Harold

by Catherine Cookson

  I put my arms up and pulled his big grey head down to mine, and as I kissed him I said, ‘I’ll always remain your lass, Georgie, because you were the first good man in my life.’

  Patting my cheek gently, he said, ‘Well, if that’s the case I know now why I was born, ’cos, you know, at times I’ve asked meself why I was put on this earth. I’m not all mouth you know, Maisie, I do use me napper sometimes. But anyway, now I know.’

  On this he smiled, then turned slowly about and left me, and as the door closed on him again it came to me how lucky I had been: weighed against the disasters there had been four wonderful men in my life and of these three were still with me. Not every woman could say that.

  Tommy had driven Gran and Georgie to Janet’s. They were to get a taxi back. He had then spent the evening with me; at least, he had spent it with Harold and me until, at nine o’clock, I had bundled that gentleman off to bed, after persuasion I might say, lined with threats that I could easily change our plans and not have the Captain collect him in four days’ time and bring him to the boat. He had laughed at me and said, ‘But you wouldn’t do that, Mrs Nardy, would you?’

  And I had replied sternly, ‘Oh, yes, but I would.’

  He had appealed to Tommy, and Tommy had shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘I can’t help you here, laddie. If she makes up her mind … well, you know her better than I do.’ This piece of diplomacy worked and Harold went to bed, and after I’d tucked him in I left him with his books and comics and a promise to come back in fifteen minutes to see him.

  When I was once again sitting beside Tommy he did not look at me but towards the fire as he said, ‘What are we going to do about this … Mrs Nardy?’

  ‘Do you mind so much?’

  ‘No, no; not really, but every time I hear him say “Mrs Nardy” I’ve got a feeling somehow … well, that you still belong to Nardy, that you’ll never really be mine.’

  ‘Tommy’—I had taken his hand—‘we’ve been through this in different ways. Nardy was a part of my life, a wonderful part, but that is past now. I won’t say it’s forgotten, I could never forget Nardy, but now there is you, and I love you, in a different way from how I did Nardy. Now don’t ask me to explain which way, I can’t, only I beg of you, be content to know that I do love you. I want to be near you; I want you to be near me; the house is empty when you are not here. I want to do things for you. Aren’t these all facets of love?’

  He made no answer but kissed me long and hard, and then I said, ‘I shall try to get him out of it. How would Mrs Tommy sound?’

  ‘Not bad.’ …

  It was around half past ten when I said, ‘I’m going to throw you out.’ And to this he answered, ‘Oh, I’ll wait till Georgie and Gran come back.’

  ‘No, you’ll not. I’m going to get ready for bed; I want a good night’s rest. Anyway, Georgie’s got a key.’

  Taking me in his arms, he said, ‘This is the last night we’ll be separated. What do you say?’

  I looked up at him and solemnly I said, ‘I wish you were a little shorter or I was a little taller. Don’t you think we look ridiculous together?’

  ‘Terribly ridiculous.’

  ‘And you don’t mind?’

  For answer he put his hands under my oxters and lifted me off my feet. Now I cried at him, ‘Don’t do that! It always makes me feel so small.’

  ‘Well, you are small.’

  ‘Well, you needn’t rub it in.’

  And so it went on, our silly chatter, until I almost pushed him into the lift. And when I entered the hall again I stood for a moment and looked round it. The house was empty except for Harold, Sandy and myself; it would be the last night we should be alone together.

  I now went into Harold’s room. He was lying on his back, his arms above his head, the bedclothes were around his waist. I lifted them gently up to his chin and resisted bending to kiss him in case I should wake him; then I went into my own room, got into a dressing gown, and went back into the drawing room to await the return of Gran and Georgie because, as I told myself, I couldn’t put off until the morning to hear Gran’s reaction to the Flood family.

  It was when the clock in the hall again struck the half-hour that I rose to my feet, thinking to myself, They’re leaving it late. And it was as I made my way down the room towards the hall that I heard the distant sound of high laughter. When I opened the hall door into the outer hall and the lift stopped there almost tumbled out three figures, Gran, George and Max Flood, and to use Gran’s own expression, they were all as drunk as noodles.

