‘Sorry to disturb your tea.’ Jack’s hooded eyes toured the company. ‘I just came to see if you’ve got a small pair of pliers, Russ – no, don’t get up now! Finish your tea, I can wait.’
Russ looked uneasily at his wife, who was retaking her seat… then both noticed the abandoned place setting that had been Charlie’s. Rachel’s face glowed bright red. ‘You’re not disturbing anything, Jack!’ Quickly, she snatched the plate with its half-eaten teacake and piled it on top of hers. ‘We’ve finished now – Russ, go get your friend what he wants.’
Russ licked his lips and rose. ‘Away, Jack, my toolbox is out in the shed.’
With the exit of both men, Rachel slumped in her chair.
‘What d’you want them for?’ Russ was rummaging in his toolbox.
‘Oh… it’s just one o’ them fiddly jobs,’ replied Jack. ‘Smallest you’ve got – aye, those’ll do.’ He took the pliers that Russ offered and, much to the other’s relief, didn’t linger. ‘I’ll bring ’em back soon as I’ve finished.’
‘Oh, no!’ That had sounded too urgent, and Russ tried to cover it. ‘I’ll call round for them later.’ He lowered his voice. ‘It’ll give me an excuse to get out for a pint.’ Jack nodded and left.
‘D’you think he saw?’ asked Rachel nervously when her husband returned.
‘He never said anything,’ answered Russ… but of course, that meant nothing. They could only wait and see.
Daw closed his back gate and went straight into the water closet. He pondered briefly on Rachel’s state of agitation and the extra place setting, but the thought didn’t stay long, driven away by the pain that kept hammering under his cheekbone. He sat on the lavatory, prodding about in his mouth, then applied the borrowed pliers, twisting and wrenching at the source of his pain. But the instrument would not grip. The tooth, however decayed, remained firm.
‘D’you mind if I go out for a while?’ Russ asked his wife as she and Biddy cleared the table.
‘With Jack Daw?’ At his explanation that he was going to fetch the pliers so as to keep Jack from their house, she said, ‘Well, I suppose it would give you the opportunity to find out if he did notice anything.’
So it was with his wife’s rare consent that he met up with Jack later in the pub. Each bought his own liquor. Russ noticed that Daw seemed to be consuming more than usual, and whisky at that. Though never loquacious, his friend seemed even more surly tonight – more than that, he seemed on edge all the time. This made Russ nervous too. Daw was waiting to say something, he could tell.
This was confirmed three whiskies later when Daw motioned for his partner to bring his head closer. ‘Look… I know we don’t see eye to eye about politics, Russ, and that’s sort of put us apart… but we’re still friends, aren’t we?’
Russ was immediately on guard and gave a noncommittal nod.
‘And friends keep each other’s secrets, don’t they? What I mean is, I’ve kept secrets of yours, haven’t I?’
So, he had seen the extra place setting. Russ opened his mouth – but before he could ask what Daw was going to do about Charlie, the other went on, ‘I’d like to think that if I asked you to do something for me and keep it secret, you’d honour that.’
Russ was confused now. ‘Course I would.’ Whatever could it be?
For a moment there was only the collective mumble from the other patrons, then Daw whispered, ‘I’ve got this bloody terrible toothache.’ He lifted his tot of whisky. ‘That’s what this stuff’s meant to be in aid of but it isn’t working… will you pull it out for me, Russ? I can’t get a grip on it myself and I can’t see what I’m doing.’
Russ was dumbfounded, but managed to say, ‘Aye… I’ll do it, o’ course I will, Jack,’ then excused himself, saying he was visiting the lavatory and hoping Daw wouldn’t follow.
Outside in the dim, cobwebby closet, he gave way to furtive but hearty laughter, bending double and chuckling until the tears came to his eyes. He had to stand for a long time before feeling composed enough to face his friend.
‘D’you want me to have a go at it now?’ He stood looking down at Jack, who was nursing another whisky, his eyes bloodshot and heavy with pain. At the reluctant tone of Jack’s reply, he added, ‘Look, why don’t you have it done properly?’
