Bill Bailey

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Aye. Aye; that’ll be necessary.’ He now looked down on his joined hands. And he remained like that for some moments; and then he said vehemently, ‘I’d gaol every mother’s son of them that pass on a hill. There’s a type of driver whose one aim in life seems to be to get in front and stick there. They don’t give a damn what they pass, from a kid on a tricycle to a thirty-five-tonner articulated. That type wouldn’t take any notice if it was the Pope escorted by a bloody chorus of archangels.’

  She bit tightly on her lip, as she too now bowed her head. Even in his sorrowing he was himself.

  When his hand came out and caught hers, she jerked her head up as he said, ‘I wasn’t intending to be funny; that’s just me, ’cos I’m not in a laughin’ mood.’

  ‘I…I understand.’ She did not withdraw her hand; and now he said softly, ‘It’s a long time since I felt het up like this inside. I’ll never forget the sight of them lying there in the hospital. They phoned me straightaway, the police. You know why? Because he had me name in his wallet! I was the one he’d chosen to be informed if anything happened. He thought as much about me as I did of him, you know. He was almost half my age, but we were close. More than mates; like father and son.’

  They both turned now when a small cough came from the direction of the open door, there to see Mark standing.

  ‘I’ve got a pain in my tummy, Mam.’

  As Mark came towards them she withdrew her hand, then rose from the table, saying, ‘Come along. I’ll make you a hot drink.’

  ‘I’ll be going up.’ He had risen from the table and she looked towards him now and said, ‘I’m sorry I can’t be of any help.’

  ‘That’s all right. Nobody can help much in a situation like this. Goodnight. Goodnight, laddie.’ He ruffled Mark’s hair as he passed, and the boy turned round and watched him leave the room. Then sitting down on a stool by the stove, he said, ‘Mam.’

  ‘Yes, dear?’

  ‘Are you going to marry Mr Bill?’

  ‘What! Marry Mr Bill? Whatever put that into your head? No, of course not.’

  ‘Well, you were holding hands.’

  ‘Oh, that was because a friend of his has…is ill, and he’s rather worried about him. Is that what’s been worrying you, about me marrying?’

  ‘Well, no; but I think about it.’

  ‘Well, don’t think about it anymore because I shall never marry Mr Bill.’

  ‘Would you be his girlfriend?’

  ‘What! No, I certainly would not; never be his girlfriend. What makes you say such a thing?’

  ‘Well, people have girlfriends and boyfriends.’

  ‘Well, I’ll certainly never be Mr Bill’s girlfriend. A friend, yes, but not…well, his girlfriend. Do you understand?’

  The boy did not indicate whether he understood or not but when a few minutes later she handed him the hot drink, he said, ‘I like Mr Bill. It…it would be nice if you married him.’

  ‘Mark.’ She pulled a chair forward and sat down near him; and bending until her face was close to his, she said, ‘You’re nine years old; you won’t understand this, but Mr Bill is not the marrying kind, he doesn’t want to marry; he is what he calls a middle-of-the-road man. You won’t understand that either, as yet, but it means that he neither wants to marry, on the one hand, nor be entangled with…girlfriends on the other. Do you understand that at all?’

  He screwed up his face, then took another drink and said, ‘Katie says you’ll marry him; she bet me ten pence; but then she’s reading this story about a princess and them living happy ever after.’

  ‘Oh, my dear.’ She put her arm around him and pressed him to her, saying softly, ‘Why would I want to marry anyone when I have you and Katie and Willie. Come along now, and finish that drink, then up to bed.’

  A short time later, when she put out the light in her room she turned her face into the pillow, saying as she had done once before, ‘Oh my God!’

  It was four o’clock the following afternoon when she returned home from a visit to her mother. She was feeling worn out. Her armour had been dented in several places: she had listened to a tirade against…that man; she had heard of all the things her mother had sacrificed on her behalf, to send her to a private school, dressing her in the best, then for her to marry a freelance writer who would have left her roofless when he died but for her insistence that he take out an insurance.

