Our Time Is Gone

by James Hanley

  Meanwhile Alice, who had been dreaming of riding on elephants, had now awakened, hearing the noise. She sat up in the darkness. When they talked she listened till four in the morning. It was all very exciting to her. Like a fairy tale in fact.

  ‘Here, Sheila! That’ll cure your headache. Now I’m thoroughly awake. I’ve a good mind to go and make myself a cup of tea. I really think I will,’ and he left her sipping from the glass.

  Thoughts were buzzing about in his head. And somehow he couldn’t think properly in that room. It was better down here in the kitchen. He sat waiting for the kettle to boil. Whilst he sat there a thought came, and the thought was that she was lying to him.

  He knew now that he was afraid, terribly afraid he would lose her. She might tire of him, run off at any moment. Hadn’t he always been suspicious about her? He loved her, was married to her, but he didn’t know her.

  ‘No! I don’t really know her properly. But one day I will, and then she can’t go.’

  There was something different between them. Money couldn’t bridge it, strength couldn’t bridge it. She was different and he was different.

  ‘I’m worried now,’ he said to himself; ‘she’s getting tired! God! I think her wonderful, but that makes no difference. If she went I couldn’t hold her. I’m weak. I don’t know her.’

  He heard her calling him and went back upstairs. He carried two cups of tea in his hands. She was lying back, eyes closed. Perhaps she did have a headache.

  ‘Sheila, here! Drink this. I’m afraid my sleep’s spoiled, and yours too. This blasted brother of yours is making us fall out with each other.’

  He put his tea down on the table. Then he leaned on the bed, watching her sip her tea. It was past two in the morning.

  ‘Honest! I always said that I’ll do anything you ask me, Sheila! And I will. Very well then. To-morrow we get out of Gelton. But I remember one day your saying that there was something about Gelton that you liked. I often have wondered what that was. Would you tell me?’

  ‘Yes, Des. You are Gelton. Here, take this cup away. Come back into bed.’

  And when he had got in: ‘Switch out the light. Hold me, darling, hold me.’

  They slept thus till after eight o’clock. Alice knocked with tea.

  ‘Good morning, Alice.’

  She had heard them quarrelling. Had been waked up from a dream in which she had been riding an elephant. Had heard Captain Fury pottering about below stairs, making a terrible noise, going up and down stairs. She went out, closing the door behind her.

  Desmond looked out through the window. ‘What a dull morning!’

  ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ she said, not seeing the morning or thinking of the morning. Just remembering the man in mufti who had called yesterday afternoon. Who had so violently embraced her, smothering her in brotherly kisses, and asking her questions, questions, questions. And begging her to go home and see them. Them. And saying he would call to-morrow because there were such a number of things to talk about. He was so glad to have found her. A real stroke of luck indeed. A priest had told him. It was a miracle. And how was she—was she happy at last? and he’d like to see this husband of hers.

  She had said did he know that … and he had smiled.

  Yes. He knew all about that business, but it didn’t interest him at all. It was so filthy, wasn’t it? And as she recalled the surprise of his presence, he grew up slowly in her mind, piece by piece, like a most intricate jig-saw puzzle—pieces of her life here and there mixed. And then he was complete.

  Tall and slender, pale faced, and such skin. Desmond would laugh at that. A woman’s skin. Wouldn’t she go back? It was time she did. It was important, was necessary. Things were so bad there. Things were going to rack and ruin under his eyes, at least he thought so. But what could he do? And he wanted that Miss Fetch out of the place altogether. A sly woman. He had never liked her. Never. And did she know that father now lived in London? And what had made her run off like that? Marry like that?

  Smiling, he hinted that he knew one or two things. Still—but he would be up to-morrow. He’d like to see this husband of hers.

  And she had made tea for him, saying what a pity, but her husband had gone out. Yes. He was a captain in the army.

  ‘Fancy!’ he had said, just like a person who thinks that army captains are a rare species. She saw him smile, saw the old trick with the lower lip, how it could drop down just like a shutter, and that old look. Rather funny. He had eyes just like a snake. Could stare at you for such a long time, without blinking. Oh, and had she heard about Pickup? Yes, Pickup! Done the most amazing things in arboricultural research.

