mrs Brown greeted me with, ‘Don’t worry, he’ll be all right.’
‘Which hospital do you think they are likely to take him to? There’s Beeside or Crunch Road.’
Hospital. The poor woman seemed stumped for a moment; but luckily, light dawning on her, she said, ‘Oh, yes, yes, of course, the hospital … Beeside, I should think.’
‘Be a good boy.’ I touched Harold’s head. He looked at me intently for a moment then turned away, and I ran up the area steps.
Beeside Police Station was the nearest, five minutes walk away, four if I verged on a run.
I verged on a run, and didn’t stop until I was outside the door of the police station. But there I stopped, my jaws locked tight: I hated police stations, I was petrified of them. I pushed the door open into a small hall, then another door into a large room. The desk ran down one side. Two policemen stood behind it, and a man in a light mackintosh was leaning rather nonchalantly on the counter. They had been talking, but they stopped and looked towards me as I approached.
‘What can I do for you, miss?’ No-one ever took me for a missis. ‘I’m … I’m Mrs Leviston. I … I would like to enquire if two men, one of them my friend, were brought here a little while ago?’
‘We get lots of men brought here, miss. What are their names and why were they brought in?’
I stiffened and my tone conveyed my feelings as I said, ‘His name is Mr Thomas Balfour. He is a director of Rington and Houseman the publishers. He was attacked by a man named James Stoddart. Now if they have been brought in here I don’t suppose they have escaped your notice and my name happens to be Mrs Leviston.’
The two policemen behind the counter were standing straight now, as was the man in the raincoat. The policemen exchanged glances; then the one in charge, adopting a manner similar to my own, replied, ‘No, it didn’t exactly escape our notice, Mrs Leviston, that the men in question were brought in. I can inform you that they are now in the cells awaiting attention from the doctor after being charged with causing an affray and avoiding arrest.’
‘Mr Balfour did not avoid arrest, it was Stoddart, Mr Stoddart.’
‘Well, ma’am, Mr Balfour will be capable of explaining for himself.’
‘May I see him?’
‘I’m afraid you can’t, not at the moment.’ He had taken pleasure in saying this and he was about to go on when the man in the raincoat moved nearer along the counter and caused me to turn on him as he said, ‘Haven’t I seen you before, Mrs Leviston?’
‘I don’t know, have you?’
His eyes travelled over me and rested for a moment on my short arm. Then his tone smooth and oily, he said, ‘Aren’t you Miss Miriam Carter, the writer?’
I glanced from him back to the two policemen who were now giving me their full attention, before I answered, ‘Yes, I am Miriam Carter also.’
‘I thought you were. I was at the trial up north when your … your er—’ He looked towards the policeman before ending, ‘your first husband was sentenced.’
‘You must have found it very interesting.’
I knew I was assuming the wrong attitude with these men but I couldn’t help it, and I recognised too late that this man was a reporter of sorts and that I’d got his back up, as I had that of the policeman, and the fact that I was a writer would do nothing to soften their attitudes towards me. The reporter’s manner had been rather deferential up till now but when he said, ‘Is he your boyfriend then, this Mr Balfour?’ I exclaimed, ‘How dare you!’
Oh my goodness, I did sound as if I was in a Victorian play. But heedlessly I went on, only now using the vernacular of the writer and making matters worse by saying, ‘The connotation of boyfriend that you assume in this case is wrong; Mr Balfour is my friend and he was the friend of my husband.’
‘Which one?’
I looked from him to the policemen as if asking for help, for of a sudden I felt like a pricked balloon and I knew I was about to cry: it was as if I was doing battle against three opponents and I knew I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t stop my lips from trembling or my eyes from blinking. I turned and went hastily from the room, out into the hallway, and there I stood for a moment with my hand pressed over my eyes before going into the street.
I did not run now but walked slowly and I had gone no more than a dozen steps when I heard someone coming behind me. I half turned to see the other policeman, the one who hadn’t spoken, approaching. He was a tall man, over six foot, and he bent down to me and said quietly, ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Leviston, it’s nothing serious, just a squabble. He’ll be out in the morning. He will have to go before the magistrate of course, and he’ll get a small fine. It’s always happening.’ He smiled now as he went on, ‘The other one will likely get more than your friend because he had a tussle with the uniform.’ He pointed to his chest.