  She had expected a greeting from the children en masse as she entered the house. It being half-term, she had left Mark in charge, instructing them that no-one must go out until she returned. But there was no sound from the sitting room or the kitchen or the study, and the only light showing was in the hall.

  She ran upstairs, calling, ‘Mark! Katie!’

  She opened the playroom door in some anxiety, then heaved a sigh as she saw them all sitting on the old couch.

  ‘What’s this? What’s the matter with you?’

  It was Katie who answered, her voice breaking, saying, ‘He’s gone. Mr Bill’s gone.’

  ‘What! What are you talking about?’

  Mark got up from the couch. His eyelids were blinking rapidly, and his lips trembled before he said, ‘He…he came this afternoon and took his cases…and his golf clubs.’

  She put her hand out against the stanchion of the door, and her voice croaked as she said, ‘Did he say anything? Leave a message?’

  ‘No. I asked him where he was going, and he said that he might be going into an hotel for the time being, and he left you a letter. It’s on the desk in the study.’

  She seemed to slide down the stairs; and there was the letter lying on the pad.

  Tearing it open, she read:

  I’ve had enough, Mrs N. I’m not one for suffering for suffering’s sake; and yesterday was a bad enough day. And I knew that sometime, my lugs being what they are, ever at the ready, I was likely to hear something that would knock the stuffing out of me, and I did just that, for I happened to step back towards the kitchen to tell you that I’d be going out early this morning when I heard the lad’s question. And if anything sounded final and underlined, your answer did.

  Enclosed is a couple of months’ pay in lieu of notice. And it’s funny, isn’t it? This is the first time I’ve written at this desk. Such is the irony of life…Anyway, I’ll get to sleep now nights instead of wanting to come along the landing and bash your door down. You can tell your mother she was right. That’ll make her happy.

  Bill.

  She put one hand tightly over her mouth, the other hugged her waist, and like this she walked up and down the narrow room half a dozen times. Then she stopped abruptly before rushing from the room and into the hall and to the telephone table and grabbing the yellow pages directory from its drawer. There were two hotels in the centre of town: The Grange, and The Palace. There were three others, but they’d be further from his work.

  She rang The Grange. ‘Can you please tell me if a Mr Bailey has booked in this afternoon?’

  ‘I’ll enquire madam.’

  She kept tapping her teeth with her fingernails while staring at the mouthpiece.

  ‘No; there is no such name on the register, madam.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She rang The Palace. ‘Can you please tell me if a Mr Bailey has booked in this afternoon?’

  ‘Hang on. I’ll enquire.’ The voice sounded chummy.

  ‘A Mr William Bailey?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes, he booked in just a short while ago.’

  ‘Is he still in the hotel?’

  There was a pause before the voice said, ‘Yes; he must be; his key isn’t here.’

  ‘Is there a phone in his room?’

  ‘Yes, of course, madam.’

  ‘Would you put me through, please?’

  There was another pause before the voice said, ‘Yes, right.’

  She had the feeling that everything inside her head had come loose.

  ‘Hello. Yes?’

  ‘Bill.’
/>   There was a long pause.

  ‘Oh, you’ve done a bit of detective work? And quick at that. It’s all right; you don’t need to apologise.’

  ‘Bill.’ She had yelled his name. ‘Listen to me. If you had let those…lugs of yours remain just a little longer outside the kitchen door you would have heard why I gave my son the answer that I did, when I went on to explain to a nine-year-old in the best way I could that you are not the marrying kind of man, but a middle-of-the-road one. That’s what you have impressed upon me, isn’t it, since the day you came into this house? You know what you are…You are a big loud-mouthed egotist. You consider no-one’s feelings but your own. How do you know I haven’t been waiting for you coming along the landing and bashing my door in? But I had to tell myself it was something that a middle-of-the-road man wouldn’t do. Now you’ve booked in, haven’t you? Well, you can book out just as quick again and get yourself home. Do you hear me?…Are you there?’

  ‘Aye…Aye, I’m here.’

  ‘Well then what do you want me to do? Sing, “Won’t You Come Home Bill Bailey?”’

