Salt of Their Blood

by Gerald Wixey

  His lips pursed, eyebrows came up, it isn’t my idea. ‘Your mother’s had enough, got a taste for a normal lifestyle, whatever the fuck that is.’

  I stared at him, unnerving him a little. He lit a cigarette, he hated news and knew some was going to come back his way. ‘Kathy’s thinking about getting a job down in Dorset.’ His eyes bulged and I said, ‘I don’t really want to move down there.’

  ‘Let your mum go down to Dorset with Kathy, you stay here and run this place with me.’ I got the deadpan expression, a couple of heaving breaths and those blazing blue eyes… He was serious!

  ***

  I walked back into town and into the Bear. The pint with my old man had started me off; I’d developed a raging, saharan thirst, encouraged by some money in my back pocket and a dry couple of weeks. After I’d left the Bear, the sofa beckoned for an hour and I slept with the newspaper across my chest. Waking with a start, I jumped up and remembered what Kathy’s lunchtime consisted of. She’d be home in an hour or so. I stared at myself in the mirror; the bruising had all but disappeared. My ribs hurt and I still had a lump on my head, but the headaches had virtually gone.

  I sat on the window shelf, saw Ron walking in front of Woolworth’s and heard the church clock strike four – no overtime for him today. I watched him every morning, walking across from Grove Street towards the newsagents. Same time, every morning. I imagined his hard little eyes darting all around. What I found ironic in all of this, Kathy wanted me to go back to that type of work, be like Ron and come home every night smelling of workshops and cutting fluid – no thanks.

  I rested my forehead against the cool of the window.

  Cutting fluid!

  Ron – I knew.

  Why didn’t I make a connection between something so sickly sweet, so industrially organic and incongruous; mixed in amongst Kathy’s perfume and the sweet-smelling rain and the aroma of wet earth? I’d racked my brains for days… Ron and a machine-shop smell, peaches and cream, cutting fluid and Ronny.

  I wanted to kill him. It would be easy enough to bump into him on a gloomy morning, as I became stronger and Ron became more feeble. So easy – but I didn’t feel driven; something had changed. My heart wasn’t in it; perhaps the fight had been kicked out of me.

  I tracked him with my eyes as he turned down Grove Street and disappeared around the corner. The market traders were beginning to pack up for the day and I spotted Shirley buying her fruit and veg at end-of-the-day rock-bottom, giveaway prices. She had her long belted raincoat wrapped around and her slender ankles were supported by stilettos.

  I rushed out and stood behind her in the queue – too close. Shirley’s radar switched on, sensing another man, another close encounter in a queue, another pervert. As she collected her change, a withering stare came my way, then her mouth dropped.

  ‘Lover – God what a sight for sore eyes you are.’

  ‘Fancy a coffee? I’m only just across the road.’

  ‘Yes please.’ Then she frowned, ‘Will Kathy be there?’

  I shook my head. ‘Just me.’

  We stood in the small kitchen and Shirley watched me pour boiling water into the percolator. ‘God this takes me back – fresh coffee.’ She walked up close and touched my cheekbone with the back of her fingers. ‘You don’t look so bad.’

  We chatted, never mentioned the attack, never mentioned Kathy, or Kenny. Instead we talked about the pub. Mum had already told Shirley, ‘Shook me down to my boots lover, what are you going to do?’

  I shook my head, ‘Kathy doesn’t want me to take the pub on.’ I sighed, ‘Get a job I suppose, what about you?’

  ‘I’ve worked there for as long as your mum and dad… I don’t know. I’d like to take it on, but I don’t think they’ll leave.’ Pensive, smoking and drinking coffee, she sat on the edge of the chair as she leaned forward, as if she half expected me to impart something devastating.

  Now, I didn’t want to do this to her – however.

  ‘Why did you do it, Shirley?’

  Her eyebrows arched and she stared at me. Shirley’s mouth turned down and her head dropped, she stubbed her cigarette out and stared into the ashtray. Shirley heaved a sigh and brought her eyes back up to me and said, ‘Why did I do what? What do you mean?’

  ‘I know who did it Shirley.’

  ‘It wasn’t Kenny.’

  ‘I know that.’ I nodded at her. ‘I know who it was though.’