‘Oh, no! I’m not off to one o’ them butchers.’ Daw gave a definite shake of head, downed the last of the whisky and stood with resolution. ‘Carry on.’
Around the back of the building the pliers were produced. Russ squinted into Daw’s gaping mouth. ‘Bend your knees, I can’t see owt. Here, you’ll have to come under this lamp…’
Jack grabbed his arm. ‘Somebody might see us – just do your best.’
After several unsuccessful attempts, Russ could stand no more of the man’s agonized gurgles as he wrestled with the molar. He pocketed the pliers. ‘I’m sorry, Jack, I just can’t do it! You’re going to have to go to a dentist. I’ll come with you if you like.’
But Jack’s refusal was adamant. Straightening, he cupped his aching face. ‘I’ll just have to go back in there and pick a fight with somebody – get it knocked out… thanks for trying, anyway. Are you coming back in for one?’
Russ said no, he had better go home. Again, he was requested not to say anything about this. He placed a secretive finger over his lips, watched Daw go back inside then went on his way, chuckling freely now. He had gone to the pub on foot. It took him about fifteen minutes to get home.
‘Did he say anything?’ Rachel had been waiting to ask the question all evening, flinging it at him before he had chance to even close the door.
‘No, you can rest easy.’
Charlie was still up and drinking cocoa by the fireside. Russ ignored him, taking off his jacket and putting it round a chair back.
‘I don’t see how I can rest easy when any minute Jack Daw could walk in and blow this wide open!’
‘He won’t, take my word for it.’ Russ found an ashtray, then sat at the table with his back to Charlie.
‘Your word counts for nothing – and how can you be so sure?’
‘I just am.’ He lit a cigarette.
‘Oh, I see!’ Rachel nodded theatrically. ‘A question of honour, is it? You don’t tell on his secrets and he won’t tell on yours!’
‘Something like that.’ The match was extinguished and put in the ashtray.
‘Men! You make me sick – I’m going to bed!’ She grabbed Charlie’s cup out of his hand, charged to the scullery and rinsed it, then swept off to bed.
After she had gone, Russ leaned on the points of his elbows, holding the cigarette with both clasped hands. How was he ever going to keep this up for three weeks? There was a tap on his shoulder. Charlie was holding out his slippers. He took out his frustration on the boy. ‘If I’d wanted a bloody dog I would’ve bought one!’ Snatching the slippers, he hurled them at the wall – and immediately felt cruel and petty and childish as the boy turned quietly and went up to his room.
Chapter Twelve
Dear Mr Hazelwood,
The cablegram informing me of your unfortunate predicament arrived today…
Unfortunate predicament indeed, thought Russ acidly as his eyes consumed the letter he had been awaiting for more than three weeks. Three weeks of secrecy, mistrust, fear of being found out. The strain had taken pounds off him. He was saying and doing all sorts of inane things in his office of Sheriff; more than one person had enquired after his health. Not his wife, though. Oh no, she had barely spoken to him at all, except in official capacity. Neither had his son – at least, not the son who mattered. The other one was talkative enough, keeping him awake half the night with questions about his Army life until Russ told him to shut up – and talk about trying to be helpful! The minute he got through the door there would be Charlie hovering to light his cigarette or fetch a cup of tea… God, it made him so furious!
But he managed to control his temper for the girls’ sake. He wondered if they really understood any of this. H
e had tried to keep life as normal as possible, continuing the routine of a story each night, but how could things be normal when Rachel kept dashing to the window every five minutes thinking she’d heard the sound of the gate? Jack had not visited since the evening he had asked Russ to pull his tooth – probably due to embarrassment. Whatever the reason, Russ was grateful. Thank goodness no one in the area appeared to have noticed Charlie’s arrival, not even Mrs Phillips. Russ was sure of that, otherwise the news would have been all over South Bank. Anyway… the boy should soon be gone. Russ continued with the priest’s letter.
