The Thursday Friend

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Well, of course I went to see the little fellow, and was horrified to know that he was dying; not from asthma but from a defective heart. Gilly and Natasha were in a dreadful state, because he was their only child. Anyway, I must at one time or other have told the boy that I wasn’t very fond of teaching, so a few weeks after the boy was buried I was both amazed and delighted when Gilly met me coming out of the school one day and in his abrupt way said that he had understood from Rodney that I wasn’t very fond of teaching. He asked if I liked books, then offered me the post of assistant, which he assured me straight away would be very dusty and dull, for it would mean simply nothing but sorting books into categories. How did I feel about that?

  ‘Without a pause I assured him I felt very well about it, and thanked him very much; and when he said, “Aren’t you going to enquire what the wage is?” I said no, that I would leave that to him. He was very generous. That’s how I came to be Gilly’s assistant and met you one Thursday morning.’

  ‘What a delightful story,’ Hannah said, ‘but such a pity and so sad about them losing their child.’

  ‘But they’re very sensible about him. For a long time they talked as if he were still in the house and growing up. At times it was a bit weird, but I think it helped them both to manage their grief. Anyway’ – his voice was loud now – ‘that’s all the talking I’m going to do for the rest of the day, at least about myself. I’m now going to ask the questions and I want fully fledged answers and no evasiveness.’

  As she looked at him she thought to herself: no evasiveness, he says; but he had evaded quite neatly talking about his wife and how Peter, the man who, she imagined, was now indispensable to him, had come back into his life.

  ‘Look at that!’ – he was pointing to her cup – ‘you haven’t touched it and it’s stone cold. I’ll give Peter a call.’

  ‘No, no! please. I don’t mind lukewarm tea; I often drink cold tea in the summer.’

  ‘If you’re sure?’

  ‘Quite sure. Cold tea can be very refreshing.’

  He smiled as she sipped at the cold tea. Then, bouncing up from the couch, he said, ‘Let me see the paper and what’s on tonight. What would you like to do?’

  He had pulled a newspaper from an ornamental rack standing to the side of the fireplace. ‘There’s comedy and drama. Let’s see what else. A musical or the ballet? Oh’ – he looked over the top of the paper – ‘don’t say you want to go to the ballet, because I’m not very fond of ballet, I must confess.’

  ‘You’re missing something, then.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, so they tell me.’

  ‘Well, I’m not mad about comedies; interchanging bedroom scenes never appear funny to me.’

  He was laughing down at her now as he said, ‘You are an odd thing, aren’t you? In this case, it’s a pity one can’t insert “little”, but you’re too tall for that.’

  Her face straight, she said, ‘What d’you mean by odd?’

  ‘Oh, something nice . . . surprising, one could say.’ He was sitting near her again when he added, ‘I can understand your not liking comedy. But musicals?’

  ‘Oh yes, I like musicals.’ And before she could stop her thoughts, she voiced them by saying, ‘Probably because I’ve never had very much gaiety in my own life.’

  Her voice trailed away and, her head drooping, she said, ‘What a silly thing to say.’ Then jerking her chin up she faced him, saying, ‘But it’s true. Life can go on from day to day, so very . . . the word here is “mundane”. That’s why it appeared I stepped out of my world on Thursday morning when I entered Jason Gardens and walked into that book cave and Mr Gillyman . . . then you, which is why I must have seemed so eager to accept your invitation to go out for a meal.’

  ‘You didn’t accept it eagerly at all, you were quite cool.’

  ‘Oh no; I wasn’t inside. I was so excited. I knew I was doing something that I shouldn’t and that if Humphrey found out he would be aghast and—’

  ‘Why on earth should he be aghast? From what you say, he seems very keen to keep his bridge evenings intact.’

  ‘Yes, but on that occasion I knew I’d have to lie, because he was under the impression I was going to that concert with my sister. Instead, what was I doing? I was having supper, or dinner, whatever you might call it, with a man I’d met for the first time that morning and about whom I knew nothing.’

  He caught her hand as he said, ‘Well, by now you know a lot about him. Does that make you feel any better?’

  ‘Not really. There’ll be more lying to do tomorrow night about how I spent my weekend.’

  ‘Does he go away every weekend?’

  She paused a moment, as if thinking. Then she answered him, saying, ‘Yes; well, it wasn’t always every weekend; but it has been for quite a long time now, since his uncle’ – she dipped her head with the word – ‘has gout or something, which always appears worse at the weekends, and Mrs Beggs, that’s the housekeeper, and apparently a treasure’ – she pulled a face here – ‘generally phones to give Humphrey the state of her master’s health, which determines whether or not he spends a long weekend there.’

  He drew back from her, his expression straight as he asked, ‘And have you been there? To the house?’

  ‘Oh yes; yes.’ She smiled at him. ‘He’s asked me time and again to go with him, hoping, I’m sure, that I’ll refuse, because in the early days of our marriage his aunt made it quite plain that dear Humphrey had made a great mistake in taking on one such as me. But I’ve told you all this: she looks upon me as a brainless blonde.’

  ‘How dare she! Oh no! . . . Are they wealthy?’