The tears were sticking in my throat: I could bear the kindness less than I had the aggressiveness; and now they rolled down my cheeks as I muttered, ‘That man, he was a reporter, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes. They’re always around scraping up the dirt. But I shouldn’t worry, he’s got nothing to go on. Anyway, go home now and think no more about it. They’ll both appear in court at Crunch Road round about eleven in the morning. It all depends on how many cases there are. By the way—’ His long length came down even further as he ended, ‘I enjoyed your book. My wife got it from the library, but the horse business tickled my fancy so I read it. And I remember thinking that the judge was right in what he said at the end about us feeling lonely at times and needing something to fill the gap and what better than an imaginary animal.’
There were nice policemen. This man was kind; yet he certainly hadn’t looked it back in the station. I said, ‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’
‘You’ll be all right.’ He patted me now on the shoulder as a father might but he could only have been in his mid-twenties.
‘Goodbye,’ I said.
‘Goodbye, Mrs Leviston,’ he replied.
Head down, I cried all the way back to the house. I couldn’t stop myself; and I began to wish that the policeman hadn’t been so kind. I went upstairs and washed my face and straightened my hair before going down to collect Harold.
‘How are things?’ said Mr Brown.
‘All right,’ I replied, forcing myself to smile because Harold’s gaze was intent on me.
‘Was he badly hurt?’
‘No, no, not badly. He’ll be coming out in the morning.’
‘Oh, that’s nice,’ said Mrs Brown. ‘And he’s been a good boy,’ and she chucked Harold under the chin.
After thanking them both I left without having asked Mr Brown to see to the cistern. Bangs in the roof could wait.
Once we were out of the flat and had entered the hall Harold turned to me and said, ‘It was me dad, wasn’t it, Uncle Tommy was fightin’?’
My mouth fell into a gape. ‘Where … where did you hear that?’
‘I heard them talkin’ in the other room, Mr and Mrs Brown.’
‘You were listening?’
‘Yes, I was listening, ’cos they were actin’ funny. Why were they fightin’?’
I took off my coat and without further words led the way into the drawing room, ignoring as I did so Sandy’s
barking coming from the kitchen.
When we were both seated before the fire I did not look at him but, bending forward, I joined my hands tightly together on my knee and said, ‘Do you like your father, Harold?’
No answer came for a moment, and then he said, ‘Not very much.’ Then after a pause, ‘No; I don’t like him at all. Never ’ave. I liked me mum but she went orf. But that was a long time ago.’
Yes it was: four years and more was a long time to a child.
‘Then you won’t be sorry if you miss going out with him tonight?’
‘Out with ’im tonight? No, no, I won’t.’
‘Well, that’s what he came for, to take you out, because he’s going away to work for a time and he wouldn’t be here at the weekend. And … and he wanted to come up and when I put him off he became—’ How could I explain to him how his father had become fresh. I used the word he would understand and said, ‘Nasty tempered, and he said something to me that wasn’t nice and … and I slapped him.’
‘You did?’ The tone was almost joyous. I turned and looked at him.
He was grinning at me.
‘Where did you ’it ’im?’
I too grinned as I said, ‘Across the face.’
‘An’ what did he do then?’
My grin disappeared. ‘He hit me back.’
‘He did?’ He slipped from the couch now and stood in front of me, gripping my hands. ‘He hit you back, me dad?’
‘Yes. I … I suppose it was reaction.’
‘When me Uncle Max knows that he’ll knock his bloody head clean off.’
‘Harold!’ And I had begun to think he had so improved during these months he had been with me. He pulled his chin into his chest, saying now flatly, ‘Well, he would. An’ the others too; they don’t like me dad. Gag doesn’t neither; she’d swipe his ears for him if she knew he’d hit you. But did me dad push Uncle Tommy under a car?’
‘No; Mr Tommy wasn’t pushed under a car at all. He saw what was happening as he got out of the car and that’s what started the fight.’
Harold Page 9