Goodbye Hamilton

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Yes, Sandy was sick.’ As I rose from my knees I saw that look on his face which meant he was trying to work out why the same word should not be applied to a man vomiting as to a dog. And being unable to do this, he dismissed it and asked, ‘Is ’e goin’ to stay?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Im, Mr Wotsisname.’ He thumbed towards the door.

  ‘Mr Balfour?’

  ‘Yes, ’im. Is ’e goin’ to stay?’

  ‘No. He’s just calling.’

  ‘E’s big.’

  ‘Yes, he’s big.’

  ‘Can I come back in with yer?’

  ‘No, you can’t. What I want you to do now is to put those things away off the table, and then get out your books, and I’ll be with you shortly.’

  ‘Can I take ’em into yer study?’

  ‘No, you can’t. You stay here with Sandy until I come back.’

  ‘Tripe.’

  ‘Harold.’

  ‘I only said, tripe. Gag gets it from the butchers an’ she puts taters on it.’

  This was no time to go into the culinary effects created by Janet with tripe and the effect of the word on the ear when used to take the place of yet an even more telling adjective.

  In the drawing room once more, I said to Tommy, ‘He’s a bit of a handful, but very lovable.’

  ‘Yes, I can imagine that. You couldn’t be lonely where he was.’

  I confirmed this point by saying, ‘He’s been a comfort to me of late, and before Nardy went we discussed adopting him.’

  ‘Adopting him?’

  ‘Yes.’ I nodded. ‘It was Nardy’s wish, and mine too. The matter is under discussion at the moment.’

  He sat back in his chair, his head drooping once again. Then, as if coming to a decision, he muttered, ‘I’ve got to talk to you, Maisie. I…I mean really talk, not just this polite jargon. I…I must tell you why I acted as I did.’ His head jerked up now as he said, ‘May I sit beside you? I…I won’t need to look at your face then.’

  In a small voice I answered, ‘Yes. Yes, of course, Tommy.’

  He pulled himself up, then sat down on the couch my short arm’s length from me, and, leaning forward once again, he put his elbows on his knees and joined his hands together before he began to talk. And his first words startled me. ‘I am a potential murderer, at least in my mind. You see, Maisie, just shortly after I met you, I fell in love with you. I could never understand when in the office why anyone should question the reason Nardy would want to marry you. To me, at first, you were the antithesis of my mother: you were kind; you were loving; you had a sense of humour. One forgot, when in your presence, that you were small, or that you had a deformed arm, and, as you have so often stated yourself, had no claim to beauty. I thought then the feeling I had for you was bound up with that which I held for Nardy. But later, I realised that I was kidding myself. You will remember I made this house almost a second home for a time, presumably to get out of my mother’s presence, but really it was to be in yours. But—’ His whole body now seemed to heave as he drew in a long breath; then as it subsided, he went on. ‘But my feelings for you weren’t the reason I went away. It was because I was consumed with guilt. The fire did it. That fire didn’t burn me physically, but it did mentally and spiritually. It ripped the skin off my hidden thoughts. In that smoked-filled attic, when I felt I was going to die, I thought, well, it was the best way out; it would save me being a traitor to my friend. This mightn’t have been conscious thinking but I know now it was there. Then when I came out alive and heard that Nardy was in a bad way, one thought filled my mind…’

  His head drooped further now towards his joined hands, and when he spoke, although his words were weighed with pain, they shocked me, for they were: ‘I waited for him to die. I wanted him to die. I willed him to die…Don’t move away from me, Maisie, please, because I moved away from myself so much at that time I became a different human being, and the remorse will remain with me forever.’

  I hadn’t moved away from him. Although I was shocked by his words, there had erupted in me a feeling of pity for him. Yet at the same time there was also the feeling of amazement that I, who was exactly as he had described me a few minutes earlier and who knew myself to be unprepossessing, could have in me something that had the power to drive a man such as Tommy to such lengths. It wasn’t real; it didn’t seem possible. In a way, it was like Beauty And The Beast in reverse.

  He went on talking: ‘The feeling became strongest when I visited him in hospital. Each time after seeing him I got in that car and drove hell for leather, looking for an accident to happen. One day, I remember, after almost crashing into a car I stopped and got out and upbraided the fellow for his careless driving. I remember the man being almost speechless because I had come straight out of a side road and almost into him broadside on. And there were three children in his car. I think the man was in shock or he might have felled me for the things I said to him. The police sorted it out. After that I went to a psychiatrist. I remember he smiled and said I was still in shock from the fire; that this would pass, and to carry on my work as normally as possible. He said the love for this woman that I had which was driving me to act as I was doing towards my lifelong friend was equivalent to a teenage crush. He ended by saying I was suffering a breakdown. I only paid him the visit. Then—’ he turned his head now and looked at me, and after a second’s pause he said, ‘my thinking took another twist. I began to hate you for being the cause of breaking up my lifelong friendship with Nardy and for this dreadful desire to see him dead that was eating me up. I had to get away. So I went, but still refusing to believe I was in a breakdown which had the seeds of its beginnings in Mother’s death.’