  Shirley didn’t pick up on what I had just said. ‘I’ve had the devil’s only trying to convince Harry about that.’

  ‘He knows it wasn’t Kenny.’

  She looked angry. ‘Have you told him who it was?’

  I shook my head. ‘I’ve not told anyone else that it was Ronny. Why did you do it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Is it contagious or something?’

  ‘Stu – you’re not making any sense.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘Why did you give Ron an alibi?’

  Quick as a flash, Shirley came back at me. ‘Because I hated the pair of you more than…’’

  I struggled to keep my voice even; ‘You’re not even married to him anymore. Did you know he was blackmailing Kathy?’

  Shirley stared at me for a few seconds. Then she shook her head and started to cry; softly, talking through tears, I had a job to hear her. ‘I own up, I lied, I believed Ron when he said it wasn’t him. To begin with, anyway – you know he was working every hour god sent. He worked that night, told me he was in the Shears afterwards, he got back about eleven.’

  I thought I saw someone coming down Mill Street as we walked through the mill. A couple of scurrying rats distracted me, I was more concerned Kathy might spot them, more excited with what we were about to do to each other when we got home. Instead of rats in front, I should have been more aware of king rat behind. Ron tumbled out of the Shears, saw us going through the mill and followed us, ever the opportunist, trailing as quietly as drifting fog.

  Shirley ploughed on her tearful way, ‘He said police were everywhere when he walked home, he had to be a suspect what with the history between you lot and all. He asked me to say he was with me all night. Kenny was with me anyway – what’s one more in the house? I believed him. I lied to the police. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight, I hated Kathy – and you, come to that.’ Her eyes were wet and blurred, mascara streaks fanned out below them. ‘Don’t do anything – please Stuart, don’t tell Harry.’

  I held her hand. ‘I’m too bloody tired to do anything, and don’t worry, I won’t say anything to my old man.’ Shirley stared at her nails, the brightest of bright red and manicured to a dangerously small radius. ‘When did you realise?’

  She let go of my hand, undid her cigarettes and lit another. ‘There was blood on his shirt; he was always nicking himself at work. You know what machine shops are like, all those sharp edges, all that swarf. But this wasn’t a nick; too much blood – and not his either. He gave himself away and it wasn’t just the blood; he’s always like a cat on a hot tin roof at the best of times. He’s been dreadful, jumping when the doors knocked, shouting at me.’

  ‘Did he ever say anything about last Christmas?’

  Shirley frowned, what?

  ‘He saw us together, on Christmas eve.’ Confused, her head tipped as I said, ‘When we were – in a bit of a clinch.’

  Shirley groaned, reconciled exasperation across her face. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Did he say anything to you?’

  I shook my head, ‘I’m sorry, I should have told you.’

  ‘Sometimes he thinks we’re still married.’ An uneasy little glance across at me, ‘No – it was just a kiss. Anyway, it’s me that should be saying sorry, but I don’t know what to say about any of the whole bloody mess. I just know I hated the pair of you so much and I’d hurt Ron so many times.’

  Shirley was doing what we all do at times, just trying to balance an equation. I said, ‘Don’t say anymore, its fini
shed now.’

  But she did. ‘I hated the pair of you – I guess that’s my excuse.’ Shirley took a little glance across, how are you with that? ‘I’d got so close to Kathy and you. Things will never be the same and that makes me so sad.’

  We sat in silence. After a few minutes she started to collect her things, I said, ‘How’s Kenny?’

  Her eyebrows came up. ‘He seems okay. Almost relieved, I think. He’s taken it better than I thought he ever would, better than me. He was more upset when you were attacked; you know he still loves her.’

  As Shirley trailed off, my chin went down onto my chest.

  Shirley stood up and brushed her skirt, smoothing it before she belted her raincoat. I held her elbow. ‘Did you know Kathy’s seeing him today?’

  ‘I knew he wanted to talk to her.’

  The troubled look crossed her face again. ‘Don’t you mind?’

  ‘Yes, of course I mind.’ Turned my hands over and showed the palms to Shirley. ‘I don’t like it one bit.’ I sighed. ‘But what can I do?’

