by Stead Jones
‘I don’t mind if you tell everybody what I’m going to tell you,’ she said. ‘Don’t care. Don’t give a damn for them…’
‘Is it about Jupiter?’ Gladstone broke in.
‘It’s about a lot of things,’ she said. ‘You’ve been doing some talking about Jupiter, haven’t you. Well – I’ll have a word with you about that in a minute. First of all just you guess how much money Marius got out of me. Out of me, don’t forget – and I’m not a simple young girl any more. Go on – just you guess.’
I kept my eyes on the budgie’s cage. This wasn’t at all what I expected, and I daren’t look to see how Gladstone was taking it.
He laughed. ‘Well, of course, Lew and I don’t know anything about money. Never had any, have we, Lew?’
‘Three hundred,’ she said with a giggle. ‘Close on three hundred pound.’ She sat up quickly and clapped a hand over her knee. ‘Oh, my God, a ladder,’ she said, and lifted her skirt up and examined her stocking, dabbing at it. I looked away, embarrassed. ‘They were terrible people,’ she went on. ‘You thought you were doing them a good turn by getting old Ashton to go back, weren’t you? Ever ask yourself why Marius wanted him back all of a sudden?’ She licked her finger and dabbed away at her stocking. ‘He was broke, that’s why. Ashton had his allowance still, and little Eirlys wasn’t forking out any more. So – let’s have Ashton back, let’s have something coming in… that was the motto.’ She covered her legs. ‘Oh – beg pardon, gentlemen. I forgot you were watching.’ She gave us a big smile and rolled her eyes at us. ‘Marius Vaughan got me for three hundred,’ she went on, ‘and when he saw there wasn’t any more – I’d seen the light, I can tell you – he got working on Ashton….’
‘It’s an interesting theory,’ Gladstone said.
Eirlys looked at him steadily. ‘The truth, that’s what. Listen, Gladstone Williams, you’ve been letting go with some theories, too, haven’t you? Who told you all that stuff about Jupiter? Ashton, was it?’
There was a spring in my stomach that was steadily getting tighter. I looked at Gladstone: his face was pale as alabaster, and might crack, I thought – crack and crumble at any moment. Did she not see that?
‘Did Ashton tell you when he was drunk?’
‘No,’ Gladstone said stiffly, ‘I worked it out…. You could tell, anyway. Just being in their company you could tell…’
‘Tell what?’
Gladstone shifted uneasily on his seat. ‘That it was Jupiter’s death made them the way they were. They weren’t angels…’
‘You can say that again,’ she said with a laugh. ‘My God, you can say that.’ She lit another cigarette. ‘Listen – you watch your step, young man. You’ve got some of this all wrong. Now – I don’t mind you annoying the stuffed shirts of this town. Oh, no. But you’ve got some of it wrong…’
‘Very likely. Can’t know everything about them…’
‘Listen.’ She inhaled deeply before she went on. ‘Ever asked yourself who killed Jupiter?’
‘That’s not the point…’
‘Just you ask yourself, though.’ She looked at me. ‘Lew Morgan, here’s a question for a bright lad. Who killed Jupiter Vaughan? Go on, tell me.’
I was cornered, and I hated her. ‘I don’t know,’ I said.
‘Course you know. Who do people say killed Jupiter, then?’
‘Marius, I suppose,’ I said. Did she have to keep on smiling like that? Was she blind, or something? Couldn’t she see Gladstone’s face.
She clicked finger and thumb at me. ‘Wrong,’ she said. ‘And this is the truth. Got it from the party concerned himself – and he loved talking about himself, I can tell you.’ She paused deliberately and looked, wide-eyed, at each of us in turn. ‘It was Ashton,’ she said. ‘Poor old Ashton, boozed up, went and shot his brother dead. But d’you know what Marius did? He took the blame…’
‘Protecting his brother,’ Gladstone broke in.
‘What for? Why protect him? It was an accident – that’s what everybody’d say. Why protect him? Why take the blame?’
‘Doesn’t alter anything, anyway,’ Gladstone said quietly.
‘Doesn’t alter?’ she cried, all exaggerated surprise. ‘Listen – don’t you see what Marius Vaughan really was? He was mental. Wanted to be everything. Old Ashton wasn’t worthy enough to take the blame for shooting his brother. Oh, dear me no. He was a soak, a hopeless soak. And Marius wanted to be everything…’ She went on like that, and she should have been screaming it out, her hair down over her face, and sweating… But she never even raised her voice, never stopped talking through a smile.
