Rooney

by Catherine Cookson

  When he returned and was gathering up the stuff the man came to the door again and extended his hand towards him palm downwards.

  ‘Oh, that’s all right, sir.’

  ‘Good Lord!’ The ejaculation was full of surprise, and the only reason for it that Rooney could see was that he had hesitated in putting out his hand. The man stood looking at him as he rammed the rags into the boxes.

  ‘Cold job?’

  ‘Yes, a bit, sir.’

  ‘Perhaps you could help me about getting rid of some stuff. I’m clearing out the top rooms. There’s two brass and iron beds and two mattresses dropping to bits with moth, and a stack of other stuff. It’s no use to anyone; would your people take it?’

  ‘Yes, yes, they’ll send a lorry to collect it for you. All you need to do is to phone the cleansing superintendent. The only thing is you’ll have to get it down and stacked, say in the yard here.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll manage that. Thanks, I’ll do that. They’d come within a few days, would they?’

  ‘Yes. You tell them you’re in a hurry to get cleared, and they’ll meet you, I’m sure.’

  ‘Lance!’ The door was jerked again, but this time the little fellow held on to the knob.

  ‘Lance. I forbid you to dismantle those rooms.’

  The little man pulled a face and winked, and Rooney, laden with the boxes, went across the yard smiling to himself as he heard the fellow say, ‘Now, Mama.’

  Mama. It was laughable, but he seemed a nice bloke. He didn’t envy him his job with the old girl, though, yet somehow he thought he’d be able to manage her all right…Mama’s attacks were likely to bounce off that round, stolid body of her son.

  It was when they were having their break at the end of the road that he showed them the half-crown, and he did it more to cause a bit of fun than in any form of show-off, for it was agreed among them that what they received they stuck to. Pooling tips had years ago brought up some dissatisfaction, as it had been suspected that all donations had not found their way into the common purse. No-one had been accused, but four of them had felt that it was odd how Fred was always unlucky.

  Albert was the first to comment, he having been at grips with the old lady. ‘Well, I’m damned!’ he said. ‘She gave you that?’

  Rooney nodded—it was more of a joke when it was supposed to have come from the old girl.

  ‘It’s that bloody soft-soap look he wears,’ said Bill. ‘Makes all the old wives go for him. From Monday I’m partnering you, lad. Round Christmas, anyway. I’ll rattle the bin lids and you stick near the back doors and smile at the dames. If you do your stuff properly we’ll get enough to get a television.’

  ‘Who’ll get the television?’

  ‘Me,’ said Bill.

  ‘I thought you would,’ laughed Rooney.

  ‘Take some smiles to draw out half-crowns,’ said Danny. ‘Yet the old girl used to be pretty open-handed at one time, but she’s had to draw in her horns these last years…Well, come on, let’s get going…this won’t get you your television, Bill. It’s a watch I’m wanting meself.’

  With backchat and laughter they spread themselves out again, and for the rest of the day they were all merry, seeming to make an effort to send Albert off with pleasant memories. And at four-thirty, when Albert shook hands all round, he looked as if he were genuinely sorry to be leaving them. And to Rooney as they walked together out of the gates for the last time, he repeated what he had said earlier, ‘I’ll miss you, man.’ And he added, ‘There aren’t many blokes like you about, you know…easy to get along with.’

  Alone and walking homewards, his head down against the cutting wind that spoke of snow, Rooney was finding that his liking for Albert went much deeper than he had imagined. Perhaps it was because Albert had shown his own liking for him. There might be something in that. Yet he hadn’t imagined that Albert, or any other fellow for that matter, considered him other than an ordinary bloke. And anyway, that’s all he was, and he knew it. But it gave a chap a bit of a lift inside to hear something like that. That’s how Nellie must have felt when she thought her boss had remembered her services—sent her all gay and carefree…

  His mind was back on Nellie; it really hadn’t been off her all day, but he had made his work keep it layered down. But now he’d have to think of her…he wanted to think of her and what he was going to say to her. But—he pulled himself up—what he had to say must wait till after the funeral; he couldn’t talk about such things until this business was over. And anyway, what he’d better set his mind to during the next couple of days was to find some place to live, and quick.

