Bill Bailey's Daughter

by Catherine Cookson

  Caroline Isherwood smiled widely at Bill and immediately took up his attitude. ‘I’m not interested in anything in that range, Mr Bailey,’ she said. ‘You had a Volvo in last week, in the window there.’ She waved her hand airily. ‘It was only thirteen thousand. Have you anything in that range still?’

  After they had all laughed together, Rupert said, ‘She’s all ready and waiting. Hang on a minute, and I’ll come round the back.’ But he seemed hesitant to move. Looking at the smart young woman, Bill said, ‘Why don’t you pop in more often and see my wife? You’d be very welcome. We hardly catch a glimpse of you and yet you’re only down the road.’

  ‘I’m a working girl, Mr Bailey.’

  ‘Aye, I understand that. But there’s long evenings and weekends, and you’ve just said you’re on your own. I’ve thought about you once or twice. Anyway, we’re havin’ a little birthday party for my daughter. How about it the night?’

  Did Bill’s sharp eye detect a movement of the head towards Rupert, still standing hesitant? And when she said, ‘I have tickets for a concert in Durham,’ he said, ‘Oh, well; I can’t stand up against the concert, I can only put on a turn by a pair called Love, father and son. And I’ll bet you won’t get as many laughs at your concert as you would from these two.’

  ‘I don’t suppose we’ll get any laughs from this concert; it’s a Mozart.’

  ‘Oh.’ Bill pulled a long face. ‘Mozart. That fella.’ Then his eyes twinkling, he looked at Rupert and said, ‘He plays a ukelele, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Go on with you!’

  He went out, got into the car, started up the engine, then looked through the side window to where, under the bright overhead lights they were both standing shoulder to shoulder. And as he put his foot on the accelerator he said to himself, ‘Aye, aye! How long has that been goin’ on?’ Then he didn’t ask why his mind should jump immediately to Katie: she doted on that fella, although she had stopped pawing him about since her mother had that talk with her last year and put her in the picture. Fiona said she’d just had to, and he agreed with her. Katie was thirteen now, nearing fourteen. It was a tricky age with lasses, as it was with lads. And Katie’s brain was away beyond her years in all ways. If her marks came below ninety at school she had a crying match. She couldn’t bear to be beaten. Well, life would likely knock that out of her but it would take time. She had those teenage years to go through. With one thing and another Fiona had her hands full. Oh yes; for there was Willie too. He wouldn’t let himself breathe unless Sammy was about. Then Mamie. My, there was a little madam! She got the surprise of her life last week that one, when he scudded her backside for her. That had given her something to have a tantrum about. All because she couldn’t have a gold charm bangle. ‘I’ll send to my grandfather,’ she had said; ‘he’ll let me have some of my money.’ Ooh! By, she thought a cuddy had kicked her! And when she was told that arrangements could be made right away for her to go to Wales and stay with her grandparents she howled. And then there was Mark. But there was no girl trouble with Mark. In a way he could wish there was because he spent too much time round his mother. Yet, he mustn’t grumble about that; the boy had been protective of her before he himself had come on the scene. He must remember that. And Mark was a good lad. And what was more these days and while his mind was on them he must remember too that they were all of one accord when it came to the child. But who could help loving her; she gave out love with every breath. And now she was walking and saying a word here and there. And only he himself knew what that meant; even Fiona, as perceptive as she was, didn’t realise the effect that child had on him and the feeling she wrought in him. He doubted very much now that, if she had been wholly normal, she would have touched his depth in the way that with her handicap she did.

  He went into the house, demanding loudly as he usually did when no-one was in sight, ‘Where’s everybody?’

  By the time he had taken off his coat, hat and muffler Fiona had appeared at the top of the broad staircase, calling, ‘We’re up here, dear.’

  She waited until he reached the landing before asking, ‘Well, how did it go?’

  ‘It’s clinched, lass.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, really.’ And putting his hands on her shoulders he bent forward and kissed her on the lips; then looking into her eyes, he said, ‘Nothin’s goin’ to hold that fella back now. The estate contract was big, but this one’ll set me name up. These houses will be known as William Bailey’s houses. You’ll want for nothing: anything you set your heart on in the future you’ll have.’