  As I backed into the hall they joined arms and came staggering towards me, singing now a favourite of Gran’s:

  ‘Keep your feet still, Geordie hinny,

  Let’s be happy through the neet,

  For we may not be se happy through the day,

  Oh gie us that bit comfort,

  Keep your feet still, Geordie lad,

  And divvent drive me bonny dreams away.’

  Definitely Max had been tutored because he was singing as loudly as they; and now, flapping both my hands at them, I cried, ‘Soften it! The child’s asleep, and there are people now downstairs.’

  ‘Sorry, Mrs Nardy.’ Max was supporting himself with one hand against the stanchion of the door and he spluttered, ‘Had to fetch ’em home. Gran’ night, Mrs Nardy, gran’ night. Taxi waitin’.’ He thumbed. ‘Goodnight, pal.’ He reached out and slapped Georgie on the shoulder; then looking at Gran, he said, ‘Goodnight, old girl,’ and to this she answered, ‘Goodnight, lad. Goodnight, lad. See ya the morrow.’

  ‘Aye, see ya the morrow. Goodnight. Goodnight. Goodnight, Mrs Nardy.’ Max was stumbling now towards the lift, and I rushed forward and pulled the door back and foolishly said, ‘Will you be all right?’

  ‘’Sright as rain. ’Sright as rain. Goodnight, Mrs Nardy. Goodnight.’

  I did not wish him goodnight but, pointing, said, ‘Press that button,’ then slammed the door into place and watched his grinning face disappear from view.

  When I returned to the hall, Gran was divesting herself of her hat and coat, and with one sleeve still in her coat she rounded on me, saying, ‘Why didn’t you tell me, eh?’

  ‘Tell you what?’

  ‘They were a decent lot. Best night I’ve had in me life. Eh, Georgie?’

  ‘Splendid fellas.’

  ‘Stuck-up you said they were.’

  ‘What?’ I poked my head towards her swaying figure.

  ‘Janet’s lot, stuck-up, that’s what you said. Fine lot of lads, Janet’s lot. Speak as ya find. Speak as ya find.’

  ‘Go to bed.’

  ‘Oh! Oh! Gettin’ on your high ’orse, are you? D’you hear her Georgie? Go to bed, she says. Go to bed. Where d’you think I’m goin’, Buckingham Palace?’

  She now fell against Georgie, and he, being able to hold his drink better than his mother and sensing my indignation, said, ‘Come on, Mam. Come on. Talk ’bout it in the mornin’.’ He led her now towards the passage, but looking over his shoulder, he said, ‘Grand night, lass. Grand night. As good a pub as any I’ve been in. Goodnight, lass. Night, lass.’

  Why wasn’t I laughing? Why was I full of indignation? How dare Gran turn the tables on me like that? Well, I’d wanted her to get to know Janet’s family, hadn’t I? And she had definitely done that. But to come back in that state!

  All the years I’d known them I’d never seen them drunk. I knew Gran liked her drop, and definitely Georgie could put it away, but they were now both paralytic. That was a northern term and the only one that really described their condition …

  When I heard the bedroom doors close I thought, I should go and help her to get into bed. But why should I? No, no; I wouldn’t. I turned round and went towards the hall door and locked it, and I was making for the corridor again when Harold appeared rubbing his eyes. Going hastily towards him, I said, ‘Now what’s the matter?’

  ‘The noise, somebody yellin’.’

  ‘Oh, it was only Uncle G
eorge and Gran coming back from your Gag’s; they’d been having a party. Come on, back to bed with you.’

  When I tucked him up again and said, ‘Go to sleep now,’ he answered, ‘I don’t want to go to sleep. I’m not tired any more. What time is it?’

  ‘Nearly midnight.’

  He gazed up at me, then said slowly, ‘We’re nearly in tomorrow.’

  I pursed my lips, raised my eyebrows as I said slowly, ‘Yes, we’re nearly in tomorrow.’

  ‘When you’re goin’ to be married?’