  There came a rumbling chuckle from the earpiece; then his voice quiet, he said, ‘I’ll be back there, lass, in quicker time than it took to come. But that’s if I can get past the receptionist; she’s had her eye on me since I came in. She doesn’t know I’m a middle-of-the-road man.’

  When she heard the click of the phone, she thrust the receiver back on the stand; and once more she was holding her mouth tightly with her hand; then again she was running up the stairs.

  They were waiting for her, all standing facing the door. And going to them she gathered them into her arms and almost spluttered, ‘He’s coming back.’

  ‘Oh, Mam! Mam!’

  ‘Now listen.’ She pushed them away from her. ‘I want you to stay up here and be quiet for a time. Now you will, won’t you? You may have a picnic. I’ll…I’ll bring your tea up. And there’s jelly and blancmange.’

  ‘Oh, goodie!’ Katie was now dancing from one foot to the other…

  Ten minutes later they were settled: and now she dashed into her room, dabbed at her face in the mirror, combed her hair, took in several deep breaths in an effort to compose herself; then went downstairs.

  When she reached the foot of the stairs, the phone rang. She ran to it.

  ‘Fiona?’

  ‘Yes, Mother.’

  ‘He’s gone then?’

  ‘Who’s gone?’

  ‘Don’t be obtuse, girl. Mrs Quinn phoned me from two doors down. She knew I’d be pleased to hear that he’d gone, bags and baggage this afternoon.’

  Fiona gritted her teeth before she said in the softest tone she could muster at the moment, ‘Mother, she must have made a mistake; Bill and I are going to be married…or live together. We haven’t decided yet.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘I think you heard; marriage or sin. Whatever suits us both.’

  ‘You wouldn’t! Not with that man.’

  ‘I would, Mother; and am. And I’m only too pleased to be doing so. Now phone Mrs Quinn and tell her to keep you informed of the proceedings.’ She forced herself to put the phone gently down. Then she went into the kitchen.

  The daylight had gone. She drew the curtains; then looked at the clock. It was twenty minutes since she had phoned. It shouldn’t take him five minutes by car from the town centre, but he would have to do some repacking.

  Her heart hit her ribs as she heard the sound of the car drawing up at the gate.

  She made herself go to the sink and turn on the taps ready for washing up dishes that weren’t there.

  When the back door opened she had to force herself to turn round. She picked up the tea towel and dried her hands; then looked at him standing within the doorway.

  He came slowly towards her; took the tea towel from her hand; then holding her gaze, he put his arms about her and, his voice husky, he said, ‘You mean all that you said on the phone?’

  She had to swallow deeply before she could answer: ‘Every word.’

  She was being kissed as she couldn’t remember ever being kissed, and it seemed never-ending. When eventually he released her, he said, ‘I’ve got a lot of time to make up, because I’ve wanted to do that since the minute I stepped into this house. You know that?’

  ‘No: I don’t know that, Bill Bailey. I only know that you’re an idiot to have played the game you have.’

  ‘What…well, what else could I do? What would have been your answer if, within the first week or two, I, in my polite refined way, had said, “What about it, Mrs N? What about us two gettin’ hitched?” You were as prickly as Margaret would be at the Labour Conference. And of course, don’t forget, there was your mother…Anyway, my question to you is’—he paused—‘Do you think you could ever really love me, not just take me on?’

  She pursed her lips and wagged her head as she said, ‘I could try.’

  ‘Enough to marry me?’

  ‘Oh Bill.’ Her voice was soft, her whole expression was soft. ‘I love you enough to do whatever you want.’

  ‘No, no!’ He made pretence of pushing her away. ‘’Cos that’s temptin’. You know what you said last night?…Not his girlfriend.’ Then his tone becoming serious, he said, ‘I don’t want you for a girlfriend, Fiona; I want you for a wife.’

  Slowly she put her arms around his neck and laid her lips gently on his; then, her voice a whisper, she said, ‘You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Bill Bailey.’