  ‘I’ve all I want, Bill, and more. I’ve told you dozens of times. This house is to be our home until they all grow up and, as I’ve said, even after they’ve gone, and—’ She now poked him in the chest with her finger while she added, ‘and when I’m pushing you round in a wheelchair.’

  As they walked along the landing he said, ‘I called at the garage to tell Rupert because, you know, he went a long way in coaching me as to the temperament of Sir Charles’ trustees. And who d’you think called in for her car?’

  ‘Well who? I’m no good at guessing.’

  ‘Our neighbour, Miss Caroline Isherwood.’

  ‘Well, I suppose…Was her car in?’

  ‘Yes; I understand her car’s been in for some repair or other; but I seem to detect a closer association than manager and client between them.’

  ‘How do you make that out?’

  ‘Oh, one of my forty senses. And he won’t be in to the tea the night. He had previously made an excuse that he couldn’t be here before seven. I’d even said we could put the meal back. But no, no. And then Miss Isherwood refused my invitation too. She was goin’ to a Mozart concert. Now, I ask you, Mrs B, who else is very fond of Mozart, if not our dear Rupert?’

  ‘Well, you can’t blame him, can you?’ She put a warning finger to her lips before adding quietly, ‘Anyway, they could be just friendly.’

  ‘Aye, they could. I’m not suggesting anything else at present, but I’m hoping that they get to be more than friendly, for his sake anyway.’

  ‘Bill!’

  ‘Well, that’s what you’re wishin’, too, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I am, but’—she turned and looked along the corridor from where the sound of raised voices and laughter came—‘she’ll be upset if she gets to know. I’ve thought that over the past year she would have grown out of him, but although she behaves herself when he’s here, I’m afraid she’s still got this thing about him. And, I’m sure he’s sensed it because he’s very tactful in that he doesn’t give her any opportunity to get too close. He’s either letting Mamie hang on to him or holding Angela. By the way’—her voice lightened—‘you must come and see. You know that box of plasticine that Mamie used to play with? Well, apparently she was clearing out her cupboard and she put it on the floor, and Angela toddled over to it, sat down beside it and started to play with it. I think it was the different colours that attracted her at first. That was a few days ago. I saw her squashing it in her hand and I went to take it from her, because I thought she would mess herself up. But her face started to crumple as if she was going to cry, so I left her to it. Well, about an hour ago she went to the cupboard, I wasn’t in the room, but Katie said she pulled the plasticine box out, took off the lid, and picked up a piece of red plasticine and started to roll it in between her two hands. And Katie said she made a biggish ball; then a smaller ball, and then tried to stick them together. It was then that Katie came shouting for me because what Angela was trying to do was copy the fat boy on the lid whose head was a round ball and his body a bigger ball. And when I got into the room there she was, looking up at me and pointing to the two plasticine balls. Willie and Sammy were there too, and apparently what Sammy had done was to roll two pieces longways to represent legs. And when he stuck them on to the body she laughed and laughed. Come and see.’

  As they entered the playroom they were greeted with a chorus of, ‘Hello, Dad,’ and a repea
t of Fiona’s words, ‘Come and see! Come and see what Angela’s done.’ But when the child put her arms around Bill’s neck Fiona cried, ‘Oh, your suit!’

  ‘Who worries about a suit? How’s my clever girl?’

  The child, its mouth wide, said something that sounded like, ‘Di…da.’ And Bill repeated, ‘Yes, Da…da.’

  ‘Di…da. Di…da.’

  Bill put the child down onto the floor, and she immediately went to the plasticine box and when Sammy lifted up the two balls and the legs dropped off there was much laughter and booing from the others. And he, kneeling before the child, said, ‘Well, I’m not as clever as she is, am I Angie?’

  The child was obviously enjoying this and she threw herself against him, her arms around his neck; and when they both fell sideways there was more laughter.