  My face sank into its usual pattern as I replied, ‘Yes, you know I’m going to be married tomorrow.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well.’ Candidly I was stumped for an answer that I thought he could cope with: I couldn’t say, because I love Mr Tommy, that would have likely caused him to think that I didn’t love him. I fluffed as I said, ‘Well, so that Mr Tommy can stay here all the time.’

  ‘He stays here all the time now.’

  ‘Not at night-time.’

  ‘If you get married he’ll stay here at night-times an’ you can’t push him out.’

  ‘Well, I won’t want to put him out. Now go to sleep.’

  I attempted to tuck him in again and he pushed my hand away, saying, ‘I don’t want to go to sleep.’ Then he added, ‘You’ll want to put him out if you get divorced.’

  ‘I have no intention of getting divorced.’

  ‘Well, you can’t until you’re married an’ then you might.’

  There was logic in that. But why was this conversation taking place? I thought he had accepted the situation.

  I said now, ‘I thought you liked Mr Tommy?’

  He turned his head away, then bit on his thumbnail which I hadn’t seen him do before and I repeated, ‘I thought you liked Mr Tommy.’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘When are the times you don’t like him?’

  ‘When you like him … a lot … overmuch.’

  I had to remind myself that this child wasn’t yet eight. His reasoning could have stamped him as being fourteen, or more. There had been a lot going on in his head that I hadn’t been aware of; I’d been concentrating so much on his language and his manners that I’d skipped the fact of more important issues that must have been troubling him.

  I sat down on the side of the bed now and, pulling him round towards me, I said, ‘Listen to me, Harold. I love you. I love you very much. You came into my life when I was very sad. Yes, I know, you lived here before that when Mr Nardy was alive, but when Mr Nardy died I was very, very alone and if I hadn’t had your company then I might have become very ill in my mind. You understand?’

  He said nothing, but his eyes were wide. ‘The fact is, your companionship kept me sane. You meant more to me then than anyone else in the world, and you still do. I … I love Mr Tommy, but … but in a different way, a quite different way. The love I have for you is very special, nobody can take it away.’

  ‘Not Mr Tommy?’ His voice was small.

  ‘No, no. And he wouldn’t want to; he too loves you. And he knows how I feel about you; we have talked about it. You are my son now and you will be his too. He will be a father to you. I know you have a real father.’ As I spoke I wasn’t thinking now of Jimmy Stoddart, but I went on, ‘Who would you rather stay with?’

  For answer he did not say Mr Tommy, but, ‘Not my dad. I don’t like my dad.’ He turned his head away and as he did so I thought, some day I will tell him why he doesn’t like his dad.

  He hitched himself round now and asked softly, ‘Can I come and lie in your bed?’

  He had never made this request before, and I hesitated a while before I answered; and then it was by evasion: ‘No, you’re not going to get up again. I’ll tell you what. Look, I’ll lie beside you until you go to sleep.’ And at this I pulled the eiderdown to one side and got under it, and when I put my head on the pillow beside his, he put his arms around my neck and, bringing his head under my chin, he lay perfectly still. And I didn’t speak, not until I felt something wet on my skin, and then I murmured, ‘Oh, my dear, don’t … don’t cry. Anyway, what are you crying for? There’s nothing to cry about.’

  When I tried to press him away from me to dry his face he held on all the tighter, and when I heard him mutter something, I said, ‘What did you say?’ and then more plainly his words came to me: ‘I thought you’d be like my mum when she got another man an’ you’d go off. Although she said she wouldn’t, she did. She said she’d come back for me but she didn’t. An’ you had Mr Nardy an’ now you’ve got Mr Tommy, an’ … ’

  ‘Oh, Harold.’ I pushed him from me and, my voice full of indignation, I said, ‘You didn’t really think that I would ever leave you or let you go or be like your mam?’

  ‘Well’—he choked on his words—‘People do go off. Johnny Rankin’s mum’s gone off. He told me she had. His dad’s on night shift, so he comes an’ fetches ’im. People do.’

  ‘I’m not people, Harold. I’ll never go off and leave you. You’ll be the one to go off and leave me some day.’