‘He was protecting Ashton,’ Gladstone said.
‘Killing Ashton, you mean,’ she replied. ‘That’s what he did…. Oh, I know what they tell you. Don’t speak ill of the dead. All that kind of thing. But you really should know about those two. They were the roughest going, both of them…. Well, maybe Ashton, being a boozer, couldn’t help it, but that other one – in a class by himself, he was….’
I was listening for Gladstone’s heavy breathing, watching the words bite into him…. On and on, she went: I wasn’t even clear about what she was saying any more.
‘Straight from the horse’s mouth… take it for fact…. Bet you’ve never heard anything queerer than that, have you? Wanting to take the blame…. He even wanted to be hurt….’
And smiling still, and quiet-voiced, and laughing – like someone describing something comic at the pictures…. Can’t you see him? I wanted to cry out. Don’t you know what you’re doing to him?
‘…Marius made Ashton a hopeless case. You can see that, can’t you.’ She gave a little girlish laugh. ‘Don’t ask me why. I’m only a woman. Don’t ask me to fathom these things out… but it was war between them since they were small, and Jupiter was just something else to quarrel over… I mean, imagine quarrelling over who shot him! That’s what I call mental, that is… I told the police, you know. They came before the inquest, and I told them. And you know what else I told them?’ There was a knocking at the back of the house as she spoke. She heard it too: she glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, pursed up her mouth, then smiled. ‘I told them that Ashton very likely had said no about the money. I even told them I thought Marius had probably dared Ashton to shoot him.’ She rolled her eyes and giggled. ‘And he did!’
For the first time, at that moment, she saw Gladstone’s face. ‘Hey, love,’ she cried, ‘whatever’s the matter? You’re the colour of paper, honestly.’ She leaned forward and put her hand on his knee. ‘Not going to be sick, are you?’
‘I’m all right,’ Gladstone said.
‘Hey – I’ve not upset you, have I? Look – I was only telling you the real truth in case you got yourself in big trouble. If you made any more speeches and that, I mean.’ She reached out to touch his face but he drew back. ‘Don’t take it to heart,’ she said. ‘They weren’t worth it, either of them. Look – it cost me three hundred to find out.’ She tried to laugh, but it wasn’t a great success. She was uneasy now. ‘Hey – you’re all right, aren’t you, love?’
There was a dead silence. We heard the knocking again.
My tongue was dry but I managed to say, ‘Someone there.’
‘It can wait,’ she said. ‘Look, Gladstone, I thought we were chums…’
He was forcing himself to recover, even managed a strained laugh before he said, ‘We’re friends still. It was only that I thought you loved him.’ He said it in his high-class voice, too – and that only made her roll her eyes and giggle again. ‘We had a business arrangement!’ she said. She put her hands on her breasts and held them there. ‘That’s all we had, honest…’ She even fluttered her eyelashes.
Gladstone got up. ‘I think we’ll go now…’
I was at the door in a flash. ‘Listen…’ she said. She was on her feet too, rubbing her hands up and down her thighs. ‘Listen…’
‘You’ve got a visitor,’ Gladstone said.
‘Oh, look – lis
ten – come round again and have a chat about it, will you?’
Gladstone bowed to her. ‘With pleasure. We’ll come – some time.’
‘I mean – I’ve enjoyed talking to you.’
‘Been a pleasure…’
‘You’re all right? Really?’
‘Right as rain,’ he said. Then he overdid it by bowing again which made her clap her hands to her mouth.
‘Honestly,’ she said. ‘I don’t know…’
‘Good night,’ he said and came slowly to the door, but once through it he was down the stairs in leaps, and was fumbling at the shop door. I ran after him, Eirlys crying out behind me. A box tripped me up, and by the time I reached the street there was no sign of him.
A fine drizzle was falling. I searched around for him, and found him eventually under a gas lamp on Harbour View, letting the rain fall on his face. ‘My dear old chap,’ he said, ‘old boy, dear old bean – I’ve just been sick.’ Then he began to laugh, but it wasn’t really laughing at all.