  Fiona stooped down and picked up the child, thinking as she did so, Nobody’s going to stop him calling her Angie now; I should have nipped it in the bud in the first place. But what odds! It was strange, though, how she always threw herself upon Sammy. With others she would put her arms around their neck and hug them tight. But always her attitude towards Sammy was this throwing of her whole self at him. Probably it was because she didn’t see Sammy as often as she saw the other children. It could be the way he held her; as he had done right from the very first. He hadn’t just nursed her, he had rocked her, continuously rocked her until at times she had to say, ‘Don’t your arms ache, Sammy?’

  ‘Why, no!’ he would answer. ‘Should they?’

  Sammy was in his third year at the private school and she couldn’t see all that improvement in him, except perhaps he had grown taller, especially in this last year. He was now the same height as Willie.

  Sammy now brought Bill’s attention to himself when he said, ‘Well, I’ll be off.’

  ‘What d’you mean, you’ll be off? You’re stayin’ to the tea, aren’t you? Your da’s comin’.’

  ‘No; no, he’s not. That’s why I’m goin’ home. He…he had to come home at dinner time. He had a pain in his bell…stomach. He went and lay down. I just came round to bring Angie’s present.’

  ‘Pain in his stomach? Had he a skinful last night?’

  ‘No; he wasn’t out. He hasn’t been out nights this week, not since he broke off with her, his…his girlfriend.’

  ‘He’s broken off with her, final, has he?’

  ‘Aye, so he says. But she’ll be after him again.’

  Bill was bending down to Sammy and he said, ‘He’s never been out at nights at all? Is he bad? Does he look bad?’

  ‘No, no, he doesn’t look bad, but he sounds bad. He’s not cussin’ so much.’

  ‘Well, hold your hand a minute. Wait downstairs; I’ll run you home.’

  ‘I’ve got a bike; there’s no need.’

  ‘If I remember rightly the idea was for you to stay the night and go back in the daylight; so go downstairs and wait a minute; your bike can go in the boot. I want to have a word with your da.’

  Bill turned to Fiona, saying, ‘It’s goin’ to be a family party this. Rupert, now Davey.’

  Before Fiona could say anything, Katie, with a worried expression on her face, jumped up, saying, ‘Rupert’s not coming? Why?’

  ‘He didn’t give me any reason except that he’s got another engagement.’

  ‘But he said he was coming. He always comes. I mean he comes to all our parties.’

  ‘Yes, he does; but tonight he’s got an engagement.’

  ‘What kind of an engagement?’

  Bill’s voice startled them all as he yelled at her, ‘I don’t know, Katie, what kind of an engagement; I only know that Rupert is a man an’ that he’s got his own life to live an’ he doesn’t tell me who he’s goin’ to meet or what he’s goin’ to do with his evenings. Whether he plays ping-pong, or squash, or takes a lass out, or what have you, he hasn’t got to confide in me, nor you, miss, nor anybody else in this house. So get that into your head.’

  Fiona said nothing but she followed him onto the landing, and they were going down the stairs before she said, ‘That was a bit thick.’

  ‘It had to come. There’ll be trouble one of these days if she doesn’t wake up. You’ll have to have a talk with her.’

  ‘Oh, Bill; I’ve had a talk with her. She’s at an awkward age. It’s only time that will talk her out of it.’

  ‘Well, all I can say is, roll on time…Oh, love’—his voice dropped—‘after such a good day it’s a disappointin’ evenin’. But there must be something wrong with Davey for him to leave the job, and I want to find out what. I won’t be long.’

  As he made his way to the cloakroom at the far end of the hall the phone rang, and Fiona went towards the marble-topped, half-moon table with the bronze supports that Bill had bought with the other oddments in the house. There was a comfortable straight-backed yellow upholstered chair to the side of it, and as she sat down she picked up the phone and was halfway giving the number when the voice said, ‘Fiona.’

  How was it, she thought, that even her name on her mother’s lips seemed to carry censure.

  ‘Yes, Mother.’

  ‘This is the third time I’ve tried to get through. I tried twice yesterday.’

