Bill Bailey's Daughter

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Well—’ The priest once again leant towards Davey, saying now, ‘If that’s your wish, it’s your wish. But mind, I’ll tell you, if he doesn’t keep up his duties I’ll be after him, and I’ll bring Sister Catherine with me an’ all. Oh.’ He turned now and looked from Mrs Vidler to Fiona and, his head bobbing, he said, ‘I’ve got to admit it, between you and me, she’d make her way into the Vatican and scare the pants off the Pope, that one.’

  Again the room rang with laughter.

  Christmas was a happy affair. Most of the present opening and the festivities with the exception of the meals had taken place in the sickroom. And it was only late on the Christmas night, when father and son were together for a short time, that Sammy, standing near the side of the bed, said, ‘It’s been a lovely day, hasn’t it, Da?’

  ‘Wonderful day, lad, wonderful day. You know somethin’? I’ve said it afore since I came into this house, but I’ll say it again and especially for you—an’ you’ve got to remember this—I’ve never been happier in me life. If heaven is any better than this I wonder why I’m goin’. They’re wonderful folks you fell among, lad. And you know something else?’ He leant forward, his eyes bright and moist. ‘It was all through me teachin’ you to swear.’

  ‘Aw! Da.’ Sammy pushed his father in the shoulder; then grinning, he said, ‘But you’re right. Aye, you’re right. And I wasn’t only swearin’, was I? No, no. Four-letter ’uns, and they weren’t spelt like our name, were they, Da?’

  ‘No, they weren’t, lad, they weren’t. But it’s funny how things happen, isn’t it? So, I’ve done some good in the world after all, ’cos if you hadn’t heard me you wouldn’t have known half of ’em.’

  ‘But you didn’t use four-letter ones, Da.’

  ‘No.’ Davey considered a moment before admitting, ‘No; except once or twice on me own outside the house I might have, but not in front of you. And I didn’t want you to use them either. Yet around that quarter there were five-year-olds comin’ out with ’em. They knew no better so it was understandable you pickin’ them up. But’—he paused—‘this is a different life, lad, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, Da, it is a different life. That’s why I always like to come here. I knew there was something I wanted but I didn’t know what. But it was to live in a different way from around Bog’s End.’

  ‘Well, now, you’re gettin’ a good start, an’ ’cos of it, God helpin’ you, you’ll grow up to be a good man. Another thing.’ He now punched Sammy gently. ‘Make people laugh. Play yersel’ down, lad, you know what I mean, an’ they’ll laugh at you. That’s the secret, play yersel’ down except among your true friends. Aye, an’ even those, ’cos if people think you haven’t got much up top it makes them feel better, thinkin’ they’ve got more. You know what I mean?’

  ‘Aye. Da, I know what you mean.’ And the boy, looking at this big gaunt man, realised for the first time that his da wasn’t as thick as he made out to be, that he had never been as thick as he had always made out to be. It had been a sort of a game with him. His da, in a way, had been wise; but then he hadn’t known that, not until now. And until now he hadn’t realised how much he would miss him, at least not to the extent that he was going to.

  He recalled that his da had made a pact with God to go to Mass every Sunday for a year if He did something for him. He wondered if he, too, were to make a pact with Him would it come off? If he said to Him, ‘God, I’ll become a priest if You make me da better.’ But no; he knew it wouldn’t work for the simple reason he didn’t want to become a priest. Another thing, it didn’t do to make bargains with God. Look what had happened to his da.

  ‘Come on, cheer up!’ said Davey now, pushing his finger under the boy’s chin. Then he added, ‘I’m gona ask you to do somethin’ for me. I know you’re not one for the lasses, but Katie—she’s a very unhappy lass is Katie. It’s all because of what happened this time last year. So you could be nice to her, talk to her. I notice she doesn’t talk much to the others.’

  ‘She talks to you though, Da.’

  ‘Aye. Yes, now that is funny, ’cos you know, she was a snooty piece was Katie. Oh aye, you she thought common; but I knew I was the mud in the bottom of the gut in Katie’s opinion. That was when we first came on the scene. But she’s a different girl now. She’s been through trouble, love trouble, and, oh God in heaven, there’s nothin’ worse than that! Oh no. So, be kind like to her; don’t argue with her or snap back at her.’

  ‘I don’t, Da.’