XIX
I went back to school, and they said you’ve done well, Morgan, well done my boy, but don’t let it get to your head now, and no slacking off, the sixth form is a big jump, a great big jump, we must stick to it, mustn’t we? And I said yessir, yesmiss, and thought all the time about Gladstone under that lamp, about Eirlys Hampson who had broken him with a giggle and a flood of talk.
Yet, once school was over, I came home to tea and did the keen schoolboy act for Meira. I didn’t go to see how he was; so the first news came from Dewi and Maxie.
‘Paralysed!’ Maxie said, hopping up and down on the pavement in his excitement.
‘Don’t be bloody stupid,’ Dewi told him. ‘Just lies there,’ he said to me. ‘Lies there on the sofa as if he’s fast asleep…’
‘In a trance then,’ Maxie said.
I stepped out on the pavement and closed our door behind me. ‘All right last night…’
‘It’s like he’s gone to sleep,’ Dewi said. ‘Like a mental collapse.’
That angered me. ‘What are you, then? A bloody doctor?’
‘That’s my theory,’ Dewi said evenly. ‘His nerves have collapsed.’
‘Bloody rubbish,’ I said, and buttoned up my new blazer and marched off down Lower Hill towards Gladstone’s. Paralysed! In a trance! Oh, God, I thought, is Dewi right?
We reached Gladstone’s door as the Rev A. H. Jones and Abraham Evans and Dr Gwynn were leaving. I held back, but they were around me in no time. ‘My dear boy,’ said the Minister. ‘Know him, don’t you?’ he said to the others. ‘My dear boy – Lew Davies…’
‘Morgan.’
‘Of course. We were only talking about you. Really brilliant,’ he explained to the other two. ‘Lives on this street.’
Dr Gwynn took over. ‘You are a friend of this – unfortunate boy?’ Dr Gwynn was all jowls and rimless glasses. He had a strong South Wales accent, and I had heard that his name had once been Jones, but he’d changed it to Gwynn because Jones was so common sounding. ‘You are a friend of Gladstone Williams, boy?’
‘What’s the matter with him?’ I said.
Dr Gwynn put a hairy hand on my shoulder and looked up at the grey skies for an answer. ‘Shock,’ he said.
‘Too many bothering him,’ said Dewi behind me. ‘Too many busybodies.’
‘What did that boy say?’ Dr Gwynn growled.
‘Ask him to help,’ said Abraham Evans through his white moustache. ‘Close friends. Bring him round…’
‘Boy,’ said Dr Gwynn, ‘we want you to go in there and talk to him.’
‘Talk to him,’ said Abraham Evans.
‘Yes, talk to him,’ said the Minister.
‘A little prayer, too,’ Abraham Evans suggested.
‘Psychological factors,’ boomed the doctor. ‘You may be able to reach him, bring him round.’
‘Shock him back, eh, Doctor?’ said Abraham Evans.
‘No shock,’ commanded the doctor, ‘on no account, remember… factors… deep rooted… I want to know what he says when he awakes, remember…’
I shook his hand off my shoulder. Three crows, I thought, grotesque old crows, black-suited, black-hatted. I wasn’t going to tell them anything, ever. I tried to push past the doctor, but he had once played rugby and his natural instinct was to push back. I made myself taller and looked him straight in his glasses and said, ‘Get out of the way…’
‘Tell them to piss off,’ Dewi whispered behind me.
Dr Gwynn held me for a moment to show how strong he was, then he stepped aside. Dewi opened the door of Gladstone’s house and in we went. ‘County School,’ they said, ‘manners, manners…’ Dewi banged the door in their faces. We leaned against it, the three of us, and listened to their protests. Then Dr Gwynn boomed above the rest, ‘Might do the trick, friends. Yes – might do the trick. And that boy will tell us…’
I looked at Dewi’s scarred face. ‘Never in this bloody life,’ I said.
We went into the kitchen, Dewi and Maxie making a show of stepping aside to let me go first. I didn’t know what to expect, and for a moment in my excitement saw nothing. But there were the children, crouched together on one side of the fireplace, wide-eyed and watching me; and there was Martha at the back door, a cigarette in her mouth and all messed up, but watching, too. They all looked towards the sofa. Gladstone was there under the blankets, and I thought then how he would have relished being in my shoes, faced with a comparable situation… and how he would have known exactly what to do, unlike me.
‘Gladstone’s sick,’ Dora said.
