Goodbye Hamilton

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Your…your grandmother?’

  His brief reply gave me the picture.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he assured me airily now; ‘I know me way. I get on the bus for school, but comin’ this way I didn’t get off at Gag’s corner, I come all the way. I have enough money.’ He put his hand in his anorak pocket now and held out his palm upwards towards me and on which lay three ten pence pieces and one penny piece.

  I looked around me as if searching for someone to tell me what to do with this child, and then, my eye catching the telephone, I said, ‘I must phone your grandmother,’ or at least, I thought, the shop on the corner who would get in touch with her. She had given me the number in case I should want her in an emergency. I rushed to the telephone table, but he was there by my side, his hand on my wrist, pleading now, ‘Please, Mrs Nardy, don’t get Gag to come. She’ll only belt me. She belted me yesterday ’cos I followed ’er to the bus.’

  ‘But Harold’—I leant over him—‘they’ll be worried to death when they find you’re gone.’

  ‘They won’t ’cos I was out to play.’

  ‘But they would expect you in—well…for your tea.’

  ‘Mrs Nardy.’ His voice was quiet, unusually quiet for him, its tone a deep plea. ‘I…I want to stay ’ere ’side of you an’…an’ Mr Nardy, I…I won’t make any noise. I’ll sit quiet in the kitchen with Sandy, an’ I can wash up.’ He nodded his head. ‘I wash up for Gag, an’ I take the ashes out.’ He looked around and, seeming to remember there were no ashes here to be taken out, he ended lamely, ‘I can do things.’

  I straightened up, closed my eyes tightly, bit on my lip, then said, ‘Go in the kitchen. Keep quiet; I’ll be there in a minute.’

  I got on the phone to the shop. I asked if they could please get a message to Mrs Flood, and to ask her to phone me. They weren’t very enthusiastic, it being Sunday, but they said they would. I went into Nardy and, standing by the bed, I said, ‘We’ve got a visitor.’

  ‘Yes, who?’

  ‘Childe Harold. He’s come on his own.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But yes. What am I to do?’

  His smile slowly widened and he said, ‘I suppose you’ve phoned Janet?’

  ‘Yes. Well, I mean when the shop people get to her.’

  ‘If they do and she phones, tell her he’s going to stay here tonight and there’s no need for her to worry.’

  ‘Oh, Nardy.’

  ‘Oh, Maisie,’ he mimicked. ‘Funny isn’t it; the adoption’s on the other foot now so to speak.’

  Adoption. Adoption.

  The phone rang and I went to the side table. I could hear Janet’s voice but she talked so quickly I couldn’t understand what she was saying. And so I put in, ‘Janet, it’s all right, he’s quite safe, he’s here, and he’s going to stay the night.’

  ‘What! What did you say, ma’am?’

  ‘I said, Harold’s here. He was very naughty to leave as he did, but it’s perfectly all right. He’s going to stay the night.’

  ‘Oh, my God, ma’am! You mean, Harold, he’s…he’s come all the way there himself?’

  ‘Well, what did you think I was saying?’

  She said something now to which I could not refer: she had thought that Nardy must be worse or dead. And then she cried, ‘He just went out to play down at the Flannagans. I saw him running round mad, with their dog. Then I just sat down and looked at the telly. Oh, God in heaven! What’s to be done with that boy? I’m so sorry. I’ll come…’

  ‘You won’t, Janet, you just won’t. Now, do as I say, stop worrying. He won’t be a nuisance. He’s as good as gold. I’ll get him up in the morning and if you get here a little earlier with his school things, you’ll get him there in time.’

  ‘Oh, ma’am.’ There was a long sigh; then, ‘I won’t be able to keep me hands off him.’

  ‘You will, Janet, you will, or I’ll never forgive you. I’m going to say it now, but I’ve said it before, you must stop hitting him, especially across the ears. And another thing I can tell you, Mr Leonard is very pleased that he is here. When the doorbell rang, he thought it was some boring individual from the office, but he brightened up considerably when he knew it was his Saturday-morning friend. Now I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t worry. Bye-bye.’

