by Max Hennessy
‘’Ere,’ she said – most of her remarks seemed to be prefaced by the word – ‘where did you learn to drink beer like that?’
‘Shut up, Ma,’ Minnie said placidly, still standing with her hands on her hips. ‘Leave him alone.’
Minnie’s Ma clucked her tongue and disappeared towards the bar, lifting a glass of gin from the sideboard as she passed with a dexterity that indicated there’d been many earlier glasses.
‘What was it all about?’ Minnie asked, unexpectedly warm and friendly.
‘Pat said something to me,’ I said, and all the bounce went out of me suddenly.
‘Always at it.’ Minnie nodded understandingly. She’d felt the lash of Pat’s tongue more than once, I expect.
‘So I went for him,’ I boasted.
‘Good for you.’ Minnie nodded again. ‘He’s a saucy one, that.’
The unexpected praise made my head swim. I sat on the horsehair sofa rubbing my knuckles and staring at Minnie. Though she was only three or four years older than I she was completely a woman, with a full, well-fleshed body and an adult face beneath the piled hair. Her frock was a little too tight as usual, so that it couldn’t hide her curves. She saw me staring and my mouth closed with a click of embarrassment as she grinned.
‘Growin’ up, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘Lookin’ at people like that.’
‘A bit,’ I admitted.
There was a strained pause for a moment, then she spoke again, breaking the silence in the dark kitchen sharply.
‘Hadn’t you better be getting back?’
I stretched luxuriously, suddenly feeling better. Minnie’s concern for me had made me a man. I felt big enough now to face up to the discovery I’d just made, big enough to sort out the problems it had raised so unexpectedly.
‘I’m not going back,’ I said cheerfully. ‘I’m never going back.’
‘My word!’ Minnie commented. ‘Quite the young gentleman, aren’t you? Don’t need to work for his living.’
She sat down at the other end of the sofa and I flushed as she gazed at me. Her eyes were violet and big and bright.
‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.
‘Dunno.’ The question brought me back to earth with a jolt.
I stared round the kitchen. It had a blackleaded fireplace, untidy with airing clothes that hung from the mantelpiece where two great ornaments towered away into the shadows.
I realized I’d never been inside Minnie’s kitchen before. Not many of her admirers had, and I drew a deep breath, feeling a man. It wasn’t a particularly prepossessing place. It had a gloomy wallpaper, stained nut-brown by the smoke from the bar, and a cracked ceiling. And heavy woven curtains that kept out what little light the dark walls outside allowed to filter past. Even the picture of Minnie’s father, a moustached man in a stiff collar, looked a bit flyblown and faded. Stockings, dingy towels and more intimate things that made me stare hung about everywhere. Under the sideboard and the sink were old, curling shoes with the toes kicked out of them, and an elderly and mangy-looking cat snored noisily in the hearth on a towel. Underneath the towel there was a plate with the remains of the cat’s dinner on it.
The heat from the glowing fire where black saucepans simmered like witches’ cauldrons was overpowering. It made me wilt but Minnie didn’t seem to notice it. She lolled on the end of the sofa, staring at me, lazy and voluptuous.
I drew in my breath sharply at the intimacy it suggested.
‘If you aren’t goin’ back to the Gazette, what are you goin’ to live on?’ she queried suddenly. ‘Can’t just sponge on people.’
‘Think I’ll leave the town,’ I said slowly.
‘Leave the town?’ Minnie stared at me as though I were mad. ‘Where’ll you go?’
‘Dunno.’ I shook my head. ‘Something’ll turn up, I suppose.’
‘Where you goin’ to live?’
I was stumped. ‘Couldn’t say. I’ll be all right, though.’
I paused. Then I looked at Minnie and I felt daring and rakish.
‘Will you miss me, Minnie?’
Minnie stared at me, startled by the question. ‘Suppose I will,’ she said carelessly. ‘I’ve seen a bit of you on and off.’
My thoughts were plunging ahead along a new and romantic track. ‘You wouldn’t like to live in this old town for ever, would you?’ I asked, preparing the way for the next question. ‘Not for always?’
‘Wun’t mind,’ Minnie said placidly, and I didn’t bother to ask the next question. I felt deflated.