  ‘Oh, I think they’re pretty well off.’

  ‘And no family of their own?’

  ‘No, only . . . ’ she mimicked now, ‘“dear, dear Humphrey,”’ then added, ‘“He was always such a thoughtful boy,”’ which caused David to chortle. The sound he made caused her to be immediately contrite, and she said, ‘I . . . I shouldn’t do that. I . . . I mean, say things like that, because he is thoughtful. He is still very thoughtful. That sounded so spiteful.’

  ‘No, no; it didn’t. It just points out that you’re not easily hoodwinked.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Well, that you’re not being hoodwinked with regard to his aunt’s wrong opinion of you and of blondes in general.’

  He glanced at his watch, saying, ‘The time’s going on, and it’s Saturday and we haven’t booked anywhere, but we might just get a seat if we get to something early. What did I say about musicals?’ He picked up the paper again, but before reading it he said, ‘Oh, what I should have said was, would you like to freshen up? Look; it’s through here.’

  He pulled her gently up from the couch and led her to a far door; and there he said, ‘I’m sorry, you’ll have to go through the bedroom to get to the bathroom; it was the way I altered the rooms. The only mistake I made, I think.’

  After the expanse of the sitting room the bedroom seemed small, but the bathroom was very adequate and well appointed.

  She looked in the mirror. Her hair was hanging loose about her shoulders and looked messy. It should be tidied up, especially if they were going out this evening. She had a hair clasp in her bag; she would go and get it.

  She returned to the bedroom, then stopped when she heard Peter’s voice. ‘I’m so glad for you, sir,’ then David’s voice answering, ‘Oh, don’t be too glad, Peter; she’s an unknown quantity: there’s a will behind that naïvety.’

  ‘I see her just as you described her, sir, and the word is nice.’

  ‘Yes, she is. But how nice remains to be seen.’

  ‘Oh, it’ll work out for you, sir. In this case, it couldn’t not.’

  She moved quietly back into the bathroom and sat down.

  In this case, i
t couldn’t not.

  So there had been other cases, then, that hadn’t worked out.

  And she appeared naïve, did she?

  Well, she wasn’t that naïve. She had said to him, ‘No etchings?’ and she had meant it. Yet what had she expected to be the outcome of these get-togethers? Her inner voice came at her now, saying, Well, why don’t you answer yourself? You know what will happen eventually.

  I don’t. No, I don’t. She was on her feet now. Anyway, it mustn’t; I couldn’t bear to look at Humphrey.

  Damn Humphrey! The voice was almost a scream in her head and so loud was it that she clapped her hand over her mouth and cast her gaze quickly about the room. What had come over her? Fancy her saying that – Damn Humphrey! Nothing before had ever made her react like that. Well – there was the voice again – nothing in your life has happened to make you fear his displeasure as you’re fearing it now.

  I’m not fearing it. I don’t fear him; I just don’t want to hurt him.

  Then why damn him?

  Oh. For answer she pulled open the bathroom door and closed it loudly enough to give notice of her return; when she entered the room again David was sitting on the couch; but he immediately got to his feet and he said, ‘Did you find everything you wanted?’

  ‘Not quite.’ She made her voice light. ‘There’s a hair clasp in my bag.’ She reached down to the side of the couch and picked up her bag, and then added, ‘Nor could I find any lipstick on your shelf.’

  ‘Oh dear! dear! What a pity. I usually have some . . . Wait a minute . . . ’ He made a pretence of groping in his pocket, but she was walking from him back into the bathroom; and once again the door closed on her. She did not immediately open her bag, but stood looking in the mirror again, and softly she said to her reflection, ‘It’ll pay you to stick to your naïvety.’

  They could not find a seat in either a musical or a play that interested them, so they went to the cinema, and, after sitting for nearly an hour through a brain-chilling enactment of what happened to innocent people during a witch hunt in America, he glanced at her.

  Her head was lowered and he whispered, ‘Had enough?’

  ‘Much more,’ she said.

  Quietly they went out, and in the street they laughed when he said, ‘This is the second entertainment we’ve escaped from. I wonder what the third one will be. Well, now what? It’s just turned half-past nine. How about a little bite somewhere?’

  ‘Oh no; no, thank you. It’ll be much too late by the time I get home.’

  ‘Hannah’ – he had taken her arm and was walking her along the street now – ‘there’s no timekeeper waiting for you, and whoever heard of anyone having to be home early these days? Come on!’

  ‘No; I’d rather not.’

  ‘Well, what about just one drink?’

  She glanced at him now as she said, ‘I bet you know a little place where we can get a corner seat.’

  His high laugh again rang out, and he took her arm and pulled her tight against his side as he said, ‘You think you’ve got me weighed up, don’t you?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Oh. Oh.’

  ‘Well, perhaps about food and drink I do.’

  ‘Well, madam, I can tell you there’s much more to me than food and drink, and you’ll not know what it is if you rush off so as to be home early every night. Now, if you were doing a Cinderella and making it twelve, there’d be some excuse for your hurry. As a last resort, can I offer you a cup of tea from a street stall?’