  As I put the phone down, Nardy said, ‘You can’t only write tales, you can tell them. Well, go and bring him in. And you’re right, I shall be pleased to see him.’ And he was.

  The boy sat quietly by the bedside for the next hour, regaling Nardy with stories of the exploits of Flannagan’s dog, and of Mr Flannagan who apparently went to confession on a Saturday night and then got drunk but was always steady enough on a Sunday morning to go to Mass. And apparently Harold’s Uncle Max could do Mr Flannagan, as Harold said, like as if he was on the telly, like. And when he ended solemnly,’E makes game ’e’s in church, ’e does, an’ says,

  “Please Father I want to say me prayers

  ’Cos I kicked me wife up the apples and pears.”’

  It was too much. Choking, I almost hauled him out of the room because I was afraid of the result of Nardy’s laughter, for he was holding himself as if in pain.

  In the kitchen, the entertainer said to me, ‘I never said nothin’ well, not swears or anythin’. I just said about Mr Flannagan…’

  ‘It’s all right. It’s all right.’ My eyes were blinking back the water. ‘But you see, Mr Nardy isn’t very well, as you know, and if he laughs too much it might bring on a pain.’

  ‘Oh…you’re not vexed then?’

  ‘No, I’m not vexed.’

  I made the mistake again of bending down and kissing him; and once more I was enveloped in a choking hug.

  Adoption! Adoption!

  I shall pass over the Monday morning and the meeting between Janet and her grandson, because I knew how difficult it was for her to keep her hands off him, when he greeted her with, ‘I didn’t cause an uproar, Gag. Ask Mrs Nardy.’

  It was on the Wednesday morning that we got a surprise, an actual letter from Tommy. We’d had a few cards but this was the first real correspondence. Nardy said, ‘You open it. Read it out.’

  The letter was short; it didn’t even cover a full page. It told us that he had been laid up with a bug, but a couple he had met, a Mr and Mrs Atkins, had been kind enough to let him stay with them. The letter finished by saying, he just wanted to wish us a happy Christmas, and he didn’t know where his next stop of call would be but that he intended to go to the Rockies.

  After reading the letter I remarked sarcastically, ‘Brief and to the point, very unlike Tommy,’ then handed it over to Nardy; and, he scanning it, said, ‘It’s his new friends’ private notepaper. There’s an address on the envelope.’

  When I said, ‘Well, I don’t think I’ll be writing back,’ he made no comment.

  I felt bitter against Tommy these days: of all Nardy’s friends and acquaintances, it was he that Nardy would like to see pop in each day. But no, he had to go off to find himself. Well, I hoped when he did find himself, he wouldn’t be disappointed with what he saw.

  Either Gran, or Mary, or George, phoned every day; and it was strange, but when Gran asked if she should come down and, to use her own words, give me a hand, I had replied quickly, no, there was no need for that; everything was under control. Why was it that I couldn’t bear the thought of either her, George, or Mary living with me day in, day out? I knew I still loved George and Gran and that at one time I should have been pleased to spend any hour of the day with either of them.

  The thought conjured up Hamilton and Begonia. I was surprised to see them for they hadn’t put in an appearance for some time now. Hamilton looked at me while pursing his great lips, and he said, Well, don’t let that worry you. You’ve grown up, you’ve moved away, not only to another place, but inside your head. You know that piece in the Bible about, When you are a child you act as a child, but when you are a man …

  I waved him to a stop. I knew
all about the piece from the Bible, but I couldn’t see that when one matured one’s feelings towards those once loved could change, or should change. Yet, I wondered if my estranged feelings had started with the refusal by Mary and George to take up my offer of a new house; they said they had already made arrangements to go into a council house. And Gran had backed them up. It was she who with her non-tact said they thought that none of what had happened would have taken place, at least not to them, if they’d had a place of their own.

  It was on the Saturday night when I was lying by Nardy’s side that he said, ‘Maisie, let’s talk.’

  I did not say what about, because his words had heightened the dread that seemed to be gathering speed these last few days.

  And then my feelings became almost unbearable when reaching out my hand to turn out the light, he said, ‘Leave it. I want to look at you.’