‘Expect you’ll be all right,’ Minnie murmured. ‘After all, you’re a man now.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m glad you gave that Pat Fee what for,’ she went on savagely. ‘My Gawd, I’d do it meself if I wasn’t a girl! Gets me down, he does, with his rattle. Like a rooster on á muck-heap.’
‘What’s he been doing, Minnie?’ I asked, bold and protective as you please.
‘Stringin’ people along the way he does,’ Minnie spat out. ‘Only comes to a see a girl when he’s spent all his money on the horses. Only comes when he wants a free drink or two. Oh, he can hold a girl’s hand over the bar all right. He can squeeze her fingers when she slips him half a quid. But he can’t come and see her when he’s flush. Oh no! It’s one of them flash pieces that hang round the docks then.’
‘Not really ?’ I scowled. Young as I was, I’d been stopped more than once by the women who made a practice of loitering by the dock gates for sailors fresh from sea, and I was wild that Minnie should have been spurned for one of them – even by Pat Fee.
‘Tarts, they are,’ Minnie said bitterly. She was working herself up to tears of self-sympathy. ‘And him after ’em like a dog after a bitch.’
‘Minnie!’ I gulped. ‘You aren’t in love with Pat Fee, are you?’
Minnie swung round on me furiously. ‘In love with him? Me? That’s a good one. Not likely. Not me. Not with Pat Fee.’
I sighed with relief. I never noticed that the vehemence in her tones carried no conviction. I opened my mouth to speak, but just then the clock struck and Minnie stared at it.
‘My Gawd!’ she said. ‘Ma’ll be after me soon. Isn’t it time you was going?’
I scowled at the clock that had interrupted us.
‘Suppose I’d better be off,’ I said gloomily, depressed at the thought of leaving her. Just when we seemed to be getting to know each other. Just when Pat seemed to be disposed of.
I suddenly felt the need for friendliness, something to take the place of the love I’d never had from Ma. I felt bitter against her as I thought about her. She’d brought me into the world, wide open to Pat Fee’s insults, and had never given me any kind of affection to help me on. I needed Minnie’s kind words just then, not merely because she was Minnie whom I’d always admired despite the absence of any encouragement, but because she was a woman. Because she was warm and kind and I needed some gentle word – now that I’d decided to leave – to take away with me.
‘I’ll miss you, Minnie,’ I said.
‘Will you?’ Minnie was flattered. She smiled and smoothed her frock over her knees.
‘Minnie!’ I gulped and blushed down to my collar. ‘Minnie, I’m going away, probably a long way, and I might not come back for a long time. Will you – will – Minnie, will you kiss me good-bye?’
Minnie stared, then she laughed softly.
‘Gawd,’ she said, ‘you’re a bit of a one, aren’t you?’ But she smiled. ‘’Course I will,’ she added. She’d never been mean with her favours, according to the stories I’d heard.
She leaned over and laid her lips on my cheek. ‘There, how’s that?’
I went a flaming red. ‘No, Minnie,’ I said. ‘I mean a proper one.’
Minnie laughed again, uproariously, her head back so that I saw her teeth and her white throat. ‘You’re a saucy one, you are,’ she said. ‘All right, me lad, I’ll give you a kiss to curl your hair and turn your toes up. Stand up and take it like a man.’
I rose,
awkward and gauche, feeling as though I’d left my pants behind. Minnie smiled at me with veiled eyes, her lips moist and full.
‘Come on,’ she said, ‘put your arms round me proper.’
I took hold of her clumsily, but she took my hand in hers and put it on her breast, then she clutched me fiercely, kissing me till I was breathless. Her full rich body pressed against me, moving. Her lips were parted, and my stomach seemed to fall away from me as she held me to her, her thighs against mine, her full bosom warmly pressing on my chest, her eyes closed.
I staggered when she released me and almost fell down.
‘There!’ Minnie seemed pleased with the effect of her embrace. ‘How’s that?’
My eyes must have been bright, for Minnie stared.
‘Now don’t go and burst into tears,’ she commanded.
‘No, I’m not going to, Minnie,’ I gasped the words breathlessly.
I stared at her for a second, then abruptly I picked up my cap.
