Harold

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘The Mohican.’

  His smile widened and he nodded, ‘Yes, the Mohican.’

  ‘I … I thought … ’

  ‘That they had done for me? I thought so too, and I wasn’t the only one.’

  ‘You’ve … you’ve changed.’

  ‘No, this is me, or will be when my hair grows again.’

  When my face screwed up in disbelief the effect was painful, for my skin seemed to crack and my voice was a mere whisper as I said, ‘You weren’t really one of them?’

  ‘No; only pretending. But it was a long pretence, over two years. In the end I … well, I really felt that I had become … the Mohican.’

  ‘You’re a … ?’

  ‘Policeman.’

  ‘Never!’

  ‘Yes. Don’t I look like one?’

  ‘No, not at all.’

  ‘Well, I am. Detective Sergeant James Bainbridge, at your service.’

  ‘Not John Drake?’

  ‘No, James Bainbridge.’

  ‘What happened to you, I mean after? It seemed to go in your neck, the knife.’

  ‘Well, it did somewhat, but just above the shoulder blade, and luckily missed the jugular. But it would have been Goodbye Mr Chips if it hadn’t been for my connection. He had learned they were on to me, and he was about to get in contact when he saw me walk away from the shop. There was a signal he would have given me as he passed, but then he recognised you. I don’t suppose you’ll remember an American tourist with a slouched hat when you crossed the road? Anyway, he expected you to go into the shop and was about to pass you when you changed your mind and walked on. It was then he became aware of the car; he recognised the driver and immediately contacted a squad car. They arrived just too late to rescue you and pick the others up but soon enough to get me to the hospital. So there you have it, the story of my life.’

  ‘What was it all about … drugs?’

  ‘Yes, drugs. And in a big way.’

  While he spoke I found myself sitting on the couch in that room and my head swam as I jerked and said excitedly, ‘I … I know where they are stored. In a dress shop, she’s called Liz, a sort of boutique.’

  He squeezed my hand between both of his now, saying, ‘Yes, I know, my dear.’ He called me my dear so naturally. ‘I got the information out of you some time ago, and because of it the sister nearly finished me off; the effort had been too much for you and you sank back into yourself for two or three days. They wouldn’t let me in after that.’

  ‘And you went there?’

  ‘Yes, but in a bunch.’

  ‘Did you get those men?’

  ‘Oh, they’d been picked up some time before. Trucker and the psycho, and the ringleader of that little mob who went under the name of Bunty, they were clear for almost a week after they dumped you. And I don’t suppose you’ll remember a man and his dog walking along the cliff path that night?’

  I started to grope in my mind, and then I saw a bounding labrador and I said, ‘Yes, yes, I do. Yes, I remember, especially the dog.’

  ‘Well, that man was a bit curious when later, and almost dark, he saw those two men that he had passed earlier on get into a car, but there was no sign of the girl they’d had in tow. There are some houses close by and he thought they might have been taking the girl home. That was until it came out in the papers that you were missing; and I was sufficiently round by then to give a description of the black car and the three that were in it. It all linked up, and the search for you began along the foot of the cliffs. Without much hope at first; they thought you would have been swept out to sea because the tides were high about that time and a bit rough. But you hadn’t even reached the shore; there you were on a narrow jutting piece of rock and being held in place by some shrub. You hadn’t fallen halfway down the cliffs. But when you landed you did yourself a great deal of damage, and they never expected you to pull through. You know, you’re a miracle: there wasn’t a part of your body that wasn’t bruised or battered or broken, even your left leg, they tell me, is lacerated. Strange, that this’—he wagged my short arm—‘should escape.’

  I had that frightened feeling on me again.

  ‘What did you find in the shop?’ I asked.

  ‘What we expected, a good hoard. It would have brought in about two million pounds on the street. And not only that. She was petrified, Miss Liz, and to save her skin she blurted out quite a bit of very helpful information, something that we had been trying to piece together for the last four or five years. It was a connection with a yacht that was lying along the river and owned by a very respectable citizen and an old tub based in Hull that did trips across the channel and linked up with a foreign craft.’