  ‘Well, we’ve been here all the time, Mother. Oh, perhaps yesterday it was so sunny we must have been out in the garden. Such a change to have such a day this time of the year.’

  She was speaking in a pleasant conversational tone when her mother said, ‘I have news for you.’

  ‘Yes? I hope it’s good.’

  ‘Well, you’ll likely think so, by getting rid of me.’

  ‘Oh, Mother! Please, please, don’t start. But tell me your good news, please.’

  ‘I’m going to be married.’

  Fiona paused before she said, ‘Oh…well, I’m happy for you, Mother.’ Her mind jumped to Davey—his girlfriend had left. ‘Is he someone local, Mother?’

  ‘No; he is no-one local. He is an American and lives there. I’m going next week.’

  ‘To America?’

  ‘Yes, to America. I’ve been before, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but…but to live there.’

  ‘Well, that should please you, dear: no more troublesome mother, no more interfering grandmother. But then I don’t get much of a chance, do I? I very rarely see my grandchildren.’

  ‘That is your fault, Mother. I’ve asked you numerous times to come here. I said I would pick you up at any time you liked. But no; you couldn’t bear to see the house that Bill had given me; and now apparently you never will. I suppose your future husband is one of those gentlemen you met when you were last in America?’

  ‘Yes, he is; and I was stupid enough to spurn his attentions then.’

  Spurn his attentions. Dear! Dear! She hoped whoever the future husband was he would enjoy her phraseology.

  ‘When are you leaving, Mother?’

  ‘Next Tuesday.’

  ‘As soon as that?’

  ‘Yes, as soon as that. The house is up for sale and the furniture is to be auctioned in Newcastle. It’s all in hand.’

  ‘May I ask if your future husband is in a good position?’

  ‘A very good position, very good. He’s in what you call the real estate business. He deals with the buying and selling of big ranches, no small stuff.’

  ‘I’m so pleased to hear that; you’ll be well taken care of.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll be well taken care of, Fiona.’

  ‘Oh, Mother.’

  ‘It’s too late, Fiona, for soft talk. You have never understood me. You have never tried. However, I suppose I’ll see you before I go.’

  She found it difficult to answer for a moment, and then she said, ‘Yes; yes of course, Mother. I’ll come over tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll be out all day tomorrow and I’ll be very busy visiting friends until next Tuesday. If you have time you can come and see me off at Newcastle Airport. As it is the last time we are likely to meet unless I decide to come ba
ck for a holiday, perhaps you could arrange to drive me to the airport? I’ve got to be there by eleven o’clock.’

  Again she found difficulty in speaking; and then she said, ‘Yes, Mother, I’ll do that. I’ll be there.’

  ‘Thank you, Fiona.’

  The line went dead. She replaced the phone and looked to where Bill was standing near the front door. ‘I can always tell by your face when it’s her,’ he said.

  ‘She’s leaving. She’s…she’s going to America to be married.’

  ‘Oh, thank God for double mercies! Now, lass, don’t you be a hypocrite and say you’re sorry, because she’s been tangled in your hair ever since you can remember.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t know what I…well, I’m glad she’s going to be married. Yes, I am. But I’m sorry for her reasons for going. She’s like somebody drowning, she’s clutching at straws.’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t worry about that side of it, lass; she’ll enjoy it. She’ll play the English lady to the last curtain. And you know the Americans fall over themselves for nobility. And she can ape the so-called class to a T, can your mother. Come on; come on; don’t let that worry you. Face up to facts. You’ve never got on, never. So don’t get sentimental about her goin’ to America. Anyway, the way planes fly now it’s like goin’ across the river to North Shields.’

  He kissed her; then opened the front door and, looking down the drive to where Sammy was standing with his bike, he said, ‘The fact that that lad is wantin’ to get home tells me there’s something wrong with Davey. Anyway, I won’t be long, love.’ He kissed her again, then went out.

  Having put Sammy’s bike in the boot of the car, he said to the boy, ‘Get yourself in.’

  He started the car, then straight away turned to Sammy and asked, ‘Are you worried about your da?’