‘I’m going now, Minnie,’ I said firmly, though my feet were yards off the floor. ‘But I’ll be back – one of these days.’
Outside, I stood on the pavement, my arms still feeling the pressure of Minnie’s body. I stared down at my hand, the hand that had cupped her breast. It still felt warm with the touch of her and I grinned awkwardly. Then I slapped my cap on, cheerfully kicked a piece of orange peel skidding along the gutter, and began to walk away, whistling.
As I passed the front door of the Steam Packet I caught a glimpse of Minnie leaning over the bar talking to her Ma and a few words floated out to me.
‘…kid going away,’ she was saying. ‘Wanted me to kiss him good-bye, if you please… An’ him with the marks of the cradle not off his be’ind…’
I stopped dead, my ears burning, the flush coming back to my face.
‘…a proper one, he said. A proper one, eh! Gawd, I gave him one to make him wet his britches…’
Minnie’s Ma laughed, a high-pitched shriek that made me go hot with shame. Kid going away. Kid. The word burned into my brain.
A couple of men across the narrow street were leaning at the door of a blacksmith’s shop and, as I turned away, one of them spoke, bringing laughter from the other.
I moved away hurriedly. They seemed to be laughing at me. There seemed to be jeers even in the sound of the hurrying traffic.
VI
By the time I got home I felt I wanted to break something. Dig hadn’t come in, and I stood in the hall and stared round the shabby living-room with the table he’d set for tea before he went to work. I glowered at the neat, old-fashioned ornaments on the mantelpiece and the row of cheap leatherette classics on the sideboard, hating them for their neatness and their cheapness. I wanted to smash and tear the lot. I felt frustrated and cheated.
I scowled at the photograph of Ma that showed her as I’d never known her – young and lovely, only a sulky mouth spoiling an attractive face. It still had the place of honour on the sideboard – as though Dig still hoped to rescue her from the chaos of her mind by the reminder of how she was once.
I hung up my cap, Minnie’s words still in my ears, echoing in my mind with great dull sounds that numbed me. A kid going away. I could still hear the casualness in her tones, the indifference.
I mounted the stairs slowly to the bedroom I shared with Dig and pushed a few of my personal possessions and a little clothing – the first I could lay my hands on – into a small cardboard suitcase. Then I left the room again, tiptoeing as I noticed the door of Ma’s room was ajar. I had a feeling for a moment she was listening, perhaps even watching me. I toyed with the idea of going in to her and demanding an explanation of Pat’s disclosure, then I realized she wouldn’t even listen and certainly wouldn’t help. She’d hide behind bitterness and harsh words, probably bursting into a flood of tears of self-sympathy. I suddenly felt a feeling of revulsion for the musty-smelling room where I’d had to stand so often as a child and recite my lessons to Ma, who’d never been interested anyway.
Then, oddly, remembering Pat’s words, I felt a twinge of sympathy for her, left with a child she’d perhaps not wanted, and an unsatisfying husband who probably couldn’t understand her more physical passions.
But, as I considered, my sympathy changed to anger again. She’d never given me any love or affection or tried very hard to understand Dig. She’d done nothing in all her life but dramatize her tragedy, nursing her grievance and allowing herself to grow ugly, and miserable with a misery that was infectious.
No. To hell with her, I thought, and grasped my case tighter and made my way downstairs.
As I reached the bottom I realized Dig was watching me through the open door of the living-room.
‘Why aren’t you at work?’ he asked. ‘Surely you shouldn’t be home yet?’
‘I’ve left,’ I said.
‘Oh!’ Dig considered this for a moment but his expression showed no sign of disappointment. He must have been half expecting it for a long time. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘What are you goin’ to do now, then?’ His eyes had travelled to the case in my hand.
‘Dunno yet.’ I shrugged.
‘Where are you going, Jess?’ he asked quietly, and there was a hint of apprehension in his voice.
‘Away,’ I said. ‘I’m leaving home.’
Dig looked at me for a moment, then his eyes fell and, in doing so, dropped on a magazine on the table. It was some piffling publication that Ma read, but instinctively he picked it up and began to turn the pages.
‘Why, Jess?’ he asked.
