‘Well, she doesn’t think she’s going to get you without taking the rest of us on, does she?’ John was looking over David’s shoulder, holding Sarah’s eyes now. ‘She takes one, she takes the lot—the Three Musketeers, one for all and all for one, isn’t that it, Dan?’
‘You’re a fool. Take no heed of him, Sarah,’ said Dan.
‘Well, we’ve always hung together, haven’t we, against authority…politics, religion, and…women?’ He smiled broadly as he said the last word. Then, coming towards Sarah, he held out his hand. She placed hers in it, and when he covered it with his other large square palm and said gallantly, ‘But not—not this one,’ she had the strange desire to fall against him, to put her arms around his thick neck and cry and cry and cry and cry.
This feeling, unheralded, springing upon her from nowhere, was as frightening as the hate which had attacked her in the bedroom a short while ago, and again, as on that occasion, she was trembling, every pore in her body was moving. Her breath quickened; her neck swelled and the pain in it became so unbearable that it forced itself up the back of her throat and into her eyes. She closed them tightly to stop the flood escaping, but it was no use.
‘Oh! Oh! Don’t, don’t, Sarah. Aw! What is it? Come now, come now.’ Their voices were floating around her, exclaiming, soothing. Their hands were touching her, her arms, her shoulders, her head, patting, patting. Her feelings changed now into panic; she wanted to push them off, all of them, and fly from the house. It was only a momentary feeling; it was gone as quickly as it had come.
Through her blurred vision she put out her hands and grasped those of David. His hands were different altogether from anyone else’s. She gripped them and turned her face into his shoulder, and the others melted away.
The room became quiet, there was only David and her. There would always be only David and her. The rage, the fears, the strange emotions, were things of the past. There came upon her spirit a quietness which even the thought of Mary Hetherington or the loss of her immortal soul could not dispel: she had David. Next week she would have him for life and she would know peace.
Six
‘Well, how do you feel?’ Dan leant his big head across the table towards Sarah as he whispered the question.
‘Fu…funny.’
‘Not f…funny-daft, funny-nice, eh?’
‘Stop acting the goat, here’s the waiter.’ David, the red veins on his cheeks seeming more prominent because his skin was a shade paler, pushed Dan upwards by the shoulder.
The waiter had a bottle in his hand which he presented to Dan as if for him to read the label, saying, ‘All right, sir?’
‘All right.’ Dan nodded. The waiter tore off the lead cap, pulled out the stubby-headed cork and proceeded with practised art to fill the four glasses with the sparkling wine.
When the waiter had departed and they had the glasses in their hands David said under his breath, ‘Either you’re loopy or you’ve come into money…Champagne! You’re daft, man.’
‘Drink it up and stop your nattering…Here’s to you both.’ Dan held out his glass. It was on a level with John’s, but John did not speak, he merely inclined his head.
The wine had very little taste, Sarah thought. Its only noticeable effect was the gas which pricked her nostrils. But it was champagne. Fancy her drinking champagne! Oh, Dan was kind. He was a nice man was Dan.
‘This is the life.’ Dan was sitting back in his chair beaming. ‘Wednesday morning and me not at work. It’s never happened before. Every Wednesday morning at this time’—he looked at his watch—‘quarter to twelve, in comes Mrs Flaherty, and we have the same performance, it never varies. If her old man’s had the dole or not, the programme is as usual. “What’s your ham the day, Mr Hetherington?” she says. Give her her due, she’s about the only one that gives me me title. “Wan and two, Mrs Flaherty.” I’m very deferential to her; we’re both deferential to each other, and she has me talkin’ the Irish as broad as herself.’
Dan was addressing himself solely to Sarah and she was smiling at him. She knew he was doing his stuff to put them at their ease…oh, Dan was nice.
‘“Wan an’ two, Mr Hetherington. Aw, dear God, Aa couldn’t go for that, not this smorin’. An’ what’s your back?”
‘“The short is a shillin’, Mrs Flaherty, and the long is eightpence.”