  ‘No, but you’re not very talkative I notice, not with her. With Willie or Mark it’s twenty to the dozen, but with her…’

  ‘Well, she doesn’t give you the chance, Da.’

  ‘Well, it’s up to you to make the chance. Just talk to her. She’s like her granny, she’s been brought low, ’cos if there ever was a change in a woman it’s been in Mrs Vidler. Don’t you think?’

  ‘Aye, Da.’

  ‘’Tis an awful thing to bring people low, Sammy. When your ma walked out on us, I meself was brought low. Oh aye, I felt I wasn’t a man; all me spunk was knocked out of me, ’specially’—he now pulled a face—‘when I saw what she picked in preference to meself. By, talk about the runt of the litter; it was a shame to wipe the wall with him.’ He gave a sort of giggle now. ‘And I did wipe the wall with that poor fella. But why in the name of God am I sayin’ poor fella! He was a dirty bugger, now wasn’t he?’

  ‘Aye, Da, he was a dirty bugger.’

  They laughed uproariously, and Sammy was on the point of saying, ‘Stop it, Da, you’ll die laughing!’ but managed to check himself as he thought: He could at that. Aye, he could at that. Yet it wouldn’t be a bad way for him to die. But oh dear Lord, he hoped it wouldn’t be for weeks, and weeks, and weeks.

  Bill found a bungalow for Mrs Vidler. It was on a small estate and it was only a five-minute drive from the house. She was very pleased with it, and for thirty-eight thousand it was well within her pocket and could be considered a bargain, for it was in good decorative repair and the previous owners were leaving the carpets and curtains, which again she found tasteful. The only thing now was to furnish it. She could have moved into it within a week. But on this particular night while sitting in the drawing room having their coffee after the evening meal, she said to Bill, ‘How long has he got…Davey?’

  And Bill answered, ‘I asked the same question of the doctor only yesterday. An’ what he said was, he should have gone by now and he likely would have if he had been in hospital. He was kind enough to say we had kept him alive much longer than he himself expected. He was given three months at the most when he left the hospital but now here we are at the end of March and we can’t hope that he’ll go much longer. He said a week, two or three at the most. But before that happens he’ll increase the dose so that he won’t feel any pain.’

  ‘I didn’t tell you’—he was looking at Fiona now—‘but I found the youngster cryin’ last night, and Willie cryin’ with him. They were up in the bedroom. And I reassured Sammy again that this was his home now and for always. Then I had to get out else they would have had me at it. We’re either laughin’ or cryin’ in this house, there seems to be no happy medium.’

  ‘Why I asked was,’ put in Mrs Vidler now, ‘if you’d mind if I stayed on until it’s over. I was always fond of him, you know.’ She looked slightly shamefaced now as she added, ‘In the wrong way, I suppose; but nevertheless it was there.’

  ‘You stay as long as you like, Mother-in-law. I can say now I’ve been pleased to have you.’ Then leaning towards her, he said, ‘Fancy me sayin’ that, eh?’ And she, bending towards him too, answered, ‘And fancy me taking it. The next thing you know I’ll be swearing back at you. That’ll shake you.’ As the laughter filled the room the door opened and Katie came in. She looked sad as she walked up to Fiona and, standing by her side, looked down at her, saying, ‘He hasn’t eaten his supper. And he asked if he could have a cup of coffee, black. He doesn’t usually have it black. Can he have it?’r />
  ‘Yes, yes, of course, dear. And I’ll go up and see.’

  ‘You’ll sit where you are.’ Bill put his hand out. ‘Make a cup of coffee.’ He looked at the tall young girl and she at him. ‘You can make a cup of black coffee, can’t you?’

  ‘Yes; I can make a cup of black coffee.’

  ‘Very well then. Go on, take it up to him.’

  Oh dear, that always pained her. Fiona watched her daughter walk straight-backed out of the room. The way he spoke to her. Never unbent. She was lonely and lost, and she herself couldn’t get near her…

  Katie made the cup of black coffee and took it upstairs on a tray. And when she handed it to Davey, he said, ‘Now why should I fancy a cup of black coffee? Eh, Katie?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head. ‘You’ve never drunk black coffee before, not that I know of.’

  ‘No; but I just suddenly thought that…well, milk was a bit plain. But why black coffee? Still, let me taste it.’ He sipped at the cup, then said, ‘Yes, it’s nice. Refreshing. Not so cloyin’ as milk, if you get what I mean.’

