‘And now they’re both in the clink?’ His eyes were bright; he was enjoying this.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘they’re both in the clink.’
‘Bloody hell! Well, sorry, but … but I’m glad Mr Tommy hit me dad, ’cos me dad hit you.’ He reached out now and put his arms around my neck and as he clung to me and I held him tightly there penetrated the room Sandy’s yelping bark, which caused my adoptive son to press back from me and say lightly, ‘Listen to that little bugger barking his bloody head orf.’
His mouth in a wide gape, he stared at me and his nose twitched, his eyes blinked and his fingers jerked in mine before he brought out, ‘Well, it’s ’cos I’m excited. They always come out when I’m excited, but they’ll go orf, they’ll go orf. Anyway, listen to him.’ And he pulled himself from my hands, backed two or three steps, then scampered from the room.
I lay back on the couch. They always come out when I’m excited. I would have to hope and pray, wouldn’t I, that in future he wouldn’t get excited and that they’d … go orf. That’s another thing I must see to, that orf.
What a night. What a weekend. And what a life.
Yes, what a life for a nondescript person such as I knew myself to be: my days should have been mundane, my life should be running smoothly, uneventfully. Even my efforts over the past months to educate had ended up with ‘Listen to that little bugger barking his bloody head orf!’
Seven
I was in the outer hall ready to leave the flat on the Tuesday morning to go to the court when the bell rang and Tommy stepped out of the lift. His normally long, lean-looking face was swollen, at least one side of it: one eye was black and puffed almost level with his nose; the lower lip seemed to be at least twice its size and it had evidently been stitched, and as he walked with a slight limp towards me I backed from him, saying, ‘Oh, Tommy! Tommy. I … I was just on my way to … to the court.’
‘I’m … just … on my … way … from … it.’ His words were spaced and he spoke out of the corner of his mouth.
‘I’m sorry, so sorry.’ I held out my hand and took his and led him back into the flat. Janet was in the drawing room dusting and she turned on our entry, saying, ‘Oh my God! Mr Tommy. Oh my God!’
‘And … mine too … and … mine too, Janet. But … please don’t say … anything that will make me … want … to laugh.’
‘Oh! Mr Tommy! Ooh! When the lads get a hold of him it won’t only be his face that’ll get it, I’m tellin’ you … What did you get?’
She was asking all the questions, so I let her go on, and Tommy answered, ‘Fined ten pounds and … and bound over to keep … the peace.’
‘And him?’
‘Fifty pounds and bound over … longer … term.’
‘They should have jugged him. Who does he think he is? Darin’ to make a pass!’
I had given Janet all the details; I couldn’t have given her any reason for slapping the man otherwise.
‘I knew he was up to something, dressing as he has never done before, ragbag he used to be. But the nerve of it, him thinkin’ he could get his foot in here. If I ever come across him again I’ll spit in his eye.’
I tried to stop the flow: looking at Tommy, I said, ‘What would you like, coffee or something stronger?’
‘Stronger.’
‘Will you bring the decanter, Janet, please?’
‘Yes, will do.’
‘And bring the sherry, too,’ I called after her.
A minute or so later I had poured Tommy out a stiff measure of whisky and Janet and myself sherries. Tommy did not hold up his glass, nor did I, but Janet, raising hers, said, ‘Here’s hoping he falls off the scaffoldin’ and breaks his blasted neck.’
‘Oh, Janet! Don’t.’ Tommy’s hand was raised in protest; then, looking at me, he said, ‘I’ll swear to you this moment, Maisie, that I’ll never do a wrong thing in my life … ever, nothing that will ever get me into a … a cell again. Last night covered a whole eternity.’ He drew in a sharp breath and put his hand to his ribs, then said, ‘God Almighty! I don’t know how they stand it. It’s a … wonder … the prisons aren’t turned into … lunatic asylums.’
‘Are your ribs paining?’
‘Yes, two cracked ones. They say they can’t do anything, that they heal themselves. Your son-in-law punches well … with his feet, Janet.’
