by Julian Gloag
“How do you do?”
“Never better, thanks.” He turned to the children. “Now kids, why don’t you trundle off for a bit? Hubert’s got some news for you, haven’t you, Hu?” Laughing, he ushered them to the door. “Miss Deke and me wants to have a little natter.”
“Come on,” said Hu, “come on!”
Bewildered, they looked anxiously from Hubert to Charlie ’ook. But they went.
Charlie ’ook closed the door and turned to Miss Deke.
“Have a seat, Miss Deke.” He leaned back against the door and pulled the packet of Players from his pocket. “Sorry I wasn’t here when you came. Just got back from the North—had to spend the weekend up there. Business, of course.” He lit a cigarette and blew a cone of grey smoke into the room. “Business, business—never get away from it. How I envy you schoolteachers.”
Miss Deke did not move. She said slowly, “As you mentioned, we haven’t met before, and I don’t—”
“Pity, isn’t it? We’ll just have to make up for lost time, eh?” He chuckled.
“I’m afraid, you know, that I am at rather a loss.” Miss Deke attempted an apologetic smile. “I just don’t know who you are.”
“Good Lord! I say, I am sorry.” Charlie ’ook started to slip the packet of cigarettes into his pocket and then jerked it out again. “Smoke? No? Well,” he said, moving into the room, “I’m Charles Hook—Charlie ’ook. Mrs. Hook’s husband—the paterfamilias, as my dear father-in-law would have said.”
“Oh!”
He watched her gravely. “Why don’t you sit down, Miss Deke?” He went over to the black leather chair and brushed the seat with his hand. “There. Everything’s in a bit of a mess, I’m afraid—but with Mrs. Hook away—”
“Away!” Miss Deke was unmistakably surprised. She sat down indecisively on the edge of the chair.
Charlie ’ook grinned. “I expect the kids told you differently, eh? Well, you know how they are—don’t like to admit she isn’t here, even to themselves. No, I had to send her to my sister Molly in Folkestone, you know.”
“I see,” Miss Deke said blankly.
“She’s not a well woman, you know. Not well at all.”
Miss Deke tilted her head politely—it might have been in sympathy or in enquiry.
“TB,” he caressed his chest lightly. “We didn’t find out for a long time. You know how Mrs. Hook is about doctors. By that time, Gerty had got infected too. But they’ll be right as rain soon—both of them.” He smiled with deliberate lack of conviction.
“I am sorry—I didn’t know. Of course, I knew Mrs. Hook wasn’t well, but …”
“Oh well. Bit of sea air will put ’em on their feet in no time.” He bent low to stub out his cigarette on the inside of the fireplace. “I blame myself about it,” he said, straightening up. “Perhaps I ought to explain …”
“Oh, please, no, Mr. Hook. I by no means want to pry.”
“No, no. I’d like to—” He waved his hand, vaguely taking in the room, “I’d like to get it off my chest. After all, after Mrs. Hook, you know the children best. You see—well, Mrs. Hook and me have had what you might call a spotty marriage. I had to be—”
Miss Deke started to protest, but Charlie ’ook held up his hand. “No, I’d like to go on. I had to be away a lot—on business. And, well, we began not to get on so well. You probably know how it is. So we separated. Not legally or anything like that, of course. But we didn’t see each other for—two or three years. It was difficult—my being away from the children, you know. Hard on them, I mean. Children need a father. Yes, yes. Vi—Mrs. Hook—wrote me every so often. But she never mentioned anything about being ill. I had no idea about it till I got a letter from Hubert. He wrote on his own.” He stopped to light another cigarette. “Of course I came back at once. It was a struggle to get Mrs. Hook to see a doctor. Christian Science, you know, that sort of thing. But I got her to see reason at last. She couldn’t do anything for the children—she was that weak. And of course they couldn’t look after themselves, could they?”
Miss Deke nodded. “No. I don’t suppose they could. No.”
Charlie ’ook flicked the lampshade by the fireplace and a whirl of dust rose. He smiled. “Didn’t even have a daily woman.”
“I see. Then I suppose that was after Mrs. Stork left?”