  Before he entered the back door he knew there was company, for the buzz of conversation reached the yard. Committee, he thought, to debate Nellie getting the policy, and whether a rent book could really be left to anybody. And they certainly were going at it, he considered when he entered the kitchen. The door leading to the living room was closed, but he could distinctly make out Dennis’ high-pitched voice and that of his wife’s, but as he changed his shoes he was a little surprised to hear Jimmy’s deep tone, too, and the broad twang of Johnny. They hadn’t lost much time…must have come straight from work, the lot of them.

  His opening of the door seemed to cut off their voices, for no-one spoke as he entered the room. Then Ma, from her position in front of her daughter and the three men, turned and confronted him, saying, ‘Well!’

  It was no new addition to her vocabulary, and it left Rooney thinking, Aye, well, what’s it about this time?

  ‘You’ve got an eye-opener coming to you.’ Ma’s voice seemed to be dragged from the depths of her chest, and each word was ominous.

  Oh my Lord! was she going to start on him in front of all of these?

  ‘You took her side, didn’t you? I always knew you were gullible. But I warned you.’

  ‘How was he to know,’ said Jimmy, ‘any more than the rest of us?’

  ‘What should I have known?’ asked Rooney quietly. Ma’s head came forward like a charging bull about to gore its victim. ‘That she was a thief!’

  Rooney said nothing to this but stared back into Ma’s infuriated face.

  ‘She’s one of a gang…she’s a thief.’

  ‘Nellie?’ Rooney felt his nose expanding as his lips stretched, allowing for the incredulity in his voice.

  ‘Yes, Nellie! She was in on the robbery at the house in Westoe, the Bailey-Crawfords’ house.’

  Rooney looked towards Jimmy, and he nodded sadly and said, ‘Yes, it’s hard to believe, but they’ve been here and taken her.’

  ‘Taken Nellie?’

  ‘Taken Nellie,’ mimicked Ma.

  ‘What did I tell you?’ said Johnny, turning and spitting into the fire.

  Rooney looked sharply at him. It was evident that Johnny had it in for him and that he had spilled the beans to the old girl, and Ma’s next words left no doubt in his mind.

  ‘I’m giving you notice, Mr Smith, I’m having no improper carry-on in my house.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Rooney quickly. ‘I’m going. I was going to give it to you. And as regards improper carrying-on, I’d better warn you to be careful what you say.’

  ‘Warn me! I’ve got proof. And you’re welcome to her when she comes out of jail. I always said it would be either jail or the asylum. Sending flowers to herself! Did you ever!’

  ‘She never sent flowers to herself.’

  ‘She did.’ It was May speaking, and Rooney turned sharply and confronted her.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I happen to have been told by the proprietor of Portal’s when I went in to order our wreath. I gave her this address, and she said she knew it as the boy had brought some flowers here during the week, and she described who had bought them.’

  ‘After you asked her.’

  May’s face tightened. ‘This matter concerns our family.’

  ‘She likely wrote the letters to herself as well, for there’s nothing in her room, only this, and she
had no time to clear anything up today.’ Ma snatched up a piece of paper from the table, and with her lip curled back read:

  ‘You taught me things I never knew;

  The fascination of your sandy mane,

  Spun from the sun itself into golden strands,

  A lair for my hands,

  Your hair.

  Your neck,

  Tight, firm, forcing its strength against your collar in corded bands…’

  ‘Licentious twaddle! Did you ever!’

  Slowly Rooney’s skin began to burn as the five pairs of eyes were levelled at him, and only in time did he stop his hand from going up to his head. Their eyes were moving from his hair to his neck, but he could see that Ma was only now approaching the conclusion that the others had already arrived at, and as he watched the purple tinge creep into her face Jimmy began to laugh, a deep rumbling sound as usual, and it distracted attention from Rooney for a moment.

  May said tartly, ‘It’s neither the time nor the place, Jimmy, to practise your sense of humour.’

  Jimmy sat down. ‘I can’t help it. He knows what I’m laughing at, don’t you?’ He nodded towards Rooney.