  He drew in a long breath and slumped back in his chair before he said, ‘I’m glad it’s over. I was sickened at times. And you know, it’s the easiest thing in the world to take to that stuff, and I must admit it was difficult at times not to, especially being a … Mohican.’ He now pressed my hand and added softly, ‘I liked the sound of the Mohican and I liked you from the day we sat at Mum’s table when I faced up to Stoddart. I felt we had a lot in common then; and we have shared quite a bit since, haven’t we?’

  I don’t know if there was any colour in my face but it felt hot. To dampen down on my emotion I asked, ‘Didn’t anyone know the truth about you?’

  ‘No; that would have been fatal. I was sent from another area, and I was soon on the blacklist of the fellows in two of the stations. The only connection I had was the American tourist, Dave Radlett; we were in the same squad. Of course, he wasn’t an American tourist all the time’—he laughed now—‘he was a barrow boy one time until some of the real ones threatened to do him in. The same happened when he took up a paper stand. Oh, we were very versatile, we blokes. And by the way, it was Dave who collared our gentleman friend and his lady wife, Mrs Beckingtree-Holland. He’s doing eighteen months now, and she’s on probation. Oh yes; to say the least we are very versatile … and frightened out of our wits half the time.’

  ‘Oh, John.’

  ‘Do you think you could call me Jim?’

  ‘No, I don’t. I’ll never be able to think of you as anyone other than John or the Mohican.’

  ‘That’s a pity.’

  The look in his eyes brought the colour to my face again, and I asked, ‘How did Hilda not guess?’

  ‘Oh, Hilda. Hilda never questions.’

  ‘Was she always like that? I mean, did she always dress like that?’

  ‘No, no. Give her her due, she was almost a replica of May when I met her, but of course with only half of May’s intelligence. But she’s easily influenced, is Hilda.’

  I said somewhat stiffly now, ‘She’s a very nice girl really, I think.’

  ‘Yes, she is, she is, and she was much too good for a … Mohican or anyone of his breed. But as things are now … well.’

  I let my head fall back into the pillows. He had used Hilda. That wasn’t like the Mohican. And he was being patronising towards her, and that wasn’t like the Mohican, at least not like the Mohican I thought I knew.

  ‘What does the family think of what has happened?’

  ‘Oh, they are very chuffed. You can imagine it. Funny how people’s opinions can be altered by the clothes you wear.’

  ‘Well, you can’t blame them for that.’

  ‘No, I suppose not. But you know, the reason some of the kids dress up in this gear or dye their hair six different colours is mostly through boredom. You know, we’re all imitators and gregarious: we live in mobs and we know that if we aspire to be different we’re ostracised.’

  In the ensuing silence the door opened again and in came Tommy, and on the sight of me sitting up, my eyes open, he let out a long drawn, ‘Oh … h!’, placed a great bunch of flowers on the side table, then came round the bed and, bending over me, he took my hand, which I’d taken from my visitor’s, and holding it tightly pressed it against his chest, and he said, ‘Oh, my dear! How wonderful. You’re looking gra
nd.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Tommy.’ I closed my eyes. ‘I’m plaster from head to foot; how can I be looking grand?’

  ‘Don’t talk back to me, woman; when I say you’re looking grand, you’re looking grand.’ He bent and kissed me on the lips, and when he straightened up he looked across the bed to where the Mohican was standing now, and he said, ‘Isn’t she marvellous?’

  ‘Yes, she’s marvellous, and I’ve just been telling her so.’

  ‘Good. Good. Oh.’ He bent over me again and, taking my face in his hands, he squeezed it, and again my skin seemed to crackle. ‘We’ll soon have you out of that. And I’ve got news for you.’

  ‘I’ll have to be going now.’

  We both looked to where the young man was standing very straight in spite of the fact that his neck and arm were bandaged, and Tommy said, ‘Be seeing you then.’

  ‘Yes, be seeing you. Goodbye, Mrs Leviston.’

  ‘Goodbye … John.’