  ‘No, I won’t.’ He sounded like his old self. ‘I’ll never leave you.’ His arms were once more tight round my neck, and as I stroked his hair I thought, here was I thinking I had an insight into people, imagining I knew what they were thinking. Clever clouts, as Tommy had called me, yet I didn’t know what this child, this beloved child who was under my nose every spare minute of the day, was thinking, nor had I detected beneath his brashness the feelings that must have been troubling him for some time, the insecurity that lay deep within him and which he had explained by the fact that a woman could somehow disappear after taking a second man into her life.

  We held each other tightly for a long time. When his head sank into the pillow mine did too, and we both slept.

  Eight

  I was aroused by someone shaking me gently by the shoulder, saying, ‘Come on, wake up! I brought you a cuppa tea. It’s eight o’clock. Come on.’

  I twisted round and groaned. There was a kink in my arm. I opened my eyes and looked at the bright face hovering over mine.

  ‘Harold!’

  He was laughing. ‘You went to sleep in my bed.’

  Last night’s scene flashed back into my mind and, pulling myself up onto the pillow, I said, ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right.’ He wagged his head widely. ‘You were under the eiderdown an’ I couldn’t pull the clothes round me this mornin’, so I got up.’

  ‘And you made me a cup of tea. Oh, that is kind of you. Oh, dear me, fancy falling asleep in your bed.’

  ‘Come on,’ he said now, ‘an’ drink your tea. You’ve got to get up, you know; you’ve got to get dressed an’ all that.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ I sighed; ‘I suppose so. But I could just sit here.’

  ‘Don’t be silly; Mr Tommy’ll be around any time.’

  ‘Yes, yes of course he will. By the way, is Gran up?’

  ‘No, Mr Georgie is, but Gran’s moanin’, she’s got a thick head. I took her some tea in an’ all.’

  ‘That was nice. I’m sure she’ll be glad of it.’

  He stood and watched me while I drank the tea; then I said, ‘Well, I’d better get away to my room, hadn’t I?’

  ‘Will I put some toast on?’

  ‘Yes, that would be nice, dear.’

  ‘Are you gonna have a fry?’

  ‘Not for me.’

  ‘Mr Georgie will want one, an’ so will I. An’ Gag’s comin’ early, she said she would, so I’ll set the table, will I?’

  ‘Yes, dear. Yes, you could do that.’

  He was near the door when he turned and said, ‘Funny thing.’

  ‘What’s a funny thing?’

  ‘Sandy. He went into your room and sniffed round and he couldn’t find you so he’s lyin’ on your bed.’

  ‘Poor Sandy. I must go and see him; he’s felt neglected of late.’

  The door closed on him and I lay back for a moment. Either my boy was c
ompletely reassured or he was putting on a good act, and I didn’t think he was that clever yet.

  I felt very happy.

  When I entered the bedroom, yes, there was Sandy lying on the bed. On the sight of me he jumped into my arms, and as he snuggled his head under my chin I had the warm feeling that I had a family, and this morning I was to have a man to be at the head of it.

  I heard Janet arrive, and I heard Gran leave the room next door, but I didn’t go out to speak to one or the other; I should hear all about it later.

  I had a bath, made up my face, then put on my clothes, except the costume in which I was to be married, donned a housecoat, then went out and into the kitchen to find Janet clearing away the breakfast things. She was on her own and when she turned towards me I could see that it wasn’t only Gran who was suffering from a thick head; but she grinned at me and I at her. Then I said, ‘No need to tell me how it went.’

  ‘Oh, ma’am! I’ve never known a night like it.’ She put her hand to her head. ‘An’ you know, it’s the first time in my life I’ve known what it is to have a thick head. A drop of sherry’s my limit, as you know, ma’am, but I couldn’t tell you, if I tried, what I had last night. And Gran’—she now gave a short laugh—‘you talk about “Knees Up Mother Brown”; you should have seen her with the lads. Oh, she’s a star turn! She had the whole pub roaring; they think she’s the cat’s pyjamas. They couldn’t knock her down; she had them all singing Geordie songs. I couldn’t believe it, at least what I remember of it. And when we got home it started again. If Georgie hadn’t reminded her that there was a wedding today she would have stayed there all night. I’ll say this much, ma’am, your ruse worked all right.’