‘Mr Tommy, you’ll do me a favour if you’ll not connect that man with me again when you’re referrin’ to him. He’s out of our lives now and he stays out. Well, he will be when our Maggie gets her divorce, or he gets it from her, one or t’other. Oh, my goodness!’ She threw off the rest of her sherry, put the glass down on the tray, then said to me, ‘I’ll make a shepherd’s pie. That’ll slide down, ’cos he won’t be able to chew with that mouth.’
As she left the room I sat down on the couch beside Tommy and, taking his hand, I said, ‘Thank God for Janet and Harold … and you, my dear, for I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come on the scene. And yet, if you hadn’t you wouldn’t have been in this state, nor have spent the night in a cell. Oh, I am sorry.’
‘All in a good cause. It would be … gallant to say, I would do the same again, but not until … I get over this lot. So don’t go slapping anybody else, will you … dear.’
‘Oh, Tommy.’ I gently touched his swollen face, then said, ‘How are you going to do business looking like that?’
‘Oh, I’ll be a sort of hero, don’t you know. By the way, I phoned God the Father’—he was referring to Mr Houseman the head of the publishing firm—‘and the old boy came trotting along last night around ten o’clock and demanded to see me. He’d even managed to get hold of our solicitor and bring him along. It was after the doctor had been and declared I wasn’t hospital … material. He was very concerned. He’s a good old stick. He said I had done the right thing and thought it was real sporting of you to slap that fellow’s face. I saw you do it, you know. I nearly ruined my brakes pulling up so … so quickly. Anyway, they would have got me out on bail, but the police doctor had said I was best left where I was overnight. Then I think the solicitor advised me to plead guilty this morning as that would … give the best chance of keeping your name out of it … and the way things went I reckon he—or somebody must have got Stoddart to do the same. Maisie’—his words were coming slower now—‘do you think I could lie down for a while, I’m feeling ropy.’
‘Of course, of course. Come on, get up.’
I took his arm and led him, as if he were an old man, from the room and into my bedroom. But there he stopped, saying, ‘Oh, no, no; the other room where I used to kip.’
‘That hasn’t been aired for some time. Look; take your outer things off and get underneath the eiderdown and have a sleep; you’ll feel the better for it.’
‘Thanks, my dear. Thanks.’
As I left the room I thought it strange that Tommy should be lying in my bed where he had wanted to lie for such a long time, but not under these present circumstances.
When Janet left at two o’clock Tommy was still asleep. He didn’t waken until four when his face seemed more swollen than ever and he had a splitting headache. I took him in a strong cup of tea and when he said, ‘I must get up and away,’ I replied, ‘Don’t be silly. And look; if you go back to the flat, who’s going to see to you?’
‘But I can’t stay here all night, what I mean is … ’
‘I know what you mean. But I’ve a chaperon haven’t I? He’s in the kitchen now demanding to come in and see you. What is more, and of which I was indirectly reminded in the police station last night, we are now living in nineteen eighty-four. So you’ll stay put for tonight. By the way, could you drink some soup? I’m afraid Janet’s shepherd’s pie has got a little dry.’
‘Nothing, thank you, dear; another cup of tea and a couple of aspirins.’
I let Harold bring the tray which, on seeing Tommy’s face, he almost let fall. I took it from him, placed it on the side table, put anoth
er pillow behind Tommy’s head, then said as I handed him the cup of tea and the aspirins, ‘It’s rather hot, be careful.’ And all the while Harold, struck into silence and mouth agape, surveyed the result of his father’s work. Then as Tommy was about to take a sip from the cup, Harold exclaimed, ‘Me dad did that to you?’
Tommy swallowed painfully before answering, ‘Yes, Harold, this is your father’s handiwork.’
‘Does it ’urt?’
‘Yes, yes, quite a bit; he’s got very hard hands, has your father.’
‘What’s his face look like?’
‘Well, from what I saw of him this morning, pretty much like mine, but I didn’t look closely.’
‘Me Uncle Max’ll sort him out. I’m glad you hit him ’cos he hit Mrs Nardy. I’m not goin’ with him again on a Saturday … I’ll tell him.’
