Goodbye Hamilton

by Catherine Cookson

  Mrs Balfour was sitting in very much the same position that Tommy had depicted her the previous night: she was seated in a straight-backed chair, her hands folded across her stomach. She had been seated like this for the last hour, and like a judge, or a better description would be the prosecuting counsel, she had been firing questions alternately at Gran and George. She was now looking at George. ‘I understand you drive a bus,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, I drive a bus, missis.’

  ‘Couldn’t you find a better occupation than that?’

  ‘There is no better occupation than that, missis. As me ma says’—he thumbed towards Gran—‘it’s like life: it stops and starts; people get on an’ get off, some you remember an’ some you don’t; some are nice an’ some are real bug…nasty. You’d like to run over the nasty ones’—he grinned widely now—‘but there seems to be a law against it. A pity, I think.’

  Mrs Balfour pulled her chin inwards before saying now, ‘You have four children to support?’

  ‘I have that, missis.’

  ‘But they’re not your children?’

  His expression changed and, gruffly now, he said, ‘They’re my children all right, missis, and I’m their father.’

  ‘Oh. Oh, I was given to understand…‘

  ‘Aye, you were given to understand all right: their father scarpered and left them, and I married a woman with four bairns. But she’s me wife and they are me children.’

  They stared at each other for a moment, and I was about to break in when the lady turned her attention on Gran, asking abruptly now, ‘Do you get on with your daughter-in-law, Mrs Carter?’

  ‘Aye. Why shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Well’—there was a tight smile on the lady’s face—‘mothers don’t often get on with their daughters-in-law.’

  ‘It all depends on who the mother is an’ who the daughter-in-law is. D’you thing you could get on with your daughter-in-law?’

  ‘I don’t happen to have a daughter-in-law.’

  ‘No, I know that, but say if you suddenly had.’

  ‘What do you mean, if I suddenly had?’

  ‘Just that.’ Gran grinned at the lady now. ‘Say Tommy took it into his head to get married. There would be nothin’ unusual about that, now would there? He could do it any minute.’

  I saw the skin tighten on the bony face, the wrinkles seemed to smooth out, the eyes narrowed and the voice came thinly through her teeth now as she said, ‘I don’t think there’s any possibility of my son marrying, and therefore the question of my becoming a mother-in-law has no point.’

  ‘Huh! You never know where a blister might light.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said, you never know where a blister might light. I’d better translate that for you, eh? You never know what men will do, especially ’round your Tommy’s age. They get a sort of itch then, if they haven’t had it afore. Now there’s our Georgie. He always had the itch, born with it, weren’t you, lad?’

  To this George replied, ‘Just as you say, Ma, just as you say. But you’re right.’ Pressing home his mother’s point, and enjoying it, he now looked at our visitor and said, ‘Blisters can grow into boils, and then there’s nothin’ for it but a hot poultice. And the only equivalent to a hot poultice in this case is a bedmate. Come on, Ma.’ He got to his feet. ‘Tommy’s in the kitchen supposedly nattering to Janet. I don’t trust him an inch.’

  ‘Nor me,’ said Gran, and they both almost skipped out of the room. And when Nardy, who had been choking inwardly all this time, rose and said, ‘Will you excuse me for a moment? I think it’s about time we were called in to tea. It’s to be a north-country one.’ And he smiled at Mrs Balfour. And there I was left with her, and she stared at me hard before she spoke. ‘How do you put up with that pair, Mrs Leviston?’ she said.

  ‘What exactly do you mean, Mrs Balfour?’

  ‘I…I shouldn’t think that I have to explain what I mean, they are both uncouth. I have never met anyone like them before. Common isn’t the word.’

  ‘You’re right, common isn’t the word, Mrs Balfour, and definitely not uncouth. I think the word you’re really looking for is real. They are real people, uneducated, yes, but they both have wisdom that no education could have supplied.’

  ‘Well, well, they certainly have an advocate in you, Mrs Leviston.’

  ‘Yes, they have, because they were the only people in my young days to give me love and bring me any kind of happiness.’

  ‘What about your mother? I understand you were sixteen or more when she died.’

  ‘Oh, my mother.’ I nodded at her. ‘My mother was not common; my mother was refined, a lady you could say, even though a pseudo one, and she was vain and cruel without any real love in her.’