  His throat swelled, his eyelids blinked, and he turned his head to the side for a moment, and no words came. But when they did, they were in the form of his usual cover-up: ‘But mind,’ he said, ‘I’m not taking you on simply because of yourself, it’s because I want charge of those three kids in order to further their education and grammar like, and their usual musical instruction.’

  They were clinging together now, and almost between laughter and tears she said, ‘Never change, Bill Bailey. Promise me you’ll never change.’

  Chapter Five

  ‘Get on with your tea. I’ve told you, it’s no use lingering; he won’t be back for a long time yet.’

  Fiona looked impatiently down on the three of them sitting round the kitchen table: Mark was slowly munching his last piece of cake, Katie was doing a tattoo with a spoon on an empty jelly dish, while Willie was picking at a spot on the back of his hand.

  Fiona now gently smacked at Willie’s hand, saying, ‘You’ll make it bleed again. Leave it alone.’

  ‘Mam.’

  ‘Yes, Katie?’

  ‘After the funeral will Mr Bill’s friends go straight to a house in Heaven?’

  Fiona turned helplessly towards the stove, as if to find an answer there. But she was saved by Mark saying scornfully, ‘There are no houses in Heaven; people just float about.’

  ‘They don’t! There are houses, big houses, mansions. ’Twas in the hymn.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘I’m not being silly, our Mark. They’ve got to have a house; they can’t fly about all the time. Anyway, I’m going to have a bungalow when I die, a nice little one, all to myself. And…’

  ‘When I go to Heaven, I’m going to play marbles all the time.’

  Fiona, Mark and Katie now turned their full attention on Willie; and he stared back at them and emphasised, ‘I am.’

  Katie sniffed, then said disdainfully, ‘That’s daft; there’ll be no marbles in Heaven.’

  ‘There will! There are!’ The statement was firm and defiant. ‘The minister said so, the black one.‘ When Fiona said, ‘Who?’ Mark explained, ‘He was from the monastery, Mam. He comes some Sundays for the children’s service.’

  ‘Oh. Oh.’ She nodded her head. And now her young son, looking up at her, said, ‘And Danger House…and com…muter games.’

  ‘You mean computer games.’ Mark was quick to contradict him; and Willie was about to retort when Fiona picked him up from his
seat and hugged him for a moment before putting him on the floor again, saying now, ‘Upstairs with you all!’ Katie, however, was slow to rise from her seat, and she looked up at her mother and, her face heavy-laden with the importance of her question, said, ‘When is Mr Bill going to be our father?’

  Fiona’s answer was interrupted this time by her son’s saying, ‘Who art in sixteen Woodland Avenue.’

  Fiona brought her lips tightly together in an effort to prevent herself from laughing outright. Mark was clever at catching and turning a phrase, but she pretended to ignore him. And so, looking down at Katie, she answered her, ‘I’m not sure yet; but sometime soon.’

  ‘Then he won’t be a lodger any more, will he?’

  That thin resemblance to her mother was about to retort, ‘He is not a lodger, he is a paying guest,’ but she thrust it aside, saying, ‘No; you’re right, he won’t be a lodger any more.’

  ‘What’ll we call him?’

  ‘Father Bill…Poppa Bill…Daddy Bill,’ sang Mark now, as he marched towards the door; and his sister, taking up his mood, followed after him, chanting, ‘Mr Bill went up the hill to get a pail of water,’ and Willie, as usual coming up in their train, took up the marching routine, and Fiona’s voice followed them as she cried, ‘Get on with your homework, Mark. And you, Katie and Willie, you have an hour in the playroom before bed. And don’t dare come downstairs any of you.’ And she was about to turn and clear the dirty dishes from the table when their concerted voices hit her, ‘Well, tell Mr Bill to come up and see us, else we will.’

  ‘Get!’

  As she heard their footsteps scrambling up the stairs and the thumping of their running feet across the landing, she looked up towards the ceiling and sighed.

  She couldn’t remember feeling so happy ever before; the only thing that was marring her present state was the fact that Bill was very cut up about the young fellow and his family dying like that, and the little girl in hospital.