  She laughed, a relieved little chuckle. ‘God – that knock on the head’s changed you.’ Shirley frowned for a second. ‘What a mess, all those years ago; Ron and your dad, Wyn and Jack. We all go back such a long time. That’s what really used to get his goat.’ She sighed and came up close, ‘Wyn… Ron knew all along, from that first day. I think he knew that Wyn was Kenny’s father. The way we were with each other, it must have been pretty obvious I suppose. Then when Wyn came back on the scene again, it tore Ron apart. And now this, I guess we’re all to blame for the way things turned out.’

  I said, ‘Wyn never ran off with one of the dancers.’ Shirley’s mouth opened, her even white teeth exposed, but not in a smile. I pressed on, ‘Ron told the police; Wyn was in prison for a month, not in bed with a dancer, hostess or whatever she was supposed to be.’

  Shirley closed her mouth at the same time as her nose flared. Then she sighed, ‘Who told you this?’

  ‘Bits I’ve picked up here and there, Jack mainly – didn’t you know?’

  ‘Of course I bloody didn’t.’ Tears rolling their way slowly down both cheeks, I moved forward to hold her but she held her hand up – stop! ‘That little bastard cost me so much.’

  Shirley shook her head, turned on her heels and left.

  I watched her cross the market place, not nodding or speaking to everyone and anyone like usual. I went upstairs and lay across the bed. I wondered if she knew anything about Ron blackmailing Jack. Probably not and she was wrong, it wasn’t the knock on the head that changed me. Sticking my forehead into Kenny had redressed old wounds, a lifelong vendetta; there was a fragile balance of sorts between us now.

  ***

  Kathy came in soon after, all anxiety and eye’s trained at the floor. ‘What have you done today?’

  ‘Went in the Bear and had a drink; thought I saw Declan sat in the corner.’

  A little groan. ‘Sounds like you had as much fun as me.’ She sat alongside me. ‘How do you feel?’

  We stared, eye contact resumed, I said, ‘I feel better, stronger – it’s been nearly three weeks, I needed a pint.’ Kathy smiled and slowly nodded. I asked the question. ‘How did you get on?’

  She shook her head. ‘He was okay, I don’t know why he wanted to see me really.’ Kathy stood up. ‘I’ve got to have a bath, wash his anxiety off me.’ She sighed, ‘Fancy scrubbing my back?’

  Yes please.

  The bathroom light reflected back from her shoulders and breasts, shining with soap, I soaped her under her arms, washed her slender shoulders and kissed her neck.

  ‘Make love to me – turn the clock back a couple of weeks.’ Kathy stood up and took my hand.

  I’d convinced myself the spark had been hammered out of us. I think Kathy felt the same; gone forever. Jack’s fond quote disturbed me, lasting passion is the dream of a harlot and from it we wake in despair, it tapped away at me as we made love.

  Later, Kathy propped herself on one elbow, traced her fingers absentmindedly across my bruised ribs. ‘I needed that.’ Her eyes, if not triumphant, were livelier than of late. ‘Kenny wants me to go back with him – start again.’

  ‘I’m sure he does.’ My deadpan response was accompanied by my racing heartbeat.

  Kathy snapped, ‘You never thought I’d consider it, did you?’ She sat bolt upright and gazed at the curtained window. ‘You did? Well thanks for the trust you show in me, it’s a great reassurance.’

  ‘Don’t – you know me by now. Just because I fear the worst most of the time, it doesn’t mean I want it to happen. Anyway, I’d rather you didn’t see him again.’

  ‘Don’t worry, things have changed more than you think – I’m pregnant.’

  Jesus!

  ***

  The next morning I walked up to the park and sat on a bench. The sun was low in the autumn sky, a carroty coloured flame in the muddy puddles. God, I felt so tired. A woman pushing a pram came alongside, and smiled. A heavy woman with a fine chest, I didn’t know what day it was, let alone be able to pass the time of day flirting. The chestnut trees beginning to lose their leaves, the bare branches soon to be naked and stark against a frosty, blue sky.

  All these distractions; my mind should be focussing on Ron and some sort of revenge. Instead, I had a pregnant girlfriend and her happiness had changed me. I pushed my own fear of responsibility to the back of my head as I strolled back across the cemetery. I stared at the foundry on the other side of the road, listening as the steam hammers thudded into metal. I smelt nitric acid cleaning braised metal joints, imagined sparks burning into the air, shooting stars, brilliant for a split second, then dying before falling to ground as dust. Ron would be in the machine shop, head down, doing what he did so well, working at his usual enraged pace, yet never once compromising his unerring precision. I smiled to myself, I’ll wait, one night this week – it seemed that I’d developed some patience.