  The Mohican smiled, then turned about and went out.

  ‘Nice fellow that, brave as they come. My goodness me! To think what he’s been doing all this time. I take it all back, what I said about him. Anyway—’ Tommy now pulled a chair up to the bedside, then went on, ‘I was right in a way, he wasn’t what he appeared to be. And like you, he’s lucky to be alive. Oh, darling.’ He now hitched the chair nearer to the head of the bed and, stroking my cheek, he said, ‘You’ve got no idea what I’ve been through all these weeks.’

  It was still in me to laugh. My head shook, my arm and my leg shook; I daren’t let my stomach or my ribs shake, they were too painful.

  And now he was laughing out loud, saying, ‘That was funny, wasn’t it, saying that to you. But you know what I mean: I’ve been in agony every day, and they’ve had to throw me out; I’ve become a perfect nuisance.’

  My face was wet. Then after a moment, as I sat looking at him, I suddenly thought of Harold and asked myself why I hadn’t thought of him before.

  ‘How’s Harold?’ I said sharply. ‘Where is he? Who’s had him?’

  ‘Harold’s fine. He’s with Janet, and she’s going to bring him this afternoon. But he’s been here a dozen times already. And you know, I don’t think you need worry any more about the fight for priority in our affection for you, we’ve come to a sort of truce. And strangely, he seems to think your living or dying depended solely on me, and he promised he would do anything in the future if only I would see that you would be all right. Strangely, too, he’s gone off the Mohican since he knows he’s a policeman; in fact, he blamed him very verbally for getting you into all this trouble. And you know, he was right. And I blamed him too. I wanted to murder him at first, that was when you disappeared; policeman or no policeman, it made no difference. By the way, did he tell you that the Captain and his lady had been picked up?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, he did.’

  ‘But it didn’t come about through what they had taken from you; the Captain, at his original game, had been getting things on approval including a nice little bit of jewellery, and, of course, giving a wrong address. And you’ll be pleased to know that you’ve got your miniatures back, but not your rings.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘You tired, my dear?’

  ‘No, no. I was just thinking what a lot of stock we put on possessions, and yet they are only ours for a very short time. All that collection in the china cabinet: they all belonged to somebody else, going back down the years; they’re no use to them now as they’ll be no use to me some day.’

  ‘Come on, come on, stop thinking in that way. As I said, I’ve got some news. How would you like to go to sea?’

  ‘I wouldn’t; I’m not struck on the sea, I’m seasick.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to get over being seasick, I’m buying a boat. Oh no, I mustn’t just call it a boat, it’s a yacht.’

  ‘You’re not.’

  ‘I am, and with you in mind. You’ll love it.’

  ‘You’ll never get me on a thing that depends on sails … ’

  ‘This doesn’t depend on sails, it’s got twin screws and Volvo engines. And they’re dependable enough. Oh my dear, wait till you see it. It’s a peach; I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s sorry to part with it himself … Mr Percy Liddle.’

  ‘Then why is he parting with it? It’s likely got a leak somewhere.’

  Tommy laughed loudly now, saying, ‘Spring Fever wouldn’t deign to have a leak. No; he’s selling her because he’s going back to Switzerland. He’s got a business there. He had one here but like many another it’s losing money, and it’s an expensive business keeping a boat in harbour if you’re only going to use it at holiday time.’

  ‘What about the expenses to you, or whoever buys it?’

  ‘I can afford it.’

  ‘How much is it? I mean how much is it costing?’

  ‘Well, I’m getting him down a bit. He wanted thirty-five thousand for it.’

  I nearly lifted from the bed, then pulled my hand from his and held it to my head.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, dear. Does it hurt?’

  ‘Yes, it hurts. And that sum hurts too. You must be mad.’

  ‘No, I’m not mad. That boat today would cost between sixty and seventy thousand and be cheap at that. If things weren’t tight all round I wouldn’t stand a chance of getting it for the price I am willing to pay.’