  He had made more than one enquiry after her, Mr. Pickup had. She had listened to it all, the irresponsible chatter about the war—the pleading, the enquiries. She answered the questions. She seemed to have made a mess of her life.

  She said she was very happy. He said he was glad, and he made it sound fine and dramatic. He puffed smoke from Turkish cigarettes, drank the tea with a hint that he was suspicious about it and her, and her husband, and the house. It all seemed wrong. Living in such a place. It looked as though it would come a cropper. Still, he would see her again, now he had found her.

  That was the great thing. He loved her just the same as ever. Why shouldn’t he worry? Only sister he had. He hadn’t forgotten when he was a boy, and she was kind when others had been unkind, mentioning his father, and ‘that other awful woman.’ What people mother did put up with!

  He had gone on and on, just like a large gramophone record, and she had listened and loathed, remembered and hoped. It was like a sudden cloud coming over the house. When she glanced out of the window to avoid the snake-like stare she saw not Gelton, but farther than that. She saw London. She wished for Desmond to come. Now, whilst this brother was here. But he hadn’t come. Nevertheless he would come. They would meet to-morrow. And he would see something strange, though, to her, wonderful. He would measure the difference between two worlds. She saw it all, it remained vivid in her mind. She was utterly lost in contemplation, until Desmond brought her to her senses by exclaiming loudly:

  ‘Sheila! I can’t find that confounded tie of mine anywhere. Do help me look for it, darling. Don’t sit dreaming in bed at this hour of the morning. There’s a lot of things to be done to-day. Come on,’ he said, and half dragged, half lifted her out of the bed, and he gave her a sudden slap on the behind as she reached the floor. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘I’ve to be out at nine.’

  She left him still dressing and went downstairs. Fully booted and spurred, spick and span, and slapping his thighs he went down to breakfast.

  ‘Where are you going first? You will be back at three? You are going?’

  ‘First I’m going to see this brother of yours, and as there is only one destroyer in the dock he won’t be difficult to find. Save him the trouble of calling. Then I’m—in any case I’ll be back round about three.’Bye, Sheila.’

  And then he was gone, strutting down the drive, and telling himself that he was ‘as good as those other bastards, any time.’ This occasioned discomfiture for a time, but was then quickly forgotten. But he did wish he hadn’t to be continually applying this mental spur to himself. Continually reminding himself that he was as good as the other bastards.

  Meanwhile Sheila finished her own breakfast and continued to help Alice pack. At half-past ten she went upstairs to lie down. She wasn’t tired. She simply wanted to do some quiet thinking.

  II

  ‘It’s a Mr. Doogie, or Dogall, to see you, sir.’

  Slye Esquire looked up. Since his arrival at Blacksea Mr. Slye had developed a new hate. This new hate now peeped round the door, and looked at the short ‘sweating’ gentleman. Her name was Jinnie. That was all Slye Esquire knew. There it was, and what a face! It was thin, long, ashen in colour. It had a cold look. The snub nose always wanted a handkerchief. The reddened eyelids suggested protracted grief.

  He thought the effect most odd when she smiled. H
e thought the whole visage rather resembled a large onion, waterlogged. It was briefly a wet face, and a bitter face. He never called her Jinnie. He called her ‘love.’

  ‘Well, love,’ he said, thumbing a vividly illustrated Aristotle. ‘Well, love?’

  ‘A Mr. Doogie or something,’ she said, and ‘something ‘made him smile.

  ‘Tell Mr. Doogle to come right in,’ he said.

  He relaxed on the horsehair sofa. His background seemed perfect. A warm orientalism about the wallpaper and curtains. Gigantic ferns, warm violets, outrageous pansies. A frustrated Van Gogh. Contrasted with this the remainder of the furnishings had a pallid look. There was even something pallid in Slye Esquire to synchronize with this.

  The carpet shone from wear, the grate was huge, the fire burning within like a pinhead of light in a crucible. The furniture had attitudes. The bed swayed at a touch. The ideal bed for flirts but not for Slye. There had been some early haggling over this bed. Nothing had come of it.

  ‘Hello there!’ said Mr. Doogle, coming round the door. ‘Brick bloody Row, eh?’

  ‘That’s it. Take a seat. Have a cheroot. Just discovered them. “Cheerios” they’re called.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Mr. Doogle who, having lighted up, reported upon events like a company secretary. Well, he had got that lot quit. O.K.? Slye Esquire nodded.