“Mrs. Stork?” Charlie ’ook said sharply.
Miss Deke was embarrassed. “Yes—I, I happened to run into her one day, after she left you that is, and—”
Charlie ’ook frowned. “I’d rather not say anything about Mrs. Stork, if you don’t mind, Miss Deke.”
“Oh, yes. I quite understand.”
“Yes, well,” he rubbed at his upper lip, “with her—Mrs. Hook—in bed, they tried, the nipp——the children that is, tried to make a go of it. But—well, you see what happens even when I have to be away for a few days: with this Louis, I mean.”
“You know about Louis?” Miss Deke half rose from her seat.
“Oh, yes. Hubert told me as I came in. They don’t have any secrets from me, Miss Deke.”
“But Hubert told me that—”
“That Louis wasn’t here? Yes—I expect he was afraid you’d want to take Louis away.”
“But that’s exactly what I do want, Mr. Hook—what I must do.”
Charlie ’ook sat down on a ladder-back chair opposite Miss Deke. He stared into the empty fireplace. “Yes,” he said, “I see that. But what I don’t see,” raising his head, “what I don’t see, Miss Deke, is why Louis came here in the first place. He’s not a prisoner, you know. He wants to be here, to stay here.”
Miss Deke slowly massaged her thumb joint. “I think I can—I am afraid I can answer that, Mr. Hook. Louis is not a happy boy. He is not—in confidence—I think very happy at home. His father is away a lot and—” She halted in mid-sentence and flushed.
“Like me, you mean,” said Charlie ’ook with a smile.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hook. Your children are—well, perhaps they are the exception that goes to prove the rule.”
“But I’m afraid they were rather rude to you tonight.”
“No children of any calibre are invariably polite, Mr. Hook.” She spoke with a decisiveness that had been missing from her voice all evening. “Apart from that—usually, usually the continued absence from the home of the father is not good for a child. And Louis, Louis is no exception.”
“And how about his mother—doesn’t she care for him?”
“Oh, of course she cares for him. But she’s—different, Mr. Hook, frankly, from the sort of person we’re used to dealing with. She’s a Mancunian, of course; perhaps that partly accounts for it.”
Charlie ’ook laughed, choking on the smoke of his cigarette.
“Is that funny, Mr. Hook?” Miss Deke asked, surprised.
“No,” he coughed, “no—you must excuse me. I have a lot of business dealings up North. I quite understand what you mean.”
“Oh, I see.”
“But why are you here, Miss Deke—not Louis’ mother?”
Miss Deke opened her fingers. “Mrs. Grossiter doesn’t know where Louis is.”
“Why not?”
“Because I didn’t tell her,” she answered simply. “I thought it would be better if I could take Louis back myself.”
“And not tell her where you found him?”
“Of course I would be bound to tell her that, Mr. Hook. But I think she will be likely to make less fuss—than if she had discovered him herself.”
“Isn’t she likely to make a fuss—I mean, she could be rather nasty about the whole business, couldn’t she?”
Miss Deke did not answer and he leaned forward and repeated his question.
“Perhaps,” she said at last.
“I get it.” Charlie ’ook stood up. “She’s cruel to the little blighter—is that it? She couldn’t stand the talk.”
“I didn’t say she was cruel, Mr. Hook. I do not know that.” She looked down at her hand
s.
“But she won’t make a complaint?”
Miss Deke raised her head. “No, I don’t believe she will.”
Charlie ’ook thought for a moment. “All right,” he said. He tossed his cigarette stub into the fireplace. “All right, I’ll fetch Louis.”
At the door he turned. “Thanks, Miss Deke.”
She gazed at a spot above his head. She smiled briefly.
He stepped out into the hall and closed the door of the front room behind him.
With great care he took out a cigarette. His fingers trembled only slightly as he lit it. He let the dead match fall to the floor; then he allowed himself to lean against the wall. He took a deep breathful of smoke and closed his eyes. “Blimey,” he murmured.
It was some time before he opened his eyes again. His first action was to check his watch. Then he went to the bottom of the stairs and listened. Except for the sound of the clock, the house was noiseless. He pulled open the door at the head of the kitchen steps. Voices—high-pitched, angry?—came from below.