‘Go on, then, Lew,’ Martha said. Then added tearfully, ‘I can’t manage. Can’t really. Beyond me, it is.’
I went stiffly to Gladstone’s side and looked down at his face on the pillow. He was very pale, his mouth firmly closed, his eyelids as if they had been scaled down. This is how he’ll look when he’s dead, I thought – and oh, God, what am I supposed to do? Why are they all so quiet, so hopeful of me? Ought I to touch his face or his hand? What should I say? I stood there and gulped and tried to hold on to one racing thought after another.
‘Talk, then. Go on,’ said Martha, in the same voice as she must have used when she asked me to say something in French. A voice that expected magic.
‘When did it happen?’ I managed to say.
She came into the room. ‘This morning.’ She sat down and acted it for me. ‘Having a cup of tea. Like we always do. Then he looks at me all of a sudden. Oh – it was a look fit to send the shivers through you. Honestly! Then – he gets up and goes to the sofa and lies down. “Not so well?” I asked him. “Feeling sick, cariad bach, are you?” Not a word did he answer. He lies down and pulls the blankets over him – and goes off to sleep.’ Martha waved her hands helplessly. ‘I never thought. I mean, he never took anything. I told Doctor he never took anything…’ and by twelve o’clock she got worried and tried to wake him. ‘Pinched him, even!’ Then she’d sent for Dr Gwynn.
‘Fatal mistake,’ Dewi commented.
‘Very nice, he was,’ Martha protested. ‘Been giving Gladstone talks and everything…’
‘No wonder he’s sleeping, then,’ Dewi said.
‘It isn’t sleep, though,’ Martha said with a break in her voice. ‘Not real sleep at all…’
‘Never moved?’ I said.
Poor Martha broke down. ‘He’s got to have something to bring him round,’ she sobbed. ‘That’s what Dr Gwynn said. He wanted me – his mother – to talk to him…’
Dewi made a disgusted face.
‘Lew bach,’ Martha said through her tears, ‘say something to him. Dr Gwynn told me you’re to say something to him…’
I was leading actor again, my face a beetroot red, the palms of my hands wet. I knelt by the sofa. ‘Gladstone,’ I said, not to Gladstone at all but to the rest of them.
‘Any sign?’ said Martha, coming closer.
‘Gladstone – it’s me. Lew.’ I was too loud as well.
‘Say so
me more,’ she said. ‘Saw his mouth move then.’
Dewi came to my support. ‘I know what he was saying too,’ he said firmly. ‘He was saying to go away and leave me alone…’
I got quickly to my feet. ‘That’s the best thing,’ I said.
‘Did he really say that?’ Martha asked.
‘Course he did,’ Dewi went on. ‘How would you like to be woken up if you were enjoying a good sleep?’
‘The doctor said…’
‘Only having a good sleep,’ Dewi went on. ‘Leave him alone. He’ll wake up.’
I felt better now. ‘That’s right,’ I joined in. ‘He’ll be all right tomorrow…’
‘They can give them injections,’ Maxie said.
‘Listen to the lunatic,’ said Dewi.
I looked down at Gladstone while they had one of their arguments and I thought no, he’ll not wake up, he’ll never wake up, he’ll be like that for ever, like the ‘Lady of Shalott’ by Tennyson…. Oh, God, if only there was blood or a wound, something obvious like that. You’d know then why he was sleeping.
‘Percussion,’ said Maxie.
‘That’s bands, old fool,’ Dewi cried. ‘Concussion you mean – and you’re still wrong. Just let him sleep it out in peace. He’ll be all right.’
Everybody wanted Gladstone to be all right, so everybody agreed with Dewi. And I was more than glad because it let me out…. We all cheered up then: Walter said something comic, and Maxie made another one of his mistakes. There were smiles all round until Dewi suggested that we go. ‘No, stay,’ said Martha. ‘Stay, stay for a bit. He might come round tonight – you never know. Doctor said it might be a coma, like.’ So we stayed for an hour and tried a half-hearted game with the children. Gladstone never moved, though – never changed his position on the couch, even.
When we got outside, Dewi stopped saying it was going to be all right. ‘Gives you the creeps, Lew. Seeing him like that.’
‘We’ve got to think of something,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what – but something.’
‘Might be all right tomorrow,’ Maxie said, and we all agreed, but not very hopefully.