  He was looking at his hands again. His voice slow now, he said, ‘I kept a diary for a time about the places I stopped at or passed through, and then I let it go. What did it matter? It was after arriving in Calgary that things changed. I was feeling ropey. Then I met this couple. They invited me to their home. I stayed for a week. It wasn’t that they had taken a liking to me, I think it was simply because I was British; they were that sort of people. It was just before I left them that I sent you the note on their headed paper. I wouldn’t face up to the fact that I wanted to hear how things were at this end. Anyway, I started on my travels again and came across a family in a place they called a home and in which I’m sure you would hesitate to leave Sandy. There were seven of them and all in one room including a father and mother, grandmother, and great-grandfather, the son, and his wife, and their child. And we all slept on wooden boards. But what was in that room besides all those people was peace, a kind of peace that I cannot explain. It was through talking with the son that I came to myself. I worked with my hands for the first time in my life, really worked, grubbing the earth. I’ve promised to go back, and I will sometime. One day he asked me a question: “Are you better now?” he said, and I answered simply, “Almost.” It was odd, for I’d never mentioned that I was ill, physically or in my mind. Anyway, the following week I picked up your letter. But still I did not hurry back. I purposely made my way slowly. The feeling of guilt had gone but the remorse still checked my step.’

  He now turned and looked at me again. I knew this, but I wasn’t looking at him, I was looking at Nardy’s photograph that stood on a side table. He was smiling at me. And now at each side of the table, I saw my two friends standing, but as in a mist. Lately, since Harold had come, if I saw them at all, it was through a mist. Yet, even as I looked at them, Hamilton’s form took on a more defined outline, and slowly he came towards me. And as he passed me, his eyes still on me, I turned my head and saw him put his front hoof on Tommy’s shoulder. And there was Tommy now holding a letter out to me. ‘Would you like to read that?’ he said.

  I took it and opened it, and saw Nardy’s handwriting. It began:

  ‘My dear friend,

  We won’t go into the why’s and wherefore’s but time is running out. So let me say that, although I don’t understand you
r attitude over the past weeks, I do understand the reason that lies at the bottom of it. When I am gone, Tommy, Maisie is going to be lost. I loved her dearly and she loved me in return. But death is death and life without companionship or love, I should imagine, is worse than death. I don’t think she will fall into your arms right away, she is not that kind, but give her your friendship and company, and time will tell. My affection for you has never lessened, Tommy. You were my friend. You will always be my friend. Until we meet wherever the Gods direct.

  Yours,

  Nardy.’

  It was like the day I lost Bill. A cry tore its way through my throat, the tears sprang from my eyes, nose, and mouth. Tommy’s arms were around me, his voice was pleading, ‘Oh, Maisie, Maisie, don’t, don’t. Please. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shown you that, but I wanted you to know. Oh, please, please, dear. Maisie, I wouldn’t upset you for the world.’

  Then I knew there were other arms about me and claws pawing at me, for Harold was standing on the couch and Sandy was jumping up at my side, and Harold’s voice penetrated my crying as he yelled, ‘Yer done this, mister! I’ll bloody well get me Uncle Max at yer.’

  Slowly, but forcibly, I disentangled myself from the hands and the paws. Pushing both Tommy and Harold away, I leant back on the couch and when Tommy handed me his handkerchief, I dried my face. And as I did so, my champion demanded, ‘Did ’e ’it yer?’

  I told myself not to laugh for I would become hysterical. But I shook my head, then glanced at Tommy and said, ‘No, he didn’t hit me.’ Then I added, ‘He is Mr Nardy’s friend.’ But I had to turn my head away because I could not bear to see the look in Tommy’s eyes, for I saw that he, too, at any moment might burst into tears.

  When I handed Tommy his handkerchief back, he took my hand and held it firmly. Then, as if not to be outdone, Childe Harold caught my other hand. And there we sat linked for a moment in silence, and in it I saw Hamilton and Begonia emerge from the mist once again, their coats shining brightly, their manes flying, their tails outstretched. Slowly, they came towards me, stopped for a second and looked at me, then walked through me and were gone.

  I closed my eyes.

  One life had ended. Another was to begin.

  The End