  ‘Really! I don’t think it befits you to speak of the dead like that, Mrs Leviston.’

  I rose to my feet, and looking at her straight in the face now, I said, ‘Nor do I think it befits you to speak of the living and those who are my friends so disparagingly. Shall we go into tea?’

  I saw her face working, her pale blue lips moving over one another as if she were already champing on food. Then, as I made to walk away, she said, ‘A moment, Mrs Leviston. I’m’—now I recognised she had to make an effort to go on—‘I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, but before we go in there is something private I should like to discuss with you if you can give me another moment.’

  I stepped back and faced her again.

  ‘It’s…it’s about Tommy. I…I’m very worried about him.’

  ‘Really? Why are you worried about him?’

  I watched her fingers as they began to pick at the material of her dress; it was as if she was removing insects from it. ‘It’s…it’s concerning a woman.’

  ‘A woman?’

  ‘Yes. I wonder if you can…well, help me? Do you know who she is?’

  ‘The woman?’

  ‘Yes, the woman.’

  ‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘I know of no woman that Tommy is…well, associated with. How should I? We…we only see him now and again.’

  ‘That…that makes it worse.’ The picking went on and she looked to the side. ‘I…I understand that he often comes over here in the evenings. Bella seemed to think so. But…but he has, for some time now, spent weekends away from home.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded at me. ‘And that suggests only one thing, you must admit.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  Her voice was sharp now as she said, ‘Well, you wouldn’t expect a man to spend weekends on his own, now would you?’

  I could have said, Yes. In Tommy’s case, yes. Instead, I said, ‘Well, hardly.’

  ‘Well, there you are then. And…and you don’t know who she is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He hasn’t given you any indication, a name, a place?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘If he had told Nardy, would Nardy have confided in you?’

  I thought for a moment before I let myself say, ‘I’m not so sure. They have been friends for years; he…he might be honouring a trust.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. May I ask you something?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Would you…well, I mean, would you do something for me?’

  ‘That all depends if it’s possible.’

  ‘Oh, it’s quite possible. All I’m asking is that you…probe a little and…and let me know…if…’

  I held up my hand. ‘Please don’t go on, Mrs Balfour. I have no intention of probing into your son’s private affairs. And if he were to confide in me, then it would be as a friend and, as such, a confidence. Shall we go in to tea now?’

  The look on her face was almost vicious. She pulled herself to her feet and I opened the door for her, and with a step very firm for one supposedly crippled with arthritis, she passed through.

  Seeing Tommy approaching from the direction of the kitchen with Gran on his arm, and laughing together, she c
alled in strident tones, ‘We cannot stay long. I am not feeling too well.’

  ‘That is a pity, Mother. It would have been nice if we could have made a night of it, wouldn’t it, Gran?’ He now turned and looked at Gran, and she, slapping him on the back, answered, ‘It would that, lad. It would that.’

  Hurriedly now, I led our guest into the dining room, fearing that she would faint before she reached there, for all the colour had drained from her face.

  Immediately the meal was over, she donned her coat. She had not removed her hat at all. And when we closed the door on her and Tommy, Nardy let out a long-drawn breath, saying, ‘God help him when he gets home.’

  I endorsed this in my mind, and I was also glad this evening was already taken care of: seats had been booked for four at the theatre later on; and afterwards a table was reserved in one of Nardy’s favourite restaurants. Tomorrow, too, had been planned. We were to show Gran and George London. And on Monday they would be returning to Fellburn.

  Why should I feel guilty at the thought that I should be glad to have the house to myself again? This was something new.

  I went into the kitchen to thank Janet for her big effort in making such a splendid tea.

  ‘Oh, that’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it. But she’s a tartar, that one, isn’t she? How in the name of God does Mr Tommy stand her!’ Then leaning forward to me and whispering, she said, ‘I bet she found her match in Gran, eh, ma’am?’

  ‘She did, Janet, she did. And with George, too. But she found them very common…uncouth.’

  ‘She said that?’

  ‘Yes, she did.’

  ‘Well, give me the common and uncouth any day. What do you say?’

  ‘I say with you, Janet, yes, any day.’

  I liked Janet more the longer we were together. In a way she had taken Gran’s place in this new world. But strangely, I had the idea that Gran hadn’t quite taken to her.