‘Come on, dear; Tommy wants to rest.’ And I took the cup from Tommy, put it onto the tray, which I then handed to Harold, saying, ‘Take it into the kitchen; I’ll be there in a minute.’
When the door had closed on him I turned to Tommy and said, ‘It looks as if there’ll be trouble in that direction. Anyway, I don’t think anything more can happen at the moment.’ Then I added, ‘Oh, by the way, I’ve got some steak. Janet went out and got it. That’s the cure for black eyes; I’ll bring it in.’
I’d said nothing more could happen. I should have kept my mouth shut. It was about half past six when Gran rang. Her voice was high as she almost shouted, ‘That you, Maisie?’
‘Yes, yes, of course, Gran. Anything wrong?’
‘Nothing this end, but I see you’ve done it again.’
‘Done what again?’
‘Got yourself into the papers. My God, lass! You’re the one for notoriety.’
‘What do you mean, I’m the one for … ?’
‘Well, haven’t you seen the evenin’ paper?’
‘No, I haven’t.’
‘Well, you should get it. I don’t know what it’ll be at yon end, it’s headlines here. Our name must be mud.’
I drew my head back from the phone and waited, and her voice came again, ‘You there?’
‘Yes, of course I’m here, waiting for your bad news that you appear determined and delighted to tell me.’
‘By God, lass, no, I’m not delighted to tell you this: two more men squabbling over you in the street, their faces bashed to bits, an’ the heading “Local authoress hits headlines again. Mrs Leviston, better known as Mrs Stickle, wife of the man serving twelve years for trying to burn her to death, also sports another name, Miriam Carter, under which she writes about her life with a talking horse.” Then it goes on about a brawl atween the father of the boy you have adopted—I knew that would bring no good, I’ve said so all along—and a publisher by the name of Mr Thomas Balfour. Apparently Tommy saw you slapping the father of the child and him punching you back and so he joined in. My God, girl, what are you up to now?’
‘Goodbye, Gran.’ I banged the phone down and flopped into a chair near the telephone table. That was a woman who had loved me, and I had loved her. What changed people? One time she would have laughed and been proud of my name mentioned in the paper, no matter what the circumstances.
I pulled myself up from the chair, took my coat from the wardrobe, went into the kitchen and said to Harold, ‘I’m just going to slip along to the paper shop.’
‘I’ll go for you.’
‘No, no; you stay with Sandy; he misses you when you go out and he doesn’t see you all day. I … I won’t be a minute or so.’
The paper shop was three streets away and just about to close. I bought two evening papers: the London one and another I’d not seen before which seemed more suburban in origin. When I returned home, I went into the drawing room and opened the first one. I scanned the pages, but could find nothing and certainly not the headlines Gran had sounded off about. Then I turned to the other, and there in a sort of gossip-column feature was that reporter’s handiwork.
Talk about bitchiness among women! After revealing I was better known as author Miriam Carter, the writer claimed that ‘in an interview’ Mrs Leviston had denied publisher Thomas Balfour was her boyfriend, at least not as generally understood today, merely a close friend. How close she hadn’t specified. Then he went on to say that Stoddart had stated after leaving court that he was unwarrantably attacked by Mrs Leviston’s friend because the said friend thought he had struck Mrs Leviston when all he had done was try to evade a second blow from her, provoked by nothing more than his inviting her to accompany him and his son, whom she had recently adopted, out for the evening.
I put the pad of my thumb in my mouth and bit on it till I could stand the hurt no longer. Then my eyes returned to the end of the piece, and there I saw myself described as: ‘a small woman, in looks and stature reminiscent of the late Edith Piaf, but not—one ventures to think—with quite the same personality. And yet, it would seem men are prepared to fight over her!’
I would see my solicitor. I knew Edith Piaf had been a wonderful singer with a strong personality, but she had died twenty years ago when I was still at school and photographs I’d seen suggested she had been oldish and a little wizened woman.