I was immensely relieved to hear that Charlie is safe, however unwelcome his presence may be. Though I feel sorrow both for the shock Mrs Hazelwood suffered and for Charlie, I must say that I am pleased that he is now acquainted with the true situation. Charlie has always professed a keen ambition to be a soldier like his father, a wish that I have always discouraged. Perhaps now that he has discovered – forgive me – that his idol has feet of clay he may change his outlook. I certainly hope so, for I should hate to see one so close to my heart destroyed on a battlefield. I realize that I must also take a share of the blame, for keeping Charlie’s mother’s love for you alive by passing on imaginary messages from your letters. I felt it was cruel of you not to make any enquiry as to her health even, nor of your son’s progress. Of course I realize now that I was the cruel one for keeping up the pretence and for transmitting that pretence to Charlie. With your permission, I shall endeavour to steer him on the path befitting his character. If, during the time you are waiting for me to come for him, you could persuade Charlie that a soldier’s life is not for him, it would make my task easier. With reference to the former, as I told you in previous correspondence I shall be coming to England at the end of August. This being so, it seems silly to embark on such a long trip to collect the boy, only to have to make it yet again within a matter of weeks. I therefore deem it wiser…
‘Oh, give me strength!’ Just when he had glimpsed the end of this nightmare… Russ crushed the letter into a ball and threw it on the table. It bounced off and fell to the carpet. With wooden movements, his wife bent to pick it up. ‘I can save you the bother,’ Russ told her. ‘He isn’t coming… not for two months, anyway.’
She came to life, fingers scrabbling to unfold the letter. ‘He has to!’
‘You tell him that. He obviously thinks I’m not worth listening to.’ Russ felt trapped.
Rachel gripped the letter, not believing its words. Another two months! How would she ever cope? The last three weeks had been torment enough, having to behave as if everything were normal in front of her customers and with Ella. The latter had called once, but had not managed to get beyond the scullery door. Luckily, Charlie had been in the attic. Lucky too, that Ella went out to work and was not the kind who was forever popping in and out – but still Rachel was permanently on edge, especially when she had to accompany her husband to a social function and leave Biddy in charge. What if someone called while they were out and Biddy let them in? What if the boy were to show himself at the window? She worried so much about it that it had affected her appetite. She was thinner than ever, and twice as nervous – and now there were to be two more months of it!
She finished reading and threw her arms up in futility, then gestured at the note in Russ’ hand. ‘What’s in that one?’
He stared down at it. ‘It’s for Charlie.’ The boy’s name was written on the outside. It had come in the same envelope as the other.
Rachel snatched it from him and after reading it gave another exclamation of disgust. ‘He’s only telling the boy he has to go to church every Sunday, that’s all! Over my dead body. He doesn’t leave this house unless it’s for good!’ She was about to toss the note onto the fire but Russ stopped her.
‘You mustn’t do that, lass.’
She compressed her mouth, but after a second said, ‘All right – but he isn’t showing his face for church or anything else! You realize, of course, that this letter puts paid to our holiday plans?’ They always went away during the first fortnight of the children’s school holidays.
Russ groaned and stroked at his mouth. His wife was right, how could he visit his sister with Charlie tagging on behind? ‘I’ll have to write to our May.’
‘I don’t suppose you’ll be mentioning him in your letter! Although I suppose your May and the others will blame me for all this. As if he hasn’t caused us enough inconvenience. Thank God my sister lives in America!’ This was Rachel’s nearest kin; though she did have a second cousin who lived in York, they hardly ever saw each other. ‘Well! If he’s staying that long he’ll have to have more to wear. You can fetch something from town, pants, socks, stuff like that.’
Following this, she regressed into her current noncommunicative state, mumbling, ‘Isn’t it about time you went?’
He didn’t look at the clock. ‘Aye… you’ll give him the letter?’
Receiving a terse nod, he brought his hands together weakly and turned to the door. ‘Right… I’ll go and open up.’
‘Oh, before you do!’ Her interjection brought his hopeful face round to look at her. ‘There’s a spider in the sink.’
The hope died. Was this all he was good for now? Going to the scullery, he curled gentle fingers round the spider and carried it in the tunnel of his palm to the back yard. Rachel was terrified of the creatures, but she wouldn’t see them killed – wouldn’t even let Biddy wash them down the plughole as the maid would have done with this one had she not been sent out on an errand. Russ doubted if this chap would have gone down anyway, he was too big for that. He would have hooked his legs round the outlet and every time the dousing ceased would pop out again. Russ wished he had a spider’s tenacity. He watched it scuttle away, then went to work.