He descended swiftly, found the kitchen door and pushed it open.
They were all seated at the table, except Hubert. Hubert had his back to the door that led to the garden. His cheeks were red and he was angry. They were all angry.
Charlie ’ook stood, rubbing his upper lip with his forefinger. Behind him the door was swinging softly to a standstill. He had interrupted, not ended, their argument.
“Hello,” he said, “I’m Charlie ’ook.”
“Yes,” said Elsa, “we know.”
“I told them,” Hubert said.
Charlie ’ook frowned. “Elsa?” he asked.
“Yes. I’m Elsa. And I know all about you. Mother said you—”
Charlie ’ook held up his hand. “Whoa-up. It looks like we got plenty of disturbance as it is, without adding to it. What’s this—a meeting?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“What’s the trouble?”
Hubert stepped forward, his fists clenched. “They won’t give him up,” he said. “They won’t see—they just won’t see. I told them what you said—about prison an’ all, and I … and I …” His lips trembled.
“Cheer up,” Charlie ’ook said, without lifting his eyes from the group at the table, “it can’t be as bad as all that.”
“Louis,” said Dunstan with great emphasis, “is a member of the family. We all agree about that—except Hubert!”
“I do agree. I do!” Hubert shouted.
“You don’t,” Dunstan replied with calm distaste.
“Liar!”
“Hold on, hold on,” Charlie ’ook raised his voice slightly. “Look,” he said, directing his words at Dunstan, “you say Louis is a member of the family. Right?”
Dunstan nodded, frowning.
“How do you know he’s a member of the family?”
“Because Mother said so,” Willy answered.
Charlie ’ook stopped rubbing his lip. “Mother said so?”
“Shut up, Willy!” said Dunstan viciously.
“But she did!” The little boy was indignant. There was silence round the table. “Well, she did. Didn’t she, Elsa—didn’t she?”
Elsa lowered her head. “Yes,” she murmured.
“See!” Willy was triumphant.
Charlie ’ook looked at each of the children in turn—Dunstan, standing now, dark and tight: Willy, smiling; Elsa, head turned away; Diana, withdrawn deep into herself; Jiminee, his whole body jiggling slightly; Hubert, angry and nonplussed; and Louis, looking from speaker to speaker, saying nothing, waiting.
At length he said, “When did Mother say that, Willy?”
Willy stopped smiling. He glanced at his brothers and sisters and none of them would look at him. “I … I forget …”
“He m-means,” began Jiminee, “he m-means that we all p-p-prayed to M-M-M-M-Mother, and she answered our p-p-prayers.”
“Prayers? I see.” For the first time he smiled. Casually he glanced round the kitchen, taking in the high white Easiwork, the stove, the coloured mugs on the draining board, the neatness of it all. He took out his cigarettes and lit one, moving without haste. His hands were wide and flat with sturdy, smooth fingers, nails cut short and even. The faintest of nicotine stains discoloured his index finger. The children watched every movement.
“Well,” he said at length, meditatively, his expression serious again. “Gerty was a member of the family, wasn’t she?”
There was no answer. Charlie ’ook did not look directly at Dunstan. He continued slowly. “We lost her—didn’t we?”
“She sinned,” said Dunstan sharply.
Charlie ’ook raised his head a little. “And I suppose the wages of sin …”
“—is death. Yes.”
Charlie ’ook didn’t have to look at the children to know that imperceptibly the atmosphere had changed. They weren’t as hostile to him—not quite.
“We’re not talking about death, Dunstan,” he said gently. “No one ’ere is going to die.”
“I didn’t say—”
“Arf a mo, will you? I want to finish, son.” He paused. “You know what would have happened if it got out about Gerty—don’t you? Elsa, you know, don’t you?”
She nodded. She was looking at him now.
“You know too—don’t you, Dunstan?”