  Six

  The weeks slid by. Nardy worked in the office, I worked on my book. He was nearly always in by half past five. We would have tea; then talk. Some evenings, we would just sit by the fire; then go to bed and love; or we might go out to a play, or to Covent Garden Opera House. He was educating me in the world of music and art. He loved the opera, I wasn’t so keen on it; my choice was the ballet. Life was good.

  But there was still Tommy. He had become very quiet of late, and he wasn’t dropping in so often. And even after a drink or two he had ceased to spout his poetry. Then one night came the climax.

  It was a Friday evening. Autumn was setting in: the leaves in the garden opposite had turned to bronze and gold. I often sat by the window in the drawing room looking down into the garden and thinking what a pity I never saw anyone strolling in it. All the residents in the square had keys to it, but I had yet to see anyone using one. The only human figure was that of the old gardener pottering about. I likened the garden to a jewel encased in an iron cage. Why didn’t they take the railings down and let people walk among the beautiful shrubs…and leave their orange peel, and the beer cans, and their ice-cream cartons. I looked to the side. Hamilton was looking out of the window and I nodded at him, saying, ‘Yes, you’re right.’

  I know I am, he said. People in the main are dirty. Some of them live like pigs. Remember Mrs Purdy?

  I remembered Mrs Purdy, a distant relative of Nardy’s we went down to Hampshire to visit. She lived in what you would call a manor house, and it stank.

  ‘Why’—I asked Hamilton—‘do some women consider housework beneath them?’

  And to this he answered, Because at one time only menials did housework and you could engage servants by the dozen for next to nothing; but now the servants have cars and can drive into the country and leave their litter scattered about, so following the example of their betters in bygone days. But they have no servants to rake it all up after them.

  ‘You’re being cynical.’ I smiled at him, and, his lip going up from his teeth, he smiled back and said, You could say we are. Anyway, here’s your beloved coming.

  I kissed my beloved, my beloved kissed me; then we sat down together on the couch and I poured out the tea that was set on the low trolley. And then I asked the usual question, ‘How’s it gone?’

  ‘It’s been an unusual day,’ he said. ‘I took a new author out to lunch at the Café Royal.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said smiling. ‘Man or woman?’

  ‘A man. And I thought of the day I took you there and of how different it all was, because this fellow…oh my God!’ He closed his eyes for a moment and turned his head to the side. ‘The ego of some men. You know something? This book of his is the best that has ever been written by anyone.’

  ‘Is it so good?’

  ‘No, it’s not. I think it’s quite mediocre. It’s only the sex that’s got it through. That’s the trouble now, they think they’ve only to lay that on thick and they’re there. And it is on thick, and the book will sell. Oh, yes, it’ll sell. But there he was dictating about what would happen when it went into paperbacks and then into a film.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes. And I couldn’t get rid of him after lunch; I didn’t get back to the office until nearly four, and then one of the clerks told me there had been two calls from Tommy’s. Huh!’ He laughed here. ‘Likely his mother wanted to know where he was going to spend the weekend. Perhaps he had told her he was making it a long one, because he was off to Eastbourne earlier today to see an author, a man who’s writing his autobiography. Aren’t they all!’

  It was at this point the phone rang and I stayed him, saying, ‘I’ll get it.’

  The phone was on a table to the side of the window, and I picked it up and a voice said, ‘Is that you, Mrs Leviston?’

  ‘Yes, yes, Bella.’ I recognised her voice.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Leviston, is…is Mr Leviston there?’

  ‘Yes, yes, he’s here, Bella. Is there anything wrong?’

  ‘She’s dead…she’s dead, Mrs Leviston.’

  ‘Wh…at!’ My voice ended on a screech that brought Nardy to my side. I gazed at him in horror, and I put my hand over the mouthpiece as I said, ‘She’s dead.’

  As he whispered, ‘Oh, my God!’ I spoke into the phone again, saying, ‘What…what happened?’

  ‘It…it was around three o’clock.’

  She seemed to be gasping for breath now and I said, ‘Where’s Tommy?’

  ‘He’s here, Mrs Leviston. Will you come around?’