  Rooney did not answer. Jimmy was likely thinking of his request asking him to put Nellie on her guard, and he was no doubt now thinking that it was he, Rooney, who had written Nellie the letters. Over a thing like that you would either have to laugh or get blazing mad. He was blazing mad himself; he was filled with such an anger that he was shaking with it. And it wasn’t only against this lot, but against Nellie…pinching, stealing! My God! Jewellery an’ all. That’s where she had got her money…What was he thinking? What about Grandpa’s letter? Yes. Aye, there was that. But what was a hundred and eighty-four pounds these days, especially the way she had been spending; and out of a job and looking up swell furniture.

  ‘You’ve been taken for a ride.’ It was Johnny’s voice, thick with satisfaction.

  ‘Well, mind you’re not taken for one, and in an ambulance.’

  The aggressiveness inside himself startled him. For two pins he would have laid Johnny on his back.

  Sensing this, Johnny retreated behind the armchair, and now Dennis’ voice took up where Johnny had left off.

  ‘You won’t be able to afford her ruby necklaces unless you find another appointment.’ Each precise word carried a sneer.

  Rooney had always wanted to hit this bloke—it had dated from that first meeting—but in the act of swinging about he stayed his hand. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘You heard; I have no need to repeat it.’

  Rooney advanced a step. ‘Say it again. What did you say about a necklace?’

  Dennis stretched his neck out of his white collar. ‘I said that you won’t be able to buy her one, not like the one she was wearing.’

  ‘What kind of a necklace?’

  ‘A ruby one. I’ve told you.’

  ‘Yes. And the brazen piece has been sporting it for days,’ cried Ma. ‘Daring to wear it…the nerve! If that Mr Crawford hadn’t seen her in King Street and recognised it and followed her here, she would have got off with it. Likely gone on.’

  ‘Six beads hanging from fil…from a sort of tin affair?’ cut in Rooney, still staring at Dennis.

  ‘For your knowledge, the tin, as you call it, was old silver.’

  ‘But they couldn’t take her for that.’

  ‘Why not? It was part of the stuff they’re looking for.’

  ‘It wasn’t! It isn’t!’ He swung about, looking rapidly from one face to the other. ‘I gave it to her.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Aye, me.’

  ‘You gave it to her? Where did you get it?’ This came from all quarters at once.

  ‘Never mind; I gave it to her.’

  ‘You’re lying.’

  Dennis delivered this flatly and with authority. ‘She’s one of a gang. I know, for I trailed her.’

  ‘Yes, you trailed her. And you trailed me an’ all. All through the park, up Stanhope Road, and she dodged you up the bank, near the station, didn’t she?’

  Dennis’ face was a study. He looked comical with surprise.

  ‘You sneaking rat, you!’ Rooney moved nearer.

  ‘What! How dare you! How dare you speak to me like that! You forget yourself. All I can add is that Nellie’s let herself down much further than I’d imagined…an ash-binner!’

  As Rooney’s fist crashed into his chin, Dennis’ feet shot up as if he were demonstrating a backward dive. He fell straight across Jimmy’s knees; and in a moment the room was filled with a bedlam of cries and exclamations of horror.

  ‘My God!’

  ‘You beast, you!’

  ‘What did I tell you?’

  ‘You’ve killed him!’ cried May.

  Rooney, rubbing his fist up and down the front of his waistcoat, cried back to this, ‘It would be a damn good job, too.’

  He knew that he would never have spoken like that to a woman if he hadn’t been possessed, but he knew he wasn’t himself—far from it, for he was possessed by a pulsing life that was speeding up his thinking and his actions and loosening his tongue. He could have set about the lot of them in this moment, Ma an’ all. Oh yes, Ma…he’d love to land one at Ma.

  He pulled himself together. He must be going barmy…he’d better get out.

  The same thought was in Ma’s mind. ‘Leave my house,’ she cried, ‘before I call the police.’

  ‘I’m leaving your house, don’t worry,’ he barked back at her. ‘But I’ll be back for me things the morrow.’

  ‘You’ll find them on the street.’

  ‘You do, if you dare!’