  ***

  The next morning, I looked at my watch. Time for the Demon Jim to collect his newspaper – bang on cue, he came out of the newsagents, looked at page three, rolled the paper up, and stuck it under his arm and proceeded to walk straight into me.

  ‘Stu! Made me jump.’

  ‘I’m going your way, I’ll be your first today; hope you weren’t drinking too much last night, you’ll need a steady hand with what I’ve got to tell you – walk on, walk on.’ I gestured to Jim and we walked towards Mill Street.

  I sat and waited as he prepared, lined his scissors up, sharpened his cut throat, flourished some French letters at me, ‘You don’t use these do you?’

  I shook my head, should have, probably.

  Jim put them back in their box; ‘Hardly move a couple of dozen packets a week now. I blame the pill. ’ He shook his head – the end of civilisation as we know it. Jim unfolded a pristine, whiter than white sheet, flourished it like a matador’s cape and beckoned me into the chair.

  He cut my hair without a fag in his mouth. I felt like royalty, we talked – he talked, ‘When do you start training again? Did you know that Joan was up the spout again? I wonder what colour hair this poor little bastard will have? Ooh, that reminds me.’ His eyes went across to the fish shop opposite. ‘You used to use the restaurant over there didn’t you?’

  A trap; I could sense Jim spinning one of his catch all webs; I nodded.

  ‘You know that Suzie, does a bit of waitressing?’ I nodded, Jim looked disappointed. Undeterred, he carried on. ‘She’s got another young model in tow now – can’t be any older than you. She likes them young… did you hear that one?’

  I shook my head and he stared and stared. Eventually I said, ‘She’s a nice woman.’

  He hit me with it. ‘Your mate’s taking her out.’ Jim’s pig eyes smiled down at me.

  ‘I know, Patrick always fancied her.’ I smiled back at Jim and pulled my roll of banknotes out, distracting Jim as I peeled a note off, causing the demon
to groan away.

  ‘Fucking hell, haven’t you got anything smaller?’

  As he passed me my change, he bit the bullet. ‘Nasty business – nasty business. Fucking police couldn’t catch a dose in a Turkish brothel.’

  I shrugged, Oh well, let’s get it out of the way. ‘We all know who did it – don’t we, Jim?’

  He stopped and fumbled for his cigarettes. The clever little eyes searched my face. Jim waived an unlit fag at me. ‘What do you know then? Kenny’s rock solid, Shirley told me.’

  ‘It wasn’t Kenny, but I know who it was and so do the police.’ Not true exactly, I didn’t think the police had Ron in their sights. Jim’s eyes pleaded, implored, begged me; a gossip addict seeing a tasty fix tantalisingly within reach.

  He even tried to be casual about it, just an indifferent, ‘Who’s that then?’

  ‘You’ll find out soon enough – when someone’s dragged face down and very dead out of the canal. Gotta go – see you, Jim.’ I wheeled away, leaving him with his mouth hanging open.

  ‘But…’

  I smiled, well, that’s going to be all around town by lunchtime.

  ***

  We stopped outside Bernice’s house, silent for a few seconds. ‘Are you coming in?’

  I shook my head. ‘Next week, maybe.’

  ‘I’d have liked you with me when I told her.’ Kathy sighed, ‘Okay, Sunday night and we’re sitting down, the three of us. I’ll be an hour or so. Don’t tell anyone yet, I’ll tell mum – don’t go anywhere else, will you?’

  I nodded, a lie of omission, I wondered what Kathy would have said if she knew? I waited until she closed Bernice’s front door and I ran back up the hill to the Wheatsheaf. I made as much noise as possible and crashed through the front door. I felt nervous and tried to sound the opposite. Ron’s hunched shoulders faced me, he was sat at the bar. A few drinkers huddled in pairs or, like Ron, in splendid, drinker’s solitude; a melancholy little place reserved for miserable little men like him. Some of the others were bulky, big men with battered faces, but no threat – empty vessels. I spotted Jim, his eyes going everywhere, reluctantly meeting mine; Ron, you’re not going to do him in here?