  ‘Yes, yes, right away, right away.’ And I banged down the phone before picking it up again to order a taxi …

  Twenty minutes later we entered the house. Tommy met us in the hall. His face looked ashen. He didn’t speak but after looking from one to the other of us he turned and we followed him into the dining room. And now, sitting at the table and joining his hands together, he bowed his head over them, saying, ‘I feel terrible, terrible.’

  ‘What happened?’ Nardy was standing by him, his hand on his shoulder. And now he raised his head and looked up at Nardy and muttered, ‘You know I…I went down to Eastbourne. Well, Bella phoned the office and they gave her the address; but I’d left by then, and when I got back, there she was.’

  Now Nardy had him by the shoulder shaking him and saying, ‘Well, what happened?’

  ‘I don’t know, except what Bella said. About two o’clock she had a sort of seizure and…and she rang for the doctor for her. And when he came, he said it was a heart attack and he would get her into hospital. But as he was examining her she just…well, she went.’

  Both Nardy and I groped for chairs and sat down, and as if of one mind we both put our elbows on the table and held our heads in our hands for a moment. The relief was making me sick, as I’m sure it was Nardy.

  Tommy was shaking his head. ‘I…I feel awful, man, dreadful. The times…oh, the times—’ he now wagged his head slowly from shoulder to shoulder, his eyes screwed up tight as he went on, ‘I’ve wanted her dead. I’ve prayed I�
��d come home and find her dead. I’ve prayed she would have a heart attack. And then, only this morning, she said, “Where are you going?” and I said, “I’m going down to Eastbourne for the weekend. What are you going to make out of that, Mother?” I had no intention of staying away for the weekend, not now, not any more, for it didn’t do any good. But…but that must have finished her.’

  ‘No. No, of course it didn’t.’ Nardy’s voice was harsh now. ‘She must have had a bad heart for years.’

  ‘Well, that was something I didn’t know. But, oh God! Nardy, I feel weighed down.’ He now looked at me, saying, ‘I should feel free shouldn’t I, Maisie?—like you did after you got rid of Stickle, but I don’t. I feel…well, I feel trapped inside myself. I’ll never get over this feeling of guilt, because instead of hating her, I should have tried to understand her needs of me, and…and shown her some love, but I didn’t. I didn’t.’

  I rose now and went round and put a hand on his shoulder as I said, ‘She didn’t show you any, not real love. You mustn’t blame yourself for that.’

  ‘I think I’ll blame myself till the day I die. When I saw her lying there she looked so…so helpless, and so very, very old, pityingly vulnerable. Oh, my God!’ He again drooped his head on to his hands, and I said, ‘Believe me, Tommy, this feeling will pass. I had something similar when my mother went. It will pass, I tell you, it will pass. Anyway, I think the best thing you can do, and Bella too, is to come and sleep at our place for the next day or two. When will they take her away?’

  ‘In the morning.’

  ‘Well, then, both of you…’

  ‘No, no. Thanks all the same, Maisie. I’ve got to stay here, at least until she is finally put away. Then I’ll know what I’m going to do. This…this house has been a drag on me for years. I’ll…I’ll likely sell it, and…and settle Bella some place. And then we’ll see. Thanks for coming.’ He looked from one to the other; then getting to his feet, he squared his shoulders and said. ‘You two have borne the brunt of my moaning for a long time now. I’m sorry I burdened you with it. I must have been a proper pain in the neck at times. Well, it’s all over. The only person I’ll have to moan about now is myself and my conscience.’ He held up his hands as Nardy was about to say something, and he went on, ‘It’s no use. I know myself too well, Nardy. I’m a coward. If I hadn’t been I would have made a break years ago, before things got on top of me. It wouldn’t have upset her half as much then. But then again’—he shrugged his shoulders—‘I couldn’t have done that as I was her only support. That’s been part of the trouble. You see, when my father died he was almost bankrupt: she hadn’t a penny after he went, and she liked this house. And, of course, I had to have a home. So, what was more natural than that I should keep it going. And that’s been part of the resentment. You see, I felt trapped from the beginning: were I to marry I couldn’t run two homes, my wife would have to come here.’ He smiled now, a wan sad smile, ‘You get the picture? At least you’ve had it for a long time now. But don’t worry.’ He held out his hands to both of us. ‘I’ll be all right. I’ve been blessed in one way, I’ve got you two, and always will have, I hope.’