  Over the great lump in my throat I brought out the words, ‘Nardy, please, don’t tire yourself. Go to sleep.’

  ‘I’m past being tired, dear, and I’m not going to sleep until I have to.’

  What did he mean by that? ‘Oh, God!’ I said to myself. ‘Don’t let him talk to me about when…’

  ‘You know, dear, you’ve given me the happiest period of my life. It’s been short compared to the rest of it, but I’d give up the whole just to experience one day with you. Please, please, dear, don’t cry. Now Maisie’—he was patting my cheek—‘don’t, I beg of you, give way like that, because I have things to say.’

  He went on talking, but I hardly heard his words because even my ears seemed to be blocked by my emotions and withheld tears. Yet they were alive to the cry in my head: Don’t leave me, Nardy! Don’t leave me! What would I do without him? He was my way of life, this new wonderful way of life. I couldn’t go back, not even to those days between the freedom from Stickle and my marriage. I was still in limbo then, not believing anything good could happen to me. I now visualised the years stretching ahead with only Hamilton, and he getting larger and larger in my consciousness, because inside, I was a lonely creature; my real being wandered in arid places to where I had been thrust as a child by my mother. As any other normal human being, I needed hands to hold mine; I needed kind words; I needed friendship; but above all, I needed love and the feel of a body close to me.

  He had hold of my chin, shaking it, ‘You’re not listening.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘What did I say last?’

  When I was silent, he said, ‘There you are. Maisie! Maisie! Maisie!’ He again shook my face. ‘You must listen. Don’t close your mind to facts, it isn’t like you. And it is a fact that I won’t be much longer with you…’

  ‘Oh. Nardy. Nardy.’

  ‘No, no. Now stop it. Listen.’

  ‘I won’t listen.’ I pulled my face away from his hand. ‘People with bad hearts can go on living for years and years, if they want to. That’s the point, if they want to. You’re not putting up a fight; you’re letting go. I’ve seen you, you’re letting go. Yes you are. Yes you are.’ I heard my voice getting higher and higher.

  ‘My dear, be quiet. Now be quiet. I know people with bad hearts can live for years, but mine isn’t only a bad heart. I’ve never gone over my medical history with you. I had scarlet fever as a child; it left me with a weakness then. I thought I had outgrown it.’

  ‘But they can do anything today, they can give people new hearts.’

  ‘Yes, I know that. But in this case…my case, there is the complication that is no use going into, and…and the fire didn’t help.’

  I half buried my face in the pillow as I muttered, ‘Stickle, and through him, me. If it hadn’t been for me…‘

  ‘Don’t be silly, woman. You could say, if you hadn’t been born, or if I hadn’t been born, we wouldn’t have met. These things happen. But, look at me.’

  Through a thick mist I looked into his dear, dear face and those kindly eyes, and I listened to him as he said, ‘There are one or two things I want you to promise me that you’ll do. First of all, try to adopt the child. If it had been possible I myself would have taken this matter up, because I should like to see that boy make something of himself. The second thing is, you must keep on writing. Not about Hamilton, no; write about people; you have a very good insight into people. And, lastly, and this to my mind is the most important, you must not let yourself be lonely, you must marry again.’

  I actually did spring away from him almost out of the bed, and I said one word: ‘Nardy.’

  ‘Yes, my dear?’ His tone was gentle, even had a thread of amusement in it.

  ‘You can say that to me?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I can say that to you.’

  ‘Well, Mr Leviston, which of the line of suitors would you suggest I take? Because there’s dozens of men out there breaking their necks to…to…’

  He caught my hand and gently drew me towards him again. ‘You know, my dear, that’s your fault. It’s been practically inbred in you, you undervalue yourself. Oh’—he made an impatient movement—‘forget about looks. You can’t live with looks, they fade, it’s the personality that counts, it never fades, it grows, it deepens.’

  ‘Nardy’—my voice was low now—‘are you thinking of Tommy?’

  He made a sound in his throat like a choked cough; then he said, ‘Well, I won’t say he wasn’t in my mind.’