  He seemed to be towering over her. ‘You touch one piece of my furniture and I’ll have you up. I will, mind, if it’s the last thing I do. It’s about time somebody told you just how far you can go. Mind, I’m warning you.’ He pointed at the astonished and seemingly paralysed Ma.

  He moved away towards the door, past Johnny and Jimmy as they assisted the groaning and bemused Dennis on to a chair.

  May, turning from her husband’s side, like an angry vixen, cried at him, ‘This is what comes of taking a…a scavenger’—she used the old disparaging title—‘into the house! You’re a low, common…’

  ‘Aye, all that,’ he cut in sharply, ‘an’ more. But there’s one thing I’ll tell you: I’ll have to drop a bit to come down to this family’s level.’

  He went into the kitchen, banging the door behind him, and there, rapidly changing into his coat and shoes again and stuffing his old slippers into his pocket, he left the house. But once outside, in the dark of the back lane, he paused and wiped the sweat from his forehead. What had come over him? He had never had a row like that in his life. He’d never knocked a man down before; nor had he ever felt the blood racing through his brain as it was now, nor had his thinking been so keen…Nellie…they’d taken Nellie because of the necklace. But how? Why? Why hadn’t she told them where she had got it?

  He didn’t have far to go for that answer. She thought he had pinched it and was shielding him…Oh, Nellie!

  What was he to do? He asked this of himself as he stood in the main road. He could go to the police and say he gave it to her, and that he’d got it out of the bin. But would they believe him? Wouldn’t it be better if he went and saw the son and explained to him what he thought had happened—that the old girl, his mother, must have thrown the necklace away that day with all the rubbish, and when her jewellery and stuff was stolen she had imagined it had been taken then. It must have come out of that box with the bairns’ toys…The toys! That was an idea…Bill’s bairns might still have the toys. If Bill came along with him and said he’d picked up the toys for the bairns at the same time as he himself had taken the beads, then they would be more likely to believe him—or should he go by himself?

  He stood pondering beside a lamp-post. My God! Just what should he do? If Bill came with him and became implicated, it might mean them both getting the sack for helping themsel
ves. And Bill couldn’t afford the sack. Every now and again somebody had to be a guinea pig and provide a test-case, and like as not they’d make this one, for there had been one or two rumpuses lately over totting…But there was still Danny: he’d go to Danny; Danny would know what to do.

  Chapter Nine: The Champion

  When Mrs D opened the door, he almost pushed past her, saying, ‘I’m sorry for disturbing you, but I’ve got to see Danny.’

  ‘Yes. Well, come in,’ said Mrs D, laughing now at his back as he went along the passage. ‘Is something wrong?’

  Danny turned from the table, with his fork holding a melting-looking piece of buttered finnan haddock paused halfway to his mouth. The fork went to his plate again, and he asked, ‘What’s up, man?’

  ‘Everything, I think,’ said Rooney.

  ‘Nothing that a cup of tea won’t better,’ said Mrs D, going to the hob for the teapot.

  ‘You know Nellie, the one at the house? She’s been l…l…locked up,’ he stammered in his agitation.

  ‘Locked up!’

  ‘Aye. They think she took the necklace—a ruby necklace.’

  ‘A ruby necklace! What necklace?’ Danny pushed back his chair.

  ‘Here, drink this up,’ said Mrs D.

  Rooney took the tea without the usual acknowledgements. ‘What was stolen from the Bailey-Crawfords’ place. But I gave it to her.’

  ‘Look,’ said Danny, ‘drink that tea and then start at the beginning.’

  Rooney took only a short sip from the cup, then put it down and rubbed his hand tightly over his mouth.

  ‘It’s like this. Some weeks since, I was pushing the muck back when I saw a box full of bairns’ toys and beads. Bill took these for the bairns, and I saw a necklace affair and pocketed it, meaning to pass it on to Bill later. You see’—Rooney’s eyes flicked downwards—‘you came on the scene. And then it slipped me mind. And after I’d cleaned it up, it didn’t look a bairn’s piece, so…so I give it to her…Nellie. Well, when I got in the night, the house is up in arms. They’d been and taken her…the pollis. If she’d said where she’d got it, they would have been an’ collared me afore now, but she must have kept mute, thinking I’d pinched the thing.’