  ‘Yes, I get what you mean.’

  ‘Sit down aside me and have a bit of crack. Is everybody downstairs finished eatin’?’

  ‘Yes. And we’re all washed up. It was the boys’ turn tonight.’

  ‘How you gettin’ on at school?’

  ‘So-so.’

  ‘Just so-so?’

  ‘Yes; I…I don’t seem able to concentrate.’

  ‘Well, you used to. You came out top last year, they tell me, miles ahead of the rest. Gallopin’ like an Irish cuddy over everybody in your class.’

  She smiled at him now, saying, ‘How do Irish cuddies gallop, Davey?’

  ‘Aw, well, bein’ Irish, they bring their back legs for’ard first, and havin’ done that the front ones are bound to move: the back ’uns sort of kick the front ’uns for’ard. You see what I mean?’

  ‘Well, going on that symbolism, those at the back of the class will come forward and beat those at the front.’

  He thought a moment before he said, ‘Aye, you’re right, you’re right there. But as I said, they were Irish cuddies.’

  ‘I wish I had been born Irish.’

  ‘In the name of God, why? I ask you, why?’

  ‘So that I could laugh easily. You laugh easily. You make people laugh easily. All Irish people do that.’

  ‘Oh, no, begod, you’re wrong there! Not all Irish folk make people laugh. Some of ’em make people angry an’ bitter. Oh, don’t get it into your head that all Irish folk are funny. Like every other people, there’s some an’ some, an’ some of the same, if you follow what I mean, are stinkers, although I say it meself an’ about me own folk. In any case, most of ’em don’t just want to make people laugh. Oh, no, lass, all Irish people don’t laugh. But I’ll tell you somethin’. You should laugh more.’

  ‘I’ve nothing to laugh about except when I’m with you. You make me laugh.’

  ‘You think your da’s still vexed with you, don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t think, I’m sure. He dislikes me now. He doesn’t hate me but he dislikes me.’

  ‘Nonsense.’

  ‘It isn’t, Davey. Anyway, he’s not my real father so it will be quite easy to dislike me. If he had been my real father he would have forgiven me a long time ago for what I did.’

  ‘Did you ever go to him an’ tell him you were sorry for what you did?’

  ‘No. No, I couldn’t because for some time after I wasn’t sorry. I was in a sort of state I suppose. Older people would call it a stupid state, a phase. But I still hated that girl, the woman. He’s living with her now, you know.’

  ‘Aye, I know. And he deserves some happiness. An’ she was a nice enough miss.’

  ‘Yes. You danced with her and she laughed a lot with you.’

  ‘Aye, she did. An’ what’s the harm in that?’

  ‘There was no harm as long as it was you, but when it was with him it changed everything.’

  ‘And how d’you feel about him now?’

  She looked away from the bed and towards the log fire and its flickering flames, and she said, ‘It’s funny, odd, I feel nothing. I wonder why I was so stupid. I’ll never be that stupid again. Not over anybody.’

  ‘Aw, don’t say that. You will one day ’cos you’re goin’ to grow into a beautiful woman. With that hair an’ those eyes, you’ll have ’em runnin’ after you like that Irish cuddy.’

  ‘Well, it won’t matter to me, Davey, if they run after me because I don’t think I’ll ever like anybody again, not in the way that I liked him. And the awful thing is to know it was no use. And if a feeling like that can die anything can die.’

  ‘That’s ’cos you’re young, dear. You’re just fifteen years old. As you say, you were in a phase. Well, you’ll still be in a phase for some time yet.’

  ‘I’m not just fifteen, Davey, not inside I’m not; I feel old, well, old in a way because I’ve experienced something that I shouldn’t have experienced for a long, long time. No-one of fourteen should have a feeling that makes them feel ferocious. I felt ferocious and I knew I wasn’t fourteen inside.’

  Davey sighed now as they stared at each other, and he said, ‘What d’you intend to be, dear?’

  She put her head on one side, then said, ‘I’ve thought about that of late, more so since you came to live with us. And I think I’d like to be a nurse.’

  ‘That’s good. That’s good. But it’s no easy job. I’m amazed at what nurses had to do when I was in hospital. They worked like Trojans.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind the work, but being a nurse you’d be sort of able to disperse yourself or dispense yourself.’

  ‘What d’you mean, disperse or dispense yourself?’