“I…”
“Well, of course you do. There wouldn’t be any family now, would there? It would be an orphanage for the lot of you—not together, neither. Separate. I wouldn’t have been ’ere—I wasn’t ’ ere—to help you. It would have been goodbye to all this. You been lucky—very lucky. I’ll not say you’ve not been clever. You ’ave. But you always need luck, and you had it. The difference is now—the luck’s run out.” He drew a deep breath of smoke. “ ’cause they know now. They’ve found out about Louis. They’re going to take him away. Whatever we do, they’ll take him away. They don’t have no pity, you know. The law ain’t like a human being. It says ‘do this’—and you do it. Or else. Or else is the orphanage. An’ if we don’t look pretty sharp, that’s what it’ll be. I’ll go to jug most likely—but that don’t matter. What matters is that it’ll be the orphanage for you lot. The whole bleeding thing will come out. Not just Louis—the lot.”
Dunstan started to speak.
“I haven’t finished yet,” Charlie ’ook said. “But we have got a chance. Right now we got a chance. Miss Deke’s willing to take Louis ’ome and keep mum about the whole thing. That’s our last chance. If we don’t take that, then they’ll come and get Louis anyway. They’ll take him back to his mother and they’ll take you away to the orphanage. But if we let Miss Deke take Louis home now, we’ll be all right. An’ it won’t be the end of the world, you know. Louis can come ’ere as much as he likes, he can come an’ play—”
“Play!” Dunstan spoke in a fury of contempt. “Do you think all we do is play? You don’t understand an’ you never will. Louis is a member of the family—he’s one of us. An’ we’re going to keep him. Aren’t we?” He challenged them. For a moment they wavered and then they broke to him.
“He’s ours.”
“We love him and we’re going to keep him.”
“They can never take him away.”
“We’ll fight them.”
“We won’t let ’em in the front door.”
Charlie ’ook listened. The hand in his trouser pocket clenched tight. He’d played it too hard—he saw that through the smoke that drifted from the cigarette in the corner of his mouth. Maybe he’d even lost Hubert.
“All right,” he said. They were victorious now. “All right. So you keep him. If that’s what you want.” They were calm and happy. Hubert had left his post by the door and stood by the table. Charlie ’ook sighed. “If that’s what you want.”
He went to the back door and opened it. He stood, looking out at the black shapes of the garden. He tossed his cigarette and watched the stub hit the border and break into sparks and vanish. Slo
wly he turned round and came back into the kitchen.
They had waited for him.
“There’s just one thing,” he said. “I’ve heard you all say what you want. I’ve heard that. But … what about Louis? What’s he say?”
They were quite silent.
Louis had said no word, and all the while they had been arguing the children had hardly noticed him. He had sat with his back pressed against the rungs of the chair, his head sunk on his shoulders so that the collar of his grey jacket brushed against his ears. His hands had been still in his lap—but his eyes had moved constantly from one to another.
He sat up and lifted his hands to the table. He held the pomegranate that Diana had given him. For a moment he rubbed it gently, then he placed it on the table. The skin of the fruit glistened.
He looked up. He was not shy. His gaze moved steadily round the table. Then he slipped from his chair and stood. “I think,” he said softly, “that I better be going home now.”
The electric clock on the kitchen wall buzzed with the assiduity of a summer fly. The only thing that moved was the red second hand, sweeping round and round, the perpetual mower.
“But Louis …”
The visible pain of the small boy’s determination cut off protest.
“But Louis,” Elsa’s voice trembled, “don’t you want to stay?”
“Yes, of course.” He stood straight as a tulip. “But—but that’s got nothing to do with it, you see.”
“But Mother,” said Elsa.
“Mother wouldn’t,” Louis struggled with words, “Mother wouldn’t want me to stay if—if it meant the end of everything.”
There was a long silence, as if Louis were waiting for each of the children to give him their inward permission. At last he said again, “I better be going now.”
“You m-m-m-mustn’t forget your p-p-presents, Louis,” said Jiminee quickly.
Louis looked at the pomegranate and shook his head. “No,” he said, “she’d never let me keep them.”
“But Louis …”
He raised his head and smiled. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’ve always got my ammonite.”
Jiminee said, “We can b-b-bring your p-presents to school and you can p-p-play with them at school.”