  ‘Well, I think you’ll have to scratch him off the list, dear, because all Tommy wanted, if he only knew it, was another mother.’

  ‘Don’t we all. That’s why I took you.’

  ‘Please, please be serious.’

  ‘I was never more, my darling, never more. But apart from Tommy, you will find that your horizon won’t be devoid of males, for one reason, you are a name now.’

  ‘And they’ll want me only for my money, which they would find is surprisingly little.’

  ‘Not with my not so small estate attached to it.’

  I knew that Nardy owned this part of the house. I also knew that his mother had left him another property further into the city. I had seen it. It wasn’t a very prepossessing place, a tallish house let off into four offices. And as if picking my thoughts, he said, ‘That little city block is worth a small fortune at today’s prices. So you’ll be quite a warm lady. Then there will be the pension.’

  ‘Nardy. Please. I beg of you. I’ve never had any money, not real money, so it doesn’t really matter what…’

  ‘Don’t be silly. And don’t say money doesn’t matter. You only say money doesn’t matter when you have plenty of it. If you were left alone without money it would matter, and very much.’

  He was right; as usual he was right.

  As I went to put my arms around him my toe accidentally rubbed against a bad part of his leg, and when he winced I said, ‘Oh my dear, have I hurt you?’

  ‘You’ve never hurt me, or anybody in your life,’ he said. And at this and with tears running down my face, I spluttered, ‘You’ve forgotten I went to jail once for trying to knock somebody off.’ And at this, he too, laughed gently. Then we lay close and quiet and I died and died again until we went to sleep. Who went first I don’t know. I only know that the next morning I woke with a start, fearing at what I should find on the pillow beside me. But he was asleep and still with me.

  Eighteen

  Nardy died at the beginning of the second week before Christmas.

  I awoke this morning and he was no longer with me; he had gone. How long I lay beside him with my arms holding him, I don’t know; I only know that Janet came in and found me like that and pulled me from the bed. Strangely, I hadn’t cried, and all that day, and the next, and the next, I didn’t cry. When I phoned Mike that morning, he said, ‘Keep your pecker up, girl. I’ll be with you shortly. Just remember this: You’ve had love and happiness not known to many. Like everything precious, such things are either small or short.’

  When I phoned George, his response was characteristic. ‘God, no!’ he said. ‘I’ll bring Gran down.’ />
  He brought Gran down the following day, and it was from the moment she entered the flat, or rather the kitchen, that the feeling of harmony left the place, because she became violently jealous of Janet, and Janet had never taken to her. But I took little notice of it at the time, although when she said openly, while looking down on Harold, ‘That child shouldn’t be in the house,’ I had to say openly to her, ‘Nardy would want him here to be with me, Gran. In fact, it was his wish.’ She took real umbrage, hardly speaking for the rest of the day.

  Nardy was cremated. Although the weather was really awful, there was an amazing number of people in the chapel. It is strange, but immediately after Janet had pulled me from him until his coffin had disappeared I had felt I had lost him, he had gone forever; but when I came out of the chapel, it was as if he were near me, his spirit was almost tangible. At one point, when someone was shaking my hand and offering their condolences, I saw him standing with Hamilton and Begonia and, strangely, my mother. Their faces looked bright, even happy as they looked towards me, seemingly over the shoulder of the man who would keep talking until George took me by the elbow and led me to the car, in which Janet and Gran were already seated.

  Much to Gran’s chagrin, I had insisted on Janet riding with us. As I had explained to Gran, Janet had practically brought Nardy up; she had been with him since he was born. Gran, I recall, had said nothing, only given me a very odd look. Her feelings were to be expressed to me later.

  Mike had been unable to get to the funeral. One of his partners was off sick and there was an epidemic of colds and flu keeping him busy most of the day and quite a part of the night. But he arrived at eight o’clock that night, having flown down.

  All the friends and sympathisers had left. There were only Janet, Gran, and I in the house, and, of course, Harold. When I look back, the sense of that boy at that time amazes me even now, for he did exactly what he was told. He remained quiet, but whenever he was near me he took my hand and held it firmly, and never uttered a word.