  ‘You know of a stall open at this time of night?’

  ‘This time of night? All night. All night.’

  She laughed, then said, ‘All right, lead on.’

  Ten minutes later they were standing with four other patrons at the stall, drinking a cup of very strong coffee. He had chosen it from the offer of tea, coffee or cocoa, but when she couldn’t get halfway through it, he finished it for her, saying, ‘I can see you’ll have to get used to a number of things.’

  When she shivered, he asked, ‘Are you cold?’ And when she answered, ‘No,’ he said, ‘Well, let’s have a walk along the Embankment. It’s lovely at this time of night.’

  So they walked along the Embankment. At one point they stopped for a moment to watch a pleasure boat steaming down the river with couples dancing on the deck, and when the music came to them clearly over the water he turned to her and said, ‘May I have this dance, please?’

  His arms were held out to her, and she flapped them away with her hands, saying, ‘You would too, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Yes! Yes, of course I would, so long as I could hear the music.’

  ‘And have the police after you for unruly conduct?’

  ‘Oh, they couldn’t have me for dancing. Now, if you were to scream they could have me; and I shouldn’t wonder but you’re now going to scream when I say, “How are we going to spend tomorrow?”’

  She didn’t scream; she smiled and she answered, ‘I don’t know what you’re going to do, but I’m going to have dinner with my sister, her husband, and their four terrors.’

  ‘Well, where do they live? Not down in Cornwall; surely it won’t take all day?’

  ‘No, not all day, but quite a bit of it. They live in Ealing.’

  ‘Ealing? Oh, I know Ealing. I used to know someone in Northcote Avenue.’

  ‘I have to pass there to get to Janie’s,’ she said. ‘They live in Buttermere Close. It’s only about three or four streets further on.’

  ‘And is that where your brother-in-law sells his fruit and veg?’

  ‘Oh, no, that’s in the centre of town; and I’ve told you, he used to have a stall in the market; but now he’s going to buy another shop.’

  ‘And his name’s Harper, is it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And he lives in Buttermere Close?’

  She did not answer him straight away but said, ‘You wouldn’t!’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I?’ He now struck a pose, saying, ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Harper. I hope you’ve finished lunch. I’m a friend of your sister, her Thursday friend, and was passing this way. I have a friend in Northcote Avenue. Oh, thank you; yes, I’ll come in for a moment;’ and he held out his hand to the side, and it was apparently shaken by someone, for he said, ‘Yes; and I’m pleased to meet you, too. I’ve heard a lot about you from Micky, you know, Micky McClean.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare!’

  ‘Oh, I would. Yes, really I would. I dare to do things like that. When I get an urge that I want something very badly I have a secret source of courage that I can call upon. At other times I’m a coward about most things and run away. It seems I’ve been running away all my life but then, just sometimes, I face up to things, and I think that tomorrow afternoon could be one of those times.’

  ‘Please don’t.’

  ‘Why not?’ His voice was sober now. ‘If you don’t promise to see me tomorrow it’ll be the usual Sunday for me. I’ll sleep in late. Peter will have ascertained earlier whether I’m having lunch out or in. If I’m in he’ll make a splendid roast; if I’m out I generally go without eating until the evening, then I have a bite somewhere, and sometimes, just sometimes, I go to Trafalgar Square and to St Martin-in-the-Fields, and, after the service, go downstairs to see if I can be of any help. But just sometimes, mind, because I’m no do-gooder. Oh, no; far from it. But I happen to know someone there who is a do-gooder in the right way. So that is my usual Sunday. Gilly and Natasha frequently press me to go there on a Sunday, but I feel they should have that day to themselves, and they generally go to the cemetery to visit Rodney’s grave. Now, for instance, if you decided to have lunch with me tomorrow, just think of the fun we could have. We could go up the river again, or I can hire a car and take you to far-off places. Since I’ve been living in London I’ve n
ever kept a car, but I often hire one. We could go to the seaside or whatever you fancied. Now, just think of that. Wouldn’t it be lovely?’

  She smiled softly at him as she said, ‘I mustn’t . . . I mean, I can’t do it.’

  ‘You were going to say you mustn’t do it. Humphrey again. Well, what time does Humphrey get back?’

  ‘It varies, usually about nine-thirty.’

  ‘Nine-thirty on a Sunday evening.’ He clicked his tongue twice: ‘Tut-tut . . . Tut-tut,’ then said, ‘If I don’t see you tomorrow, I won’t see you until Thursday unless you promise to have lunch with me one day before that.’

  ‘I can’t do that, no . . . no. Humphrey . . . ’

  ‘Oh, Hum . . . phrey.’ He split the name now, and there was a sound of impatience in his tone as he said, ‘I’m already beginning to dislike Humphrey, you know.’

  She didn’t say, You don’t know him, and that’s unfair; but what she said was, ‘I would like to go to a service at St Martin-in-the-Fields.’

  ‘You would? Oh, that’s good. We’ll do that. And . . . and you’ll come and have tea again at the flat before that, a proper tea this time? What about it? What time shall I meet you? You’ll be going to your sister’s for lunch, I suppose?’