  That lot. Splendid. But explain. This Mr. Doogle did after applying a second match to his ‘Cheerio.’

  ‘H’m! Nothing to bloat about,’ he said. ‘Anyhow, I’ll tell you exactly what happened. Remember those two portfolios of French tarts. Sold them for seventeen quid, and——’

  ‘Gosh!’ said Mr. Slye.

  ‘And them—you knows—ten pounds ten for them.’

  He winked at Mr. Slye.

  ‘You knows,’ said Mr. Slye, quite unable to gather what they were. ‘Splendid.’

  ‘And the rest of the stuff I got here. Right here! Out in the lobby there.’

  ‘Excellent! You did splendid, Doogie! Have a drink?’ and Mr. Slye got up and took a bottle of gin from the cupboard. ‘Swig,’ he said. ‘That bitch hasn’t found glasses yet.’

  Mr. Doogle smiled, and it seemed to say: ‘Which bitch?’ And then he said: ‘Well, Slye! You look all settled in. Costing much? How’d they do about the yowler? How’s Long Legs?’

  ‘That bloody kid caused more trouble than enough!’ said Mr. Slye. ‘As for Long Legs, they’re a bit too long for that bed. This old bitch here wouldn’t give anything but that bed, said it was good enough for hundreds of married couples, why not for us? She is a bitch too. Anyhow I said, joking like, “But my missus has such long legs,” and she says, “Don’t be filthy like that!” ’Course I laughed. I didn’t know what she bloody well meant!’ Mr. Slye now took a swig from a bottle. ‘Was she there?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Long Legs! No! Was she hell? She would have hooked it. They all do, the bitches.’

  ‘Bitches apart,’ said Doogle, ‘what arrangements are you going to make? But first I want that commission, and Slye Esquire,’ here Mr. Doogle dug a bony finger up and down on the other’s knee, ‘I might tell you that I’m the only man in Gelton who could get away with it, see?’

  ‘Yes, I know that, Doogle,’ said Mr. Slye. ‘Suppose you’re staying overnight.’ He looked away into the corner, for he never could stand the sight of Mr. Doogle’s features when his asthma became personal. He looked whilst Doogle choked and coughed and spluttered.

  Mr. Doogle’s face became very red, he opened his mouth wide, seemed to take in deep breaths. He talked. Of course he was staying the night! They had lots to talk about. Their interests were one. What the devil had he come all this way for? Just to tell him he’d cleared that stuff? Not likely. This, so far as he knew, was good territory, virgin, untouched, it had possibilities, ‘and two heads are better than one, Slye Esquire. They are that! Now how about Long Legs? Where does she come in?’

  ‘Wherever I am! In bed or out of it. She’s a good cook, Maury is. And you know, Doogle, she’s not a bad kid. Have another “Cheerio,” Doogle.’

  ‘No thanks! Don’t like’em. I often wondered how you two got took up. She’s such a nice girl too.’ Mr. Doogle got up and stretched himself. ‘Where’s Long Legs now?’ he asked.

  ‘Shopping,’ said Mr. Slye, ‘and that makes me feel hungry, talkin’ of shoppin’.’

  Mr. Slye got up too. Together they stood looking out of the window. They saw a long, clean, windswept road, but not a sight of a human being. It was turned five o’clock. The light was beginning to go. Its departure had a curious effect on the clean road. Its bareness became violent.

  ‘Winter in Blacksea,’ said Mr. Doogle.

  ‘Ah! But you wait till the spring. The plans made and all the mugs with money coming along in the spring. You know the kind I mean, Doogle?’

  By a nod of the head he did.

  ‘What kind of a journey up d’you have?’