‘Just got to!’ I told him of the fight and the accident to the works manager. I was feeling pretty depressed with reaction by this time and the words came wearily.
Dig stared silently at the magazine in his hand, then he lifted his head slowly to meet my eyes.
‘I suppose,’ he said, ‘you’ll be needing some money?’
‘No.’ I felt secure in my newly found independence and maturity. I wanted to show all these people – Pat and Minnie and the whole lot of them – that I wasn’t a kid any longer. ‘I’ve got a bit saved up.’
‘It won’t be enough.’ Dig fished in his pocket. ‘Here,’ he muttered shyly. ‘You’ll need money if you’re going away. This’s all I’ve got. Not much, but it’ll help.’
He pushed a few bob into my hand. Then he fumbled again and produced threepence-halfpenny in coppers and a stamp.
‘Here. Might as well take the lot.’ He hesitated, staring at the stamp, then he pushed it at me. ‘Better have this. Might be useful. You can drop me a line.’
He dropped his hands to his sides, wordless, and we stared at each other in a silence that grew until it was strained. I saw his eyes were moist, and I wanted to cry at the thought that he’d pressed on me his few shillings spending money.
He was studying me, his eyes blinking rapidly. ‘Won’t you tell me, Jess?’ he asked. ‘Surely, you’re not leaving home just because of a fight at work? There must be more to it than that.’
I stared at his feet for a moment, then with a sudden intake of breath the things that Pat Fee had said burst out:
‘He said things about you. He said you weren’t my father.’
Dig stood very still for a moment, still fiddling with the magazine. He appeared to scan it from cover to cover before he spoke, then he looked up at me with that habit of his, over the top of the page, and as he did so his grey-flecked hair and moustache and the dandruff that was always on the collar of his shiny suit made him seem dusty and neglected, something that had been forgotten and allowed to collect cobwebs.
‘I’m not your father, Jess.’ He spoke quietly. ‘I’ve been afraid of this for a long time. It had to come some day.’
I’d been hoping against hope he’d deny everything Pat had suggested, though all the time, deep down inside, I knew – almost as though I were acting and had played the scene before – that he wouldn’t. As he spoke I caught my breath, like a kid disappointed in its wishful thinking.
; ‘I thought – I thought perhaps he must be right,’ I said. ‘Things you’d said – and Ma – and, oh, all sorts of things.’
I shrugged helplessly and took another grip on my case.
‘There’s no need to go, Jess,’ Dig said. ‘It needn’t make no difference.’
‘Who is my father?’ I asked, and Dig jumped as though the question startled him.
‘1 dunno, Jess.’ He looked away as he spoke, and I felt he wasn’t telling the truth. ‘It all happened during the war. I was in France at the time. You’d arrived when I came home. I tried to forget all about it. But’ – he shrugged, suddenly pathetic and small and drab – ‘your Ma didn’t seem to want to forget.’
‘Would she tell me who it was?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Dig turned a page of the magazine with a sharp crackle of paper. ‘She’s never told me. Whoever it was, he made an impression on your Ma. She’s made it a grievance ever since because I wasn’t like him. I don’t think she’ll ever say who it was now.’
I nodded. Suddenly I didn’t care, anyway. After all the years of indifference towards each other, after all the years of coolness between us, Ma and I couldn’t indulge in intimate researches of this sort.
There seemed nothing more to say. We stared at each other for a moment, then I turned away.
‘Well, I’ll be off,’ I said. Oddly, I could no longer think of Dig as my father. There seemed a great width of loneliness between us already.
‘Must you, Jess?’ he said. ‘Must you go?’
‘Yes,’ I answered shortly. I felt a stranger in the house all at once. There was suddenly no longer any place for me there.
‘Can’t I help?’ Dig’s voice was unsteady, as though he was blaming himself.
‘No. I’ll be all right.’ I put on my cap and turned to the door.
As I reached the hall Dig called again.
‘Stop a minute,’ he said.
‘I tried,’ he mumbled, and his cringing humility made me want to soothe him like a crying baby. I was bigger than he was. Perhaps that’s what did it. ‘I’m sorry, Jess. I always regarded you as me own.’ He became engrossed in the magazine again, embarrassed. ‘But there’s still a home for you here if you want one. There’ll always be one.’