  ‘Well, I suppose I mean spread yourself around, not put all your feelings or affections on one person.’

  ‘Aw, lass, that’s a daft idea. If that’s all you’re goin’ in for nursin’ for, I’d give it up now. Yes, I would. Honest to God; I’d give it up now. Spreadin’ yourself around. Dear me! Dear me! An’ when that fella on the white horse comes ridin’ by, you’d have nothin’ to give to him, ’cos you’d be skin and bone.’

  ‘Oh, Davey, you are funny.’

  ‘No, I’m not in this case, Katie, I’m not funny.’ His face looked serious as did his voice sound, ‘Don’t think of spreadin’ yourself around hinny, in any way. Keep yourself what you call intact. Remember that word, intact, until the fella who’s worthy of you comes along. He might come as a surprise or on t’other hand he might be somebody you’ve known for years, an’ you’ll look at him as if you’re seein’ him for the first time. It happens with a man an’ all you know. It happened to meself, it did that. I spread meself around an’ all, in a way, until I’d nothin’ to give to me wife. And what does she do? She walked out on me. But you know all that, don’t you?’

  He laid his head back on the pillow and, moving his eyes around the room as far as he could see, he said, ‘’Tis a beautiful room this, Katie, a beautiful room. An’ your mother’s a beautiful woman, an’ your dad is a fine man, one of the best that walks the earth. Loud-mouthed, mind.’ He lifted his head slightly and grinned at her now. ‘Oh, aye, loud-mouthed, but behind his bellowing he’s a carin’ man. And he cares for you.’ He turned his head now and looked at her. ‘He cares for you deeply. And there’ll come a time when you’ll just need to put your hand out and he’ll be there to hold it.’

  After a moment of silence she said, ‘Your coffee’s nearly cold. You didn’t like it?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I did, I mean I do. Look, I’ll drink it all up.’

  ‘You don’t have to.’

  ‘Don’t I now?’

  ‘No. It was just a passing fancy, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Aye, perhaps. I don’t know what made me ask for black coffee, ’cos I’ve never understood the blokes that like it, I mean that like drinkin’ it after a meal. Yet there I go, askin’ for black coffee. It’s fancies I’m gett
in’ in me old age.’

  ‘You’re tired. Don’t talk any more.’

  ‘You’re an understandin’ girl, Katie, you’re an understandin’ girl. Yes, yes, I’m tired. By the way, what’s the day?’

  ‘It’s Friday.’

  ‘And we’re in March. I never thought, well to tell you the truth, I never thought to see March. It’s the kindness that’s kept me here.’

  She now watched his lips press tightly together and his lids screw up pressing his eyes back into the sockets. And his voice a whisper as he said, ‘Will you send your da to me, Katie?’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes.’ She jumped up from the chair and ran from the room, and this time she burst into the drawing room, saying, ‘He’s bad! He’s asking for you.’ She was nodding at Bill and Sammy. ‘I think he’s in pain.’

  Bill and Sammy rushed from the room now, followed by Fiona, and Katie was left with her grandmother. And when the older woman moved towards her, Katie threw herself into her arms, and Susan Vidler, said, ‘Don’t cry, Katie. Don’t cry for him. He’s had much longer than any of us thought.’

  ‘I’m so unhappy, Gran. In all ways, I’m so unhappy.’

  ‘I know you are, dear, and I know why. We’ve both been silly people, but mainly for the same reason. Strange that, isn’t it? An old woman and a young girl making fools of ourselves. But it’s all in the past. There now, there now. It’ll all come right because, as Davey himself would say, you’ve done your penance and I’ve done mine.’

  Four

  Three weeks later when they buried Davey, it was a bright April day, with the daffodils filling the vases on the graves and the green verge along the path being full of them. Fifty of Bill’s men were present. One person was noticeable by her absence and that was Davey’s mother. She was in hospital having a hip operation. Rupert was also present but Miss Isherwood, now known as Mrs Meredith, was not with him. Father Hankin, who had said Mass over the coffin in the Catholic church, was now saying the prayers for the dead. Sammy stood by the graveside and on each side of him stood Fiona and Bill, and next to Bill was Willie, and standing beside him was Mark. Slightly behind them were Mrs Vidler and Katie. Nell was not present. She had voted to stay behind to see to the children. She had confessed to Fiona she abhorred funerals.