  Mr. Slye thrust a leg up on a chair, leaned on his knee, looked at Mr. Doogle four square. ‘It was rotten, and that’s praising it, Doogle. S’help me, I never had such a journey. Everything went wrong, and Long Legs would at the last bloody minute say she was hungry. And that made me think of me stomach as well, and on top of that the kid yowled, and bloody well yowled! The carriage was full of draughts, the bloody train stopped at every station. What for I don’t know. Nobody got off. Nobody got on. I got real hungry. I could have eaten something real tasty. A huge meat pie. But you couldn’t get a thing. Then I fell asleep and then when I woke up what did I find? Maury gone. It gave me a blinking shock. Thought she might have fallen out of the window. Blasted if the kid didn’t start yowling and calling me “da.” Think of it, Doogle. Where’d you suppose she was? Whimpering of her eyes out in the toilet. I got real upset. I said: “I’m sorry I took you with me.” She said she was sorry. She was worried about her ma. Well, her ma’ll live longer than her, from what I’ve heard about her. All the same, Doogle, there’s something about Maury I like. Real ladylike. I’ve got taste, Doogle. It’s meant success in my business. Might have known sooner. Maury’s getting into it now. I wish she’d hurry up. You must have something to eat with us, Doogle. And by the way, I’ll have that cash if you don’t mind,’ and Mr. Slye extended an open palm.

  ‘Certainly. Less two, three, five. That’s it. Here you are,’ said Doogle, handing him an envelope containing notes and coin. ‘Count it.’

  ‘Directly! I wonder where Long Legs has got to. God! I wish she hadn’t brought that crying kid.’Course I love Maury, you know. She’s what you could call a real woman, and of course she was hot on having this kid, even though another’s on the way. But she loves me, so I let him come. I never saw her husband, worse luck. But from what she says now and again he must be a kind of male cow.’

  They both laughed about this.

  ‘It’s only three months, not three months since he began sending her money. A few bob a week. Could have been more. He’s a regular. Plenty of work, a bit mean, never drinks—hardly a bloody man at all. Funny thing was I didn’t give a damn whether he sent any or not. Mind you, things weren’t too good at the time. Then I thought, well, it’ll pay for the kid. When it comes three weeks running and this few bob kept coming I said to myself, “A man can’t stand in the way of goodness,” so she hands it up each time it came. Aye! She did that. All Maury wants is my love, Doogle. Understand! Likes a nice dress too. But money, she’s not interested in that much. Well, anyhow, to come to an end, I’ll remember that train journey for the rest of my life. Well, and here we are. All settled in. I wish she’d hurry.’

  ‘It is late, isn’t it? Hope nothing’s happened to her,’ said Mr. Doogle.

  ‘Not at all! She had to go to some woman named Lamber; she’s going to look after the kid. I was a real fool letting her bring him. We can’t work with a kid. And as she’s carrying one she’s got load enough. Course I like Maury so much I hate saying, “Well, look here, Maury, you’d best send the kid
back to his dad.” It would upset her. Yet it’ll be a nuisance. I’m going to have a proper talk with her to-night. You fixed up anywhere, Doogle? Because if you’re not, the woman here would give you a bed for the night. Shall I ask her?’ said Mr. Slye.

  Mr. Doogle contemplated a moment. ‘All right. I don’t mind, so long as I’m handy. We got to get things straight, Slye Esquire. We got to make plans. And here’s a tip. Keep out of Gelton for about a year. There’s some people there who won’t be satisfied till you’re caught. That public solicitor feller “what’s-his-name,” always acts for the Gelton Corporation.’

  ‘Here’s Maury,’ Mr. Slye said. ‘Hope she’s brought something nice for tea. Eh, Doogle, lad?’

  Maureen came in. She was hatless, wore a raincoat that almost reached to her heels.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, taking in Mr. Slye and Mr. Doogle, complete with surroundings, all in one glance.

  ‘’Lo, ducky,’ Mr. Slye said. He flung an arm round her and gave her a hug. ‘’Lo, love.’

  ‘You look well; Blacksea air seems to suit you, dear,’ Mr. Doogle said. He followed her with his eyes, watched her take her coat off, watched her sit down. A fine tart!

  ‘Seen Mrs. Lamber?’ asked Slye as he groped about in the paper bags. ‘Black puddings. Good! Tripe! Oh, good, good! Now we’ll be able to have something like a supper. Call the other woman in.’ He looked at Doogle. ‘Doogle, we’re going to feast, feast!’

  Maureen Kilkey sat looking through the window. Once or twice she looked at Mr. Doogle. She wished he wasn’t here. Dick and she made the world complete. Yes, she wished he hadn’t come. There was something about Doogle that she didn’t like. It wasn’t his face, nor his dress. Simply the way he had of looking at her.