‘“Begod! It gets dearer…” And us the cheapest shop in the town, cutting everybody else’s throat.’ Dan made this quick aside to David, and David choked on his drink.
“‘What about a bit of collar, Mrs Flaherty?”
‘“Aw, it’s always too lean an’ it kizzles up in the pan. Like the top of his boots he says it is; he’d throw it at me he would…collar!”
‘“Well, I’ve some nice streaky here, now how about that? There, look, that’s a nice lean piece, an inch or more running through its middle!”’ Dan held out the table napkin and Sarah could believe it was streaky bacon she was looking at. ‘I tell you I’m talkin’ as thick as she is by this time. And this happens every Wednesday in life.’
They were all laughing now, even John; and with the bubbles from another sip of champagne making her screw up her face, Sarah asked, ‘What did she have in the end?’
‘Pieces.’
Their laughter turned into a roar and they made individual efforts to stifle it while glancing round the half-empty hotel dining room. And they were returning to normal when Dan finished laconically, ‘Three pennorth.’ His accent was exaggerated now into broad Geordie, the inflexion high on the last syllable. They were off again, unrestrained now, and Sarah thought wistfully, Oh, if we could go on like this all day right ’til the night, just laughing and carrying on.
There was no doubt in her mind that Dan could have kept them laughing for a week, but within the next hour or so she would have to face Mary Hetherington, and the prospect, when she let herself think about it, was terrifying.
The meal began with sole, and when the main course turned out to be duck, and this accompanied by another wine, David, looking at Dan, shook his head reprovingly, ‘You shouldn’t have gone to this, man.’
‘Why not? You mind your own business and tuck in, that’s all you’ve got to do.’
‘Don’t worry about him throwing his money about.’ John was looking at Dan. ‘It’ll take a little weight out of the stocking leg and he’s got stacks of them piled away, and not even Mrs Flaherty could get her big toe into one of them.’
Sarah, laughing with the rest, looked at John and realised that it was the first time he had opened his mouth since they had left the registry office. He looked slightly off colour, and his manner was not so boisterous as usual. He was not striding ahead as though the world were a football at his feet. That was how she saw John, this brother of David’s, who was so totally unlike him. Perhaps she thought he was worrying about the child, but the boy was getting better now; or perhaps he’d had another row with his wife.
It wasn’t until an hour later, when they stood in King Street, outside the hotel, that she felt she had been given the reason for John’s quiet manner and him looking so off colour.
David had just said, ‘I don’t know how to thank you, Dan. Do we Sarah?’ And she had shaken her head dumbly.
‘Look,’ said Dan, ‘it’s nothing. Anyway, it’s only half your wedding present…I’m opening another stocking leg.’ He thrust his hand out towards John on this remark.
David too had turned to John, and he asked, ‘Where you going? You coming back home?’
‘No,’ said John, ‘I’m off to the Labour Ex…’ He bit sharply down on his lip.
‘So that’s it?’ Dan was standing with his chin pulled in. ‘I was wondering what was up with you. You’re out?’ His face was screwed up. ‘When did this happen?’
‘Aw, my big mouth. I was off me guard…Oh, for over a week.’
‘For over a week? And you’ve never said anything?’ David’s voice held a reproach. ‘Does May know?’
‘No, nobod
y knows; at least they didn’t.’ John’s head was wagging as if it had been snapped at the nape. ‘I thought I’d be set on afore this, it’s just one of those things.’ His head bounced up now. ‘Don’t start being sorry for me, either of you.’ His eyes were round and bright, his face and manner aggressive. ‘Look, they’re not getting me on the scrap heap, I’ll be in work next week.’
‘What happened?’ Dan asked quietly. ‘I thought it would be the last place to pay off, and you the last one.’
‘Well, there was no more orders for boats; big, little, tall, or small.’
‘But your place only dealt with small craft. I thought there was still a market for them from the south, and for lifeboats.’