Well, wasn’t I a little plain woman? I felt sick, so sick and alone I wanted someone to hang on to, to clutch at, to hold me. Life was getting me down and strangely not by catastrophes but by niggling occurrences which were sapping me both physically and mentally, the former definitely through that pain in my stomach …
I did not tell Tommy of the newspaper report for he, too, I knew, was very low: his ribs were paining, his head was throbbing, his mouth seemed more swollen than ever. When I had insisted he must stay the night he hadn’t protested over much. He had said it was the first time since his schooldays that he had been in a scrap and he was definitely out of practice.
It was just after eight o’clock when the phone rang again and I welcomed the sound of Mike’s voice. ‘How are you?’ he said.
‘Pretty ropy at the moment,’ I answered.
‘Gran was in the surgery tonight.’
‘Oh yes?’ I knew what was coming.
‘Don’t worry your head about that report; you’ve got to get used to that kind of thing.’
‘What, have two men fighting over me?’
‘Oh, Maisie, the things that happen to you. Elizabeth Taylor will soon have to look to her laurels with this kind of competition.’
‘Mike, don’t joke about this.’
‘You’ve got to joke about it, you’ve got to laugh about it, girl. Anyway, I haven’t phoned up about that. I’m attending a conference in Brighton at the weekend, Friday till Monday, and it was my intention to look in. Besides wanting to see your funny face again, I’d thought we’d have a talk about this strange disease of yours. I’m not happy about the sound of it; it’s gone on too long. You still getting the pain?’
‘Yes, I am, and it was bad last night.’
‘Aggravated by worry, I suppose.’
‘It needs no aggravation, Mike. When I’m feeling perfectly all right it hits me, and it’s getting me down. I’m … I’m so glad you’re coming, Mike. When I said I was coming up to see you I fully expected to, but now … well, I don’t think I could stand the journey; I feel so weak at times. Oh, I’ll be glad to see you, Mike. I wish you were here at this moment; I want a shoulder to cry on.’
‘Where’s Tommy?’
‘In my bed, Doctor Kane, at this moment.’
‘You don’t say!’
‘I do say. I also say that the poor fellow’s in a bit of a mess.’
‘My, my! Anyway, I must be off now, I’ve got some calls to make because I’m the only doctor in Fellburn, or in the whole of the county for that matter.’
‘You are?’
‘Yes, I’m positive of it, because during my nights on call the phone never stops ringing.’
‘You’ve got two partners, what about them?’
‘Oh, they’re no good. I tell you, I
’m the only real doctor about, so I must away.’ Then his jocular tone changing, he said, ‘Goodbye, dear. Keep your pecker up, and when things get bad just remember that people are sinking all around you but you are on a raft.’
People sinking all around you but you are on a raft.
That was telling me there were many worse off than myself. At one time Hamilton would have put in an appearance and I would have nodded at him and said, ‘Remember that and be thankful, you’re on a raft.’ But there was no Hamilton now. I might be on a raft, but it was a straw one.
Eight
It had been an eventful week. I had to call the doctor in to see to Tommy.
Doctor Bell had apparently read the evening paper, so he did not raise his eyebrows at finding in my bed a man whom he had never seen before when visiting the house. Anyway, he said Tommy should stay where he was for the next two or three days as he was running a slight temperature.
Following this I scampered about: I went to Tommy’s flat and brought him back some nightclothes, besides another suit and accessories.
It was a weird feeling to see that big fellow lying in my bed. Nardy had been of medium height and slim, my own height hadn’t been dwarfed by his, but Tommy’s six foot two made me feel like a pygmy at times, especially when we were outside and must appear like father and child, at least from the back.
So busy had I been looking after Tommy that the affair concerning our neighbours sank a little into the background, though never for a moment actually forgotten, for whenever I heard the phone ring, or the lift bell, I was ready for battle, thinking it might be the Captain being barefaced enough to call. And at times I would feel irritable at the thought that I’d let the Mohican persuade me to hold my hand.
By the Thursday I was glad that Tommy was out of bed, dressed and sitting in the drawing room because I myself was feeling far from well. Strangely, I did not feel this odd pain during the day, but every night now it either stopped me from going to sleep or woke me up, and its effects were staying with me now long after it was gone.
Harold Page 10