After he and the children had left the house, Rachel sought out Charlie and thrust the letter at him. ‘That’s from your priest – no, don’t read it here!’ She stayed his enthusiastic fingers. ‘I’ve someone coming in a few minutes and I’m sure neither of us wants to be in your company. Take it upstairs to read – and don’t you dare come down before you’re invited, understand?’
Charlie delivered a grave nod – as if he didn’t understand by now. He was about to go, when Rachel frowned, sniffed and said, ‘Just a minute… what’s that I can smell?’ Charlie felt a hot rush to his face as Mrs Hazelwood came closer. ‘What on earth have you been doing with your hair?’ His thatch had suddenly acquired an odd lustre.
Then she recognized the smell. ‘My God – you’ve put lard on your hair! You stupid child, you’ll get it all over the furniture – go wash it off this instant. Idiotic boy!’
And Charlie rushed off, clutching his letter. On the landing he stopped and smoothed a hand over his hair, examining the grease it picked up. Maybe he had overdone it. He had wanted to use his father’s hair cream, but as there had only been a tiny amount left he had not dared, so had chosen lard instead. Obviously the wrong choice – but then Mrs Hazelwood didn’t have to put up with the insults he did. Before going to wash it off he sat on the top step to read his letter.
My dear Charlie,
Or my wicked, wilful Charlie is what I should really be saying. Didn’t you realize what trouble you were going to bring on all our heads by your impulsive flight? But no, you get these ideas into your brain and any common sense you may possess is completely discarded. Mr Hazelwood is greatly annoyed. But then I suppose I have no need to tell you that. I hope, my silly young friend, that you are not too greatly distressed by what you have found there and that your father is not treating you too harshly. You must remember that he has suffered as big a shock as yourself. Try to put yourself in his place and any hurtful words he may have uttered will at least be explained. I did try to be diplomatic about this before, but I see no further point in couching my words. Mr Hazelwood does not want you there. Doubtless he will have made this quite apparent to you. So I shall be coming to collect you some time in late August when I take up my
appointment at the college in Yorkshire. The latter being so, we shall not of course be returning to South Africa immediately. You will have to lodge at the college with me. This may be a blessing in disguise as you will be able to take advantage of the fine education there. Until we meet I would ask you to go to Mass every Sunday and not be as big a nuisance to the Hazelwoods as you often are to me. You alone are responsible for your situation and must suffer it with dignity until it can be resolved.
With kind regards,
your loving friend,
Father Albert Guillaume
Charlie was annoyed at the tone of the letter. Like his father, his first impulse was to screw it into his hand, squeezing it tightly. It’s your fault! he told the priest, you should’ve warned me… anyway, what d’you know about it? Meditation followed the anger: he was to stay here for another two months – that would give him time to kindle affection in his father. Thus far, his attempts had gone unrewarded, but Charlie’s optimism told him that nobody could remain insensitive to such devotion for ever. Then, when Father Guillaume came, he would be presented with a united family with Charlie at its nucleus. I’ll show you, thought the boy… then felt rather sorry for the priest, envisioning him travelling back to Africa all alone, and decided to reply to his letter – after all, there wasn’t much else to do. He smoothed out the crumpled note and was about to go and ask Mrs Hazelwood if he might have pen and paper, but on hearing the door knocker and recalling Rachel’s warning, crept stealthily to the girls’ room to seek out his requisites. Rowena wouldn’t mind. Going to the drawer he knew to be allocated to the eldest girl, he withdrew an exercise book and removed a page. Armed with a pencil, he sat on one of the girls’ beds to write:
Dear Father,
I’m sorry for being a nuisance to everyone… A brief period of thought. Charlie knew that even if the priest had not mentioned the money, he himself should… And for taking the money sent by my father. It was wrong of me, but I wanted to see him so badly and I could not think of anywhere else to get the fare. When I get home… spotting his slip, he scribbled the last two words out. This was his home now. He changed them to, see you, I promise to repay you in any way you wish.
My Father, My Son Page 18