‘Aye, well, so did everybody else, but they seem to have all the boats they need in the south. And nobody seems to be getting drowned now as there’s fewer ships on the water so nobody wants any more lifeboats. And that’s something to be thankful for, isn’t it, nobody getting drowned?’ He was grinning now, a false grin. ‘Look.’ He took them all in with a swing of his head. ‘Don’t let it be on my conscience that I’ve put a damper on the proceedings. Don’t be sorry for me, for God’s sake. I’m all right. For weeks ahead, I’m not broke, but I’m not going to let the blasted government get off with anything. No, by God, I’m going to get some dole out of them.’
‘You won’t get any for a fortnight, anyway; they don’t recognise the first week and then there’s three days lying on.’ Dan was still talking quietly.
‘Tell me something I don’t know, man. Anyway, I told you I’ll be at it again next week and I’ll tell them what to do with their dole. But look.’ His manner changed abruptly and his voice became serious as he turned to David. ‘Don’t let on to me mother, mind.’
‘No, no, of course not. Although’—David was now smiling wryly from one to the other and his eyes came to rest on Sarah as he finished—‘I think it would be really the best time to tell her, for she’ll be going at us two so much it’ll pass over her head.’
His words were meant to reassure Sarah but they failed, and it was evident to the three men. Dan said briskly, ‘It’ll be all right, never fear…Well, I’m off to…Westoe.’ It seemed as if the name had brought a self-consciousness to him, for his laugh was sheepish.
‘Go on, you old roué.’ Sarah could not understand this remark of John’s. She did not know what a “roué” was but she could gauge that it was something not quite nice, for as Dan looked at her there was a pink tinge under his skin. The next moment he was holding her hand, saying, ‘I wish you all the happiness in the world, Sarah.’
‘Thanks, Dan.’ Her voice had a cracked sound.
‘And mind you, you make the best of those three days in Newcastle and when you come back I’ll have one room cleaned out at least, if not papered…I’ll put the big fellow on here.’ He grabbed at John’s arm. ‘You know what he is when he gets started, skull, hair, and whitewash flying…God bless you.’ The last was soft as a benediction and it was almost too much for Sarah. That is what the priest would have said, ‘God bless you’—at least Father Bailey would have said it.
Now John was standing in front of her. He did not touch her, not even to take her hand, but he looked deep into her eyes, past the worried surface of her mind, past the deeper level where lay the love she had for David, down, down, until his gaze reached a depth in her she did not know existed. She did not retreat from the return of the strange feeling, but wide-eyed watched his lids droop, the short black thick lashes creating a shadow on the broad high cheekbones. She was married and safe, she had nothing to fear from strange feelings or anything else…except perhaps David’s mother.
‘All the best.’ It was an ordinary, trite remark, used on such occasions. It was intended to mean everything, it usually meant nothing. Again John repeated this as he now shook hands with David. ‘All the best, man,’ he said. And David, gripping his shoulder with his free hand, answered, ‘Thanks, John, thanks.’
David now took Sarah’s arm and turned her about and across the road to where the tram was, the same tram that had carried her part of the way home during all her working days. Now she would use it no more—not as Sarah Bradley, anyway. She was Mrs David Hetherington. She made an effort and forced her shoulders back and lifted her head. What could they do? What could any of them do? Her father, his mother. She was married, legally married…
Dan and John stood still on the pavement watching them until they boarded the tram, then they waved.
‘Better them than me.’ Dan’s voice was low. ‘Your mother’s going to play merry hell. That lass is going to have a time of it. We’ll all have to stand by her. Davie alone won’t be able to screen her. You know what your mother is when she gets her fangs in, and she hasn’t had a target for a long time. We’ll all have to act as a buffer in one way or another, she’s too nice to be nooled.’
‘I can’t see anybody nooling her.’ John spoke as he looked ahead to where the tram was disappearing into the distance. ‘I mean, I can’t see anybody wanting to nool her. And me mother puts up with May.’ John now turned and glanced at Dan, a quizzical smile twisting his lips.
‘Yes, but May married you, she didn’t marry Davie. The truth is, your mother didn’t ever have any intention of anybody marrying Davie, at least that’s how I figure it. She pretended to accept the lass knowing that the scales were weighed heavily against her, her coming from the bottom end and all that, and she was hoping that the weight would gradually tell on Davie—religion, background, the lot. Of course, I might be wrong.’