  ‘It’ll take all your money.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. During the last two years, dear Mama’s little fortune has made more capital and I don’t use it, I’m a working man earning a salary. And anyway, if I lost every penny I’ve still got that property in the West End. I could sell it for a fortune now and would do so only the damn tax man would grab so much of it. And I’m not really used to that yet. Don’t worry.’

  ‘How big is it?’

  ‘About thirty-five feet. And it has a beautiful saloon upholstered in green and gold, carpets right through. It sleeps six, and has a real double bedroom with bathroom and shower. And that room has everything, wardrobes, dressing table, lounge couch, you wouldn’t believe what they can get into thirty-five feet. There’re two smaller cabins, single bunks, and then there’s another two singles which I understand were used by the crew.’

  ‘It needs a crew?’ My squeak hurt my throat.

  ‘Well, he had an ex-merchant-navy officer as Captain and another fellow who cooked and did general cleaning duties … oh, the galley. You’d be amazed. It’s a kitchen, and has a real washing machine.’

  ‘Never!’ There was a deep sarcastic note in my voice, and I closed my eyes. Apart from being tired by Tommy’s enthusiasm and the thought that his boat would be wasted on me for he’d never get me on it no matter if it turned out to be a luxury liner—the cruise I’d spent with Nardy had proved that neither of us were sailors—I wasn’t feeling well.

  ‘I’ve tired you. I’m sorry, dear. I’m thoughtless. But … well, I imagined it would cheer you up. Anyway, if we never put out to sea in it, it would be nice just to go and sit in it at weekends. People … do you know, they have boats that have never gone under London Bridge or moved upriver. Look, I’ll be quiet; you go to sleep.’

  I did not protest and say, No, I’m all right; I kept my eyes closed and my mouth shut. I was tired and I was in pain. Although very little of my body seemed to belong to me, it nevertheless registered aches and strange pains, especially the lower part of my stomach. I must ask about that. I wished Tommy would go. I wished everybody would go, especially the Mohican. Why had I said that? He had gone. I had a great desire to sink into that peaceful nothingness again. But not to die, except if I was going to do it properly, for I didn’t want to go through the experience of being dragged back into life.

  I knew the nurse had entered the room and I knew that she was standing at the other side of the bed looking down at me. Then her whispered words came to me: ‘She’s very tired. I’d let her rest.’

  Tommy was asking her a question. I didn’t know what it
was until I heard the answer and the nurse saying, ‘Oh, some long time yet, weeks, weeks. It’s very early days.’

  I don’t know how long I slept this time but when I awoke I was conscious of a small hand holding mine, and I lay for a while savouring the feeling before I opened my eyes; and there, standing close to the bedside, was Harold.

  ‘Harold.’

  He did not answer me. Then I heard Janet’s voice come from the other side of the bed, saying, ‘Well, say hello to Mrs Nardy. You’ve been talkin’ enough about what you’re goin’ to tell her.’

  Still he didn’t speak; but his eyes became wide and damp like my own, and when he bent and laid his head on top of the hand that was holding mine the tears flowed gently down my face. And Janet’s voice was stringent, yet with a break in it: ‘There you are now,’ she said, ‘see what you’ve done. The nurse’ll turf you out. I told you.’

  ‘Oh, Janet.’ I turned my head towards her.

  ‘How are you, dear?’

  She had never before called me dear.

  ‘Better, Janet. Fine.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you’re fine.’ Janet’s head was nodding vigorously now in denial.

  ‘I’ve got three stars.’

  It was as if he knew what would please me most, and I said, ‘Never!’

  He nodded, sniffed, and when his grandmother said, ‘Use your hanky. What have you got one for?’ he dived into his pocket, took out a clean square and blew his nose; then looking at me with the look of the old Harold, he said, ‘She always keeps on … Gag. Me Uncle Max says that’s what they’re goin’ to get her for Christmas, a big one, a gag.’ He hunched his shoulders as he looked across the bed at the frowning Janet, and I looked from one to the other and felt back home.

  ‘What did you get the stars for?’

  ‘Singin’ and writin’ and … an’ behavin’.’ His lips were nipped in; his eyes were sparkling, laughing at himself.