‘You’re never very wrong, Dan.’
Dan turned and looked at his nephew. There were six years between them, but this was in no way apparent, they had always looked and felt equal. Dan said now, ‘You look off colour. Are you worrying about being out?’
‘No, no, I told you…No, by God.’ He turned his head round on his shoulder as if looking at someone behind him. ‘No. They’re not getting me to rot at the street corner. Don’t you worry about me, Dan. I’ll fall on me feet, I always have. Now, I’m off…And by the way, thanks for the meal. You went to town, didn’t you, and it was decent of you. I thought about making them a dining table and chairs. I can get the wood at cost.’
‘Oh, they’d be tickled pink at that; that’s a good idea, John.’
‘Well, I’ll be off. So long, Dan.’
‘So long, John. See you the night.’
‘Yes, see you the night.’
Dan crossed the road, and John turned the corner and went in the direction of the station, his stride long and quick. He reached the yard and made for the urinal, and there with his body bent double and his hand against the wall he retched.
‘You feeling bad, mate?’
John wiped his face with his handkerchief. The sweat was running in rivulets down from his hair. After nodding at the man he said, ‘Eating too well…duck and champagne.’
‘Aye, begod, you’ll get sick on duck and champagne these days, on seventeen bob a week. Aye, you’ll get sick on that. Sick for the want of a good feed. You all right now?’
The man’s reaction to John’s remark had been what he had intended, and after he had nodded at him the man went on, ‘Duck and champagne. You’d have to be in Parliament to have duck and champagne these days. Even the mayoral banquets wouldn’t sport that the day in case the smell got into the streets and sent people mad. Something should be done…it’ll have to be done.’ The man pointed his thin dirty finger at John. ‘We’ll have to hang together, that’s the solution. The bloody unions will have to find out whose side they’re on. Why aren’t they up in London doing somethin’? There’ll be riots afore long, you’ll see.’
If the fool didn’t shut up he would push him on his back. He turned away from the man and kept his face to the wall, and the voice coming from a distance now said, ‘That’s it, get it up. It’s better out than in, whatever it is.’
Left alone, John again turned and leaned against the wall. ‘Get it up,’ the m
an had said. ‘Better out than in.’ But the man didn’t know that he was sick in two ways.
A mixture of sauterne and champagne and duck had been too much for his stomach which had grown accustomed to the dull diets of an indifferent cook. But this was a kind of sickness you could get rid of. He wished to God the other could be vomited up in the same way. What had Dan said? They would all have to act as a buffer between her and his mother. That was funny that was, damned funny, for Dan didn’t know that from the minute he had seen her that night in the front room he had wanted to act as a buffer between her and the world.
Before he’d had May he’d had his practice. He knew all about women. From when he was fourteen and looked seventeen, and the lasses had made a beeline for him, he’d had them; he couldn’t help but have them, for they had tripped over themselves to get him to touch them. He’d had his first lass when he was fifteen. His mother would have had a seizure if she had known. Yes, he knew all about women, but he had never loved any of them. Wanted them? Oh, aye, wanted them until he couldn’t bear himself. Lusted after them was the phrase. He had wanted May but he hadn’t loved her, but he had taken her and she had seen that he damned well paid for that bit of frisking. She was the only one, at least to his knowledge, whom, as his mother would have said, he had got with child. Paul had been born prematurely. He had laughed at that. He wondered if the midwife had laughed too. If she had, she hadn’t done it in front of him or his mother. Everything that had happened to the child since had been put down to his premature birth. Did a child ever become aware that he had been born of lust and not love? He had told himself that as long as you had the other thing you could live without love. That’s what he had told himself. Until the night he had walked into the front room to see the lass their David was going to marry. That night he had said to himself, Don’t be a blasted fool, it couldn’t happen as quickly as that. But the passing days had proved him wrong. He was known as the big fellow, he liked the title. But the bigger the weight the harder the fall, and by God his fall had been hard.
The Blind Miller Page 10